The Project Gutenberg eBook of Great Short Stories, Volume I: Detective Stories (2025)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74548 ***

Robert Louis Stevenson

Edited by William Patten

A NEW COLLECTION
OF FAMOUS EXAMPLES
FROM THE LITERATURES
OF FRANCE,
ENGLAND AND AMERICA

VOLUME I

DETECTIVE
STORIES

P. F. COLLIER & SON
NEW YORK

TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE By Edgar Allan Poe

THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET By Edgar Allan Poe

THE PURLOINED LETTER By Edgar Allan Poe

THE SIGN OF THE FOUR By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
I. The Science of Deduction
II. The Statement of the Case
III. In Quest of a Solution
IV. The Story of the Bald-headed Man
V. The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge
VI. Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration
VII. The Episode of the Barrel
VIII. The Baker Street Irregulars
IX. A Break in the Chain
X. The End of the Islander
XI. The Great Agra Treasure
XII. The Strange Story of Jonathan Small

A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK By Anna Katharine Green

THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND By Robert Louis Stevenson
Story of the Bandbox
Story of the Young Man in Holy Orders
Story of the House with the Green Blinds
The Adventure of Prince Florizel and a Detective

THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK By Broughton Brandenburg

THE CHRONICLES OF ADDINGTON PEACE By B. Fletcher Robinson
The Vanished Millionaire

THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

This and the two stories that follow itconstitute a trilogy of stories with relatedmethods of construction. They were thefirst detective stories, and are stillconsidered the most famous models of their kind.Written by a poor struggling, underpaid hackjournalist at a time when literary inspirationwas derived principally from abroad, they werefirst published 1841-5. Soon afterward "TheMurders in the Rue Morgue" was translatedinto French and appeared in several Frenchjournals, notably the "Charivari." Thisconstituted Poe's introduction to a Frenchaudience, and it won for him a warmer and amore general recognition than he has everhad in this country. Judged by the extentof his influence on writers of short stories,both here and abroad, Poe is the mostimportant figure in American literature.

THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE

By EDGAR ALLAN POE

What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achillesassumed when he hid himself among women, althoughpuzzling questions, are not beyond allconjecture.—Sir Thomas Browne

The mental features discoursed of as the analytical,are in themselves, but little susceptible of analysis.We appreciate them only in their effects. We knowof them, among other things, that they are alwaysto their possessor, when inordinately possessed, a source ofthe liveliest enjoyment. As the strong man exults in hisphysical ability, delighting in such exercises as call hismuscles into action, so glories the analyst in that moral activitywhich disentangles. He derives pleasure from even the mosttrivial occupations bringing his talent into play. He is fondof enigmas, of conundrums, hieroglyphics; exhibiting in hissolutions of each a degree of acumen which appears to theordinary apprehension preternatural. His results, broughtabout by the very soul and essence of method, have, in truth,the whole air of intuition.

The faculty of resolution is possibly much invigoratedby mathematical study, and especially by that highest branchof it which, unjustly, and merely on account of its retrogradeoperations, has been called, as if par excellence, analysis.Yet to calculate is not in itself to analyze. A chess-player,for example, does the one, without effort at theother. It follows that the game of chess, in its effects uponmental character, is greatly misunderstood. I am not nowwriting a treatise, but simply prefacing a somewhat peculiarnarrative by observations very much at random; I will,therefore, take occasion to assert that the higher powersof the reflective intellect are more decidedly and moreusefully tasked by the unostentatious game of draughts thanby all the elaborate frivolity of chess. In this latter, wherethe pieces have different and bizarre motions, withvarious and variable values, what is only complex, is mistaken(a not unusual error) for what is profound. The attentionis here called powerfully into play. If it flag for an instant,an oversight is committed, resulting in injury or defeat.The possible moves being not only manifold, but involute,the chances of such oversights are multiplied; and in ninecases out of ten, it is the more concentrative rather thanthe more acute player who conquers. In draughts, on thecontrary, where the moves are unique and have but littlevariation, the probabilities of inadvertence are diminished,and the mere attention being left comparatively unemployed,what advantages are obtained by either party are obtainedby superior acumen. To be less abstract, let us supposea game of draughts where the pieces are reduced to fourkings, and where, of course, no oversight is to be expected.It is obvious that here the victory can be decided (theplayers being at all equal) only by some recherché movement,the result of some strong exertion of the intellect. Deprivedof ordinary resources, the analyst throws himself into thespirit of his opponent, identifies himself therewith, and notunfrequently sees thus, at a glance, the sole methods(sometimes indeed absurdly simple ones) by which he may seduceinto error or hurry into miscalculation.

Whist has long been known for its influence upon whatis termed the calculating power; and men of the highestorder of intellect have been known to take an apparentlyunaccountable delight in it, while eschewing chess asfrivolous. Beyond doubt there is nothing of a similar natureso greatly tasking the faculty of analysis. The bestchess-player in Christendom may be little more than the bestplayer of chess; but proficiency in whist implies capacityfor success in all these more important undertakings wheremind struggles with mind. When I say proficiency, I meanthat perfection in the game which includes a comprehensionof all the sources whence legitimate advantage may bederived. These are not only manifold, but multiform, andlie frequently among recesses of thought altogetherinaccessible to the ordinary understanding. To observeattentively is to remember distinctly; and, so far, the concentrativechess-player will do very well at whist; while the rulesof Hoyle (themselves based upon the mere mechanism of thegame) are sufficiently and generally comprehensible. Thusto have a retentive memory, and proceed by "the book," arepoints commonly regarded as the sum total of good playing.But it is in matters beyond the limits of mere rule that theskill of the analyst is evinced. He makes, in silence, a hostof observations and inferences. So, perhaps, do hiscompanions; and the difference in the extent of the informationobtained, lies not so much in the validity of the inferenceas in the quality of the observation. The necessaryknowledge is that of what to observe. Our player confineshimself not at all; nor, because the game is the object, doeshe reject deductions from things external to the game. Heexamines the countenance of his partner, comparing itcarefully with that of each of his opponents. He considers themode of assorting the cards in each hand; often countingtrump by trump, and honor by honor, through the glancesbestowed by their holders upon each. He notes everyvariation of face as the play progresses, gathering a fund ofthought from the differences in the expression of certainty,of surprise, of triumph, or chagrin. From the manner ofgathering up a trick he judges whether the person taking itcan make another in the suit. He recognizes what is playedthrough feint, by the manner with which it is thrown uponthe table. A casual or inadvertent word; the accidentaldropping or turning of a card, with the accompanyinganxiety or carelessness in regard to its concealment; thecounting of the tricks, with the order of their arrangement;embarrassment, hesitation, eagerness, or trepidation—all afford,to his apparently intuitive perception, indications of thetrue state of affairs. The first two or three rounds havingbeen played, he is in full possession of the contents of eachhand, and thenceforward puts down his cards with as absolutea precision of purpose as if the rest of the party hadturned outward the faces of their own.

The analytical power should not be confounded withsimple ingenuity; for while the analyst is necessarilyingenious, the ingenious man is often remarkably incapable ofanalysis. The constructive or combining power, by whichingenuity is usually manifested, and to which the phrenologists(I believe erroneously) have assigned a separate organ,supposing it a primitive faculty, has been so frequently seenin those whose intellect bordered otherwise upon idiocy, asto have attracted general observation among writers onmorals. Between ingenuity and the analytic ability thereexists a difference far greater, indeed, than that between thefancy and the imagination, but of a character very strictlyanalogous. It will be found, in fact, that the ingenious arealways fanciful, and the truly imaginative never otherwisethan analytic.

The narrative which follows will appear to the readersomewhat in the light of a commentary upon the propositionsjust advanced.

Residing in Paris during the spring and part of the summerof 18—, I there became acquainted with a MonsieurC. Auguste Dupin. This young gentleman was of an excellent,indeed of an illustrious family, but, by a variety of untowardevents, had been reduced to such poverty that the energy ofhis character succumbed beneath it, and he ceased to bestirhimself in the world, or to care for the retrieval of hisfortunes. By courtesy of his creditors, there still remainedin his possession a small remnant of his patrimony; and,upon the income arising from this, he managed, by meansof a rigorous economy, to procure the necessaries of life,without troubling himself about its superfluities. Books,indeed, were his sole luxuries, and in Paris these are easilyobtained.

Our first meeting was at an obscure library in the RueMontmartre, where the accident of our both being in searchof the same very rare and very remarkable volume, broughtus into closer communion. We saw each other again andagain. I was deeply interested in the little family historywhich he detailed to me with all that candor which a Frenchmanindulges whenever mere self is the theme. I was astonished,too, at the vast extent of his reading; and, above all,I felt my soul enkindled within me by the wild fervor, andthe vivid freshness of his imagination. Seeking in Paris theobjects I then sought, I felt that the society of such a manwould be to me a treasure beyond price; and this feelingI frankly confided to him. It was at length arranged thatwe should live together during my stay in the city; and asmy worldly circumstances were somewhat less embarrassedthan his own, I was permitted to be at the expense ofrenting, and furnishing in a style which suited the ratherfantastic gloom of our common temper, a time-eaten andgrotesque mansion, long deserted through superstitions intowhich we did not inquire, and tottering to its fall in aretired and desolate portion of the Faubourg St. Germain.

Had the routine of our life at this place been known tothe world, we should have been regarded as madmen—although,perhaps, as madmen of a harmless nature. Ourseclusion was perfect. We admitted no visitors. Indeed,the locality of our retirement had been carefully kept asecret from my own former associates; and it had been manyyears since Dupin had ceased to know or be known in Paris,We existed within ourselves alone.

It was a freak of fancy in my friend (for what else shallI call it?) to be enamored of the night for her own sake;and into this bizarrerie, as into all his others, I quietly fell;giving myself up to his wild whims with a perfect abandon.The sable divinity would not herself dwell with us always;but we could counterfeit her presence. At the first dawnof the morning we closed all the massy shutters of our oldbuilding; lighted a couple of tapers which, stronglyperfumed, threw out only the ghastliest and feeblest of rays,By the aid of these we then busied our souls in dreams—reading,writing, or conversing, until warned by the clockof the advent of the true Darkness. Then we sallied forthinto the streets, arm in arm, continuing the topics of theday, or roaming far and wide until a late hour, seeking,amid the wild lights and shadows of the populous city,that infinity of mental excitement which quiet observationcan afford.

At such times I could not help remarking and admiring(although from his rich ideality I had been prepared toexpect it) a peculiar analytic ability in Dupin. He seemed,too, to take an eager delight in its exercise—if not exactlyin its display—and did not hesitate to confess the pleasurethus derived. He boasted to me, with a low chucklinglaugh, that most men, in respect to himself, wore windowsin their bosoms, and was wont to follow up such assertionsby direct and very startling proofs of his intimate knowledgeof my own. His manner at these moments was frigid andabstract; his eyes were vacant in expression; while hisvoice, usually a rich tenor, rose into a treble which wouldhave sounded petulant but for the deliberateness and entiredistinctness of the enunciation. Observing him in thesemoods, I often dwelt meditatively upon the old philosophyof the Bi-Part Soul, and amused myself with the fancy ofa double Dupin—the creative and the resolvent.

Let it not be supposed, from what I have just said, thatI am detailing any mystery, or penning any romance. WhatI have described in the Frenchman was merely the resultof an excited, or perhaps of a diseased, intelligence. But ofthe character of his remarks at the periods in question anexample will best convey the idea.

We were strolling one night down a long dirty street, inthe vicinity of the Palais Royal. Being both, apparently,occupied with thought, neither of us had spoken a syllablefor fifteen minutes at least. All at once Dupin broke forthwith these words:

"He is a very little fellow, that's true, and would dobetter for the Theatre Variétés."

"There can be no doubt of that," I replied, unwittingly,and not at first observing (so much had I been absorbedin reflection) the extraordinary manner in which the speakerhad chimed in with my meditations. In an instant afterwardI recollected myself, and my astonishment was profound.

"Dupin," said I, gravely, "this is beyond my comprehension.I do not hesitate to say that I am amazed, and canscarcely credit my senses. How was it possible you shouldknow that I was thinking of—?" Here I paused, to ascertainbeyond a doubt whether he really knew of whom I thought.

"—— of Chantilly," said he, "why do you pause? Youwere remarking to yourself that his diminutive figureunfitted him for tragedy."

This was precisely what had formed the subject of myreflections. Chantilly was a quondam cobbler of the RueSt. Dennis, who, becoming stage-mad, had attempted therôle of Xerxes, in Crébillon's tragedy so called, and beennotoriously Pasquinaded for his pains.

"Tell me, for Heaven's sake," I exclaimed, "the method—ifmethod there is—by which you have been enabled tofathom my soul in this matter." In fact, I was even morestartled than I would have been willing to express.

"It was the fruiterer," replied my friend, "who broughtyou to the conclusion that the mender of soles was not ofsufficient height for Xerxes et id genus omne."

"The fruiterer!—you astonish me—I know no fruitererwhomsoever."

"The man who ran up against you as we entered thestreet—it may have been fifteen minutes ago."

I now remembered that, in fact, a fruiterer, carryingupon his head a large basket of apples, had nearly thrownme down, by accident, as we passed from the Rue C——into the thoroughfare where we stood; but what this hadto do with Chantilly I could not possibly understand.

There was not a particle of charlatânerie about Dupin."I will explain," he said, "and that you may comprehendall clearly, we will first retrace the course of yourmeditations, from the moment in which I spoke to you until thatof the recontre with the fruiterer in question. The largerlinks of the chain run thus—Chantilly, Orion, Dr. Nichols,Epicurus, Stereotomy, the street stones, the fruiterer."

There are few persons who have not, at some period oftheir lives, amused themselves in retracing the steps bywhich particular conclusions of their own minds have beenattained. The occupation is often full of interest; and hewho attempts it for the first time is astonished by theapparently illimitable distance and incoherence between thestarting-point and the goal. What, then, must have been myamazement, when I heard the Frenchman speak what he hadjust spoken, and when I could not help acknowledging thathe had spoken the truth. He continued:

"We had been talking of horses, if I remember aright,just before leaving the Rue C——. This was the last subjectwe discussed. As we crossed into this street, a fruiterer,with a large basket upon his head, brushing quickly past us,thrust you upon a pile of paving-stones collected at a spotwhere the causeway is undergoing repair. You stepped uponone of the loose fragments, slipped, slightly strained yourankle, appeared vexed or sulky, muttered a few words, turnedto look at the pile, and then proceeded in silence. I was notparticularly attentive to what you did; but observation hasbecome with me, of late, a species of necessity.

"You kept your eyes upon the ground—glancing, with apetulant expression, at the holes and ruts in the pavement(so that I saw you were still thinking of the stones), untilwe reached the little alley called Lamartine, which has beenpaved, by way of experiment, with the overlapping andriveted blocks. Here your countenance brightened up, and,perceiving your lips move, I could not doubt that youmurmured the word 'stereotomy,' a term very affectedly appliedto this species of pavement. I knew that you could notsay to yourself 'stereotomy' without being brought to thinkof atomies, and thus of the theories of Epicurus; and since,when we discussed this subject not very long ago, Imentioned to you how singularly, yet with how little notice, thevague guesses of that noble Greek had met with confirmationin the late nebular cosmogony, I felt that you couldnot avoid casting your eyes upward to the great nebula inOrion, and I certainly expected that you would do so. Youdid look up; and I was now assured that I had correctlyfollowed your steps. But in that bitter tirade upon Chantilly,which appeared in yesterday's 'Musée,' the satirist,making some disgraceful allusions to the cobbler's changeof name upon assuming the buskin, quoted a Latin lineabout which we have often conversed. I mean the line

Perdidit antiquum litera prima sonum.

I had told you that this was in reference to Orion, formerlywritten Urion; and, from certain pungencies connected withthis explanation, I was aware that you could not haveforgotten it. It was clear, therefore, that you would not failto combine the two ideas of Orion and Chantilly. Thatyou did combine them I saw by the character of the smilewhich passed over your lips. You thought of the poorcobbler's immolation. So far, you had been stooping in yourgait; but now I saw you draw yourself up to your fullheight. I was then sure that you reflected upon the diminutivefigure of Chantilly. At this point I interrupted yourmeditations to remark that as, in fact, he was a very littlefellow—that Chantilly—he would do better at the Théâtredes Variétés."

Not long after this, we were looking over an eveningedition of the "Gazette des Tribunaux," when the followingparagraphs arrested our attention.

"Extraordinary Murder.—This morning, about threeo'clock, the inhabitants of the Quartier St. Roch were rousedfrom sleep by a succession of terrific shrieks, issuing,apparently, from the fourth story of a house in the Rue Morgue,known to be in the sole occupancy of one Madame L'Espanaye,and her daughter, Mademoiselle Camille L'Espanaye.After some delay, occasioned by a fruitless attempt toprocure admission in the usual manner, the gateway was brokenin with a crowbar, and eight or ten of the neighbors entered,accompanied by two gendarmes. By this time the cries hadceased; but, as the party rushed up the first flight of stairs,two or more rough voices, in angry contention, weredistinguished, and seemed to proceed from the upper part of thehouse. As the second landing was reached, these sounds,also, had ceased, and everything remained perfectly quiet.The party spread themselves, and hurried from room toroom. Upon arriving at a large back chamber in the fourthstory (the door of which, being found locked; with the keyinside, was forced open), a spectacle presented itself whichstruck every one present not less with horror than withastonishment.

"The apartment was in the wildest disorder—the furniturebroken and thrown about in all directions. There wasonly one bedstead; and from this the bed had been removed,and thrown into the middle of the floor. On a chair lay arazor, besmeared with blood. On the hearth were two orthree long and thick tresses of gray human hair, alsodabbled with blood, and seeming to have been pulled out by theroots. Upon the floor were found four Napoleons, an ear-ringof topaz, three large silver spoons, three smaller ofmetal d'Alger, and two bags, containing nearly four thousandfrancs in gold. The drawers of a bureau, which stoodin one corner, were open, and had been, apparently, rifled,although many articles still remained in them. A smalliron safe was discovered under the bed (not under thebedstead). It was open, with the key still in the door. It hadno contents beyond a few old letters, and other papers oflittle consequence.

"Of Madame L'Espanaye no traces were here seen; butan unusual quantity of soot being observed in the fireplace,a search was made in the chimney, and (horrible to relate!)the corpse of the daughter, head downward, was draggedtherefrom; it having been thus forced up the narrow aperturefor a considerable distance. The body was quite warm.Upon examining it, many excoriations were perceived, nodoubt occasioned by the violence with which it had beenthrust up and disengaged. Upon the face were many severescratches, and, upon the throat, dark bruises, and deepindentations of finger nails, as if the deceased had beenthrottled to death.

"After a thorough investigation of every portion of thehouse without further discovery, the party made its wayinto a small paved yard in the rear of the building, wherelay the corpse of the old lady, with her throat so entirelycut that, upon an attempt to raise her, the head fell off.The body, as well as the head, was fearfully mutilated—theformer so much so as scarcely to retain any semblanceof humanity.

"To this horrible mystery there is not as yet, we believe,the slightest clue."

The next day's paper had these additional particulars:

"The Tragedy in the Rue Morgue.—Many individualshave been examined in relation to this most extraordinaryand frightful affair" [the word "affaire" has not yet, inFrance, that levity of import which it conveys with us],"but nothing whatever has transpired to throw light uponit. We give below all the material testimony elicited.

"Pauline Dubourg, laundress, deposes that she has knownboth the deceased for three years, having washed for themduring that period. The old lady and her daughter seemedon good terms—very affectionate toward each other. Theywere excellent pay. Could not speak in regard to their modeor means of living. Believed that Madame L. told fortunesfor a living. Was reputed to have money put by. Nevermet any person in the house when she called for the clothesor took them home. Was sure that they had no servant inemploy. There appeared to be no furniture in any part ofthe building except in the fourth story.

"Pierre Moreau, tobacconist, deposes that he has been inthe habit of selling small quantities of tobacco and snuff toMadame L'Espanaye for nearly four years. Was born in theneighborhood, and has always resided there. The deceasedand her daughter had occupied the house in which thecorpses were found for more than six years. It was formerlyoccupied by a jeweler, who under-let the upper roomsto various persons. The house was the property of MadameL. She became dissatisfied with the abuse of the premisesby her tenant, and moved into them herself, refusing to letany portion. The old lady was childish. Witness had seenthe daughter some five or six times during the six years.The two lived an exceedingly retired life—were reputed tohave money. Had heard it said among the neighbors thatMadame L. told fortunes—did not believe it. Had neverseen any person enter the door except the old lady andher daughter, a porter once or twice, and a physician someeight or ten times.

"Many other persons, neighbors, gave evidence to thesame effect. No one was spoken of as frequenting thehouse. It was not known whether there were any livingconnections of Madame L. and her daughter. The shuttersof the front windows were seldom opened. Those in therear were always closed, with the exception of the largeback room, fourth story. The house was a good house—notvery old.

"Isidore Muset, gendarme, deposes that he was calledto the house about three o'clock in the morning, and foundsome twenty or thirty persons at the gateway, endeavoringto gain admittance. Forced it open, at length, with abayonet—not with a crowbar. Had but little difficulty ingetting it open, on account of its being a double or folding gate,and bolted neither at bottom nor top. The shrieks werecontinued until the gate was forced—and then suddenlyceased. They seemed to be screams of some person (orpersons) in great agony—were loud and drawn out, not shortand quick. Witness led the way upstairs. Upon reachingthe first landing, heard two voices in loud and angrycontention—the one a gruff voice, the other much shriller—avery strange voice. Could distinguish some words of theformer, which was that of a Frenchman. Was positive thatit was not a woman's voice. Could distinguish the words'sacre' and 'diable.' The shrill voice was that of a foreigner.Could not be sure whether it was the voice of a man or ofa woman. Could not make out what was said, but believedthe language to be Spanish. The state of the room and ofthe bodies was described by this witness as we describedthem yesterday.

"Henri Duval, a neighbor, and by trade a silversmith,deposes that he was one of the party who first entered thehouse. Corroborates the testimony of Muset in general. Assoon as they forced an entrance, they reclosed the door, tokeep out the crowd, which collected very fast, notwithstandingthe lateness of the hour. The shrill voice, this witnessthinks, was that of an Italian. Was certain it was notFrench. Could not be sure that it was a man's voice. Itmight have been a woman's. Was not acquainted with theItalian language. Could not distinguish the words, but wasconvinced by the intonation that the speaker was an Italian.Knew Madame L. and her daughter. Had conversed withboth frequently. Was sure that the shrill voice was notthat of either of the deceased.

"—— Odenheimer, restaurateur.—This witness volunteeredhis testimony. Not speaking French, was examined throughan interpreter. Is a native of Amsterdam. Was passing thehouse at the time of the shrieks. They lasted for severalminutes—probably ten. They were long and loud—veryawful and distressing. Was one of those who entered thebuilding. Corroborated the previous evidence in everyrespect but one. Was sure that the shrill voice was that of aman—of a Frenchman. Could not distinguish the wordsuttered. They were loud and quick—unequal—spokenapparently in fear as well as in anger. The voice was harsh—notso much shrill as harsh. Could not call it a shrill voice.The gruff voice said repeatedly, 'sacre,' 'diable,' and once'mon Dieu.'

"Jules Mignaud, banker, of the firm of Mignaud et Fils,Rue Deloraine. Is the elder Mignaud. Madame L'Espanayehad some property. Had opened an account with his bankinghouse in the spring of the year—(eight years previously).Made frequent deposits in small sums. Had checked fornothing until the third day before her death, when she tookout in person the sum of 4,000 francs. This sum was paidin gold, and a clerk sent home with the money.

"Adolphe Le Bon, clerk to Mignaud et Fils, deposes thaton the day in question, about noon, he accompanied MadameL'Espanaye to her residence with the 4,000 francs, put up intwo bags. Upon the door being opened, MademoiselleL. appeared and took from his hands one of the bags, while theold lady relieved him of the other. He then bowed anddeparted. Did not see any person in the street at the time.It is a by-street—very lonely.

"William Bird, tailor, deposes that he was one of theparty who entered the house. Is an Englishman. Has livedin Paris two years. Was one of the first to ascend thestairs. Heard the voices in contention. The gruff voice wasthat of a Frenchman. Could make out several words, butcan not now remember all. Heard distinctly 'sacre' and 'monDieu.' There was a sound at the moment as if of severalpersons struggling—a scraping and scuffling sound. Theshrill voice was very loud—louder than the gruff one. Issure that it was not the voice of an Englishman. Appearedto be that of a German. Might have been a woman's voice.Does not understand German.

"Four of the above-named witnesses being recalled, deposedthat the door of the chamber in which was found thebody of Mademoiselle L. was locked on the inside whenthe party reached it. Everything was perfectly silent—nogroans or noises of any kind. Upon forcing the door noperson was seen. The windows, both of the back and frontroom, were down and firmly fastened from within. A doorbetween the two rooms was closed but not locked. Thedoor leading from the front room into the passage waslocked, with the key on the inside. A small room in thefront of the house, on the fourth story, at the head of thepassage, was open, the door being ajar. This room wascrowded with old beds, boxes, and so forth. These werecarefully removed and searched. There was not an inch ofany portion of the house which was not carefully searched.Sweeps were sent up and down the chimneys. The housewas a four-story one, with garrets (mansardes). Atrap-door on the roof was nailed down very securely—did notappear to have been opened for years. The time elapsingbetween the hearing of the voices in contention and thebreaking open of the room door was variously stated by thewitnesses. Some made it as short as three minutes—someas long as five. The door was opened with difficulty.

"Alfonzo Garco, undertaker, deposes that he resides in theRue Morgue. Is a native of Spain. Was one of the partywho entered the house. Did not proceed upstairs. Isnervous, and was apprehensive of the consequences of agitation.Heard the voices in contention. The gruff voice was thatof a Frenchman. Could not distinguish what was said. Theshrill voice was that of an Englishman—is sure of this. Doesnot understand the English language, but judges by theintonation.

"Alfonzo Garcio, undertaker, deposes that he was amongthe first to ascend the stairs. Heard the voices in question.The gruff voice was that of a Frenchman. Distinguishedseveral words. The speaker appeared to be expostulating.Could not make out the words of the shrill voice. Spokequick and unevenly. Thinks it the voice of a Russian.Corroborates the general testimony. Is an Italian. Neverconversed with a native of Russia.

"Several witness, recalled, here testified that the chimneysof all the rooms on the fourth story were too narrow toadmit the passage of a human being. By 'sweeps,' weremeant cylindrical sweeping-brushes, such as are employedby those who clean chimneys. These brushes were passedup and down every flue in the house. There is no backpassage by which any one could have descended while the partyproceeded upstairs. The body of Mademoiselle L'Espanayewas so firmly wedged in the chimney that it could not be gotdown until four or five of the party united their strength.

"Paul Dumas, physician, deposes that he was called to viewthe bodies about daybreak. They were both then lying onthe sacking of the bedstead in the chamber where MademoiselleL. was found. The corpse of the young lady was muchbruised and excoriated. The fact that it had been thrust upthe chimney would sufficiently account for these appearances.The throat was greatly chafed. There were several deepscratches just below the chin, together with a series of lividspots which were evidently the impression of fingers. Theface was fearfully discolored, and the eyeballs protruded.The tongue had been partially bitten through. A large bruisewas discovered upon the pit of the stomach, produced,apparently, by the pressure of a knee. In the opinion ofM. Dumas, Mademoiselle L'Espanaye had been throttled todeath by some person or persons unknown. The corpse ofthe mother was horribly mutilated. All the bones of the rightleg and arm were more or less shattered. The left tibia muchsplintered, as well as all the ribs of the left side. Wholebody dreadfully bruised and discolored. It was not possibleto say how the injuries had been inflicted. A heavy club ofwood, or a broad bar of iron—a chair—any large, heavy, andobtuse weapon would have produced such results, if wieldedby the hands of a very powerful man. No woman could haveinflicted the blows with any weapon. The head of thedeceased, when seen by witness, was entirely separated fromthe body, and was also greatly shattered. The throat hadevidently been cut with some very sharp instrument—probablywith a razor.

"Alexandre Etienne, surgeon, was called with M. Dumasto view the bodies. Corroborated the testimony, and theopinions of M. Dumas.

"Nothing further of importance was elicited, althoughseveral other persons were examined. A murder so mysterious,and so perplexing in all its particulars, was never beforecommitted in Paris—if indeed a murder has been committed atall. The police are entirely at fault—an unusual occurrencein affairs of this nature. There is not, however, the shadowof a clue apparent."

The evening edition of the paper stated that the greatestexcitement still continued in the Quartier St. Roch—that thepremises in question had been carefully researched, and freshexaminations of witnesses instituted, but all to no purpose.A postscript, however, mentioned that Adolphe Le Bon hadbeen arrested and imprisoned—although nothing appeared tocriminate him beyond the facts already detailed.

Dupin seemed singularly interested in the progress of thisaffair—at least so I judged from his manner, for he made nocomments. It was only after the announcement that Le Bonhad been imprisoned, that he asked me my opinion respectingthe murders.

I could merely agree with all Paris in considering theman insoluble mystery. I saw no means by which it would bepossible to trace the murderer.

"We must not judge of the means," said Dupin, "by thisshell of an examination. The Parisian police, so much extolledfor acumen, are cunning, but no more. There is no methodin their proceedings, beyond the method of the moment.They make a vast parade of measures; but, not infrequently,these are so ill-adapted to the objects proposed, as to put usin mind of Monsieur Jourdain's calling for his robe-de-chambre—pourmieux entendre la musique. The results attained bythem are not infrequently surprising, but, for the most part,are brought about by simple diligence and activity. Whenthese qualities are unavailing, their schemes fail. Vidocq, forexample, was a good guesser, and a persevering man. But,without educated thought, he erred continually by the veryintensity at his investigations. He impaired his vision byholding the object too close. He might see, perhaps, one ortwo points with unusual clearness, but in so doing he, necessarily,lost sight of the matter as a whole. Thus there is sucha thing as being too profound. Truth is not always in a well.In fact, as regards the more important knowledge, I dobelieve that she is invariably superficial. The depth lies in thevalleys where we seek her, and not upon the mountain-topswhere she is found. The modes and sources of this kind oferror are well typified in the contemplation of the heavenlybodies. To look at a star by glances—to view it in a sidelongway, by turning toward it the exterior portions of the retina(more susceptible of feeble impressions of light than theinterior), is to behold the star distinctly—is to have the bestappreciation of its lustre—a lustre which grows dim just inproportion as we turn our vision fully upon it. A greaternumber of rays actually fall upon the eye in the latter case,but in the former, there is the more refined capacity forcomprehension. By undue profundity we perplex and enfeeblethought; and it is possible to make even Venus herself vanishfrom the firmament by a scrutiny too sustained, tooconcentrated, or too direct.

"As for these murders, let us enter into some examinationsfor ourselves, before we make up an opinion respecting them.An inquiry will afford us amusement" [I thought this an oddterm, so applied, but said nothing], "and besides, Le Bononce rendered me a service for which I am not ungrateful.We will go and see the premises with our own eyes. I knowG——, the Prefect of Police, and shall have no difficulty inobtaining the necessary permission."

The permission was obtained, and we proceeded at once tothe Rue Morgue. This is one of those miserable thoroughfareswhich intervene between the Rue Richelieu and the RueSt. Roch. It was late in the afternoon when we reached it,as this quarter is at a great distance from that in which weresided. The house was readily found; for there were stillmany persons gazing up at the closed shutters, with anobjectless curiosity, from the opposite side of the way. It wasan ordinary Parisian house, with a gateway, on one sideof which was a glazed watch-box, with a sliding panel in thewindow, indicating a loge de concierge. Before going in wewalked up the street, turned down an alley, and then, againturning, passed in the rear of the building—Dupin,meanwhile, examining the whole neighborhood, as well as thehouse, with a minuteness of attention for which I could seeno possible object.

Retracing our steps we came again to the front of the dwelling,rang, and, having shown our credentials, were admittedby the agents in charge. We went upstairs—into thechamber where the body of Mademoiselle L'Espanaye had beenfound, and where both the deceased still lay. The disordersof the room had, as usual, been suffered to exist. I sawnothing beyond what had been stated in the "Gazette desTribunaux." Dupin scrutinized everything—not excepting thebodies of the victims. We then went into the other rooms,and into the yard; a gendarme accompanying us throughout.The examination occupied us until dark, when we took ourdeparture. On our way home my companion stepped in for amoment at the office of one of the daily papers.

I have said that the whims of my friend were manifold,and that Je les menagais:—for this phrase there is no Englishequivalent. It was his humor, now, to decline all conversationon the subject of the murder, until about noon the nextday. He then asked me, suddenly, if I had observed anythingpeculiar at the scene of the atrocity.

There was something in his manner of emphasizing theword "peculiar," which caused me to shudder, withoutknowing why.

"No, nothing peculiar," I said; "nothing more, at least,than we both saw stated in the paper."

"The 'Gazette'," he replied, "has not entered, I fear, intothe unusual horror of the thing. But dismiss the idle opinionsof this print. It appears to me that this mystery isconsidered insoluble, for the very reason which should cause itto be regarded as easy of solution—I mean for the outrecharacter of its features. The police are confounded by theseeming absence of motive—not for the murder itself—butfor the atrocity of the murder. They are puzzled, too, bythe seeming impossibility of reconciling the voices heard incontention, with the facts that no one was discoveredupstairs but the assassinated Mademoiselle L'Espanaye, andthat there were no means of egress without the notice of theparty ascending. The wild disorder of the room; the corpsethrust, with the head downward, up the chimney; the frightfulmutilation of the body of the old lady; these considerations,with those just mentioned, and others which I need notmention, have sufficed to paralyze the powers, by puttingcompletely at fault the boasted acumen, of the government agents.They have fallen into the gross but common error ofconfounding the unusual with the abstruse. But it is by thesedeviations from the plane of the ordinary, that reason feelsits way, if at all, in its search for the true. In investigationssuch as we are now pursuing, it should not be so much asked'what has occurred?' as 'what has occurred that has neveroccurred before?' In fact, the facility with which I shallarrive, or have arrived, at the solution of this mystery, is inthe direct ratio of its apparent insolubility in the eyes of thepolice."

I stared at the speaker in mute astonishment.

"I am now awaiting," continued he, looking toward thedoor of our apartment—"I am now awaiting a person who,although perhaps not the perpetrator of these butcheries,must have been in some measure implicated in their perpetration.Of the worst portion of the crimes committed, it isprobable that he is innocent. I hope that I am right in thissupposition; for upon it I build my expectation of reading theentire riddle. I look for the man here—in this room—everymoment. It is true that he may not arrive; but the probabilityis that he will. Should he come, it will be necessaryto detain him. Here are pistols; and we both know howto use them when occasion demands their use."

I took the pistols, scarcely knowing what I did, or believingwhat I heard, while Dupin went on, very much as if in asoliloquy. I have already spoken of his abstract manner atsuch times. His discourse was addressed to myself; buthis voice, although by no means loud, had that intonationwhich is commonly employed in speaking to some one at agreat distance. His eyes, vacant in expression, regarded onlythe wall.

"That the voices heard in contention," he said, "by theparty upon the stairs, were not the voices of the womenthemselves, was fully proved by the evidence. This relieves usof all doubt upon the question whether the old lady couldhave first destroyed the daughter, and afterward havecommitted suicide. I speak of this point chiefly for the sake ofmethod; for the strength of Madame L'Espanaye would havebeen utterly unequal to the task of thrusting her daughter'scorpse up the chimney as it was found; and the nature of thewounds upon her own person entirely precludes the idea ofself-destruction. Murder, then, has been committed by somethird party; and the voices of this third party were thoseheard in contention. Let me now advert—not to the wholetestimony respecting these voices—but to what was peculiarin that testimony. Did you observe anything peculiarabout it?"

I remarked that, while all the witnesses agreed in supposingthe gruff voice to be that of a Frenchman, there wasmuch disagreement in regard to the shrill, or, as oneindividual termed it, the harsh voice.

"That was the evidence itself," said Dupin, "but it was notthe peculiarity of the evidence. You have observed nothingdistinctive. Yet there was something to be observed. Thewitnesses, as you remark, agreed about the gruff voice; theywere here unanimous. But in regard to the shrill voice, thepeculiarity is—not that they disagreed—but that, while anItalian, an Englishman, a Spaniard, a Hollander, and aFrenchman attempted to describe it, each one spoke of itas that of a foreigner. Each is sure that it was not the voiceof one of his own countrymen. Each likens it—not to thevoice of an individual of any nation with whose languagehe is conversant—but the converse. The Frenchman supposesit the voice of a Spaniard, and 'might have distinguishedsome words had he been acquainted with the Spanish.' TheDutchman maintains it to have been that of a Frenchman;but we find it stated that 'not understanding French thiswitness was examined through an interpreter.' The Englishmanthinks it the voice of a German, and 'does not understandGerman.' The Spaniard 'is sure' that it was that of an Englishman,but 'judges by the intonation' altogether, 'as he has noknowledge of the English.' The Italian believes it the voiceof a Russian, but 'has never conversed with a native ofRussia.' A second Frenchman differs, moreover, with the first,and is positive that the voice was that of an Italian; but, notbeing cognizant of that tongue, is, like the Spaniard,'convinced by the intonation.' Now, how strangely unusual mustthat voice have really been, about which such testimony asthis could have been elicited!—in whose tones, even, denizensof the five great divisions of Europe could recognize nothingfamiliar! You will say that it might have been the voiceof an Asiatic—of an African. Neither Asiatics nor Africansabound in Paris; but, without denying the inference, I willnow merely call your attention to three points. The voiceis termed by one witness 'harsh rather than shrill.' It isrepresented by two others to have been 'quick and unequal.' Nowords—no sounds resembling words—were by any witnessmentioned as distinguishable.

"I know not," continued Dupin, "what impression I mayhave made, so far, upon your own understanding; but I donot hesitate to say that legitimate deductions even from thisportion of the testimony—the portion respecting the gruffand shrill voices—are in themselves sufficient to engender asuspicion which should give direction to all further progressin the investigation of the mystery. I said 'legitimatedeductions'; but my meaning is not thus fully expressed. Idesigned to imply that the deductions are the sole proper ones,and that the suspicion arises inevitably from them as thesingle result. What the suspicion is, however, I will not sayjust yet. I merely wish you to bear in mind that, with myself,it was sufficiently forcible to give a definite form—a certaintendency—to my inquiries in the chamber.

"Let us now transport ourselves, in fancy, to this chamber.What shall we first seek here? The means of egressemployed by the murderers. It is not too much to say thatneither of us believes in preternatural events. Madame andMademoiselle L'Espanaye were not destroyed by spirits.The doers of the deed were material and escaped materially.Then how? Fortunately there is but one mode of reasoningupon the point, and that mode must lead us to a definitedecision. Let us examine, each by each, the possible meansof egress. It is clear that the assassins were in the roomwhere Mademoiselle L'Espanaye was found, or at least inthe room adjoining, when the party ascended the stairs. Itis, then, only from these two apartments that we have toseek issues. The police have laid bare the floors, the ceiling,and the masonry of the walls, in every direction. No secretissues could have escaped their vigilance. But, not trustingto their eyes, I examined with my own. There were, then,no secret issues. Both doors leading from the rooms intothe passage were securely locked, with the keys inside. Letus turn to the chimneys. These, although of ordinary widthfor some eight or ten feet above the hearths, will not admit,throughout their extent, the body of a large cat. Theimpossibility of egress, by means already stated, being thusabsolute, we are reduced to the windows. Through thoseof the front room no one could have escaped without noticefrom the crowd in the street. The murderers must havepassed, then, through those of the back room. Now, broughtto this conclusion in so unequivocal a manner as we are, itis not our part, as reasoners, to reject it on account ofapparent impossibilities. It is only left for us to prove thatthese apparent 'impossibilities' are, in reality, not such.

"There are two windows in the chamber. One of themis unobstructed by furniture, and is wholly visible. Thelower portion of the other is hidden from view by the headof the unwieldy bedstead which is thrust close up against it.The former was found securely fastened from within. Itresisted the utmost force of those who endeavored to raiseit. A large gimlet-hole had been pierced in its frame to theleft, and a very stout nail was found fitted therein, nearlyto the head. Upon examining the other window, a similarnail was seen similarly fitted in it; and a vigorous attemptto raise this sash failed also. The police were now entirelysatisfied that egress had not been in these directions. And,therefore, it was thought a matter of supererogation towithdraw the nails and open the windows.

"My own examination was somewhat more particular,and was so for the reason I have just given—because hereit was, I knew, that all apparent impossibilities must beproved to be not such in reality.

"I proceeded to think thus—a posteriori. The murderersdid escape from one of these windows. This being so, theycould not have refastened the sashes from the inside, as theywere found fastened;—the consideration which put a stop,through its obviousness, to the scrutiny of the police in thisquarter. Yet the sashes were fastened. They must, then,have the power of fastening themselves. There was noescape from this conclusion. I stepped to the unobstructedcasement, withdrew the nail with some difficulty, andattempted to raise the sash. It resisted all my efforts, as Ihad anticipated. A concealed spring must, I now knew,exist; and this corroboration of my idea convinced me thatmy premises, at least, were correct, however mysterious stillappeared the circumstances attending the nails. A carefulsearch soon brought to light the hidden spring. I pressedit, and, satisfied with the discovery, forbore to upraise thesash.

"I now replaced the nail and regarded it attentively. Aperson passing out through this window might have reclosedit, and the spring would have caught—but the nail couldnot have been replaced. The conclusion was plain, andagain narrowed in the field of my investigations. Theassassins must have escaped through the other window.Supposing, then, the springs upon each sash to be the same, aswas probable, there must be found a difference between thenails, or at least between the modes of their fixture.Getting upon the sacking of the bedstead, I looked over thehead-board minutely at the second casement. Passing myhand down behind the board, I readily discovered and pressedthe spring, which was, as I had supposed, identical incharacter with its neighbor. I now looked at the nail. It wasas stout as the other, and apparently fitted in the samemanner—driven in nearly up to the head.

"You will say that I was puzzled; but, if you think so,you must have misunderstood the nature of the inductions.To use a sporting phrase, I had not been once 'at fault.' Thescent had never for an instant been lost. There was noflaw in any link of the chain. I had traced the secret to itsultimate result—and that result was the nail. It had, I say,in every respect, the appearance of its fellow in the otherwindow; but this fact was an absolute nullity (conclusiveas it might seem to be) when compared with the considerationthat here, at this point, teminated the clue. 'Theremust be something wrong,' I said, 'about the nail.' I touchedit; and the head, with about a quarter of an inch of theshank, came off in my fingers. The rest of the shank was inthe gimlet-hole, where it had been broken off. The fracturewas an old one (for its edges were incrusted with rust), andhad apparently been accomplished by the blow of a hammer,which had partially embedded, in the top of the bottom sash,the head portion of the nail. I now carefully replaced thishead portion in the indentation whence I had taken it, andthe resemblance to a perfect nail was complete—the fissurewas invisible. Pressing the spring, I gently raised the sashfor a few inches; the head went up with it, remaining firmin its bed. I closed the window, and the semblance of thewhole nail was again perfect.

"This riddle, so far, was now unriddled. The assassinhad escaped through the window which looked upon the bed.Dropping of its own accord upon his exit (or perhaps purposelyclosed), it had become fastened by the spring; and itwas the retention of this spring which had been mistakenby the police for that of the nail—further inquiry being thusconsidered unnecessary.

"The next question is that of the mode of descent. Uponthis point I had been satisfied in my walk with you around thebuilding. About five feet and a half from the casement inquestion there runs a lightning-rod. From this rod it wouldhave been impossible for any one to reach the window itself,to say nothing of entering it. I observed, however, thatthe shutters of the fourth story were of the peculiar kindcalled by Parisian carpenters ferrades—a kind rarelyemployed at the present day, but frequently seen upon veryold mansions at Lyons and Bordeaux. They are in the formof an ordinary door (a single, not a folding door), exceptthat the lower half is latticed or worked in open trellis—thusaffording an excellent hold for the hands. In the presentinstance these shutters are fully three feet and a halfbroad. When we saw them from the rear of the house, theywere both about half open—that is to say, they stood off atright angles from the wall. It is probable that the police,as well as myself, examined the back of the tenement; but,if so, in looking at these ferrades in the line of their breadth(as they must have done), they did not perceive this greatbreadth itself, or, at all events, failed to take it into dueconsideration. In fact, having once satisfied themselves thatno egress could have been made in this quarter, they wouldnaturally bestow here a very cursory examination. It wasclear to me, however, that the shutter belonging to thewindow at the head of the bed would, if swung fully back tothe wall, reach to within two feet of the lightning-rod. Itwas also evident that, by exertion of a very unusual degreeof activity and courage, an entrance into the window, fromthe rod, might have been thus effected. By reaching to thedistance of two feet and a half (we now suppose the shutteropen to its whole extent) a robber might have taken a firmgrasp upon the trellis-work. Letting go, then, his hold uponthe rod, placing his feet securely against the wall, andspringing boldly from it, he might have swung the shutterso as to close it, and, if we imagine the window open atthe time, might even have swung himself into the room.

"I wish you to bear especially in mind that I have spokenof a very unusual degree of activity as requisite to successin so hazardous and so difficult a feat. It is my design toshow you, first, that the thing might possibly have beenaccomplished:—but, secondly and chiefly, I wish to impressupon your understanding the very extraordinary—the almostpreternatural character of that agility which could haveaccomplished it.

"You will say, no doubt, using the language of the law,that 'to make out my case,' I should rather undervalue thaninsist upon a full estimation of the activity required in thismatter. This may be the practise in law, but it is not theusage of reason. My ultimate object is only the truth. Myimmediate purpose is to lead you to place in juxtaposition,that very unusual activity of which I have just spoken, withthat very peculiar shrill (or harsh) and unequal voice, aboutwhose nationality no two persons could be found to agree,and in whose utterance no syllabification could be detected."

At these words a vague and half-formed conception ofthe meaning of Dupin flitted over my mind. I seemed tobe upon the verge of comprehension, without power tocomprehend—as men, at times, find themselves upon the brinkof remembrance, without being able, in the end, to remember.My friend went on with his discourse.

"You will see," he said, "that I have shifted the questionfrom the mode of egress to that of ingress. It was mydesign to convey the idea that both were effected in thesame manner, at the same point. Let us now revert to theinterior of the room. Let us survey the appearances here.The drawers of the bureau, it is said, had been rifled,although many articles of apparel still remained within them.The conclusion here is absurd. It is a mere guess—a verysilly one—and no more. How are we to know that thearticles found in the drawers were not all these drawershad originally contained? Madame L'Espanaye and herdaughter lived an exceedingly retired life—saw nocompany—seldom went out—had little use for numerous changes ofhabiliment. Those found were at least of as good qualityas any likely to be possessed by these ladies. If a thief hadtaken any, why did he not take the best—why did he nottake all? In a word, why did he abandon four thousandfrancs in gold to encumber himself with a bundle of linen?The gold was abandoned. Nearly the whole sum mentionedby Monsieur Mignaud, the banker, was discovered, in bags,upon the floor. I wish you, therefore, to discard from yourthoughts the blundering idea of motive, engendered in thebrains of the police by that portion of the evidence whichspeaks of money delivered at the door of the house.Coincidences ten times as remarkable as this (the delivery of themoney, and murder committed within three days upon theparty receiving it), happen to all of us every hour of ourlives, without attracting even momentary notice. Coincidences,in general, are great stumbling-blocks in the wayof that class of thinkers who have been educated to knownothing of the theory of probabilities—that theory to whichthe most glorious objects of human research are indebtedfor the most glorious of illustration. In the present instance,had the gold been gone, the fact of its delivery three daysbefore would have formed something more than a coincidence.It would have been corroborative of this idea ofmotive. But, under the real circumstances of the case, ifwe are to suppose gold the motive of this outrage, we mustalso imagine the perpetrator so vacillating an idiot as tohave abandoned his gold and his motive together.

"Keeping now steadily in mind the points to which Ihave drawn your attention—that peculiar voice, that unusualagility, and that startling absence of motive in a murderso singularly atrocious as this—let us glance at the butcheryitself. Here is a woman strangled to death by manualstrength, and thrust up a chimney head downward.Ordinary assassins employ no such mode of murder as this.Least of all do they thus dispose of the murdered. In themanner of thrusting the corpse up the chimney, you willadmit that there was something excessively outre—somethingaltogether irreconcilable with our common notions ofhuman action, even when we suppose the actors the mostdepraved of men. Think, too, how great must have beenthat strength which could have thrust the body up suchan aperture so forcibly that the united vigor of severalpersons was found barely sufficient to drag it down!

"Turn, now, to other indications of the employment of avigor most marvelous. On the hearth were thick tresses—verythick tresses—of gray human hair. These had beentorn out by the roots. You are aware of the great forcenecessary in tearing thus from the head even twenty orthirty hairs together. You saw the locks in question as wellas myself. Their roots (a hideous sight!) were clottedwith fragments of the flesh of the scalp—sure token of theprodigious power which had been exerted in uprooting perhapshalf a million of hairs at a time. The throat of theold lady was not merely cut, but the head absolutelysevered from the body: the instrument was a mere razor. Iwish you also to look at the brutal ferocity of these deeds.Of the bruises upon the body of Madame L'Espanaye Ido not speak. Monsieur Dumas, and his worthy coadjutorMonsieur Etienne, have pronounced that they were inflictedby some obtuse instrument; and so far these gentlemen arevery correct. The obtuse instrument was clearly the stonepavement in the yard, upon which the victim had fallenfrom the window which looked in upon the bed. This idea,however simple it may now seem, escaped the police forthe same reason that the breadth of the shutters escapedthem—because, by the affair of the nails, their perceptionshad been hermetically sealed against the possibility of thewindows having ever been opened at all.

"If now, in addition to all these things, you have properlyreflected upon the odd disorder of the chamber, we havegone so far as to combine the ideas of an agility astounding,a strength superhuman, a ferocity brutal, a butcherywithout motive, a grotesquerie in horror absolutely alienfrom humanity, and a voice foreign in tone to the ears ofmen of many nations, and devoid of all distinct or intelligiblesyllabification. What result, then, has ensued? Whatimpression have I made upon your fancy?"

I felt a creeping of the flesh as Dupin asked me thequestion. "A madman," I said, "has done this deed—someraving maniac, escaped from a neighboring Maison deSanté."

"In some respects," he replied, "your idea is notirrelevant. But the voices of madmen, even in their wildestparoxysms, are never found to tally with that peculiar voiceheard upon the stairs. Madmen are of some nation, andtheir language, however incoherent in its words, has alwaysthe coherence of syllabification. Besides, the hair of amadman is not such as I now hold in my hand. I disentangledthis little tuft from the rigidly clutched fingers of MadameL'Espanaye. Tell me what you can make of it."

"Dupin!" I said, completely unnerved; "this hair is mostunusual—this is no human hair."

"I have not asserted that it is," said he; "but, before wedecide this point, I wish you to glance at the little sketchI have here traced upon this paper. It is a facsimile drawingof what has been described in one portion of the testimonyas 'dark bruises and deep indentations of finger nails'upon the throat of Mademoiselle L'Espanaye, and in another(by Messrs. Dumas and Etienne) as a 'series of lividspots, evidently the impression of fingers.'

"You will perceive," continued my friend, spreading outthe paper upon the table before us, "that this drawing givesthe idea of a firm and fixed hold. There is no slippingapparent. Each finger has retained—possibly until the deathof the victim—the fearful grasp by which it originallyembedded itself. Attempt, now, to place all your fingers, atthe same time, in the respective impressions as you seethem."

I made the attempt in vain.

"We are possibly not giving this matter a fair trial,"he said. "The paper is spread out upon a plane surface;but the human throat is cylindrical. Here is a billet ofwood, the circumference of which is about that of thethroat. Wrap the drawing around it, and try the experimentagain."

I did so; but the difficulty was even more obvious thanbefore. "This," I said, "is the mark of no human hand."

"Read now," replied Dupin, "this passage from Cuvier."

It was a minute anatomical and generally descriptiveaccount of the large fulvous Orang-Outang of the EastIndian Islands. The gigantic stature, the prodigious strengthand activity, the wild ferocity, and the imitative propensitiesof these mammalia are sufficiently well known to all.I understood the full horrors of the murder at once.

"The description of the digits," said I, as I made an endof the reading, "is in exact accordance with his drawing.I see that no animal but an Orang-Outang, of the specieshere mentioned, could have impressed the indentations asyou have traced them. This tuft of tawny hair, too, isidentical in character with that of the beast of Cuvier. ButI cannot possibly comprehend the particulars of this frightfulmystery. Besides, there were two voices heard in contention,and one of them was unquestionably the voice of aFrenchman."

"True; and you will remember an expression attributedalmost unanimously, by the evidence, to this voice—theexpression, 'mon Dieu!' This, under the circumstances, hasbeen justly characterized by one of the witnesses (Montani,the confectioner) as an expression of remonstrance orexpostulation. Upon these two words, therefore, I have mainlybuilt my hopes of a full solution of the riddle. A Frenchmanwas cognizant of the murder. It is possible—indeedit is far more than probable—that he was innocent of allparticipation in the bloody transactions which took place.The Orang-Outang may have escaped from him. He mayhave traced it to the chamber; but, under the agitatingcircumstances which ensued, he could never have recapturedit. It is still at large. I will not pursue these guesses—forI have no right to call them more—since the shades ofreflection upon which they are based are scarcely ofsufficient depth to be appreciable by my own intellect, andsince I could not pretend to make them intelligible to theunderstanding of another. We will call them guesses, then,and speak of them as such. If the Frenchman in questionis indeed, as I suppose, innocent of this atrocity, thisadvertisement, which I left last night, upon our return home, atthe office of 'Le Monde' (a paper devoted to the shippinginterest, and much sought by sailors), will bring him toour residence."

He handed me a paper, and I read thus:

"CAUGHT—In the Bois de Boulogne, early in the morning ofthe —— inst. (the morning of the murder), a very large, tawnyOrang-Outang of the Bornese species. The owner (who is ascertainedto be a sailor, belonging to a Maltese vessel) may have theanimal again, upon identifying it satisfactorily, and paying afew charges arising from its capture and keeping. Call atNo. —— Rue ——, Faubourg St. Germain—au troisieme."

"How was it possible," I asked, "that you should knowthe man to be a sailor, and belonging to a Maltese vessel?"

"I do not know it," said Dupin. "I am not sure of it.Here, however, is a small piece of ribbon, which from itsform, and from its greasy appearance, has evidently beenused in tying the hair in one of those long queues of whichsailors are so fond. Moreover, this knot is one which fewbesides sailors can tie, and it is peculiar to the Maltese.I picked the ribbon up at the foot of the lightning-rod. Itcould not have belonged to either of the deceased. Nowif, after all, I am wrong in my induction from this ribbon,that the Frenchman was a sailor belonging to a Maltesevessel, still I can have done no harm in saying what I didin the advertisement. If I am in error, he will merelysuppose that I have been misled by some circumstance intowhich he will not take the trouble to inquire. But if I amright, a great point is gained. Cognizant although innocentof the murder, the Frenchman will naturally hesitate aboutreplying to the advertisement—about demanding theOrang-Outang. He will reason thus:—'I am innocent; I am poor;my Orang-Outang is of great value—to one in my circumstancesa fortune of itself—why should I lose it throughidle apprehensions of danger? Here it is, within my grasp.It was found in the Bois de Boulogne—at a vast distancefrom the scene of that butchery. How can it ever besuspected that a brute beast should have done the deed? Thepolice are at fault—they have failed to procure the slightestclue. Should they even trace the animal, it would beimpossible to prove me cognizant of the murder, or toimplicate me in guilt on account of that cognizance. Aboveall, I am known. The advertiser designates me as thepossessor of the beast. I am not sure to what limit hisknowledge may extend. Should I avoid claiming a property ofso great value, which it is known that I possess, it willrender the animal at least liable to suspicion. It is not mypolicy to attract attention either to myself or to the beast.I will answer the advertisement, get the Orang-Outang, andkeep it close until this matter has blown over."

At this moment we heard a step upon the stairs.

"Be ready," said Dupin, "with your pistols, but neitheruse them nor show them until at a signal from myself."

The front door of the house had been left open, and thevisitor had entered, without ringing, and advanced severalsteps upon the staircase. Now, however, he seemed tohesitate. Presently we heard him descending. Dupin wasmoving quickly to the door, when we again heard him comingup. He did not turn back a second time, but steppedup with decision, and rapped at the door of our chamber.

"Come in," said Dupin, in a cheerful and hearty tone.

A man entered. He was a sailor, evidently—a tall, stout,and muscular-looking person, with a certain dare-devilexpression of countenance, not altogether unprepossessing.His face, greatly sunburned, was more than half-hidden bywhisker and mustachio. He had with him a huge oakencudgel, but appeared to be otherwise unarmed. He bowedawkwardly, and bade us "good-evening," in French accents,which, although somewhat Neufchatelish, were stillsufficiently indicative of a Parisian origin.

"Sit down, my friend," said Dupin. "I suppose you havecalled about the Orang-Outang. Upon my word, I almostenvy you the possession of him; a remarkably fine, and nodoubt a very valuable animal. How old do you supposehim to be?"

The sailor drew a long breath, with the air of a manrelieved of some intolerable burden, and then replied, in anassured tone:

"I have no way of telling—but he can't be more than fouror five years old. Have you got him here?"

"Oh, no; we had no conveniences for keeping him here.He is at a livery stable in the Rue Dubourg, just by. Youcan get him in the morning. Of course you are preparedto identify the property?"

"To be sure I am, sir."

"I shall be sorry to part with him," said Dupin.

"I don't mean that you should be at all this trouble fornothing, sir," said the man. "Couldn't expect it. Am verywilling to pay a reward for the finding of the animal—thatis to say, anything in reason."

"Well," replied my friend, "that is all very fair, to besure. Let me think!—what should I have? Oh! I will tellyou. My reward shall be this. You shall give me all theinformation in your power about these murders in the RueMorgue."

Dupin said the last words in a very low tone, and veryquietly. Just as quietly, too, he walked toward the door,locked it, and put the key in his pocket. He then drew apistol from his bosom and placed it, without the least flurry,upon the table.

The sailor's face flushed up as if he were struggling withsuffocation. He started to his feet and grasped his cudgel;but the next moment he fell back into his seat, tremblingviolently, and with the countenance of death itself. Hespoke not a word. I pitied him from the bottom of my heart.

"My friend," said Dupin, in a kind tone, "you are alarmingyourself unnecessarily—you are, indeed. We mean you noharm whatever. I pledge you the honor of a gentleman, andof a Frenchman, that we intend you no injury. I perfectlywell know that you are innocent of the atrocities in the RueMorgue. It will not do, however, to deny that you are insome measure implicated in them. From what I have alreadysaid, you must know that I have had means of informationabout this matter—means of which you could never havedreamed. Now, the thing stands thus. You have done nothingwhich you could have avoided—nothing, certainly, whichrenders you culpable. You were not even guilty of robbery,when you might have robbed with impunity. You have nothingto conceal. You have no reason for concealment. On theother hand, you are bound by every principle of honor toconfess all you know. An innocent man is now imprisoned,charged with that crime of which you can point out theperpetrator."

The sailor had recovered his presence of mind, in a greatmeasure, while Dupin uttered these words; but his originalboldness of bearing was all gone.

"So help me God!" said he, after a brief pause, "I will tellyou all I know about this affair;—but I do not expect you tobelieve one-half I say—I would be a fool indeed if I did.Still, I am innocent, and I will make a clean breast if Idie for it."

What he stated was, in substance, this. He had latelymade a voyage to the Indian Archipelago. A party, of whichhe formed one, landed at Borneo, and passed into the interioron an excursion of pleasure. Himself and a companion hadcaptured the Orang-Outang. This companion dying, theanimal fell into his own exclusive possession. After a greattrouble, occasioned by the intractable ferocity of his captiveduring the home voyage, he at length succeeded in lodgingit safely at his own residence in Paris, where, not to attracttoward himself the unpleasant curiosity of his neighbors, hekept it carefully secluded, until such time as it should recoverfrom a wound in the foot, received from a splinter on boardship. His ultimate design was to sell it.

Returning home from some sailor's frolic on the night, orrather in the morning, of the murder, he found the beastoccupying his own bedroom, into which it had broken from acloset adjoining, where it had been, as was thought, securelyconfined. Razor in hand, and fully lathered, it was sittingbefore a looking-glass, attempting the operation of shaving,in which it had no doubt previously watched its masterthrough the keyhole of the closet. Terrified at the sight of sodangerous a weapon in the possession of an animal so ferocious,and so well able to use it, the man, for some moments,was at a loss what to do. He had been accustomed, however,to quiet the creature, even in its fiercest moods, by the useof a whip, and to this he now resorted. Upon sight of it,the Orang-Outang sprang at once through the door of thechamber, down the stairs, and thence, through a window,unfortunately open, into the street.

The Frenchman followed in despair; the ape, razor stillin hand, occasionally stopping to look back and gesticulate athis pursuer, until the latter had nearly come up with it. Itthen again made off. In this manner the chase continued fora long time. The streets were profoundly quiet, as it wasnearly three o'clock in the morning. In passing down analley in the rear of the Rue Morgue, the fugitive's attentionwas arrested by a light gleaming from the open window ofMadame L'Espanaye's chamber, in the fourth story of herhouse. Rushing to the building, it perceived the lightning-rod,clambered up with inconceivable agility, grasped theshutter, which was thrown fully back against the wall, and,by its means, swung itself directly upon the headboard of thebed. The whole feat did not occupy a minute. The shutterwas kicked open again by the Orang-Outang as it enteredthe room.

The sailor, in the meantime, was both rejoiced and perplexed.He had strong hopes of now recapturing the brute,as it could scarcely escape from the trap into which it hadventured, except by the rod, where it might be intercepted asit came down. On the other hand, there was much cause foranxiety as to what it might do in the house. This latterreflection urged the man still to follow the fugitive. Alightning-rod is ascended without difficulty, especially by a sailor;but, when he had arrived as high as the window, which layfar to his left, his career was stopped; the most that he couldaccomplish was to reach over so as to obtain a glimpse of theinterior of the room. At this glimpse he nearly fell from hishold through excess of horror. Now it was that thosehideous shrieks arose upon the night, which had startled fromslumber the inmates of the Rue Morgue. Madame L'Espanayeand her daughter, habited in their night clothes, hadapparently been occupied in arranging some papers in theiron chest already mentioned, which had been wheeled intothe middle of the room. It was open, and its contents laybeside it on the floor. The victims must have been sittingwith their backs toward the window; and, from the timeelapsing between the ingress of the beast and the screams, itseems probable that it was not immediately perceived. Theflapping to of the shutter would naturally have been attributedto the wind.

As the sailor looked in, the gigantic animal had seizedMadame L'Espanaye by the hair (which was loose, as shehad been combing it), and was flourishing the razor abouther face, in imitation of the motions of a barber. Thedaughter lay prostrate and motionless; she had swooned. Thescreams and struggles of the old lady (during which the hairwas torn from her head) had the effect of changing theprobably pacific purposes of the Orang-Outang into those of wrath.With one determined sweep of its muscular arm it nearlysevered her head from her body. The sight of blood inflamedits anger into frenzy. Gnashing its teeth, and flashing firefrom its eyes, it flew upon the body of the girl and imbeddedits fearful talons in her throat, retaining its grasp until sheexpired. Its wandering and wild glances fell at this momentupon the head of the bed, over which the face of its master,rigid with horror, was just discernible. The fury of the beast,who no doubt bore still in mind the dreaded whip, wasinstantly converted into fear. Conscious of having deservedpunishment, it seemed desirous of concealing its bloody deeds,and skipped about the chamber in an agony of nervousagitation; throwing down and breaking the furniture as it moved,and dragging the bed from the bedstead. In conclusion, itseized first the corpse of the daughter, and thrust it up thechimney, as it was found; then that of the old lady, which itimmediately hurled through the window headlong.

As the ape approached the casement with its mutilatedburden, the sailor shrank aghast to the rod, and, rathergliding than clambering down it, hurried at once home—dreadingthe consequences of the butchery, and gladly abandoning, inhis terror, all solicitude about the fate of the Orang-Outang.The words heard by the party upon the staircase were theFrenchman's exclamations of horror and affright, commingledwith the fiendish jabberings of the brute.

I have scarcely anything to add. The Orang-Outang musthave escaped from the chamber, by the rod, just before thebreaking of the door. It must have closed the window as itpassed through it. It was subsequently caught by the ownerhimself, who obtained for it a very large sum at the Jardindes Plantes. Le Bon was instantly released, upon ournarration of the circumstances (with some comments from Dupin)at the bureau of the Prefect of Police. This functionary,however well disposed to my friend, could not altogetherconceal his chagrin at the turn which affairs had taken, and wasfain to indulge in a sarcasm or two about the propriety ofevery person minding his own business.

"Let him talk," said Dupin, who had not thought it necessaryto reply. "Let him discourse; it will ease his conscience.I am satisfied with having defeated him in his own castle.Nevertheless, that he failed in the solution of this mystery,is by no means that matter for wonder which he supposes it;for, in truth, our friend the Prefect is somewhat toocunning to be profound. In his wisdom is no stamen. It is allhead and no body, like the pictures of the Goddess Laverna—or,at best, all head and shoulders, like a codfish. But he isa good creature after all. I like him especially for one masterstroke of cant, by which he has attained his reputation foringenuity; I mean the way he has 'de nier ce qui est, etd'expliquer ce qui n'est pas.'"*

* Rousseau—Nouvelle Heloise.

THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

This is quite properly designated, in thesub-title, as a sequel to the story thatprecedes it, though, as M. Dupin himself pointsout, the case presented is a far more intricate one.

Explanations as to the origin of the storyare omitted from this note, as they alreadyappear with sufficient completeness in thefoot-notes which accompany the opening ofthe story.

THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET[1]

A SEQUEL TO "THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE"

By EDGAR ALLAN POE

[1] Upon the original publication of "Marie Roget,"the footnotes nowappended were considered unnecessary;but the lapse of several years sincethe tragedy upon which the tale is based,renders it expedient to give them,and also to say a few words in explanationof the general design. A younggirl, Mary Cecilia Rogers, was murderedin the vicinity of New York; andalthough her death occasioned an intenseand long-enduring excitement, themystery attending it had remained unsolvedat the period when the presentpaper was written and published(November, 1842). Herein, under pretenseof relating the fate of a Parisian grisette,the author has followed, in minutedetail, the essential, while merelyparalleling the inessential facts of the realmurder of Mary Rogers. Thus all argumentfounded upon the fiction isapplicable to the truth: and the investigationof the truth was the object.

The "Mystery of Marie Roget" was composedat a distance from the sceneof the atrocity, and with no other meansof investigation than the newspapersafforded. Thus much escaped the writerof which he could have availedhimself had he been upon the spotand visited the localities. It may not beimproper to record, nevertheless,that the confessions of two persons (one ofthem the Madame Deluc of the narrative),made at different periods, longsubsequent to the publication, confirmed,in full, not only the general conclusion,but absolutely all the chief hypotheticaldetails by which that conclusion wasattained.

Es giebt eine Reihe idealischer Begebenheiten,die der Wirklichkeit parallellauft. Selten fallen sie zusammen.Menschen und zufalle modificirengewohnlich die idealische Begebenheit,so dass sie unvollkommen erscheint,und ihre Folgen gleichfalls unvollkommen sind.So bei der Reformation;statt des Protestantismus kam das Lutherthum hervor.

There are ideal series of events which run parallelwith the real ones. Theyrarely coincide. Men and circumstancesgenerally modify the ideal trainof events, so that it seems imperfect,and its consequences are equallyimperfect. Thus with the Reformation;instead of Protestantism cameLutheranism.—Novalis.[2] "Moral Ansichten."

[2] The nom de plume of Von Hardenburg.

There are few persons, even among the calmestthinkers who have not occasionally been startledinto a vague yet thrilling half-credence in thesupernatural, by coincidences of so seemingly marvelousa character that, as mere coincidences, the intellecthas been unable to receive them. Such sentiments—for thehalf-credences of which I speak have never the full force ofthought—such sentiments are seldom thoroughly stifledunless by reference to the doctrine of chance, or, as it istechnically termed, the Calculus of Probabilities. Now, thisCalculus is, in its essence, purely mathematical; and thus wehave the anomaly of the most rigidly exact in science appliedto the shadow and spirituality of the most intangible inspeculation.

The extraordinary details which I am now called upon tomake public, will be found to form, as regards sequence oftime, the primary branch of a series of scarcely intelligiblecoincidences, whose secondary or concluding branch will berecognized by all readers in the late murder of Marie CeciliaRogers, at New York.

When, in an article entitled "The Murders in the RueMorgue," I endeavored, about a year ago, to depict somevery remarkable features in the mental character of myfriend, the Chevalier C. Auguste Dupin, it did not occur tome that I should ever resume the subject. This depicting ofcharacter constituted my design; and this design wasthoroughly fulfilled in the wild train of circumstances broughtto instance Dupin's idiosyncrasy. I might have adducedother examples, but I should have proved no more. Lateevents, however, in their surprising development, havestartled me into some further details, which will carry withthem the air of extorted confession. Hearing what I havelately heard, it would be indeed strange should I remain silentin regard to what I both heard and saw so long ago.

Upon the winding up of the tragedy involved in the deathsof Madame L'Espanaye and her daughter, the Chevalier dismissedthe affair at once from his attention, and relapsed intohis old habits of moody reverie. Prone, at all times, toabstraction, I readily fell in with his humor; and continuingto occupy our chambers in the Faubourg Saint Germain, wegave the Future to the winds, and slumbered tranquilly in thePresent, weaving the dull world around us into dreams.

But these dreams were not altogether uninterrupted. Itmay readily be supposed that the part played by my friendin the drama at the Rue Morgue had not failed of itsimpression upon the fancies of the Parisian police. With itsemissaries, the name of Dupin had grown into a householdword. The simple character of those inductions by whichhe had disentangled the mystery never having been explainedeven to the Prefect, or to any other individual than myself,of course it is not surprising that the affair was regarded aslittle less than miraculous, or that the Chevalier's analyticalabilities acquired for him the credit of intuition. Hisfrankness would have led him to disabuse every inquirer of suchprejudice; but his indolent humor forbade all further agitationof a topic whose interest to himself had long ceased. Itthus happened that he found himself the cynosure of thepolitical eyes; and the cases were not few in which attemptwas made to engage his services at the Prefecture. One ofthe most remarkable instances was that of the murder of ayoung girl named Marie Rogêt.

This event occurred about two years after the atrocityin the Rue Morgue. Marie, whose Christian and family namewill at once arrest attention from their resemblance to thoseof the unfortunate "cigar girl," was the only daughter of thewidow Estelle Rogêt. The father had died during the child'sinfancy, and from the period of his death, until withineighteen months before the assassination which forms the subjectof our narrative, the mother and daughter had dwelt togetherin the Rue Pavée Saint Andrée[3]; Madame there keeping apension, assisted by Marie. Affairs went on thus until thelatter had attained her twenty-second year, when her greatbeauty attracted the notice of a perfumer, who occupied oneof the shops in the basement of the Palais Royal, and whosecustom lay chiefly among the desperate adventurers infestingthat neighborhood. Monsieur Le Blanc[4] was not unaware ofthe advantages to be derived from the attendance of the fairMarie in his perfumery; and his liberal proposals wereaccepted eagerly by the girl, although with somewhat more ofhesitation by Madame.

[3] Nassau Street.

[4] Anderson.

The anticipations of the shopkeeper were realized, and hisrooms soon became notorious through the charms ofsprightly grisette. She had been in his employ about a year,when her admirers were thrown into confusion by hersudden disappearance from the shop. Monsieur Le Blanc wasunable to account for her absence, and Madame Rogêt wasdistracted with anxiety and terror. The public papersimmediately took up the theme, and the police were upon the pointof making serious investigations when, one fine morning afterthe lapse of a week, Marie in good health, but with a somewhatsaddened air, made her reappearance at her usual counterin the perfumery. All inquiry, except that of a privatecharacter, was, of course, immediately hushed. Monsieur Le Blancprofessed total ignorance, as before. Marie, with Madame,replied to all questions, that the last week had been spent atthe house of a relation in the country. Thus the affair diedaway, and was generally forgotten; for the girl, ostensiblyto relieve herself from the impertinence of curiosity, soonbade a final adieu to the perfumer, and sought the shelter ofher mother's residence in the Rue Pavée Saint Andrée.

It was about five months after this return home that herfriends were alarmed by her sudden disappearance for thesecond time. Three days elapsed, and nothing was heardof her. On the fourth her corpse was found floating in theSeine,[5] near the shore which is opposite the Quartier of theRue Saint Andrée, and at a point not very far distant fromthe secluded neighborhood of the Barrière du Roule.[6]

[5] The Hudson.

[6] Weehawken.

The atrocity of this murder (for it was at once evidentthat murder had been committed), the youth and beauty ofthe victim and, above all, her previous notoriety, conspiredto produce intense excitement in the minds of the sensitiveParisians. I can call to mind no similar occurrence producingso general and so intense an effect. For several weeks, in thediscussion of this one absorbing theme, even the momentouspolitical topics of the day were forgotten. The Prefect madeunusual exertions; and the powers of the whole Parisianpolice, were, of course, tasked to the utmost extent.

"Upon the first discovery of the corpse, it was not supposedthat the murderer would be able to elude, for more than avery brief period, the inquisition which was immediately seton foot. It was not until the expiration of a week that itwas deemed necessary to offer a reward; and even then thisreward was limited to a thousand francs. In the meantimethe investigation proceeded with vigor, if not always withjudgment, and numerous individuals were examined to nopurpose; while, owing to the continual absence of all clueto the mystery, the popular excitement greatly increased.At the end of the tenth day it was thought advisable todouble the sum originally proposed; and, at length, the secondweek having elapsed without leading to any discoveries, andthe prejudice which always exists in Paris against the policehaving given vent to itself in several serious emeutes, thePrefect took it upon himself to offer the sum of twenty-thousandfrancs "for the conviction of the assassin," or, if morethan one should prove to have been implicated, "for theconviction of any one of the assassins." In the proclamationsetting forth this reward, a full pardon was promised to anyaccomplice who should come forward in evidence against hisfellow; and to the whole was appended, wherever it appeared,the private placard of a committee of citizens, offering tenthousand francs in addition to the amount proposed by thePrefecture. The entire reward thus stood at no less thanthirty thousand francs, which will be regarded as anextraordinary sum when we consider the humble condition of thegirl, and the great frequency, in large cities, of such atrocitiesas the one described.

No one doubted now that the mystery of this murderwould be immediately brought to light. But although, in oneor two instances, arrests were made which promised elucidation,yet nothing was elicited which could implicate the partiessuspected; and they were discharged forthwith. Strangeas it may appear, the third week from the discovery of thebody had passed, and passed without any light being thrownupon the subject, before even a rumor of the events which hadso agitated the public mind reached the ears of Dupin andmyself. Engaged in researches which had absorbed ourwhole attention, it had been nearly a month since either ofus had gone abroad, or received a visitor, or more thanglanced at the leading political articles in one of the dailypapers. The first intelligence of the murder was brought usby G——, in person. He called upon us early in theafternoon of the thirteenth of July, 18—, and remained with usuntil late in the night. He had been piqued by the failureof all his endeavors to ferret out the assassins. Hisreputation—so he said with a peculiarly Parisian air—was at stake.Even his honor was concerned. The eyes of the public wereupon him; and there was really no sacrifice which he wouldnot be willing to make for the development of the mystery.He concluded a somewhat droll speech with a complimentupon what he was pleased to term the tact of Dupin, andmade him a direct and certainly a liberal proposition, theprecise nature of which I do not feel myself at liberty todisclose, but which has no bearing upon the proper subjectof my narrative.

The compliment my friend rebutted as best he could, butthe proposition he accepted at once, although its advantageswere altogether provisional. This point being settled, thePrefect broke forth at once, into explanations of his ownviews, interspersing them with long comments upon theevidence; of which latter we were not yet in possession. Hediscoursed much, and, beyond doubt, learnedly; while Ihazarded an occasional suggestion as the night wore drowsilyaway. Dupin, sitting steadily in his accustomed armchair,was the embodiment of respectful attention. He worespectacles during the whole interview; and an occasional glancebeneath their green glasses sufficed to convince me that heslept not the less soundly, because silently, throughout theseven or eight leaden-footed hours which immediately precededthe departure of the Prefect.

In the morning I procured, at the Prefecture, a full reportof all the evidence elicited, and, at the various newspaperoffices, a copy of every paper in which, from first to last, hadbeen published any decisive information in regard to thissad affair. Freed from all that was positively disproved, thismass of information stood thus:

Marie Rogêt left the residence of her mother, in the RuePavée St. Andrée, about nine o'clock in the morning ofday, June the twenty-second, 18—. In going out, she gavenotice to a Monsieur Jacques St. Eustache,[7] and to him only,of her intention to spend the day with an aunt, who residedin the Rue des Drômes. The Rue des Drômes is a short andnarrow but populous thoroughfare, not far from the banks ofthe river, and at a distance of some two miles, in the mostdirect course possible, from the pension of Madame Rogêt.St. Eustache was the accepted suitor of Marie, and lodged, aswell as took his meals, at the pension. He was to have gonefor his betrothed at dusk, and to have escorted her home.In the afternoon, however, it came on to rain heavily; and,supposing that she would remain all night at her aunt's (asshe had done under similar circumstances before), he didnot think it necessary to keep his promise. As night drew on,Madame Rogêt (who was an infirm old lady, seventy years ofage) was heard to express a fear "that she should never seeMarie again"; but this observation attracted little attentionat the time.

[7] Payne.

On Monday it was ascertained that the girl had not beento the Rue des Drômes; and when the day elapsed withouttidings of her, a tardy search was instituted at several pointsin the city and its environs. It was not, however, until thefourth day from the period of her disappearance thatanything satisfactory was ascertained respecting her. On thisday (Wednesday, the twenty-fifth of June) a MonsieurBeauvais,[8] who, with a friend, had been making inquiries forMarie near the Barrière du Roule, on the shore of the Seinewhich is opposite the Rue Pavée St. Andrée, was informedthat a corpse had just been towed ashore by some fishermen,who had found it floating in the river. Upon seeingthe body, Beauvais, after some hesitation, identified it as thatof the perfumery girl. His friend recognized it morepromptly.

[8] Crommelin.

The face was suffused with dark blood, some of whichissued from the mouth. No foam was seen, as in the caseof the merely drowned. There was no discoloration in thecellular tissue. About the throat were bruises and impressionsof fingers. The arms were bent over on the chest, andwere rigid. The right hand was clenched; the left partiallyopen. On the left wrist were two circular excoriations,apparently the effect of ropes, or of a rope in more than onevolution. A part of the right wrist, also, was much chafed,as well as the back throughout its extent, but moreespecially at the shoulder-blades. In bringing the body to theshore the fishermen had attached to it a rope, but none ofthe excoriations had been effected by this. The flesh of theneck was much swollen. There were no cuts apparent, orbruises which appeared the effect of blows. A piece of lacewas found tied so tightly around the neck as to be hiddenfrom sight; it was completely buried in the flesh, and wasfastened by a knot which lay just under the left ear. Thisalone would have sufficed to produce death. The medicaltestimony spoke confidently of the virtuous character of thedeceased. She had been subjected, it is said, to brutal violence.The corpse was in such condition when found that therecould have been no difficulty in its recognition by friends.

The dress was much torn and otherwise disordered. Inthe outer garment, a slip, about a foot wide, had been tornupward from the bottom hem to the waist, but not torn off.It was wound three times around the waist, and secured bya sort of hitch in the back. The dress immediately beneaththe frock was of fine muslin; and from this a slip eighteeninches wide had been torn entirely out—torn very evenlyand with great care. It was found around her neck, fittingloosely, and secured with a hard knot. Over this muslinslip and the slip of lace the strings of a bonnet wereattached, the bonnet being appended. The knot by which thestrings of the bonnet were fastened was not a lady's, but aslip or sailor's knot.

After the recognition of the corpse, it was not, as usual,taken to the Morgue (this formality being superfluous), buthastily interred not far from the spot at which it was broughtashore. Through the exertions of Beauvais, the matter wasindustriously hushed up, as far as possible; and several dayshad elapsed before any public emotion resulted. A weeklypaper,[9] however, at length took up the theme; the corpsewas disinterred, and a reexamination instituted; but nothingwas elicited beyond what has been already noted. Theclothes, however, were now submitted to the mother andfriends of the deceased, and fully identified as those wornby the girl upon leaving home.

[9] The New York "Mercury."

Meantime, the excitement increased hourly. Severalindividuals were arrested and discharged. St. Eustache fellespecially under suspicion; and he failed, at first, to givean intelligible account of his whereabouts during the Sundayon which Marie left home. Subsequently, however, hesubmitted to Monsieur G——, affidavits, accounting satisfactorilyfor every hour of the day in question. As time passedno discovery ensued, a thousand contradictory rumors werecirculated, and journalists busied themselves in suggestions.Among these, the one which attracted the most notice wasthe idea that Marie Rogêt still lived—that the corpse foundin the Seine was that of some other unfortunate. It will beproper that I submit to the reader some passages whichembody the suggestion alluded to. These passages areliteral translations from "L'Etoile,"[10] a paper conducted, ingeneral, with much ability.

[10] The New York "Brother Jonathan," edited by H. Hastings Weld, Esq.

"Mademoiselle Rogêt left her mother's house on Sundaymorning, June the twenty-second, 18—, with the ostensiblepurpose of going to see her aunt, or some other connection,in the Rue des Drômes. From that hour nobody is provedto have seen her. There is no trace or tidings of her atall.... There has no person, whatever, come forward,so far, who saw her at all on that day, after she left hermother's door.... Now, though we have no evidencethat Marie Rogêt was in the land of the living after nineo'clock on Sunday, June the twenty-second, we have proofthat, up to that hour, she was alive. On Wednesday noon,at twelve, a female body was discovered afloat on the shoreof the Barrière du Roule. This was, even if we presumethat Marie Rogêt was thrown into the river within threehours after she left her mother's house, only three days fromthe time she left her home—three days to an hour. But itis folly to suppose that the murder, if murder was committedon her body, could have been consummated soon enoughto have enabled her murderers to throw the body into theriver before midnight. Those who are guilty of such horridcrimes choose darkness rather than light.... Thus wesee that if the body found in the river was that of MarieRogêt, it could only have been in the water two and a halfdays, or three at the outside. All experience has shown thatdrowned bodies, or bodies thrown into the water immediatelyafter death by violence, require from six to ten daysfor sufficient decomposition to take place to bring them tothe top of the water. Even where a cannon is fired over acorpse, and it rises before at least five or six days'immersion, it sinks again, if left alone. Now, we ask, what wasthere in this case to cause a departure from the ordinarycourse of nature? ... If the body had been kept in itsmangled state on shore until Tuesday night, some tracewould be found on shore of the murderers. It is a doubtfulpoint, also, whether the body would be so soon afloat,even were it thrown in after having been dead two days.And, furthermore, it is exceedingly improbable that anyvillains who had committed such a murder as is heresupposed, would have thrown the body in without weight tosink it, when such a precaution could have so easily beentaken."

The editor here proceeds to argue that the body musthave been in the water "not three days merely, but, at least,five times three days," because it was so far decomposedthat Beauvais had great difficulty in recognizing it. Thislatter point, however, was fully disproved. I continue thetranslation:

"What, then, are the facts on which M. Beauvais saysthat he has no doubt the body was that of Marie Rogêt?He ripped up the gown sleeve, and says he found markswhich satisfied him of the identity. The public generallysupposed those marks to have consisted of some descriptionof scars. He rubbed the arm and found hair upon it—somethingas indefinite, we think, as can readily beimagined—as little conclusive as finding an arm in the sleeve.M. Beauvais did not return that night, but sent word toMadame Rogêt, at seven o'clock, on Wednesday evening,that an investigation was still in progress respecting herdaughter. If we allow that Madame Rogêt, from her ageand grief, could not go over (which is allowing a greatdeal), there certainly must have been some one who wouldhave thought it worth while to go over and attend theinvestigation, if they thought the body was that of Marie.Nobody went over. There was nothing said or heard aboutthe matter in the Rue Pavée St. Andrée, that reached eventhe occupants of the same building. M. St. Eustache, thelover and intended husband of Marie, who boarded in hermother's house, deposes that he did not hear of the discoveryof the body of his intended until the next morning, whenM. Beauvais came into his chamber and told him of it. Foran item of news like this, it strikes us it was very coollyreceived."

In this way the journal endeavored to create the impressionof an apathy on the part of the relatives of Marie,inconsistent with the supposition that these relatives believedthe corpse to be hers. Its insinuations amount to this: thatMarie, with the connivance of her friends, had absentedherself from the city for reasons involving a charge againsther chastity; and that these friends upon the discovery of acorpse in the Seine, somewhat resembling that of the girl,had availed themselves of the opportunity to impress thepublic with the belief of her death. But "L'Etoile" wasagain overhasty. It was distinctly proved that no apathy,such as was imagined, existed; that the old lady was exceedinglyfeeble, and so agitated as to be unable to attend to anyduty; that St. Eustache, so far from receiving the news coolly,was distracted with grief, and bore himself so frantically,that M. Beauvais prevailed upon a friend and relative totake charge of him, and prevent his attending the examinationat the disinterment. Moreover, although it was statedby "L'Etoile" that the corpse was reinterred at the publicexpense, that an advantageous offer of private sepultureabsolutely declined by the family, and that no member of thefamily attended the ceremonial;—although, I say, all thiswas asserted by "L'Etoile" in furtherance of the impressionit designed to convey—yet all this was satisfactorilydisproved. In a subsequent number of the paper, an attemptwas made to throw suspicion upon Beauvais himself. Theeditor says:

"Now, then, a change comes over the matter. We aretold that, on one occasion, while a Madame B—— was atMadame Rogêt's house, M. Beauvais, who was going out,told her that a gendarme was expected there, and that she,Madame B., must not say anything to the gendarme untilhe returned, but let the matter be for him.... In thepresent posture of affairs, M. Beauvais appears to have thewhole matter locked up in his head. A single step can notbe taken without M. Beauvais, for, go which way you will,you run against him.... For some reason he determinedthat nobody shall have anything to do with the proceedingsbut himself, and he has elbowed the male relativesout of the way, according to their representations, in a verysingular manner. He seems to have been very much averseto permitting the relatives to see the body."

By the following fact, some color was given to thesuspicion thus thrown upon Beauvais. A visitor at his office,a few days prior to the girl's disappearance, and during theabsence of its occupant, had observed a rose in the keyholeof the door, and the name "Marie" inscribed upon a slatewhich hung near at hand.

The general impression, so far as we were enabled toglean it from the newspapers, seemed to be, that Mariehad been the victim of a gang of desperadoes—that bythese she had been borne across the river, maltreated, andmurdered.

"Le Commerciel,"[11] however, a print of extensiveinfluence, was earnest in combating this popular idea. Iquote a passage or two from its columns:

[11] New York "Journal of Commerce."

"We are persuaded that pursuit has hitherto been on afalse scent, so far as it has been directed to the Barrièredu Roule. It is impossible that a person so well known tothousands as this young woman was, should have passedthree blocks without some one having seen her; and anyone who saw her would have remembered it, for she interestedall who knew her. It was when the streets were fullof people, when she went out.... It is impossible thatshe could have gone to the Barrière du Roule, or to the Ruedes Drômes, without being recognized by a dozen persons;yet no one has come forward who saw her outside hermother's door, and there is no evidence, except the testimonyconcerning her expressed intentions, that she did goout at all. Her gown was torn, bound round her, and tied;and by that the body was carried as a bundle. If themurder had been committed at the Barrière du Roule, therewould have been no necessity for any such arrangement.The fact that the body was found floating near the Barrièreis no proof as to where it was thrown into the water....A piece of one of the unfortunate girl's petticoats, two feetlong and one foot wide, was torn out and tied under herchin around the back of her head, probably to preventscreams. This was done by fellows who had nopocket-handkerchief."

A day or two before the Prefect called upon us, however,some important information reached the police, whichseemed to overthrow, at least, the chief portion of "LeCommerciel's" argument. Two small boys, sons of a MadameDeluc, while roaming among the woods near the Barrièredu Roule, chanced to penetrate a close thicket, within whichwere three or four large stones, forming a kind of seat witha back and footstool. On the upper stone lay a whitepetticoat; on the second, a silk scarf. A parasol, gloves, and apocket-handkerchief were also here found. The handkerchiefbore the name "Marie Rogêt." Fragments of dress werediscovered on the brambles around. The earth was trampled,the bushes were broken, and there was every evidenceof a struggle. Between the thicket and the river, the fenceswere found taken down, and the ground bore evidence ofsome heavy burden having been dragged along it.

A weekly paper, "Le Soleil,"[12] had the following commentsupon this discovery—comments which merely echoedthe sentiment of the whole Parisian press:

[12] Philadelphia "Saturday Evening Post," edited by C. I. Peterson, Esq.

"The things had all evidently been there at least threeor four weeks; they were all mildewed down hard with theaction of the rain, and stuck together from mildew. Thegrass had grown around and over some of them. The silkon the parasol was strong, but the threads of it were runtogether within. The upper part, where it had been doubledand folded, was all mildewed and rotten, and tore on itsbeing opened.... The pieces of her frock torn out bythe bushes were about three inches wide and six inches long.One part was the hem of the frock, and it had been mended;the other piece was part of the skirt, not the hem. Theylooked like strips torn off, and were on the thorn bush,about a foot from the ground.... There can be nodoubt, therefore, that the spot of this appalling outrage hasbeen discovered."

Consequent upon this discovery, new evidence appeared.Madame Deluc testified that she keeps a roadside inn notfar from the bank of the river, opposite the Barrière du Roule.The neighborhood is secluded—particularly so. It is theusual Sunday resort of blackguards from the city, who crossthe river in boats. About three o'clock, in the afternoonof the Sunday in question, a young girl arrived at the inn,accompanied by a young man of dark complexion. Thetwo remained here for some time. On their departure, theytook the road to some thick woods in the vicinity. MadameDeluc's attention was called to the dress worn by the girl,on account of its resemblance to one worn by a deceasedrelative. A scarf was particularly noticed. Soon after thedeparture of the couple, a gang of miscreants made theirappearance, behaved boisterously, ate and drank withoutmaking payment, followed in the route of the young manand girl, returned to the inn about dusk, and recrossed theriver as if in great haste.

It was soon after dark, upon this same evening, thatMadame Deluc, as well as her eldest son, heard the screamsof a female in the vicinity of the inn. The screams wereviolent but brief. Madame D. recognized not only the scarfwhich was found in the thicket, but the dress which wasdiscovered upon the corpse. An omnibus driver, Valence,[13]now also testified that he saw Marie Rogêt cross a ferryon the Seine, on the Sunday in question, in company witha young man of dark complexion. He, Valence, knewMarie, and could not be mistaken in her identity. Thearticles found in the thicket were fully identified by therelatives of Marie.

[13] Adam.

The items of evidence and information thus collected bymyself, from the newspapers, at the suggestion of Dupin,embraced only one more point—but this was a point ofseemingly vast consequence. It appears that, immediatelyafter the discovery of the clothes as above described, thelifeless or nearly lifeless body of St. Eustache, Marie'sbetrothed, was found in the vicinity of what all now supposedthe scene of the outrage. A phial labeled "laudanum," andemptied, was found near him. His breath gave evidence ofthe poison. He died without speaking. Upon his personwas found a letter, briefly stating his love for Marie, withhis design of self-destruction.

"I need scarcely tell you," said Dupin, as he finished theperusal of my notes, "that this is a far more intricate casethan that of the Rue Morgue; from which it differs in oneimportant respect. This is an ordinary, although anatrocious, instance of crime. There is nothing peculiarly outreabout it. You will observe that, for this reason, the mysteryhas been considered easy, when, for this reason, it shouldhave been considered difficult, of solution. Thus, at first, itwas thought unnecessary to offer a reward. The myrmidonsof G—— were able at once to comprehend how and whysuch an atrocity might have been committed. They couldpicture to their imaginations a mode—many modes—and amotive—many motives; and because it was not impossiblethat either of these numerous modes and motives could havebeen the actual one, they have taken it for granted that oneof them must. But the ease with which these variablefancies were entertained, and the very plausibility which eachassumed, should have been understood as indicative ratherof the difficulties than of the facilities which must attendelucidation. I have, therefore, observed that it is byprominences above the plane of the ordinary, that reason feelsher way, if at all, in her search for the true, and that theproper question in cases such as this, is not so much 'whathas occurred?' as 'what has occurred that has never occurredbefore?' In the investigations at the house of MadameL'Espanaye,[14] the agents of G—— were discouraged andconfounded by that very unusualness which, to a properlyregulated intellect, would have afforded the surest omen ofsuccess; while this same intellect might have been plunged indespair at the ordinary character of all that met the eye inthe case of the perfumery girl, and yet told of nothing buteasy triumph to the functionaries of the Prefecture.

[14] See "Murders in the Rue Morgue."

"In the case of Madame L'Espanaye and her daughter,there was, even at the beginning of our investigation, nodoubt that murder had been committed. The idea of suicidewas excluded at once. Here, too, we are freed, at thecommencement, from all supposition of self-murder. Thebody found at the Barrière du Roule was found under suchcircumstances as to leave us no room for embarrassmentupon this important point. But it has been suggested thatthe corpse discovered is not that of the Marie Rogêt for theconviction of whose assassin, or assassins, the reward isoffered, and respecting whom, solely, our agreement hasbeen arranged with the Prefect. We both know this gentlemanwell. It will not do to trust him too far. If, datingour inquiries from the body found, and then tracing amurderer, we yet discover this body to be that of some otherindividual than Marie; or if, starting from the living Marie,we find her, yet find her unassassinated—in either case welose our labor; since it is Monsieur G—— with whom wehave to deal. For our own purpose, therefore, if not forthe purpose of justice, it is indispensable that our first stepshould be the determination of the identity of the corpsewith the Marie Rogêt who is missing.

"With the public the arguments of 'L'Etoile' have hadweight; and that the journal itself is convinced of theirimportance would appear from the manner in which itcommences one of its essays upon the subject—'Several of themorning papers of the day,' it says, 'speak of the conclusivearticle in Monday's "'Etoile."' To me, this article appearsconclusive of little beyond the zeal of its inditer. We shouldbear in mind that, in general, it is the object of ournewspapers rather to create a sensation—to make a point—thanto further the cause of truth. The latter end is only pursuedwhen it seems coincident with the former. The printwhich merely falls in with ordinary opinion (however wellfounded this opinion may be) earns for itself no credit withthe mob. The mass of the people regard as profound onlyhim who suggests pungent contradictions of the generalidea. In ratiocination, not less than in literature, it is theepigram which is the most immediately and the most universallyappreciated. In both, it is of the lowest order of merit.

"What I mean to say is, that it is the mingled epigramand melodrame of the idea, that Marie Rogêt still lives,rather than any true plausibility in this idea, which havesuggested it to 'L'Etoile,' and secured it a favorablereception with the public. Let us examine the heads of thisjournal's argument; endeavoring to avoid the incoherencewith which it is originally set forth.

"The first aim of the writer is to show, from the brevity ofthe interval between Marie's disappearance and the finding ofthe floating corpse, that this corpse can not be that of Marie.The reduction of this interval to its smallest possibledimension, becomes thus, at once, an object with the reasoner. Inthe rash pursuit of this object, he rushes into mere assumptionat the outset. 'It is folly to suppose,' he says, 'that themurder, if murder was committed on her body, could havebeen consummated soon enough to have enabled her murderersto throw the body into the river before midnight.' Wedemand at once, and very naturally, Why? Why is it follyto suppose that the murder was committed within five minutesafter the girl's quitting her mother's house? Why is itfolly to suppose that the murder was committed at any givenperiod of the day? There have been assassinations at allhours. But, had the murder taken place at any momentbetween nine o'clock in the morning of Sunday and a quarterbefore midnight, there would still have been time enough 'tothrow the body into the river before midnight.' Thisassumption, then, amounts precisely to this—that the murderwas not committed on Sunday at all—and, if we allow'L'Etoile' to assume this, we may permit it any libertieswhatever. The paragraph beginning 'It is folly to suppose thatthe murder, etc.,' however it appears as printed in 'L'Etoile,'may be imagined to have existed actually thus in the brain ofits inditer: 'It is folly to suppose that the murder, if murderwas committed on the body, could have been committed soonenough to have enabled her murderers to throw the bodyinto the river before midnight; it is folly, we say, to supposeall this, and to suppose at the same time (as we are resolvedto suppose), that the body was not thrown in until aftermidnight'—a sentence sufficiently inconsequential in itself, butnot so utterly preposterous as the one printed.

"Were it my purpose," continued Dupin, "merely to makeout a case against this passage of 'L'Etoile's' argument, Imight safely leave it where it is. It is not, however, with'L'Etoile' that we have to do, but with the truth. Thesentence in question has but one meaning, as it stands; and thismeaning I have fairly stated; but it is material that we gobehind the mere words, for an idea which these words haveobviously intended, and failed to convey. It was the designof the journalists to say that at whatever period of the dayor night of Sunday this murder was committed, it wasimprobable that the assassins would have ventured to bear thecorpse to the river before midnight. And herein lies, really,the assumption of which I complain. It is assumed that themurder was committed at such a position, and under suchcircumstances, that the bearing it to the river becamenecessary. Now, the assassination might have taken place uponthe river's brink, or on the river itself; and, thus, thethrowing the corpse in the water might have been resorted to atany period of the day or night, as the most obvious and mostimmediate mode of disposal. You will understand that Isuggest nothing here as probable, or as coincident with myopinion. My design, so far, has no reference to the facts ofthe case. I wish merely to caution you against the wholetone of 'L'Etoile's' suggestion, by calling your attention toits ex-parte character at the outset.

"Having prescribed thus a limit to suit its own preconceivednotions; having assumed that, if this were the bodyof Marie, it could have been in the water but a very brieftime, the journal goes on to say:

"'All experience has shown that drowned bodies, or bodiesthrown into the water immediately after death by violence,require from six to ten days for sufficient decomposition totake place to bring them to the top of the water. Evenwhen a cannon is fired over a corpse, and it rises beforeat least five or six days' immersion, it sinks again if letalone.'

"These assertions have been tacitly received by everypaper in Paris, with the exception of 'Le Moniteur.'[15] Thislatter print endeavors to combat that portion of theparagraph which has reference to 'drowned bodies' only, by citingsome five or six instances in which the bodies of individualsknown to be drowned were found floating after the lapseof less time than is insisted upon by 'L'Etoile.' But there issomething excessively unphilosophical in the attempt, on thepart of 'Le Moniteur,' to rebut the general assertion of'L'Etoile,' by a citation of particular instances militatingagainst that assertion. Had it been possible to adduce fiftyinstead of five examples of bodies found floating at the endof two or three days, these fifty examples could still havebeen properly regarded only as exceptions to 'L'Etoile's' rule,until such time as the rule itself should be confuted. Admittingthe rule (and this 'Le Moniteur' does not deny, insistingmerely upon its exceptions), the argument of 'L'Etoile' issuffered to remain in full force; for this argument does notpretend to involve more than a question of the probabilityof the body having risen to the surface in less than threedays; and this probability will be in favor of 'L'Etoile's'position until the instances so childishly adduced shall besufficient in number to establish an antagonistical rule.

[15] The New York "Commercial Advertiser" edited by Colonel Stone.

"You will see at once that all argument upon this headshould be urged, if at all, against the rule itself; and for thisend we must examine the rationale of the rule. Now thehuman body, in general, is neither much lighter nor muchheavier than the water of the Seine; that is to say, thespecific gravity of the human body, in its natural condition, isabout equal to the bulk of fresh water which it displaces.The bodies of fat and fleshy persons, with small bones, andof women generally, are lighter than those of the lean andlarge-boned, and of men; and the specific gravity of thewater of a river is somewhat influenced by the presence ofthe tide from the sea. But, leaving this tide out of thequestion, it may be said that very few human bodies will sink atall, even in fresh water, of their own accord. Almost anyone, falling into a river, will be enabled to float, if he sufferthe specific gravity of the water fairly to be adduced incomparison with his own—that is to say, if he suffer his wholeperson to be immersed, with as little exception as possible.The proper position for one who can not swim is the uprightposition of the walker on land, with the head thrown fullyback, and immersed; the mouth and nostrils alone remainingabove the surface. Thus circumstanced, we shall find that wefloat without difficulty and without exertion. It is evident,however, that the gravities of the body, and of the bulk ofwater displaced, are very nicely balanced, and that a triflewill cause either to preponderate. An arm, for instance,uplifted from the water, and thus deprived of its support, isan additional weight sufficient to immerse the whole head,while the accidental aid of the smallest piece of timber willenable us to elevate the head so as to look about. Now, inthe struggles of one unused to swimming, the arms areinvariably thrown upward, while an attempt is made to keepthe head in its usual perpendicular position. The resultis the immersion of the mouth and nostrils, and theinception, during efforts to breathe while beneath the surface, ofwater into the lungs. Much is also received into the stomach,and the whole body becomes heavier by the difference betweenthe weight of the air originally distending these cavities,and that of the fluid which now fills them. This differenceis sufficient to cause the body to sink, as a general rule;but is insufficient in the case of individuals with small bonesand an abnormal quantity of flaccid or fatty matter. Suchindividuals float even after drowning.

"The corpse, being supposed at the bottom of the river,will there remain until, by some means, its specific gravityagain becomes less than that of the bulk of water which itdisplaces. This effect is brought about by decomposition orotherwise. The result of decomposition is the generation ofgas, distending the cellular tissues and all the cavities, andgiving the puffed appearance which is so horrible. When thisdistension has so far progressed that the bulk of the corpseis materially increased without a corresponding increase ofmass or weight, its specific gravity becomes less than thatof the water displaced, and it forthwith makes its appearanceat the surface. But decomposition is modified by innumerablecircumstances—is hastened or retarded by innumerableagencies; for example, by the heat or cold of the season, bythe mineral impregnation or purity of the water, by its depthor shallowness, by its currency or stagnation, by thetemperament of the body, by its infection or freedom fromdisease before death. Thus it is evident that we can assign noperiod, with anything like accuracy, at which the corpse shallrise through decomposition. Under certain conditions thisresult would be brought about within an hour; under othersit might not take place at all. There are chemical infusionsby which the animal frame can be preserved forever fromcorruption; the bichloride of mercury is one. But, apart fromdecomposition, there may be, and very usually is, a generationof gas within the stomach, from the acetous fermentation ofvegetable matter (or within other cavities from other causes),sufficient to induce a distension which will bring the bodyto the surface. The effect produced by the firing of acannon is that of simple vibration. This may either loosen thecorpse from the soft mud or ooze in which it is embedded,thus permitting it to rise when other agencies have alreadyprepared it for so doing; or it may overcome the tenacityof some putrescent portions of the cellular tissue, allowingthe cavities to distend under the influence of the gas.

"Having thus before us the whole philosophy of this subject,we can easily test by it the assertions of 'L'Etoile.' 'Allexperience shows,' says this paper, 'that drowned bodies, orbodies thrown into the water immediately after death byviolence, require from six to ten days for sufficientdecomposition to take place to bring them to the top of thewater. Even when a cannon is fired over a corpse, and itrises before at least five or six days' immersion, it sinks againif let alone.'

"The whole of this paragraph must now appear a tissueof inconsequence and incoherence. All experience does notshow that 'drowned bodies' require from six to ten days forsufficient decomposition to take place to bring them to thesurface. Both science and experience show that theperiod of their rising is, and necessarily must be, indeterminate.If, moreover, a body has risen to the surface throughfiring of cannon, it will not 'sink again if let alone,' untildecomposition has so far progressed as to permit the escapeof the generated gas. But I wish to call your attention to thedistinction which is made between 'drowned bodies,' and'bodies thrown into the water immediately after death byviolence.' Although the writer admits the distinction, heyet includes them all in the same category. I have shownhow it is that the body of a drowning man becomes specificallyheavier than its bulk of water, and that he would notsink at all, except for the struggle by which he elevates hisarms above the surface, and his gasps for breath whilebeneath the surface—gasps which supply by water the placeof the original air in the lungs. But these struggles andthese gasps would not occur in the body 'thrown into thewater immediately after death by violence.' Thus, in thelatter instance, the body, as a general rule, would not sinkat all—a fact of which 'L'Etoile' is evidently ignorant. Whendecomposition had proceeded to a very great extent—whenthe flesh had in a great measure left the bones—then, indeed,but not till then, should we lose sight of the corpse.

"And now what are we to make of the argument, that thebody found could not be that of Marie Rogêt, because, threedays only having elapsed, this body was found floating? Ifdrowned, being a woman, she might never have sunk; or,having sunk, might have reappeared in twenty-four hoursor less. But no one supposes her to have been drowned; and,dying before being thrown into the river, she might have beenfound floating at any period afterward whatever.

"'But,' says 'L'Etoile,' 'if the body had been kept in itsmangled state on shore until Tuesday night, some tracewould be found on shore of the murderers.' Here it is at firstdifficult to perceive the intention of the reasoner. He meansto anticipate what he imagines would be an objection to histheory—viz.: that the body was kept on shore two days,suffering rapid decomposition—more rapid than if immersed inwater. He supposes that, had this been the case, it mighthave appeared at the surface on the Wednesday, and thinksthat only under such circumstances it could have so appeared.He is accordingly in haste to show that it was not kept onshore; for, if so, 'some trace would be found on shore of themurderers.' I presume you smile at the sequitur. You cannot be made to see how the mere duration of the corpse onthe shore could operate to multiply traces of the assassins.Nor can I.

"'And furthermore it is exceedingly improbable,' continuesour journal, 'that any villains who had committed sucha murder as is here supposed, would have thrown the bodyin without weight to sink it, when such a precaution couldhave so easily been taken.' Observe, here, the laughableconfusion of thought! No one—not even 'L'Etoile'—disputes themurder committed on the body found. The marks of violenceare too obvious. It is our reasoner's object merely to showthat this body is not Marie's. He wishes to prove that Marieis not assassinated—not that the corpse was not. Yet hisobservation proves only the latter point. Here is a corpsewithout weight attached. Murderers, casting it in, wouldnot have failed to attach a weight. Therefore it was notthrown in by murderers. This is all which is proved, if anything is. The question of identity is not even approached,and 'L'Etoile' has been at great pains merely to gainsay nowwhat it has admitted only a moment before. 'We areperfectly convinced,' it says, 'that the body found was that ofa murdered female.'

"Nor is this the sole instance, even in this division of hissubject, where our reasoner unwittingly reasons againsthimself. His evident object, I have already said, is to reduce,as much as possible, the interval between Marie's disappearanceand the finding of the corpse. Yet we find him urgingthe point that no person saw the girl from the moment of herleaving her mother's house. 'We have no evidence,' he says,'that Marie Rogêt was in the land of the living after nineo'clock on Sunday, June the twenty-second.' As his argumentis obviously an ex parte one, he should, at least, haveleft this matter out of sight; for had any one been knownto see Marie, say on Monday, or on Tuesday, the interval inquestion would have been much reduced, and, by his ownratiocination, the probability much diminished of the corpsebeing that of the grisette. It is, nevertheless, amusing toobserve that 'L'Etoile' insists upon its point in the full beliefof its furthering its general argument.

"Reperuse now that portion of this argument which hasreference to the identification of the corpse by Beauvais. Inregard to the hair upon the arm, 'L'Etoile' has been obviouslydisingenuous. M. Beauvais, not being an idiot, could neverhave urged in identification of the corpse, simply hair upon itsarm. No arm is without hair. The generality of theexpression of 'L'Etoile' is a mere perversion of the witness'sphraseology. He must have spoken of some peculiarity inthis hair. It must have been a peculiarity of color, ofquantity, of length, or of situation.

"'Her foot,' says the journal, 'was small—so are thousandsof feet. Her garter is no proof whatever—nor is hershoe—for shoes and garters are sold in packages. The samemay be said of the flowers in her hat. One thing upon whichM. Beauvais strongly insists is, that the clasp on the garterfound had been set back to take it in. This amounts tonothing; for most women find it proper to take a pair of gartershome and fit them to the size of the limbs they are toencircle, rather than to try them in the store where theypurchase.' Here it is difficult to suppose the reasoner in earnest.Had M. Beauvais, in his search for the body of Marie,discovered a corpse corresponding in general size andappearance to the missing girl, he would have been warranted(without reference to the question of habiliment at all) informing an opinion that his search had been successful. If,in addition to the point of general size and contour, he hadfound upon the arm a peculiar hairy appearance which he hadobserved upon the living Marie, his opinion might have beenjustly strengthened; and the increase of positiveness mightwell have been in the ratio of the peculiarity, or unusualness,of the hairy mark. If, the feet of Marie being small, thoseof the corpse were also small, the increase of probability thatthe body was that of Marie would not be an increase in aratio merely arithmetical, but in one highly geometrical, oraccumulative. Add to all this shoes such as she had beenknown to wear upon the day of her disappearance, and,although these shoes may be 'sold in packages,' you so faraugment the probability as to verge upon the certain. What,of itself, would be no evidence of identity, becomes throughits corroborative position, proof most sure. Give us, then,flowers in the hat corresponding to those worn by themissing girl, and we seek for nothing further. If only oneflower, we seek for nothing further—what then if two orthree, or more? Each successive one is multiple evidence—proofnot added to proof, but multiplied by hundreds orthousands. Let us now discover, upon the deceased, garterssuch as the living used, and it is almost folly to proceed.But these garters are found to be tightened, by the settingback of a clasp, in just such a manner as her own hadbeen tightened by Marie shortly previous to her leavinghome. It is now madness or hypocrisy to doubt. What'L'Etoile' says in respect to this abbreviation of the gartersbeing an unusual occurrence, shows nothing beyond its ownpertinacity in error. The elastic nature of the clasp-garteris self-demonstration of the unusualness of the abbreviation.What is made to adjust itself, must of necessity requireforeign adjustment but rarely. It must have been by an accident,in its strictest sense, that these garters of Marie neededthe tightening described. They alone would have amplyestablished her identity. But it is not that the corpse wasfound to have the garters of the missing girl, or found to haveher shoes, or her bonnet, or the flowers of her bonnet, or herfeet, or a peculiar mark upon the arm, or her general sizeand appearance—it is that the corpse had each, and allcollectively. Could it be provedthat the editor of 'L'Etoile' reallyentertained a doubt, under the circumstances, there wouldbe no need, in his case, of a commission de lunaticoinquirendo. He has thought it sagacious to echo the small talkof the lawyers, who, for the most part, content themselveswith echoing the rectangular precepts of the courts. I wouldhere observe that very much of what is rejected as evidenceby a court, is the best of evidence to the intellect. For thecourt, guided itself by the general principles of evidence—therecognized and booked principles—is averse from swervingat particular instances. And this steadfast adherence toprinciple, with rigorous disregard of the conflicting exception,is a sure mode of attaining the maximum of attainabletruth, in any long sequence of time. The practise, en masse,is therefore philosophical; but it is not the less certain thatit engenders vast individual error.[16]

[16] "A theory based on the qualities of an object,will prevent its beingunfolded according to its objects;and he who arranges topics in reference totheir causes, will cease to value themaccording to their results. Thus thejurisprudence of every nation will show that,when law becomes a scienceand a system, it ceases to be justice.The errors into which a blind devotionto principles of classification has led thecommon law will be seen by observinghow often the legislature has been obligedto come forward to restore theequity its scheme had lost."—Landor.

"In respect to the insinuations leveled at Beauvais, youwill be willing to dismiss them in a breath. You have alreadyfathomed the true character of this good gentleman. He isa busybody, with much of romance and little of wit. Any oneso constituted will readily so conduct himself, upon occasionof real excitement, as to render himself liable to suspicionon the part of the over-acute, or the ill-disposed.M. Beauvais (as it appears from your notes) had some personalinterviews with the editor of 'L'Etoile' and offended him byventuring an opinion that the corpse, notwithstanding thetheory of the editor, was, in sober fact, that of Marie. 'Hepersists,' says the paper, 'in asserting the corpse to be that ofMarie, but can not give a circumstance, in addition to thosewhich we have commented upon, to make others believe.' Now,without readverting to the fact that stronger evidence'to make others believe' could never have been adduced, itmay be remarked that a man may very well be understoodto believe, in a case of this kind, without the ability toadvance a single reason for the belief of a second party.Nothing is more vague than impressions of individual identity.Each man recognizes his neighbor, yet there are fewinstances in which any one is prepared to give a reason forhis recognition. The editor of 'L'Etoile' had no right to beoffended at M. Beauvais's unreasoning belief.

"The suspicious circumstances which invest him will befound to tally much better with my hypothesis of romanticbusybodyism than with the reasoner's suggestion of guilt.Once adopting the more charitable interpretation, we shallfind no difficulty in comprehending the rose in the key-hole;the 'Marie' upon the slate; the 'elbowing the male relativesout of the way'; the 'aversion to permitting them to seethe body'; the caution given to Madame B——, that shemust hold no conversation with the gendarme until his(Beauvais's) return; and, lastly, his apparent determination'that nobody should have anything to do with the proceedingsexcept himself.' It seems to me unquestionable thatBeauvais was a suitor of Marie's; that she coquetted withhim; and that he was ambitious of being thought to enjoyher fullest intimacy and confidence. I shall say nothingmore upon this point; and, as the evidence fully rebuts theassertion of 'L'Etoile,' touching the matter of apathy on thepart of the mother and other relatives—an apathy inconsistentwith the supposition of their believing the corpseto be that of the perfumery girl—we shall now proceed asif the question of identity were settled to our perfectsatisfaction."

"And what," I here demanded, "do you think of theopinions of 'Le Commerciel'?"

"That, in spirit, they are far more worthy of attentionthan any which have been promulgated upon the subject.The deductions from the premises are philosophical andacute; but the premises, in two instances, at least, are foundedin imperfect observation. 'Le Commerciel' wishes to intimatethat Marie was seized by some gang of low ruffiansnot far from her mother's door. 'It is impossible,' it urges,'that a person so well known to thousands as this youngwoman was, should have passed three blocks without someone having seen her.' This is the idea of a man longresident in Paris—a public man—and one whose walks to andfro in the city have been mostly limited to the vicinity ofthe public offices. He is aware that he seldom passes sofar as a dozen blocks from his own bureau, without beingrecognized and accosted. And, knowing the extent of hispersonal acquaintance with others, and of others with him,he compares his notoriety with that of the perfumery girl,finds no great difference between them, and reaches at oncethe conclusion that she, in her walks, would be equallyliable to recognition with himself in his. This could only bethe case were her walks of the same unvarying, methodicalcharacter, and within the same species of limited region asare his own. He passes to and fro, at regular intervals,within a confined periphery, abounding in individuals whoare led to observation of his person through interest in thekindred nature of his occupation with their own. But thewalks of Marie may, in general, be supposed discursive. Inthis particular instance, it will be understood as mostprobable, that she proceeded upon a route of more than averagediversity from her accustomed ones. The parallel which weimagine to have existed in the mind of 'Le Commerciel'would only be sustained in the event of the two individualstraversing the whole city. In this case, granting thepersonal acquaintance to be equal, the chances would be alsoequal that an equal number of personal rencontres wouldbe made. For my own part, I should hold it not only aspossible, but as far more than probable, that Marie mighthave proceeded, at any given period, by any one of themany routes between her own residence and that of heraunt, without meeting a single individual whom she knew,or by whom she was known. In viewing this question inits full and proper light, we must hold steadily in mind thegreat disproportion between the personal acquaintances ofeven the most noted individual in Paris, and the entirepopulation of Paris itself.

"But whatever force there may still appear to be in thesuggestion of 'Le Commerciel,' will be much diminishedwhen we take into consideration the hour at which the girlwent abroad. 'It was when the streets were full of people,'says 'Le Commerciel,' 'that she went out.' But not so. Itwas at nine o'clock in the morning. Now at nine o'clockof every morning in the week, with the exception of Sunday,the streets of the city are, it is true, thronged with people.At nine on Sunday, the populace are chiefly within doorspreparing for church. No observing person can have failedto notice the peculiarly deserted air of the town, from abouteight until ten on the morning of every Sabbath. Betweenten and eleven the streets are thronged, but not at so earlya period as that designated.

"There is another point at which there seems a deficiencyof observation on the part of 'Le Commerciel.' 'A piece,'it says, 'of one of the unfortunate girl's petticoats, two feetlong, and one foot wide, was torn out and tied under herchin, and around the back of her head, probably to preventscreams. This was done by fellows who had nopocket-handkerchiefs.' Whether this idea is or is not well founded,we will endeavor to see hereafter; but by 'fellows who haveno pocket-handkerchiefs,' the editor intends the lowest classof ruffians. These, however, are the very description ofpeople who will always be found to have handkerchiefseven when destitute of shirts. You must have had occasionto observe how absolutely indispensable, of late years,to the thorough blackguard, has become the pocket-handkerchief."

"And what are we to think," I asked, "of the article in'Le Soleil'?"

"That it is a vast pity its inditer was not born a parrot—inwhich case he would have been the most illustrious parrotof his race. He has merely repeated the individual items ofthe already published opinion; collecting them, with alaudable industry, from this paper and from that. 'Thethings had all evidently been there,' he says, 'at least threeor four weeks, and there can be no doubt that the spot ofthis appalling outrage has been discovered.' The facts hererestated by 'Le Soleil' are very far indeed from removingmy own doubts upon this subject, and we will examinethem more particularly hereafter in connection with anotherdivision of the theme.

"At present we must occupy ourselves with otherinvestigations. You can not have failed to remark the extremelaxity of the examination of the corpse. To be sure, thequestion of identity was readily determined, or should havebeen; but there were other points to be ascertained. Hadthe body been in any respect despoiled? Had the deceasedany articles of jewelry about her person upon leaving home?If so, had she any when found? These are importantquestions utterly untouched by the evidence; and there areothers of equal moment, which have met with no attention.We must endeavor to satisfy ourselves by personal inquiry.The case of St. Eustache must be reexamined. I have nosuspicion of this person; but let us proceed methodically.We will ascertain beyond a doubt the validity of the affidavitsin regard to his whereabouts on the Sunday. Affidavits ofthis character are readily made matter of mystification.Should there be nothing wrong here, however, we willdismiss St. Eustache from our investigations. His suicide,however corroborative of suspicion, were there found to bedeceit in the affidavits, is, without such deceit, in no respectan unaccountable circumstance, or one which need causeus to deflect from the line of ordinary analysis.

"In that which I now propose, we will discard the interiorpoints of this tragedy, and concentrate our attentionupon its outskirts. Not the least usual error in investigationssuch as this is the limiting of inquiry to the immediate,with total disregard of the collateral or circumstantialevents. It is the malpractice of the courts to confineevidence and discussion to the bounds of apparent relevancy.Yet experience has shown, and a true philosophy willalways show, that a vast, perhaps the larger, portion oftruth arises from the seemingly irrelevant. It is throughthe spirit of this principle, if not precisely through its letter,that modern science has resolved to calculate upon theunforeseen. But perhaps you do not comprehend me. Thehistory of human knowledge has so uninterruptedly shownthat to collateral, or incidental, or accidental events we areindebted for the most numerous and most valuable discoveries,that it has at length become necessary, in prospectiveview of improvement, to make not only large, but the largest,allowances for inventions that shall arise by chance, andquite out of the range of ordinary expectation. It is nolonger philosophical to base upon what has been a visionof what is to be. Accident is admitted as a portion of thesubstructure. We make chance a matter of absolutecalculation. We subject the unlooked for and unimagined to themathematical formulæ of the schools.

"I repeat that it is no more than fact that the largerportion of all truth has sprung from the collateral; and itis but in accordance with the spirit of the principleinvolved in this fact that I would divert inquiry, in thepresent case, from the trodden and hitherto unfruitful groundof the event itself to the contemporary circumstances whichsurround it. While you ascertain the validity of theaffidavits, I will examine the newspapers more generally thanyou have as yet done. So far, we have only reconnoitredthe field of investigation; but it will be strange, indeed, ifa comprehensive survey, such as I propose, of the publicprints will not afford us some minute points which shallestablish a direction for inquiry."

In pursuance of Dupin's suggestion, I made scrupulousexamination of the affair of the affidavits. The result wasa firm conviction of their validity, and of the consequentinnocence of St. Eustache. In the meantime my friendoccupied himself, with what seemed to me a minutenessaltogether objectless, in a scrutiny of the various newspaperfiles. At the end of a week he placed before me thefollowing extracts:

"About three years and a half ago, a disturbance verysimilar to the present was caused by the disappearance ofthis same Marie Rogêt from the parfumerie of MonsieurLe Blanc, in the Palais Royal. At the end of a week,however, she reappeared at her customary comptoir, as wellas ever, with the exception of a slight paleness notaltogether usual. It was given out by Monsieur Le Blanc andher mother that she had merely been on a visit to somefriend in the country; and the affair was speedily hushedup. We presume that the present absence is a freak of thesame nature, and that, at the expiration of a week or,perhaps, of a month, we shall have her among usagain."—Evening Paper, Monday, June 23.[17]

[17] New York "Express."

"An evening journal of yesterday refers to a formermysterious disappearance of Mademoiselle Rogêt. It is wellknown that, during the week of her absence from Le Blanc'sparfumerie, she was in the company of a young naval officermuch noted for his debaucheries. A quarrel, it is supposed,providentially, led to her return home. We have the nameof the Lothario in question, who is at present stationed inParis, but for obvious reasons forbear to make itpublic."—"Le Mercurie," Tuesday Morning, June 24.[18]

[18] New York "Herald."

"An outrage of the most atrocious character was perpetratednear this city the day before yesterday. A gentleman,with his wife and daughter, engaged, about dusk, theservices of six young men, who were idly rowing a boat toand fro near the banks of the Seine, to convey him acrossthe river. Upon reaching the opposite shore the threepassengers stepped out, and had proceeded so far as to bebeyond the view of the boat, when the daughter discoveredthat she had left in it her parasol. She returned for it,was seized by the gang, carried out into the stream, gagged,brutally treated, and finally taken to the shore at a pointnot far from that at which she had originally entered theboat with her parents. The villains have escaped for thetime, but the police are upon their trail, and some of themwill soon be taken."—Morning Paper, June 25.[19]

[19] New York "Courier and Inquirer."

"We have received one or two communications, the objectof which is to fasten the crime of the late atrocity uponMennais[20]; but as this gentleman has been fully exoneratedby a legal inquiry, and as the arguments of our severalcorrespondents appear to be more zealous than profound, wedo not think it advisable to make them public."—MorningPaper, June 28.[21]

[20] Mennais was one of the parties originally suspected and arrested, butdischarged through total lack of evidence.

[21] New York "Courier and Inquirer."

"We have received several forcibly written communications,apparently from various sources, and which go far torender it a matter of certainty that the unfortunate MarieRogêt has become a victim of one of the numerous bands ofblackguards which infest the vicinity of the city uponSunday. Our own opinion is decidedly in favor of thissupposition. We shall endeavor to make room for some of thesearguments hereafter."—Evening Paper, Tuesday, June 31.[22]

[22] New York "Evening Post."

"On Monday, one of the bargemen connected with therevenue service saw an empty boat floating down the Seine.Sails were lying in the bottom of the boat. The bargemantowed it under the barge office. The next morning it wastaken from thence without the knowledge of any of theofficers. The rudder is now at the barge office."—"LeDiligence," Thursday, June 26.[23]

[23] New York "Standard."

Upon reading these various extracts, they not only seemedto me irrelevant, but I could perceive no mode in which anyone of them could be brought to bear upon the matter inhand. I waited for some explanation from Dupin.

"It is not my present design," he said, "to dwell upon thefirst and second of these extracts. I have copied them chieflyto show you the extreme remissness of the police, who, asfar as I can understand from the Prefect, have not troubledthemselves, in any respect, with an examination of the navalofficer alluded to. Yet it is mere folly to say that betweenthe first and second disappearance of Marie there is nosupposable connection. Let us admit the first elopement to haveresulted in a quarrel between the lovers, and the return homeof the betrayed. We are now prepared to view a secondelopement (if we know that an elopement has again takenplace) as indicating a renewal of the betrayer's advances,rather than as the result of new proposals by a secondindividual—we are prepared to regard it as a 'making up' of theold amour, rather than as the commencement of a new one.The chances are ten to one that he who had once elopedwith Marie would again propose an elopement, rather thanthat she to whom proposals of an elopement had been madeby one individual should have them made to her by another.And here let me call your attention to the fact, that the timeelapsing between the first ascertained and the secondsupposed elopement is a few months more than the generalperiod of the cruises of our men-of-war. Had the loverbeen interrupted in his first villainy by the necessity ofdeparture to sea, and had he seized the first moment of hisreturn to renew the base designs not yet altogetheraccomplished—or not yet altogether accomplished by him? Of allthese things we know nothing.

"You will say, however, that, in the second instance, therewas no elopement as imagined. Certainly not—but are weprepared to say that there was not the frustrated design?Beyond St. Eustache, and perhaps Beauvais, we find norecognized, no open, no honorable suitors of Marie. Of noneother is there anything said. Who, then, is the secret lover,of whom the relatives (at least most of them) know nothing,but whom Marie meets upon the morning of Sunday, and whois so deeply in her confidence that she hesitates not to remainwith him until the shades of the evening descend, amid thesolitary groves of the Barrière du Roule? Who is thatsecret lover, I ask, of whom, at least, most of the relativesknow nothing? And what means the singular prophecy ofMadame Rogêt on the morning of Marie's departure?—'Ifear that I shall never see Marie again.'

"But if we can not imagine Madame Rogêt privy to thedesign of elopement, may we not at least suppose thissign entertained by the girl? Upon quitting home, she gaveit to be understood that she was about to visit her aunt inthe Rue des Drômes, and St. Eustache was requested to callfor her at dark. Now, at first glance, this fact stronglymilitates against my suggestion—but let us reflect. That shedid meet some companion, and proceed with him across theriver, reaching the Barrière du Roule at so late an houras three o'clock in the afternoon, is known. But inconsenting so to accompany this individual (for whateverpurpose—to her mother known or unknown), she must havethought of her expressed intention when leaving home, and ofthe surprise and suspicion aroused in the bosom of heraffianced suitor, St. Eustache, when, calling for her, at thehour appointed, in the Rue des Drômes, he should find thatshe had not been there, and when, moreover, upon returningto the pension with this alarming intelligence, he shouldbecome aware of her continued absence from home. She musthave thought of these things, I say. She must have foreseenthe chagrin of St. Eustache, the suspicion of all. She couldnot have thought of returning to brave this suspicion; butthe suspicion becomes a point of trivial importance to her,if we suppose her not intending to return.

"We may imagine her thinking thus—'I am to meet acertain person for the purpose of elopement, or for certainother purposes known only to myself. It is necessary thatthere be no chance of interruption—there must be sufficienttime given us to elude pursuit—I will give it to beunderstood that I shall visit and spend the day with my aunt atthe Rue des Drômes—I will tell St. Eustache not to call forme until dark—in this way, my absence from home for thelongest possible period, without causing suspicion or anxiety,will be accounted for, and I shall gain more time than inany other manner. If I bid St. Eustache call for me at dark,he will be sure not to call before; but if I wholly neglect tobid him call, my time for escape will be diminished, sinceit will be expected that I return the earlier, and my absencewill the sooner excite anxiety. Now, if it were my design toreturn at all—if I had in contemplation merely a stroll withthe individual in question—it would not be my policy to bidSt. Eustache call; for calling, he will be sure to ascertainthat I have played him false—a fact of which I might keephim forever in ignorance, by leaving home without notifyinghim of my intention, by returning before dark, and by thenstating that I had been to visit my aunt in the Rue desDrômes. But, as it is my design never to return—or not forsome weeks—or not until certain concealments are effected—thegaining of time is the only point about which I need givemyself any concern.'

"You have observed, in your notes, that the most generalopinion in relation to this sad affair is, and was from thefirst, that the girl had been the victim of a gang ofblackguards. Now, the popular opinion, under certain conditions,is not to be disregarded. When arising of itself—whenmanifesting itself in a strictly spontaneous manner—we shouldlook upon it as analogous with that intuition which is theidiosyncrasy of the individual man of genius. In ninety-ninecases from the hundred I would abide by its decision.But it is important that we find no palpable traces ofsuggestion. The opinion must be rigorously the public's own;and the distinction is often exceedingly difficult to perceiveand to maintain. In the present instance, it appears to methat this 'public opinion,' in respect to a gang, has beensuperinduced by the collateral event which is detailed in the thirdof my extracts. All Paris is excited by the discovered corpseof Marie, a girl young, beautiful, and notorious. This corpseis found bearing marks of violence, and floating in the river.But it is now made known that, at the very period, or aboutthe very period, in which it is supposed that the girl wasassassinated, an outrage similar in nature to that endured bythe deceased, although less in extent, was perpetrated by agang of young ruffians upon the person of a second youngfemale. Is it wonderful that the one known atrocity shouldinfluence the popular judgment in regard to the otherunknown? This judgment awaited direction, and the knownoutrage seemed so opportunely to afford it! Marie, too, wasfound in the river; and upon this very river was this knownoutrage committed. The connection of the two events hadabout it so much of the palpable, that the true wonder wouldhave been a failure of the populace to appreciate and to seizeit. But, in fact, the one atrocity, known to be so committed,is, if anything, evidence that the other, committed at a timenearly coincident, was not so committed. It would havebeen a miracle if, while a gang of ruffians were perpetrating,at a given locality, a most unheard-of wrong, there shouldhave been another similar gang, in a similar locality, inthe same city, under the same circumstances, with the samemeans and appliances, engaged in a wrong of precisely thesame aspect, at precisely the same period of time! Yet inwhat, if not in this marvelous train of coincidence, does theaccidentally suggested opinion of the populace call upon usto believe?

"Before proceeding further, let us consider the supposedscene of the assassination, in the thicket at the Barrière duRoule. This thicket, although dense, was in the close vicinityof a public road. Within were three or four large stones,forming a kind of seat with a back and a footstool. On theupper stone was discovered a white petticoat; on the second,a silk scarf. A parasol, gloves, and a pocket-handkerchiefwere also here found. The handkerchief bore the name'Marie Rogêt.' Fragments of dress were seen on the branchesaround. The earth was trampled, the bushes were broken,and there was every evidence of a violent struggle.

"Notwithstanding the acclamation with which the discoveryof this thicket was received by the press, and theunanimity with which it was supposed to indicate the precisescene of the outrage, it must be admitted that there was somevery good reason for doubt. That it was the scene, I may orI may not believe—but there was excellent reason for doubt.Had the true scene been, as 'Le Commerciel' suggested, inthe neighborhood of the Rue Pavée St. Andrée, the perpetratorsof the crime, supposing them still resident in Paris,would naturally have been stricken with terror at the publicattention thus acutely directed into the proper channel; and,in certain classes of minds, there would have arisen, at once,a sense of the necessity of some exertion to redivert thisattention. And thus, the thicket of the Barrière du Roulehaving been already suspected, the idea of placing the articleswhere they were found might have been naturally entertained.There is no real evidence, although 'Le Soleil' sosupposes, that the articles discovered had been more than avery few days in the thicket; while there is much circumstantialproof that they could not have remained there, withoutattracting attention, during the twenty days elapsingbetween the fatal Sunday and the afternoon upon which theywere found by the boys. 'They were all mildewed downhard,' says 'Le Soleil,' adopting the opinions of itspredecessors, 'with the action of the rain and stuck together frommildew. The grass had grown around and over some ofthem. The silk of the parasol was strong, but the threadsof it were run together within. The upper part, where it hadbeen doubled and folded, was all mildewed and rotten, andtore on being opened.' In respect to the grass having 'grownaround and over some of them,' it is obvious that the factcould only have been ascertained from the words, and thusfrom the recollections, of two small boys; for these boysremoved the articles and took them home before they hadbeen seen by a third party. But the grass will grow,especially in warm and damp weather (such as was that of theperiod of the murder), as much as two or three inches in asingle day. A parasol lying upon a newly turfed ground,might, in a single week, be entirely concealed from sight bythe upspringing grass. And touching that mildew uponwhich the editor of 'Le Soleil' so pertinaciously insists thathe employs the word no less than three times in the briefparagraph just quoted, is he really unaware of the nature ofthis mildew? Is he to be told that it is one of the manyclasses of fungus, of which the most ordinary feature is itsupspringing and decadence within twenty-four hours?

"Thus we see, at a glance, that what has been mosttriumphantly adduced in support of the idea that the articleshad been 'for at least three or four weeks' in the thicket, ismost absurdly null as regards any evidence of that fact. Onthe other hand, it is exceedingly difficult to believe thatthese articles could have remained in the thicket specifiedfor a longer period than a single week—for a longer periodthan from one Sunday to the next. Those who knowanything of the vicinity of Paris know the extreme difficulty offinding seclusion, unless at a great distance from its suburbs.Such a thing as an unexplored or even an unfrequentlyvisited recess, amid its woods or groves, is not for amoment to be imagined. Let any one who, being at hearta lover of nature, is yet chained by duty to the dust andheat of this great metropolis—let any such one attempt,even during the week-days, to slake his thirst for solitudeamid the scenes of natural loveliness which immediatelysurround us. At every second step he will find the growingcharm dispelled by the voice and personal intrusion of someruffian or party of carousing blackguards. He will seekprivacy amid the densest foliage, all in vain. Here are thevery nooks where the unwashed most abound—here are thetemples most desecrate. With sickness of the heart thewanderer will flee back to the polluted Paris as to a lessodious because less incongruous sink of pollution. But ifthe vicinity of the city is so beset during the working daysof the week, how much more so on the Sabbath! It is nowespecially that, released from the claims of labor, or deprivedof the customary opportunities of crime, the town blackguardseeks the precincts of the town, not through love ofthe rural, which in his heart he despises, but by way ofescape from the restraints and conventionalities of society.He desires less the fresh air and the green trees, than theutter license of the country. Here, at the roadside inn, orbeneath the foliage of the woods, he indulges unchecked byany eye except those of his boon companions, in all the madexcess of a counterfeit hilarity—the joint offspring ofliberty and of rum. I say nothing more than what must beobvious to every dispassionate observer, when I repeat thatthe circumstance of the articles in question having remainedundiscovered for a longer period than from one Sunday toanother in any thicket in the immediate neighborhood ofParis is to be looked upon as little less than miraculous.

"But there are not wanting other grounds for the suspicionthat the articles were placed in the thicket with theview of diverting attention from the real scene of the outrage.And first, let me direct your notice to the date of thediscovery of the articles. Collate this with the date of the fifthextract made by myself from the newspapers. You will findthat the discovery followed, almost immediately, the urgentcommunications sent to the evening paper. Thesecommunications, although various, and apparently from varioussources, tended all to the same point—viz.: the directing ofattention to a gang as the perpetrators of the outrage, andto the neighborhood of the Barrière du Roule as its scene.Now, here, of course, the situation is not that, in consequenceof these communications, or of the public attention by themdirected, the articles were found by the boys; but thesuspicion might and may well have been that the articles werenot before found by the boys, for the reason that the articleshad not before been in the thicket; having been depositedthere only at so late a period as at the date, or shortly priorto the date of the communication, by the guilty authors ofthese communications themselves.

"This thicket was a singular—an exceedingly singular one.It was unusually dense. Within its naturally walled inclosurewere three extraordinary stones, forming a seat with aback and a footstool. And this thicket, so full of art, was inthe immediate vicinity, within a few rods, of the dwelling ofMadame Deluc, whose boys were in the habit of closelyexamining the shrubberies about them in search of the bark ofthe sassafras. Would it be a rash wager—a wager of onethousand to one—that a day never passed over the headsof these boys without finding at least one of them ensconcedin the umbrageous hall, and enthroned upon its naturalthrone? Those who would hesitate at such a wager haveeither never been boys themselves or have forgotten theboyish nature. I repeat—it is exceedingly hard to comprehendhow the articles could have remained in this thicketundiscovered for a longer period than one or two days; and thatthus there is good ground for suspicion, in spite of thedogmatic ignorance of 'Le Soleil,' that they were, at acomparatively late date, deposited where found.

"But there are still other and stronger reasons forbelieving them so deposited, than any which I have as yeturged. And, now, let me beg your notice to the highlyartificial arrangement of the articles. On the upper stone laya white petticoat; on the second a silk scarf; scatteredaround were a parasol, gloves, and a pocket-handkerchiefbearing the name 'Marie Rogêt.' Here is just such anarrangement as would naturally be made by a not overacuteperson wishing to dispose the articles naturally. But it is byno means a really natural arrangement. I should ratherhave looked to see the things all lying on the ground andtrampled under foot. In the narrow limits of that bower itwould have been scarcely possible that the petticoat andscarf should have retained a position upon the stones, whensubjected to the brushing to and fro of many struggling persons.'There was evidence,' it is said, 'of a struggle; and theearth was trampled, the bushes were broken'—but thepetticoat and the scarf are found deposited as if upon shelves.'The pieces of the frock torn out by the bushes were aboutthree inches wide and six inches long. One part was thehem of the frock, and it had been mended. They looked likestrips torn off.' Here, inadvertently, 'Le Soleil' has employedan exceedingly suspicious phrase. The pieces, as described,do indeed 'look like strips torn off'; but purposely and byhand. It is one of the rarest of accidents that a piece is 'tornoff,' from any garment such as is now in question, by theagency of a thorn. From the very nature of such fabrics, athorn or nail becoming tangled in them, tears themrectangularly—divides them into two longitudinal rents, at rightangles with each other, and meeting at an apex where thethorn enters—but it is scarcely possible to conceive thepiece 'torn off.' I never so knew it, nor did you. To tear apiece off from such fabric, two distinct forces, in differentdirections, will be, in almost every case, required. If therebe two edges to the fabric—if, for example, it be apocket-handkerchief, and it is desired to tear from it a slip, then,and then only, will the one force serve the purpose. But inthe present case the question is of a dress, presenting butone edge. To tear a piece from the interior, where no edgeis presented, could only be effected by a miracle through theagency of thorns, and no one thorn could accomplish it.But, even where an edge is presented, two thorns will benecessary, operating, the one in two distinct directions, andthe other in one. And this in the supposition that the edgeis unhemmed. If hemmed, the matter is nearly out of thequestion. We thus see the numerous and great obstaclesin the way of pieces being 'torn off' through the simpleagency of 'thorns'; yet we are required to believe not onlythat one piece but that many have been so torn. 'And onepart,' too, 'was the hem of the frock!' Another piece was'part of the skirt, not the hem'—that is to say, was torncompletely out, through the agency of thorns, from the unedgedinterior of the dress! These, I say, are things which one maywell be pardoned for disbelieving; yet, taken collectedly,they form, perhaps, less of reasonable ground for suspicionthan the one startling circumstance of the articles havingbeen left in this thicket at all, by any murderers who hadenough precaution to think of removing the corpse. Youwill not have apprehended me rightly, however, if yousuppose it my design to deny this thicket as the scene of theoutrage. There might have been a wrong here, or morepossibly an accident at Madame Deluc's. But, in fact, thisis a point of minor importance. We are not engaged in anattempt to discover the scene, but to produce the perpetratorsof the murder. What I have adduced, notwithstanding theminuteness with which I have adduced it, has been with theview, first, to show the folly of the positive and headlongassertions of 'Le Soleil,' but secondly, and chiefly, to bringyou, by the most natural route, to a further contemplation ofthe doubt whether this assassination has, or has not, been thework of a gang.

"We will resume this question by mere allusion to therevolting details of the surgeon examined at the inquest. Itis only necessary to say that his published inferences, inregard to the number of the ruffians, have been properlyridiculed as unjust and totally baseless, by all the reputableanatomists of Paris. Not that the matter might not have beenas inferred, but that there was no ground for theinference—was there not much for another?

"Let us reflect now upon 'the traces of a struggle'; andlet me ask what these traces have been supposed todemonstrate. A gang. But do they not rather demonstrate theabsence of a gang? What struggle could have taken place—whatstruggle so violent and so enduring as to have left its'traces' in all directions—between a weak and defenselessgirl and a gang of ruffians imagined? The silent grasp of afew rough arms and all would have been over. The victimmust have been absolutely passive at their will. You willhere bear in mind that the arguments urged against thethicket as the scene, are applicable, in chief part, only againstit as the scene of an outrage committed by more than a singleindividual. If we imagine but one violator, we can conceive,and thus only conceive, the struggle of so violent and soobstinate a nature as to have left the 'traces' apparent.

"And again. I have already mentioned the suspicion to beexcited by the fact that the articles in question were sufferedto remain at all in the thicket where discovered. It seemsalmost impossible that these evidences of guilt should havebeen accidentally left where found. There was sufficientpresence of mind (it is supposed) to remove the corpse; andyet a more positive evidence than the corpse itself (whosefeatures might have been quickly obliterated by decay) isallowed to lie conspicuously in the scene of the outrage—Iallude to the handkerchief with the name of the deceased. Ifthis was accident, it was not the accident of a gang. Wecan imagine it only the accident of an individual. Let ussee. An individual has committed the murder. He is alonewith the ghost of the departed. He is appalled by what liesmotionless before him. The fury of his passion is over, andthere is abundant room in his heart for the natural awe ofthe deed. His is none of that confidence which the presenceof numbers inevitably inspires. He is alone with the dead.He trembles and is bewildered. Yet there is a necessity fordisposing of the corpse. He bears it to the river, and leavesbehind him the other evidences of his guilt; for it is difficult,if not impossible, to carry all the burden at once, and it willbe easy to return for what is left. But in his toilsomejourney to the water his fears redouble within him. The soundsof life encompass his path. A dozen times he hears or fancieshe hears the step of an observer. Even the very lights fromthe city bewilder him. Yet, in time, and by long andfrequent pauses of deep agony, he reaches the river's brink, anddisposes of his ghastly charge—perhaps through the mediumof a boat. But now what treasure does the world hold—whatthreat of vengeance could it hold out—which wouldhave power to urge the return of that lonely murderer overthat toilsome and perilous path, to the thicket and itsblood-chilling recollections? He returns not, let the consequencesbe what they may. He could not return if he would. Hissole thought is immediate escape. He turns his back foreverupon those dreadful shrubberies, and flees as from the wrathto come.

"But how with a gang? Their number would have inspiredthem with confidence; if, indeed, confidence is everwanting in the breast of the arrant blackguard; and of arrantblackguards alone are the supposed gangs ever constituted.Their number, I say, would have prevented the bewilderingand unreasoning terror which I have imagined to paralyzethe single man. Could we suppose an oversight in one, ortwo, or three, this oversight would have been remedied bya fourth. They would have left nothing behind them; fortheir number would have enabled them to carry all at once.There would have been no need of return.

"Consider now the circumstance that, in the outer garmentof the corpse when found, 'a slip, about a foot wide, had beentorn upward from the bottom hem to the waist, wound threetimes round the waist, and secured by a sort of hitch in theback.' This was done with the obvious design of affording ahandle by which to carry the body. But would any numberof men have dreamed of resorting to such an expedient? Tothree or four, the limbs of the corpse would have affordednot only a sufficient, but the best possible, hold. The deviceis that of a single individual; and this brings us to the factthat 'between the thicket and the river the rails of the fenceswere found taken down, and the ground bore evident tracesof some heavy burden having been dragged along it!' Butwould a number of men have put themselves to thesuperfluous trouble of taking down a fence, for the purpose ofdragging through it a corpse which they might have liftedover any fence in an instant? Would a number of men haveso dragged a corpse at all as to have left evident traces ofthe dragging?

"And here we must refer to an observation of 'Le Commerciel';upon which I have already, in some measure, commented.'A piece,' says this journal, 'of one of the unfortunategirl's petticoats was torn out and tied under her chin,and around the back of her head, probably to prevent screams.This was done by fellows who had no pocket-handkerchiefs.'

"I have before suggested that a genuine blackguard isnever without a pocket-handkerchief. But it is not to thisfact that I now especially advert. That it was not throughwant of a handkerchief for the purpose imagined by 'LeCommerciel,' that this bandage was employed, is renderedapparent by the handkerchief left in the thicket; and thatthe object was not 'to prevent screams' appears, also, fromthe bandage having been employed in preference to whatwould so much better have answered the purpose. But thelanguage of the evidence speaks of the strip in question as'found around the neck, fitting loosely, and secured with ahard knot.' These words are sufficiently vague, but differmaterially from those of 'Le Commerciel.' The slip waseighteen inches wide, and therefore, although of muslin,would form a strong band when folded or rumpled longitudinally.And thus rumpled it was discovered. My inferenceis this. The solitary murderer, having borne the corpse forsome distance (whether from the thicket or elsewhere) bymeans of the bandage hitched around its middle, found theweight, in this mode of procedure, too much for his strength.He resolved to drag the burden—the evidence goes to showthat it was dragged. With this object in view, it becamenecessary to attach something like a rope to one of theextremities. It could be best attached about the neck, wherethe head would prevent its slipping off. And now themurderer bethought him, unquestionably, of the bandage aboutthe loins. He would have used this, but for its volutionabout the corpse, the hitch which embarrassed it, and thereflection that it had not been 'torn off' from the garment. Itwas easier to tear a new slip from the petticoat. He tore it,made it fast about the neck, and so dragged his victim to thebrink of the river. That this 'bandage,' only attainable withtrouble and delay, and but imperfectly answering itspurpose—that this bandage was employed at all, demonstrates thatthe necessity for its employment sprang from circumstancesarising at a period when the handkerchief was no longerattainable—that is to say, arising, as we have imagined, afterquitting the thicket (if the thicket it was), and on the roadbetween the thicket and the river.

"But the evidence, you will say, of Madame Deluc (!)points especially to the presence of a gang in the vicinity ofthe thicket, at or about the epoch of the murder. This Igrant. I doubt if there were not a dozen gangs, such asdescribed by Madame Deluc, in and about the vicinity of theBarrière du Roule at or about the period of this tragedy.But the gang which has drawn upon itself the pointedanimadversion, through the somewhat tardy and very suspiciousevidence, of Madame Deluc, is the only gang which isrepresented by that honest and scrupulous old lady as having eatenher cakes and swallowed her brandy, without putting themselvesto the trouble of making her payment. Et hinc illæiræ?

"But what is the precise evidence of Madame Deluc?'A gang of miscreants made their appearance, behavedboisterously, ate and drank without making payment, followed inthe route of the young man and the girl, returned to the innabout dusk, and recrossed the river as if in great haste.'

"Now this 'great haste' very possibly seemed greaterhaste in the eyes of Madame Deluc, since she dwelt lingeringlyand lamentingly upon her violated cakes and ale—cakesand ale for which she might still have entertained a fainthope of compensation. Why, otherwise, since it was aboutdusk, should she make a point of the haste? It is no causefor wonder, surely, that even a gang of blackguards shouldmake haste to get home when a wide river is to be crossedin small boats, when storm impends, and when night approaches.

"I say approaches; for the night had not yet arrived. Itwas only about dusk that the indecent haste of these'miscreants' offended the sober eyes of Madame Deluc. But weare told that it was upon this very evening that MadameDeluc, as well as her eldest son, 'heard the screams of a femalein the vicinity of the inn.' And in what words does MadameDeluc designate the period of the evening at which thesescreams were heard? 'It was soon after dark' she says. But'soon after dark' is, at least, dark; and 'about dusk,' is ascertainly daylight. Thus it is abundantly clear that the gangquitted the Barrière du Roule prior to the screams overheard(?) by Madame Deluc. And although, in all the many reportsof the evidence, the relative expressions in question aredistinctly and invariably employed just as I have employedthem in this conversation with yourself, no notice whatever ofthe gross discrepancy has, as yet, been taken by any of thepublic journals, or by any of the myrmidons of police.

"I shall add but one to the arguments against a gang;but this one has, to my own understanding at least, a weightaltogether irresistible. Under the circumstances of largereward offered, and full pardon to any king's evidence, it isnot to be imagined, for a moment, that some member of agang of low ruffians, or of any body of men, would not longago have betrayed his accomplices. Each one of a gang, soplaced, is not so much greedy of reward, or anxious forescape, as fearful of betrayal. He betrays eagerly and earlythat he may not himself be betrayed. That the secret hasnot been divulged is the very best of proof that it is, in fact,a secret. The horrors of this dark deed are known only toone or two living human beings, and to God.

"Let us sum up now the meagre yet certain fruits of ourlong analysis. We have attained the idea either of a fatalaccident under the roof of Madame Deluc, or of a murderperpetrated, in the thicket at the Barrière du Roule, by alover, or at least by an intimate and secret associate of thedeceased. This associate is of swarthy complexion. Thiscomplexion, the 'hitch' in the bandage, and the 'sailor's knot' withwhich the bonnet-ribbon is tied, point to a seaman. Hiscompanionship with the deceased—a gay but not an abjectyoung girl—designates him as above the grade of thecommon sailor. Here the well-written and urgentcommunications to the journals are much in the way of corroboration.The circumstance of the first elopement, as mentioned by 'LeMercurie,' tends to blend the idea of this seaman with thatof the 'naval officer' who is first known to have led theunfortunate into crime.

"And here, most fitly, comes the consideration of thecontinued absence of him of the dark complexion. Let me pauseto observe that the complexion of this man is dark andswarthy; it was no common swarthiness which constitutedthe sole point of remembrance, both as regards Valence andMadame Deluc. But why is this man absent? Was he murderedby the gang? If so, why are there only traces of theassassinated girl? The scene of the two outrages willnaturally be supposed identical. And where is his corpse? Theassassins would most probably have disposed of both in thesame way. But it may be said that this man lives, and isdeterred from making himself known, through dread of beingcharged with the murder. This consideration might besupposed to operate upon him now—at this late period—sinceit has been given in evidence that he was seen with Marie,but it would have had no force at the period of the deed.The first impulse of an innocent man would have been toannounce the outrage, and to aid in identifying the ruffians.This policy would have suggested. He had been seen withthe girl. He had crossed the river with her in an openferry-boat. The denouncing of the assassins would have appeared,even to an idiot, the surest and sole means of relievinghimself from suspicion. We can not suppose him, on the nightof the fatal Sunday, both innocent himself and incognizantof an outrage committed. Yet only under such circumstancesis it possible to imagine that he would have failed, if alive,in the denouncement of the assassins.

"And what means are ours of attaining the truth? Weshall find these means multiplying and gathering distinctnessas we proceed. Let us sift to the bottom this affairof the first elopement. Let us know the full history of 'theofficer,' with his present circumstances, and his whereaboutat the precise period of the murder. Let us carefullycompare with each other the various communications sent to theevening paper, in which the object was to inculpate a gang.This done, let us compare these communications, both asregards style and MS., with those sent to the morning paper,at a previous period, and insisting so vehemently upon theguilt of Mennais. And, all this done, let us again comparethese various communications with the known MSS. of theofficer. Let us endeavor to ascertain, by repeated questioningsof Madame Deluc and her boys, as well as of theomnibus-driver, Valence, something more of the personalappearance and bearing of the 'man of dark complexion.' Queries,skilfully directed, will not fail to elicit, from some of theseparties, information on this particular point (or uponothers)—information which the parties themselves may not even beaware of possessing. And let us now trace the boat pickedup by the bargeman on the morning of Monday the twenty-thirdof June, and which was removed from the barge-office,without the cognizance of the officer in attendance, andwithout the rudder, at some period prior to the discovery of thecorpse. With a proper caution and perseverance we shallinfallibly trace this boat; for not only can the bargeman whopicked it up identify it, but the rudder is at hand. Therudder of a sail boat would not have been abandoned, withoutinquiry, by one altogether at ease in heart. And here let mepause to insinuate a question. There was no advertisementof the picking up of this boat. It was silently taken to thebarge-office and as silently removed. But its owner oremployer—how happened he, at so early a period as Tuesdaymorning, to be informed, without the agency of advertisement,of the locality of the boat taken up on Monday, unlesswe imagine some connection with the navy—some personalpermanent connection leading to cognizance of its minuteinterests—its petty local news?

"In speaking of the lonely assassin dragging his burdento the shore, I have already suggested the probability of hisavailing himself of a boat. Now we are to understand thatMarie Rogêt was precipitated from a boat. This wouldnaturally have been the case. The corpse could not have beentrusted to the shallow waters of the shore. The peculiarmarks on the back and shoulders of the victim tell of thebottom ribs of a boat. That the body was found withoutweight is also corroborative of the idea. If thrown from theshore a weight would have been attached. We can onlyaccount for its absence by supposing the murderer to haveneglected the precaution of supplying himself with it beforepushing off. In the act of consigning the corpse to thewater, he would unquestionably have noticed his oversight;but then no remedy would have been at hand. Any riskwould have been preferred to a return to that accursed shore.Having rid himself of his ghastly charge, the murderer wouldhave hastened to the city. There, at some obscure wharf,he would have leaped on land. But the boat—would he havesecured it? He would have been in too great haste for suchthings as securing a boat. Moreover, in fastening it to thewharf, he would have felt as if securing evidence againsthimself. His natural thought would have been to cast fromhim, as far as possible, all that had held connection with hiscrime. He would not only have fled from the wharf, but hewould not have permitted the boat to remain. Assuredly hewould have cast it adrift. Let us pursue our fancies. In themorning, the wretch is stricken with unutterable horror atfinding that the boat has been picked up and detained at alocality which he is in the daily habit of frequenting—at alocality, perhaps, which his duty compels him to frequent.The next night, without daring to ask for the rudder, heremoves it. Now where is that rudderless boat? Let it be oneof our first purposes to discover. With the first glimpse weobtain of it, the dawn of our success shall begin. This boatshall guide us, with a rapidity which will surprise evenourselves, to him who employed it in the midnight of the fatalSabbath. Corroboration will rise upon corroboration, andthe murderer will be traced."

[For reasons which we shall not specify, but which tomany readers will appear obvious, we have taken the libertyof here omitting, from the MSS. placed in our hands, suchportion as details the following up of the apparently slightclue obtained by Dupin. We feel it advisable only to state,in brief, that the result desired was brought to pass; and thatthe Prefect fulfilled punctually, although with reluctance, theterms of his compact with the Chevalier. Mr. Poe's articleconcludes with the following words.—Eds.[24]]

[24] Of the Magazine in which the article was originally published.

It will be understood that I speak of coincidences and nomore. What I have said above upon this topic must suffice.In my own heart there dwells no faith in preternature. ThatNature and its God are two, no man who thinks will deny.That the latter, creating the former, can, at will, controlor modify it, is also unquestionable. I say "at will"; forthe question is of will, and not, as the insanity of logic hasassumed, of power. It is not that the Deity can not modifyhis laws, but that we insult him in imagining a possiblenecessity for modification. In their origin these laws werefashioned to embrace all contingencies which could lie inthe Future. With God all is Now.

I repeat, then, that I speak of these things only as ofcoincidences. And further: in what I relate it will be seenthat between the fate of the unhappy Mary Cecilia Rogers,so far as that fate is known, and the fate of one Marie Rogêtup to a certain epoch in her history, there has existed aparallel in the contemplation of whose wonderful exactitudethe reason becomes embarrassed. I say all this will be seen.But let it not for a moment be supposed that, in proceedingwith the sad narrative of Marie from the epoch justmentioned, and in tracing to its denouement the mystery whichenshrouded her, it is my covert design to hint at an extensionof the parallel, or even to suggest that the measures adoptedin Paris for the discovery of the assassin of a grisette, ormeasures founded in any similar ratiocination, would produceany similar result.

For, in respect to the latter branch of the supposition, itshould be considered that the most trifling variation in thefacts of the two cases might give rise to the most importantmiscalculations, by diverting thoroughly the two courses ofevents; very much as, in arithmetic, an error which, in itsown individuality, may be inappreciable, produces, at length,by dint of multiplication at all points of the process, a resultenormously at variance with truth. And, in regard to theformer branch, we must not fail to hold in view that thevery Calculus of Probabilities to which I have referred, forbidsall idea of the extension of the parallel—forbids it witha positiveness strong and decided just in proportion as thisparallel has already been long-drawn and exact. This is oneof those anomalous propositions which, seemingly appealingto thought altogether apart from the mathematical, is yetone which only the mathematician can fully entertain. Nothing,for example, is more difficult than to convince the merelygeneral reader that the fact of sixes having been throwntwice in succession by a player at dice, is sufficient cause forbetting the largest odds that sixes will not be thrown in thethird attempt. A suggestion to this effect is usually rejectedby the intellect at once. It does not appear that the twothrows which have been completed, and which lie nowabsolutely in the Past, can have influence upon the throw whichexists only in the Future. The chance for throwing sixesseems to be precisely as it was at any ordinary time—thatis to say, subject only to the influence of the various otherthrows which may be made by the dice. And this is areflection which appears so exceedingly obvious that attempts tocontrovert it are received more frequently with a derisivesmile than with anything like respectful attention. The errorhere involved—a gross error redolent of mischief—I can notpretend to expose within the limits assigned me at present;with the philosophical it needs no exposure. It may besufficient here to say that it forms one of an infinite series ofmistakes which arise in the path of Reason through herpropensity for seeking truth in detail.

THE PURLOINED LETTER

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

This story, as may be seen from the openingparagraph, also concerns itself with thatremarkable detective, M. Dupin.

Edmund Clarence Stedman considers itsuperior to the two stories that precede it, butBrander Matthews says that nothing betterof their kind has ever been done than "TheMurders in the Rue Morgue" and "ThePurloined Letter"; thus awarding equal praiseto the first story and the third story.

THE PURLOINED LETTER

By EDGAR ALLAN POE

Nil sapientiæ odiosius acumine nimio.—Seneca

At Paris, just after dark one gusty evening in theautumn of 18—, I was enjoying the twofold luxuryof meditation and a meerschaum, in company withmy friend, C. Auguste Dupin, in his little backlibrary, or book-closet, au troisieme, No. 33 Rue Dunot,Faubourg St. Germain. For one hour at least we had maintaineda profound silence; while each, to any casual observer, mighthave seemed intently and exclusively occupied with thecurling eddies of smoke that oppressed the atmosphere of thechamber. For myself, however, I was mentally discussingcertain topics which had formed matter for conversationbetween us at an earlier period of the evening; I mean the affairof the Rue Morgue, and the mystery attending the murderof Marie Rogêt. I looked upon it, therefore, as something ofa coincidence, when the door of our apartment was thrownopen and admitted our old acquaintance, Monsieur G——,the Prefect of the Parisian police.

We gave him a hearty welcome; for there was nearlyhalf as much of the entertaining as of the contemptibleabout the man, and we had not seen him for several years.We had been sitting in the dark, and Dupin now arose forthe purpose of lighting a lamp, but sat down again, withoutdoing so, upon G——'s saying that he had called toconsult us, or rather to ask the opinion of my friend, aboutsome official business which had occasioned a great deal oftrouble.

"If it is any point requiring reflection," observed Dupin,as he forebore to enkindle the wick, "we shall examine it tobetter purpose in the dark."

"That is another of your odd notions," said the Prefect,who had the fashion of calling everything "odd" that wasbeyond his comprehension, and thus lived amid an absolutelegion of "oddities."

"Very true," said Dupin, as he supplied his visitor witha pipe, and rolled toward him a comfortable chair.

"And what is the difficulty now?" I asked. "Nothingmore in the assassination way, I hope?"

"Oh, no; nothing of that nature. The fact is, the businessis very simple indeed, and I make no doubt that we canmanage it sufficiently well ourselves; but then I thoughtDupin would like to hear the details of it, because it is soexcessively odd."

"Simple and odd!" said Dupin.

"Why, yes; and not exactly that either. The fact is, wehave all been a good deal puzzled because the affair is sosimple, and yet baffles us altogether."

"Perhaps it is the very simplicity of the thing which putsyou at fault," said my friend.

"What nonsense you do talk!" replied the Prefect,laughing heartily.

"Perhaps the mystery is a little too plain," said Dupin.

"Oh, good heavens! who ever heard of such an idea?"

"A little too self-evident."

"Ha! ha! ha!—ha! ha! ha!—ho! ho! ho!" roared our visitor,profoundly amused, "oh, Dupin, you will be the deathof me yet!"

"And what, after all, is the matter on hand?" I asked.

"Why, I will tell you," replied the Prefect, as he gave along, steady, and contemplative puff, and settled himself inhis chair. "I will tell you in a few words; but, before Ibegin, let me caution you that this is an affair demanding thegreatest secrecy, and that I should most probably lose theposition I now hold, were it known that I confided it toany one."

"Proceed," said I.

"Or not," said Dupin.

"Well, then; I have received personal information, froma very high quarter, that a certain document of the lastimportance has been purloined from the royal apartments. Theindividual who purloined it is known; this beyond a doubt;he was seen to take it. It is known, also, that it still remainsin his possession."

"How is this known?" asked Dupin.

"It is clearly inferred," replied the Prefect, "from thenature of the document, and from the non-appearance ofcertain results which would at once arise from its passingout of the robber's possession—that is to say, from hisemploying it as he must design in the end to employ it."

"Be a little more explicit," I said.

"Well, I may venture so far as to say that the papergives its holder a certain power in a certain quarter wheresuch power is immensely valuable." The Prefect was fondof the cant of diplomacy.

"Still I do not quite understand," said Dupin.

"No? Well; the disclosure of the document to a thirdperson, who shall be nameless, would bring in question thehonor of a personage of most exalted station; and this factgives the holder of the document an ascendency over theillustrious personage whose honor and peace are sojeopardized."

"But this ascendency," I interposed, "would depend uponthe robber's knowledge of the loser's knowledge of therobber. Who would dare—"

"The thief," said G——, "is the Minister D——, who daresall things, those unbecoming as well as those becoming aman. The method of the theft was not less ingenious thanbold. The document in question—a letter, to be frank—hadbeen received by the personage robbed while alone in the royalboudoir. During its perusal she was suddenly interruptedby the entrance of the other exalted personage from whomespecially it was her wish to conceal it. After a hurried andvain endeavor to thrust it in a drawer, she was forced toplace it, open as it was, upon a table. The address,however, was uppermost, and, the contents thus unexposed, theletter escaped notice. At this juncture enters the MinisterD——. His lynx eye immediately perceives the paper,recognizes the handwriting of the address, observes theconfusion of the personage addressed, and fathoms her secret.After some business transactions, hurried through in hisordinary manner, he produces a letter somewhat similar to theone in question, opens it, pretends to read it, and then placesit in close juxtaposition to the other. Again he converses,for some fifteen minutes, upon the public affairs. At length,in taking leave, he takes also from the table the letter towhich he had no claim. Its rightful owner saw, but, ofcourse, dared not call attention to the act, in the presence ofthe third personage who stood at her elbow. The ministerdecamped; leaving his own letter—one of no importance—uponthe table."

"Here, then," said Dupin to me, "you have precisely whatyou demand to make the ascendency complete—the robber'sknowledge of the loser's knowledge of the robber."

"Yes," replied the Prefect; "and the power thus attainedhas, for some months past, been wielded, for politicalpurposes, to a very dangerous extent. The personage robbedis more thoroughly convinced, every day, of the necessityof reclaiming her letter. But this, of course, can not be doneopenly. In fine, driven to despair, she has committed thematter to me."

"Than whom," said Dupin, amid a perfect whirlwind ofsmoke, "no more sagacious agent could, I suppose, bedesired, or even imagined."

"You flatter me," replied the Prefect; "but it is possiblethat some such opinion may have been entertained."

"It is clear," said I, "as you observe, that the letter isstill in the possession of the minister; since it is thispossession, and not any employment of the letter, whichbestows the power. With the employment the power departs."

"True," said G——; "and upon this conviction I proceeded.My first care was to make thorough search of the minister'shotel; and here my chief embarrassment lay in the necessityof searching without his knowledge. Beyond all things,I have been warned of the danger which would result fromgiving him reason to suspect our design."

"But," said I, "you are quite au fait in theseinvestigations. The Parisian police have done this thing oftenbefore."

"Oh, yes; and for this reason I did not despair. Thehabits of the minister gave me, too, a great advantage. Heis frequently absent from home all night. His servants areby no means numerous. They sleep at a distance from theirmaster's apartment, and, being chiefly Neapolitans, arereadily made drunk. I have keys, as you know, with whichI can open any chamber or cabinet in Paris. For threemonths a night has not passed, during the greater part ofwhich I have not been engaged, personally, in ransacking theD—— Hotel. My honor is interested, and, to mention agreat secret, the reward is enormous. So I did not abandonthe search until I had become fully satisfied that the thiefis a more astute man than myself. I fancy that I haveinvestigated every nook and corner of the premises in whichit is possible that the paper can be concealed."

"But is it not possible," I suggested, "that although theletter may be in possession of the minister, as itunquestionably is, he may have concealed it elsewhere than uponhis own premises?"

"This is barely possible," said Dupin. "The present peculiarcondition of affairs at court, and especially of thoseintrigues in which D—— is known to be involved, wouldrender the instant availability of the document—itssusceptibility of being produced at a moment's notice—a pointof nearly equal importance with its possession."

"Its susceptibility of being produced?" said I.

"That is to say, of being destroyed," said Dupin.

"True," I observed; "the paper is clearly then upon thepremises. As for its being upon the person of the minister,we may consider that as out of the question."

"Entirely," said the Prefect. "He has been twice waylaid,as if by footpads, and his person rigidly searched undermy own inspection."

"You might have spared yourself this trouble," saidDupin. "D——, I presume, is not altogether a fool, and, ifnot, must have anticipated these waylayings, as a matter ofcourse."

"Not altogether a fool," said G——, "but then he is a poet,which I take to be only one remove from a fool."

"True," said Dupin, after a long and thoughtful whifffrom his meerschaum, "although I have been guilty ofcertain doggerel myself."

"Suppose you detail," said I, "the particulars of yoursearch."

"Why, the fact is, we took our time, and we searchedeverywhere. I have had long experience in these affairs.I took the entire building, room by room; devoting thenights of a whole week to each. We examined, first, thefurniture of each department. We opened every possibledrawer; and I presume you know that, to a properly trainedpolice-agent, such a thing as a 'secret' drawer is impossible.Any man is a dolt who permits a 'secret' drawer to escapehim in a search of this kind. The thing is so plain. Thereis a certain amount of bulk—of space—to be accounted forin every cabinet. Then we have accurate rules. The fiftiethpart of a line could not escape us. After the cabinets wetook the chairs. The cushions we probed with the fine longneedles you have seen me employ. From the tables weremoved the tops."

"Why so?"

"Sometimes the top of a table, or other similarly arrangedpiece of furniture, is removed by the person wishing to concealan article; then the leg is excavated, the article depositedwithin the cavity, and the top replaced. The bottoms andtops of bedposts are employed in the same way."

"But could not the cavity be detected by sounding?" Iasked.

"By no means, if, when the article is deposited, a sufficientwadding of cotton be placed around it. Besides, in ourcase, we were obliged to proceed without noise."

"But you could not have removed—you could not havetaken to pieces all articles of furniture in which it wouldhave been possible to make a deposit in the manner youmention. A letter may be compressed into a thin spiral roll,not differing much in shape or bulk from a large knitting-needle,and in this form it might be inserted into the rung ofa chair, for example. You did not take to pieces all thechairs?"

"Certainly not; but we did better—we examined the rungsof every chair in the hotel, and, indeed, the jointings of everydescription of furniture, by the aid of a most powerfulmicroscope. Had there been any traces of recent disturbancewe should not have failed to detect it instantly. A singlegrain of gimlet-dust, for example, would have been asobvious as an apple. Any disorder in the gluing—anyunusual gaping in the joints—would have sufficed to ensuredetection."

"I presume you looked to the mirrors, between the boardsand the plates, and you probed the beds and the bedclothes,as well as the curtains and carpets."

"That of course; and when we had absolutely completedevery particle of the furniture in this way, then we examinedthe house itself. We divided its entire surface intocompartments, which we numbered, so that none might be missed;then we scrutinized each individual square inch throughoutthe premises, including the two houses immediately adjoining,with the microscope, as before."

"The two houses adjoining!" I exclaimed; "you must havehad a great deal of trouble."

"We had; but the reward offered is prodigious."

"You include the ground about the houses?"

"All the grounds are paved with brick. They gave uscomparatively little trouble. We examined the mossbetween the bricks, and found it undisturbed."

"You looked among D——'s papers, of course, and intothe books of the library?"

"Certainly; we opened every package and parcel; we notonly opened every book, but we turned over every leaf ineach volume, not contenting ourselves with a mere shake,according to the fashion of some of our police officers. Wealso measured the thickness of every book-cover, with themost accurate admeasurement, and applied to each the mostjealous scrutiny of the microscope. Had any of the bindingsbeen recently meddled with, it would have been utterlyimpossible that the fact should have escaped observation.Some five or six volumes, just from the hands of the binder,we carefully probed, longitudinally, with the needles."

"You explored the floors beneath the carpets?"

"Beyond doubt. We removed every carpet, and examinedthe boards with the microscope."

"And the paper on the walls?"

"Yes."

"You looked into the cellars?"

"We did."

"Then," I said, "you have been making a miscalculation,and the letter is not upon the premises, as you suppose."

"I fear you are right there," said the Prefect. "And now,Dupin, what would you advise me to do?"

"To make a thorough research of the premises."

"That is absolutely needless," replied G——. "I am notmore sure that I breathe than I am that the letter is not atthe hotel."

"I have no better advice to give you," said Dupin. "Youhave, of course, an accurate description of the letter?"

"Oh, yes!"—And here the Prefect, producing amemorandum-book, proceeded to read aloud a minute account ofthe internal, and especially of the external appearance ofthe missing document. Soon after finishing the perusalof this description, he took his departure, more entirelydepressed in spirits than I had ever known the goodgentleman before.

In about a month afterward he paid us another visit,and found us occupied very nearly as before. He took a pipeand a chair and entered into some ordinary conversation.At length I said:

"Well, but, G——, what of the purloined letter? Ipresume you have at last made up your mind that there is nosuch thing as overreaching the minister?"

"Confound him, say I—yes; I made the reexamination,however, as Dupin suggested—but it was all labor lost, as Iknew it would be."

"How much was the reward offered, did you say?" askedDupin.

"Why, a very great deal—a very liberal reward—I don'tlike to say how much, precisely; but one thing I will say,that I wouldn't mind giving my individual check for fiftythousand francs to any one who could obtain me that letter.The fact is, it is becoming of more and more importanceevery day; and the reward has been lately doubled. If itwere trebled, however, I could do no more than I have done."

"Why, yes," said Dupin, drawlingly between the whiffsof his meerschaum, "I really—think, G——, you have notexerted yourself—to the utmost in this matter. Youmight—do a little more, I think, eh?"

"How?—in what way?"

"Why—puff, puff—you might—puff, puff—employ counselin the matter, eh?—puff, puff, puff. Do you remember thestory they tell of Abernethy?"

"No; hang Abernethy!"

"To be sure! hang him and welcome. But, once upon atime, a certain rich miser conceived the design of spongingupon this Abernethy for a medical opinion. Getting up, forthis purpose, an ordinary conversation in a private company,he insinuated his case to the physician, as that of animaginary individual.

"'We will suppose,' said the miser, 'that his symptomsare such and such; now, doctor, what would you havedirected him to take?'

"'Take!' said Abernethy, 'why, take advice to be sure.'"

"But," said the Prefect, a little discomposed, "I am perfectlywilling to take advice, and to pay for it. I would reallygive fifty thousand francs to any one who would aid me inthe matter."

"In that case," replied Dupin, opening a drawer, andproducing a check-book, "you may as well fill me up a check forthe amount mentioned. When you have signed it, I willhand you the letter."

I was astounded. The Prefect appeared absolutelythunder-stricken. For some minutes he remained speechlessand motionless, looking incredulously at my friend, with openmouth and eyes that seemed starting from their sockets;then apparently recovering himself in some measure, heseized a pen, and after several pauses and vacant stares,finally filled up and signed a check for fifty thousand francs,and handed it across the table to Dupin. The latter examinedit carefully and deposited it in his pocket-book; then,unlocking an escritoire, took thence a letter and gave it tothe Prefect. This functionary grasped it in a perfect agonyof joy, opened it with a trembling hand, cast a rapid glanceat its contents, and then scrambling and struggling to thedoor, rushed at length unceremoniously from the room andfrom the house, without having uttered a syllable sinceDupin had requested him to fill up the check.

When he had gone, my friend entered into some explanations.

"The Parisian police," he said, "are exceedingly able intheir way. They are persevering, ingenious, cunning, andthoroughly versed in the knowledge which their duties seemchiefly to demand. Thus, when G—— detailed to us his modeof searching the premises at the Hotel D——, I felt entireconfidence in his having made a satisfactory investigation—sofar as his labors extended."

"So far as his labors extended?" said I.

"Yes," said Dupin. "The measures adopted were not onlythe best of their kind, but carried out to absoluteperfection. Had the letter been deposited within the range oftheir search, these fellows would, beyond a question, havefound it."

I merely laughed—but he seemed quite serious in all thathe said.

"The measures, then," he continued, "were good in theirkind, and well executed; their defect lay in their beinginapplicable to the case and to the man. A certain set of highlyingenious resources are, with the Prefect, a sort of Procrusteanbed, to which he forcibly adapts his designs. But heperpetually errs by being too deep or too shallow for thematter in hand; and many a schoolboy is a better reasonerthan he. I knew one about eight years of age, whose successat guessing in the game of 'even and odd' attracteduniversal admiration. This game is simple, and is played withmarbles. One player holds in his hand a number of thesetoys, and demands of another whether that number is evenor odd. If the guess is right, the guesser wins one; if wrong,he loses one. The boy to whom I allude won all the marblesof the school. Of course he had some principle of guessing;and this lay in mere observation and admeasurement of theastuteness of his opponents. For example, an arrantsimpleton is his opponent, and holding up his closed hand, asks,'Are they even or odd?' Our schoolboy replies, 'Odd,' andloses; but upon the second trial he wins, for he then saysto himself: 'The simpleton had them even upon the firsttrial, and his amount of cunning is just sufficient to makehim have them odd upon the second; I will therefore guessodd';—he guesses odd, and wins. Now, with a simpletona degree above the first, he would have reasoned thus: 'Thisfellow finds that in the first instance I guessed odd, and, inthe second, he will propose to himself, upon the firstimpulse, a simple variation from even to odd, as did the firstsimpleton; but then a second thought will suggest that thisis too simple a variation, and finally he will decide uponputting it even as before. I will therefore guess even';—heguesses even, and wins. Now this mode of reasoning in theschool-boy, whom his fellows termed 'lucky'—what, in itslast analysis, is it?"

"It is merely," I said, "an identification of the reasoner'sintellect with that of his opponent."

"It is," said Dupin; "and, upon inquiring of the boy bywhat means he effected the thorough identification in whichhis success consisted, I received answer as follows: 'When Iwish to find out how wise, or how stupid, or how good, orhow wicked is any one, or what are his thoughts at themoment, I fashion the expression of my face, as accurately aspossible, in accordance with the expression of his, and thenwait to see what thoughts or sentiments arise in my mind orheart, as if to match or correspond with the expression.' Thisresponse of the schoolboy lies at the bottom of all thespurious profundity which has been attributed to Rochefoucauld,to La Bougive, to Machiavelli, and to Campanella."

"And the identification," I said, "of the reasoner's intellectwith that of his opponent depends, if I understand youaright, upon the accuracy with which the opponent's intellectis admeasured."

"For its practical value it depends upon this," repliedDupin; "and the Prefect and his cohort fail so frequently,first by default of this identification, and, secondly, byill-admeasurement, or rather through non-admeasurement, ofthe intellect with which they are engaged. They consideronly their own ideas of ingenuity; and, in searching foranything hidden advert only to the modes in which they wouldhave hidden it. They are right in this much that their owningenuity is a faithful representative of that of the mass; butwhen the cunning of the individual felon is diverse incharacter from their own, the felon foils them, of course. Thisalways happens when it is above their own, and very usuallywhen it is below. They have no variation of principle intheir investigations; at best, when urged by some unusualemergency—by some extraordinary reward—they extend orexaggerate their old modes of practise, without touching theirprinciples. What, for example, in this case of D——, hasbeen done to vary the principle of action? What is all thisboring, and probing, and sounding, and scrutinizing with themicroscope, and dividing the surface of the building intoregistered square inches—what is it all but an exaggerationof the application of the one principle or set of principles ofsearch, which are based upon the one set of notions regardinghuman ingenuity, to which the Prefect, in the long routineof his duty, has been accustomed? Do you not see hehas taken it for granted that all men proceed to conceal aletter, not exactly in a gimlet-hole bored in a chair-leg, but,at least, in some out-of-the-way hole or corner suggested bythe same tenor of thought which would urge a man tosecrete a letter in a gimlet-hole bored in a chair-leg? Anddo you not see also that such recherche nooks for concealmentare adapted only for ordinary occasions, and wouldbe adopted only by ordinary intellects; for, in all cases ofconcealment, a disposal of the article concealed—a disposalof it in this recherche manner—is in the very first instancepresumable and presumed; and thus its discovery depends,not at all upon the acumen, but altogether upon the care,patience, and determination of the seekers; and where thecase is of importance—or, what amounts to the same thingin the political eyes, when the reward is of magnitude—thequalities in question have never been known to fail. Youwill now understand what I meant in suggesting that, hadthe purloined letter been hidden anywhere within the limitsof the Prefect's examination—in other words, had theprinciple of its concealment been comprehended within theprinciples of the Prefect—its discovery would have been a matteraltogether beyond question. This functionary, however, hasbeen thoroughly mystified; and the remote source of hisdefeat lies in the supposition that the minister is a fool,because he has acquired renown as a poet. All fools are poets;this the Prefect feels; and he is merely guilty of a nondistributio medii in thence inferring that all poets arefools."

"But is this really the poet?" I asked. "There are twobrothers, I know; and both have attained reputation inletters. The minister, I believe, has written learnedly onthe Differential Calculus. He is a mathematician, and nopoet."

"You are mistaken; I know him well; he is both. As poetand mathematician, he would reason well; as mere mathematician,he could not have reasoned at all, and thus would havebeen at the mercy of the Prefect."

"You surprise me," I said, "by these opinions, which havebeen contradicted by the voice of the world. You do notmean to set at naught the well-digested idea of centuries.The mathematical reason has long been regarded as thereason par excellence.

"'Il y a a parier,'" replied Dupin, quoting from Chamfort,"'que toute idee publique, toute convention recue, estune sottise, car elle a convenue au plus grand nombre.' Themathematicians, I grant you, have done their best topromulgate the popular error to which you allude, and which isnone the less an error for its promulgation as truth. Withan art worthy a better cause, for example, they haveinsinuated the term 'analysis' into application to algebra. TheFrench are the originators of this particular deception; butif a term is of any importance—if words derive any valuefrom applicability—then 'analysis' conveys 'algebra' aboutas much as, in Latin, 'ambitus' implies 'ambition,' 'religio''religion,' or 'homines honesti' a set of honorable men."

"You have a quarrel on hand, I see," said I, "with someof the algebraists of Paris; but proceed."

"I dispute the availability, and thus the value, of thatreason which is cultivated in any special form other thanthe abstractly logical. I dispute, in particular, the reasoneduced by mathematical study. The mathematics are thescience of form and quantity; mathematical reasoning ismerely logic applied to observation upon form andquantity. The great error lies in supposing that even thetruths of what is called pure algebra are abstract orgeneral truths. And this error is so egregious that I amconfounded at the universality with which it has been received.Mathematical axioms are not axioms of general truth.What is true of relation—of form and quantity—is oftengrossly false in regard to morals, for example. In thislatter science it is very usually untrue that the aggregatedparts are equal to the whole. In chemistry also the axiomfails. In the consideration of motive it fails; for twomotives, each of a given value, have not, necessarily, a valuewhen united, equal to the sum of their values apart. Thereare numerous other mathematical truths which are onlytruths within the limits of relation. But the mathematicianargues from his finite truths, through habit, as if they wereof an absolutely general applicability—as the world indeedimagines them to be.

"Bryant, in his very learned 'Mythology,' mentions ananalogous source of error, when he says that 'althoughthe pagan fables are not believed, yet we forgetourselves continually, and make inferences from them asexisting realities.' With the algebraists, however, who arepagans themselves, the 'pagan fables' are believed, andthe inferences are made, not so much through lapse ofmemory as through an unaccountable addling of the brains. Inshort, I never yet encountered the mere mathematician whocould be trusted out of equal roots, or one who did notclandestinely hold it as a point of his faith that x^2+px wasabsolutely and unconditionally equal to q. Say to one of thesegentlemen, by way of experiment, if you please, that youbelieve occasions may occur where x^2+px is not altogetherequal to q, and, having made him understand what youmean, get out of his reach as speedily as convenient, for,beyond doubt, he will endeavor to knock you down.

"I mean to say," continued Dupin, while I merely laughedat his last observations, "that if the minister had been nomore than a mathematician, the Prefect would have beenunder no necessity of giving me this check. I knew him,however, as both mathematician and poet, and my measureswere adapted to his capacity, with reference to the circumstancesby which he was surrounded. I knew him as a courtier,too, and as a bold intriguant. Such a man, I considered,could not fail to be aware of the ordinary political modes ofaction. He could not have failed to anticipate—and eventshave proved that he did not fail to anticipate—the waylayingsto which he was subjected. He must have foreseen, Ireflected, the secret investigations of his premises. Hisfrequent absences from home at night, which were hailed bythe Prefect as certain aids to his success, I regarded onlyas ruses, to afford opportunity for thorough search to thepolice, and thus the sooner to impress them with theconviction to which G——, in fact, did finally arrive—theconviction that the letter was not upon the premises. I felt,also, that the whole train of thought, which I was at somepains in detailing to you just now, concerning the invariableprinciple of political action in searches for articlesconcealed—I felt that this whole train of thought wouldnecessarily pass through the mind of the minister. It wouldimperatively lead him to despise all the ordinary nooks ofconcealment. He could not, I reflected, be so weak as not tosee that the most intricate and remote recess of his hotelwould be as open as his commonest closets to the eyes, tothe probes, to the gimlets, and to the microscopes of thePrefect. I saw, in fine, that he would be driven, as a matterof course, to simplicity, if not deliberately induced to itas a matter of choice. You will remember, perhaps, howdesperately the Prefect laughed when I suggested, uponour first interview, that it was just possible this mysterytroubled him so much on account of its being so veryself-evident."

"Yes," said I, "I remember his merriment well. I reallythought he would have fallen into convulsions."

"The material world," continued Dupin, "abounds withvery strict analogies to the immaterial; and thus some colorof truth has been given to the rhetorical dogma, that metaphor,or simile, may be made to strengthen an argument aswell as to embellish a description. The principle of the visinertiæ, for example, seems to be identical in physics andmetaphysics. It is not more true in the former, that a largebody is with more difficulty set in motion than a smallerone, and that its subsequent momentum is commensuratewith this difficulty, than it is, in the latter, that intellects ofthe vaster capacity, while more forcible, more constant, andmore eventful in their movements than those of inferiorgrade, are yet the less readily moved, and more embarrassed,and full of hesitation in the first few steps of their progress.Again: have you ever noticed which of the street signs,over the shop doors, are the most attractive of attention?"

"I have never given the matter a thought," I said.

"There is a game of puzzles," he resumed, "which isplayed upon a map. One party playing requires another tofind a given word—the name of town, river, state, orempire—any word, in short, upon the motley and perplexedsurface of the chart. A novice in the game generally seeksto embarrass his opponents by giving them the most minutelylettered names; but the adept selects such words asstretch, in large characters, from one end of the chart to theother. These, like the over-largely lettered signs andplacards of the street, escape observation by dint of beingexcessively obvious; and here the physical oversight isprecisely analogous with the moral inapprehension by whichthe intellect suffers to pass unnoticed those considerationswhich are too obtrusively and too palpably self-evident. Butthis is a point, it appears, somewhat above or beneath theunderstanding of the Prefect. He never once thought itprobable, or possible, that the minister had deposited theletter immediately beneath the nose of the whole world byway of best preventing any portion of that world fromperceiving it.

"But the more I reflected upon the daring, dashing, anddiscriminating ingenuity of D——; upon the fact that thedocument must always have been at hand, if he intended to useit to good purpose; and upon the decisive evidence, obtainedby the Prefect, that it was not hidden within the limits ofthat dignitary's ordinary search—the more satisfied I becamethat, to conceal this letter, the minister had resorted to thecomprehensive and sagacious expedient of not attempting toconceal it at all.

"Full of these ideas, I prepared myself with a pair ofgreen spectacles, and called one fine morning, quite byaccident, at the Ministerial hotel. I found D—— at home,yawning, lounging, and dawdling, as usual, and pretending to bein the last extremity of ennui. He is, perhaps, the most reallyenergetic human being now alive—but that is only whennobody sees him.

"To be even with him, I complained of my weak eyes, andlamented the necessity of the spectacles, under cover of whichI cautiously and thoroughly surveyed the whole apartment,while seemingly intent only upon the conversation of myhost.

"I paid especial attention to a large writing-table nearwhich he sat, and upon which lay confusedly, somemiscellaneous letters and other papers, with one or two musicalinstruments and a few books. Here, however, after a longand very deliberate scrutiny, I saw nothing to exciteparticular suspicion.

"At length my eyes, in going the circuit of the room, fellupon a trumpery filigree card-rack of pasteboard, that hungdangling by a dirty blue ribbon, from a little brass knob justbeneath the middle of the mantelpiece. In this rack, whichhad three or four compartments, were five or six visitingcards and a solitary letter. This last was much soiled andcrumpled. It was torn nearly in two, across the middle—asif a design, in the first instance, to tear it entirely up asworthless, had been altered or stayed in the second. It hada large black seal, bearing the D—— cipher very conspicuously,and was addressed, in a diminutive female hand, toD——, the minister, himself. It was thrust carelessly, andeven, as it seemed, contemptuously, into one of theuppermost divisions of the rack.

"No sooner had I glanced at this letter than I concludedit to be that of which I was in search. To be sure, it was,to all appearance, radically different from the one of whichthe Prefect had read us so minute a description. Here theseal was large and black, with the D—— cipher; there itwas small and red, with the ducal arms of the S—— family.Here, the address, to the minister, was diminutive and feminine;there the superscription, to a certain royal personage,was markedly bold and decided; the size alone formed apoint of correspondence. But, then, the radicalness of thesedifferences, which was excessive; the dirt; the soiled and torncondition of the paper, so inconsistent with the true methodicalhabits of D——, and so suggestive of a design to deludethe beholder into an idea of the worthlessness of thedocument—these things, together with the hyper obtrusivesituation of this document, full in the view of every visitor, andthus exactly in accordance with the conclusions to which Ihad previously arrived; these things, I say, were stronglycorroborative of suspicion, in one who came with theintention to suspect.

"I protracted my visit as long as possible, and while Imaintained a most animated discussion with the minister,upon a topic which I knew well had never failed to interestand excite him, I kept my attention really riveted upon theletter. In this examination, I committed to memory itsexternal appearance and arrangement in the rack; and also fellat length, upon a discovery which set at rest whatever trivialdoubt I might have entertained. In scrutinizing the edgesof the paper, I observed them to be more chafed than seemednecessary. They presented the broken appearance which ismanifested when a stiff paper, having been once folded andpressed with a folder, is refolded in a reversed direction, inthe same creases or edges which had formed the originalfold. This discovery was sufficient. It was clear to me thatthe letter had been turned as a glove, inside out, redirectedand resealed. I bade the minister good-morning, and took mydeparture at once, leaving a gold snuff-box upon the table.

"The next morning I called for the snuff-box, when weresumed, quite eagerly, the conversation of the precedingday. While thus engaged, however, a loud report, as if of apistol, was heard immediately beneath the windows of thehotel, and was succeeded by a series of fearful screams, andthe shoutings of a terrified mob. D—— rushed to acasement, threw it open, and looked out. In the meantime Istepped to the card-rack, took the letter, put it in my pocket,and replaced it by a facsimile (so far as regards externals)which I had carefully prepared at my lodgings—imitatingthe D—— cipher, very readily, by means of a seal formedof bread.

"The disturbance in the street had been occasioned by thefrantic behavior of a man with a musket. He had fired itamong a crowd of women and children. It proved, however,to have been without ball, and the fellow was sufferedto go his way as a lunatic or a drunkard. When he had gone,D—— came from the window, whither I had followed himimmediately upon securing the object in view. Soonafterward I bade him farewell. The pretended lunatic was aman in my own pay."

"But what purpose had you," I asked, "in replacing theletter by a facsimile. Would it not have been better, atthe first visit, to have seized it openly, and departed?"

"D——," replied Dupin, "is a desperate man, and a manof nerve. His hotel, too, is not without attendants devotedto his interests. Had I made the wild attempt you suggest,I might never have left the Ministerial presence alive. Thegood people of Paris might have heard of me no more. ButI had an object apart from these considerations. You knowmy political prepossessions. In this matter, I act as apartizan of the lady concerned. For eighteen months theminister has had her in his power. She has now him in hers—since,being unaware that the letter is not in his possession,he will proceed with his exactions as if it were. Thus willhe commit himself, at once, to his political destruction. Hisdownfall, too, will not be more precipitate than awkward. Itis all very well to talk about the facilis descensus Averni;but in all kinds of climbing, as Catalani said of singing, itis far more easy to get up than to come down. In the presentinstance I have no sympathy—at least no pity—for him whodescends. He is that monstram horrendum, an unprincipledman of genius. I confess, however, that I should like verywell to know the precise character of his thoughts, when,being defied by her whom the Prefect terms 'a certainpersonage,' he is reduced to opening the letter which I left forhim in the card-rack."

"How? did you put anything particular in it?"

"Why—it did not seem altogether right to leave the interiorblank—that would have been insulting. D——, at Viennaonce, did me an evil turn, which I told him, quitegood-humoredly, that I should remember. So, as I knew he wouldfeel some curiosity in regard to the identity of the personwho had outwitted him, I thought it a pity not to give him aclue. He is well acquainted with my MS., and I just copiedinto the middle of the blank sheet the words:

"'—— —— —— —— —— Un dessein si funeste,
S' il n' est digne d' Atree, est digne de Thyeste.'

They are to be found in Crébillon's 'Atrée.'"

THE SIGN OF THE FOUR

BY SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is undoubtedly themost popular living writer of detective fiction.Sherlock Holmes is said to have been suggestedto the author by a study of the characterand talents of Joseph Bell, M.D., F.R.C.S.,a professor, while Dr. Doyle was a student atEdinburgh University. He was particularlystrong on what the author calls "the scienceof deduction." He used to tell the studentstheir symptoms, and would even give themdetails of their past life. No collection offamous detective stories would be completethat omitted "The Sign of the Four."

THE SIGN OF THE FOUR

By SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

CHAPTER I

The Science of Deduction

Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from thecorner of the mantelpiece and his hypodermicsyringe from its neat morocco case. With hislong, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicateneedle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff. For somelittle time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewyforearm and wrist, all dotted and scarred with innumerablepuncture-marks. Finally he thrust the sharp point home, presseddown the tiny piston, and sunk back into the velvet-linedarmchair with a long sigh of satisfaction.

Three times a day for many months I had witnessed thisperformance, but custom had not reconciled my mind to it.On the contrary, from day to day I had become more irritableat the sight, and my conscience swelled nightly within meat the thought that I had lacked the courage to protest.Again and again I had registered a vow that I should delivermy soul upon the subject, but there was that in the cool,nonchalant air of my companion which made him the lastman with whom one would care to take anything approachingto a liberty. His great powers, his masterly manner,and the experience which I had had of his many extraordinaryqualities, all made me diffident and backward in crossing him.

Yet upon that afternoon, whether it was the claret whichI had taken with my lunch, or the additional exasperationproduced by the extreme deliberation of his manner, Isuddenly felt that I could hold out no longer.

"Which is it to-day?" I asked. "Morphine or cocaine?"

He raised his eyes languidly from the old black-lettervolume which he had opened. "It is cocaine," he said; "aseven per cent solution. Would you care to try it?"

"No, indeed," I answered, bruskly. "My constitution hasnot got over the Afghan campaign yet. I can not afford tothrow any extra strain upon it."

He smiled at my vehemence. "Perhaps you are right,Watson," he said. "I suppose that its influence is physicallya bad one. I find it, however, so transcendently stimulatingand clarifying to the mind that its secondary action is amatter of small moment."

"But consider!" I said, earnestly. "Count the cost! Yourbrain may, as you say, be roused and excited, but it is apathological and morbid process, which involves increasedtissue-change, and may at last leave a permanent weakness.You know, too, what a black reaction comes upon you. Surelythe game is hardly worth the candle. Why should you, fora mere passing pleasure, risk the loss of those great powerswith which you have been endowed? Remember that Ispeak not only as one comrade to another, but as a medicalman to one for whose constitution he is to some extentanswerable."

He did not seem offended. On the contrary, he put hisfinger-tips together and leaned his elbows on the arms of hischair, like one who has a relish for conversation.

"My mind," he said, "rebels at stagnation. Give meproblems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram,or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my ownproper atmosphere, I can dispense then with artificialstimulants. But I abhor the dull routine of existence. I crave formental exaltation. That is why I have chosen my ownparticular profession—or rather created it, for I am the only onein the world."

"The only unofficial detective?" I said, raising my eyebrows.

"The only unofficial consulting detective," he answered."I am the last and highest court of appeal in detection.When Gregson, or Lestrade, or Athelney Jones are out oftheir depths—which, by the way, is their normal state—thematter is laid before me. I examine the data, as an expert,and pronounce a specialist's opinion. I claim no credit insuch cases. My name figures in no newspaper. The workitself, the pleasure of finding a field for my peculiar powers,is my highest reward. But you have yourself had someexperience of my methods of work in the Jefferson Hope case."

"Yes, indeed," said I, cordially. "I was never so struckby anything in my life. I even embodied it in a smallbrochure with the somewhat fantastic title of 'A Study inScarlet.'"

He shook his head sadly. "I glanced over it," said he."Honestly, I can not congratulate you upon it. Detectionis, or ought to be, an exact science, and should be treated inthe same cold and unemotional manner. You have attemptedto tinge it with romanticism, which produces much the sameeffect as if you worked a love story or an elopement into thefifth proposition of Euclid."

"But the romance was there," I remonstrated. "I couldnot tamper with the facts."

"Some facts should be suppressed, or at least a just senseof proportion should be observed in treating them. Theonly point in the case which deserved mention was thecurious analytical reasoning from effects to causes by which Isucceeded in unraveling it."

I was annoyed at this criticism of a work which had beenspecially designed to please him. I confess, too, that I wasirritated by the egotism which seemed to demand that everyline of my pamphlet should be devoted to his own specialdoings. More than once during the years that I had livedwith him in Baker Street I had observed that a small vanityunderlay my companion's quiet and didactic manner. Imade no remark, however, but sat nursing my wounded leg.I had had a Jezail bullet through it some time before, andthough it did not prevent me from walking, it ached wearilyat every change of the weather.

"My practise has extended recently to the Continent,"said Holmes, after a while, filling up his old brier-root pipe."I was consulted last week by François le Villard, who, asyou probably know, has come rather to the front lately inthe French detective service. He has all the Celtic powerof quick intuition, but he is deficient in the wide range ofexact knowledge which is essential to the higher developmentsof his art. The case was concerned with a will, andpossessed some features of interest. I was able to refer himto two parallel cases; the one at Riga in 1857, and the otherat St. Louis in 1871, which have suggested to him the truesolution. Here is the letter which I had this morningacknowledging my assistance." He tossed over, as he spoke,a crumpled sheet of foreign note-paper. I glanced my eyesdown it, catching a profusion of notes of admiration, withstray "magnifiques," "coup-de-maîtres," and "tours-de-force,"all testifying to the ardent admiration of the Frenchman.

"He speaks as a pupil to his master," said I.

"Oh, he rates my assistance too highly," said SherlockHolmes, lightly. "He has considerable gifts himself. Hepossesses two out of the three qualities necessary for theideal detective. He has the power of observation and thatof deduction. He is only wanting in knowledge; and thatmay come in time. He is now translating my small worksinto French."

"Your works?"

"Oh, didn't you know?" he cried, laughing. "Yes, I havebeen guilty of several monographs. They are all upontechnical subjects. Here, for example, is one 'Upon theDistinction Between the Ashes of the Various Tobaccos.' Init I enumerate a hundred and forty forms of cigar, cigarette,and pipe tobacco, with colored plates illustrating the differencein the ash. It is a point which is continually turningup in criminal trials, and which is sometimes of supremeimportance as a clue. If you can say definitely, for example,that some murder has been done by a man who was smokingan Indian lunkah, it obviously narrows your field of search.To the trained eye there is as much difference between theblack ash of a Trichinopoly and the white fluff of bird's-eyeas there is between a cabbage and a potato."

"You have an extraordinary genius for minutiæ," I remarked.

"I appreciate their importance. Here is my monographupon the tracing of footsteps, with some remarks upon theuses of plaster of Paris as a preserver of impresses. Here,too, is a curious little work upon the influence of a tradeupon the form of the hand, with lithotypes of the hands ofslaters, sailors, cork-cutters, compositors, weavers, anddiamond-polishers. That is a matter of great practical interestto the scientific detective—especially in cases of unclaimedbodies, or in discovering the antecedents of criminals. ButI weary you with my hobby."

"Not at all," I answered, earnestly. "It is of the greatestinterest to me, especially since I have had the opportunityof observing your practical application of it. But you spokejust now of observation and deduction. Surely the one tosome extent implies the other."

"Why, hardly," he answered, leaning back luxuriously inhis armchair, and sending up thick blue wreaths from hispipe. "For example, observation shows me that you havebeen to the Wigmore Street Post-Office this morning, butdeduction lets me know that when there you despatched atelegram."

"Right!" said I. "Right on both points! But I confessthat I don't see how you arrived at it. It was a suddenimpulse upon my part, and I have mentioned it to no one."

"It is simplicity itself," he remarked, chuckling at mysurprise; "so absurdly simple that an explanation is superfluous;and yet it may serve to define the limits of observationand of deduction. Observation tells me that you havea little reddish mold adhering to your instep. Just oppositethe Wigmore Street Office they have taken up the pavementand thrown up some earth which lies in such a way that it isdifficult to avoid treading in it in entering. The earth is ofthis peculiar reddish tint which is found, so far as I know,nowhere else in the neighborhood. So much is observation.The rest is deduction."

"How, then, did you deduce the telegram?"

"Why, of course I knew that you had not written a letter,since I sat opposite to you all the morning. I see also inyour open desk there that you have a sheet of stamps and athick bundle of post-cards. What could you go into thepostoffice for, then, but to send a wire? Eliminate all otherfactors, and the one which remains must be the truth."

"In this case it certainly is so," I replied, after a littlethought. "The thing, however, is, as you say, of the simplest.Would you think me impertinent if I were to put yourtheories to a more severe test?"

"On the contrary," he answered, "it would prevent mefrom taking a second dose of cocaine. I should be delightedto look into any problem which you might submit to me."

"I have heard you say that it is difficult for a man to haveany object in daily use without leaving the impress of hisindividuality upon it in such a way that a trained observermight read it. Now, I have here a watch which has recentlycome into my possession. Would you have the kindness tolet me have an opinion upon the character or habits of thelate owner?"

I handed him the watch with some slight feeling ofamusement in my heart, for the test was, as I thought, animpossible one, and I intended it as a lesson against thesomewhat dogmatic tone which he occasionally assumed.He balanced the watch in his hand, gazed hard at the dial,opened the back, and examined the works, first with hisnaked eyes and then with a powerful convex lens. I couldhardly keep from smiling at his crestfallen face, when hefinally snapped the case to and handed it back.

"There are hardly any data," he remarked. "The watchhas been recently cleaned, which robs me of my mostsuggestive facts."

"You are right," I answered. "It was cleaned before beingsent to me." In my heart I accused my companion of puttingforward a most lame and impotent excuse to cover hisfailure. What data could he expect from an uncleanedwatch?

"Though unsatisfactory, my research has not been entirelybarren," he observed, staring up at the ceiling with dreamy,lack-lustre eyes. "Subject to your correction, I shouldjudge that the watch belonged to your elder brother, whoinherited it from your father."

"That you gather, no doubt, from the H. W. upon theback?"

"Quite so. The W. suggests your own name. The dateof the watch is nearly fifty years back, and the initials areas old as the watch; so it was made for the last generation.Jewelry usually descends to the eldest son, and he is mostlikely to have the same name as his father. Your father has,if I remember right, been dead many years. It has, therefore,been in the hands of your eldest brother."

"Right, so far," said I. "Anything else?"

"He was a man of untidy habits—very untidy and careless.He was left with good prospects, but he threw awayhis chances, lived for some time in poverty, with occasionalshort intervals of prosperity, and finally, taking to drink, hedied. That is all I can gather."

I sprang from my chair and limped impatiently about theroom with considerable bitterness in my heart.

"This is unworthy of you, Holmes," I said. "I could nothave believed that you would have descended to this. Youhave made inquiries into the history of my unhappy brother,and you now pretend to deduce this knowledge in some fancifulway. You can not expect me to believe that you haveread all this from his old watch! It is unkind, and, to speakplainly, has a touch of charlatanism in it."

"My dear doctor," said he kindly, "pray accept my apologies.Viewing the matter as an abstract problem, I had forgottenhow personal and painful a thing it might be to you.I assure you, however, that I never even knew that you hada brother until you handed me the watch."

"Then how in the name of all that is wonderful did youget all these facts? They are absolutely correct in everyparticular."

"Ah, that is good luck. I could only say what was thebalance of probability. I did not at all expect to be soaccurate."

"But it was not mere guesswork?"

"No, no; I never guess. It is a shocking habit—destructiveto the logical faculty. What seems strange to you isonly so because you do not follow my train of thought orobserve the small facts upon which large inferences maydepend. For example, I began by stating that your brotherwas careless. When you observe the lower part of thatwatch-case you notice that it is not only dented in twoplaces, but it is cut and marked all over from the habit ofkeeping other hard objects, such as coins or keys, in thesame pocket. Surely it is no great feat to assume that a manwho treats a fifty-guinea watch so cavalierly must be acareless man. Neither is it a very far-fetched inference that aman who inherits one article of such value is pretty wellprovided for in other respects."

I nodded to show that I followed his reasoning.

"It is very customary for pawnbrokers in England, whenthey take a watch, to scratch the number of the ticket witha pin-point upon the inside of the case. It is more handythan a label, as there is no risk of the number being lost ortransposed. There are no less than four such numbers visibleto my lens on the inside of this case. Inference—thatyour brother was often at low water. Secondary inference—thathe had occasional bursts of prosperity, or he could nothave redeemed the pledge. Finally, I ask you to look at theinner plate which contains the keyhole. Look at thethousands of scratches all around the hole—marks where the keyhas slipped. What sober man's key could have scored thosegrooves? But you will never see a drunkard's watch withoutthem. He winds it at night, and he leaves these traces ofhis unsteady hand. Where is the mystery in all this?"

"It is as clear as daylight," I answered. "I regret theinjustice which I did you. I should have had more faith inyour marvelous faculty. May I ask whether you have anyprofessional inquiry on foot at present?"

"None. Hence the cocaine. I can not live without brain-work.What else is there to live for? Stand at the windowhere. Was ever such a dreary, dismal, unprofitable world?See how the yellow fog swirls down the street and driftsacross dun-colored houses. What could be more hopelesslyprosaic and material? What is the use of having powers,doctor, when one has no field upon which to exert them?Crime is commonplace, and existence is commonplace, andno qualities save those which are commonplace have anyfunction upon earth."

I had opened my mouth to reply to his tirade, when, witha crisp knock, our landlady entered, bearing a card upon abrass salver.

"A young lady for you, sir," she said, addressing mycompanion.

"Miss Mary Morstan," he read. "Hum! I have no recollectionof that name. Ask the young lady to step up, Mrs. Hudson.Don't go, doctor. I prefer that you remain."

CHAPTER II

The Statement of the Case

Miss Morstan entered the room with a firm step andan outward composure of manner. She was a blond younglady, small, dainty, well gloved, and dressed in the mostperfect taste. There was, however, a plainness and simplicityabout her costume which bore with a suggestion of limitedmeans. The dress was a sombre grayish beige, untrimmedand unbraided, and she wore a small turban of the same dullhue, relieved only by a suspicion of white feather in the side.Her face had neither regularity of feature nor beauty ofcomplexion, but her expression was sweet and amiable, andher large blue eyes were singularly spiritual and sympathetic.In an experience of women which extends over many nationsand three separate continents I have never looked upon aface which gave a clearer promise of a refined and sensitivenature. I could not but observe that, as she took the seatwhich Sherlock Holmes placed for her, her lip trembled, herhand quivered, and she showed every sign of intense inwardagitation.

"I have come to you, Mr. Holmes," she said, "becauseyou once enabled my employer, Mrs. Cecil Forrester, to unravela little domestic complication. She was much impressedby your kindness and skill."

"Mrs. Cecil Forrester," he repeated, thoughtfully. "Ibelieve that I was of some slight service to her. The case,however, as I remember it, was a very simple one."

"She did not think so. But, at least, you can not say thesame of mine. I can hardly imagine anything more strange,more utterly inexplicable, than the situation in which I findmyself."

Holmes rubbed his hands and his eyes glistened. Heleaned forward in his chair with an expression of extraordinaryconcentration upon his clear-cut, hawk-like features."State your case," said he, in brisk business tones.

I felt that my position was an embarrassing one. "Youwill, I am sure, excuse me," I said, rising from my chair.

To my surprise, the young lady held up her gloved handto detain me. "If your friend," she said, "would be goodenough to stay, he might be of inestimable service to me."

I relapsed into my chair.

"Briefly," she continued, "the facts are these. My fatherwas an officer in an Indian regiment, who sent me homewhen I was quite a child. My mother was dead, and I hadno relative in England. I was placed, however, in acomfortable boarding establishment at Edinburgh, and there Iremained until I was seventeen years of age. In the year1878 my father, who was senior captain of his regiment,obtained twelve months' leave and came home. He telegraphedto me from London that he had arrived all safe, anddirected me to come down at once, giving the Langham Hotelas his address. His message, as I remember, was full ofkindness and love. On reaching London I drove to theLangham, and was informed that Captain Morstan was stayingthere, but that he had gone out the night before and hadnot returned. I waited all day without news of him. Thatnight, on the advice of the manager of the hotel, Icommunicated with the police, and next morning we advertisedin all the papers. Our inquiries led to no result; and fromthat day to this no word has ever been heard of myunfortunate father. He came home, with his heart full of hope, tofind some peace, some comfort, and instead—" She put herhand to her throat, and a choking sob cut short the sentence.

"The date?" asked Holmes, opening his note-book.

"He disappeared upon the 3d of December, 1878—nearlyten years ago."

"His luggage?"

"Remained at the hotel. There was nothing in it tosuggest a clue—some clothes, some books, and a considerablenumber of curiosities from the Andaman Islands. He hadbeen one of the officers in charge of the convict guardthere."

"Had he any friends in town?"

"Only one that we know of—Major Sholto, of his ownregiment, the Thirty-fourth Bombay Infantry. The majorhad retired some little time before, and lived at UpperNorwood. We communicated with him, of course, but he didnot even know that his brother officer was in England."

"A singular case," remarked Holmes.

"I have not yet described to you the most singular part.About six years ago—to be exact, upon the 4th of May,1882—an advertisement appeared in the 'Times' askingfor the address of Miss Mary Morstan, and stating thatit would be to her advantage to come forward. Therewas no name or address appended. I had at that time justentered the family of Mrs. Cecil Forrester in the capacityof governess. By her advice I published my address in theadvertisement column. The same day there arrived throughthe post a small card-box addressed to me, which I found tocontain a very large and lustrous pearl. No word of writingwas enclosed. Since then, every year upon the same date,there has always appeared a similar box, containing a similarpearl, without any clue as to the sender. They have beenpronounced by an expert to be of a rare variety and ofconsiderable value. You can see for yourselves that they arevery handsome." She opened a flat box as she spoke, andshowed me six of the finest pearls that I had ever seen.

"Your statement is most interesting," said SherlockHolmes. "Has anything else occurred to you?"

"Yes; and no later than to-day. That is why I have cometo you. This morning I received this letter, which you willperhaps read for yourself."

"Thank you," said Holmes. "The envelope, too, please.Postmark, London, S.W., date, July 7. Hum! Man's thumb-markon corner—probably postman. Best quality paper.Envelopes at sixpence a packet. Particular man in hisstationery. No address. 'Be at the third pillar from the leftoutside the Lyceum Theatre to-night at seven o'clock. Ifyou are distrustful, bring two friends. You are a wrongedwoman, and shall have justice. Do not bring police. If youdo, all will be in vain. Your unknown friend.' Well, really,this is a very pretty little mystery. What do you intend todo, Miss Morstan?"

"That is exactly what I want to ask you."

"Then we shall most certainly go. You and I and—yes,why, Doctor Watson is the very man. Your correspondentsays two friends. He and I have worked together before."

"But would he come?" she asked, with something appealingin her voice and expression.

"I should be proud and happy," said I, fervently, "if I canbe of any service."

"You are both very kind," she answered. "I have leda retired life, and have no friends whom I could appeal to.If I am here at six it will do, I suppose?"

"You must not be later," said Holmes. "There is oneother point, however. Is this handwriting the same as thatupon the pearl-box addresses?"

"I have them here," she answered, producing half a dozenpieces of paper.

"You are certainly a model client. You have the correctintuition. Let us see, now." He spread out the papers uponthe table and gave little darting glances from one to theother. "They are disguised hands, except the letter," he said,presently, "but there can be no question as to the authorship.See how the irrepressible Greek ε will break out, and see thetwirl of the final s. They are undoubtedly by the sameperson. I should not like to suggest false hopes, MissMorstan, but is there any resemblance between this hand andthat of your father?"

"Nothing could be more unlike."

"I expected to hear you say so. We shall look out foryou, then, at six. Pray allow me to keep the papers. I maylook into the matter before then. It is only half-past three.Au revoir, then."

"Au revoir," said our visitor, and, with a bright, kindlyglance from one to the other of us, she replaced herpearl-box in her bosom and hurried away. Standing at thewindow, I watched her walking briskly down the street, untilthe gray turban and white feather were but a speck in thesombre crowd.

"What a very attractive woman!" I exclaimed, turning tomy companion.

He had lighted his pipe again, and was leaning back withdrooping eyelids. "Is she?" he said, languidly. "I did notobserve."

"You really are an automaton—a calculating-machine!" Icried. "There is something positively inhuman in you attimes."

He smiled gently. "It is of the first importance," he said,"not to allow your judgment to be biased by personal qualities.A client is to me a mere unit—a factor in a problem.The emotional qualities are antagonistic to clear reasoning.I assure you that the most winning woman I ever knew washanged for poisoning three little children for their insurancemoney, and the most repellent man of my acquaintance isa philanthropist who has spent nearly a quarter of a millionupon the London poor."

"In this case, however—"

"I never make exceptions. An exception disproves therule. Have you ever had occasion to study character inhandwriting? What do you make of this fellow's scribble?"

"It is legible and regular," I answered. "A man of businesshabits and some force of character."

Holmes shook his head. "Look at his long letters," hesaid. "They hardly rise above the common herd. That dmight be an a and that l an e. Men of character alwaysdifferentiate their long letters, however illegibly they maywrite. There is vacillation in his k's and self-esteem in hiscapitals. I am going out now. I have some few referencesto make. Let me recommend this book—one of the mostremarkable ever penned. It is Winwood Reade's 'Martyrdomof Man.' I shall be back in an hour." I sat in the windowwith the volume in my hand, but my thoughts were far fromthe daring speculations of the writer. My mind ran upon ourlate visitor—her smiles, the deep rich tones of her voice, thestrange mystery which overhung her life. If she wereseventeen at the time of her father's disappearance she must beseven-and-twenty now—a sweet age, when youth has lost itsself-consciousness and become a little sobered by experience.So I sat and mused, until such dangerous thoughts came intomy head that I hurried away to my desk and plunged furiouslyinto the latest treatise upon pathology. What was I,an army surgeon with a weak leg and a weaker banking-account,that I should dare to think of such things? Shewas a unit, a factor—nothing more. If my future were black,it was better surely to face it like a man than to attempt tobrighten it by mere will-o'-the-wisps of the imagination.

CHAPTER III

In Quest of a Solution

It was half-past five before Holmes returned. He wasbright, eager, and in excellent spirits—a mood which inhis case alternated with fits of the blackest depression.

"There is no great mystery in this matter," he said,taking the cup of tea which I had poured out for him. "Thefacts appear to admit of only one explanation."

"What! you have solved it already?"

"Well, that will be too much to say. I have discovereda suggestive fact, that is all. It is, however, very suggestive.The details are still to be added. I have just found, onconsulting the back files of the 'Times,' that Major Sholto ofUpper Norwood, late of the Thirty-fourth Bombay Infantry,died upon the 28th of April, 1882."

"I may be very obtuse, Holmes, but I fail to see what thissuggests."

"No? You surprise me. Look at it in this way, then.Captain Morstan disappears. The only person in Londonwhom he could have visited is Major Sholto. Major Sholtodenies having heard that he was in London. Four years laterSholto dies. Within a week of his death, Captain Morstan'sdaughter receives a valuable present, which is repeated fromyear to year, and now culminates in a letter which describesher as a wronged woman. What wrong can it refer to exceptthis deprivation of her father? And why should the presentsbegin immediately after Sholto's death, unless it is thatSholto's heir knows something of the mystery, and desiresto make compensation? Have you any alternative theorywhich will meet the facts?"

"But what a strange compensation! And how strangelymade! Why, too, should he write a letter now, rather thansix years ago? Again, the letter speaks of giving her justice.What justice can she have? It is too much to suppose thather father is still alive. There is no other injustice in hercase that you know of."

"There are difficulties; there are certainly difficulties,"said Sherlock Holmes, pensively. "But our expedition ofto-night will solve them all. Ah, here is a four-wheeler, andMiss Morstan is inside. Are you all ready? Then we hadbetter go down, for it is a little past the hour."

I picked up my hat and my heaviest stick, but I observedthat Holmes took his revolver from his drawer and slipped itinto his pocket. It was clear that he thought our night'swork might be a serious one.

Miss Morstan was muffled in a dark cloak, and her sensitiveface was composed, but pale. She must have been morethan woman if she did not feel some uneasiness at thestrange enterprise upon which we were embarking, yether self-control was perfect, and she readily answeredthe few additional questions which Sherlock Holmes putto her.

"Major Sholto was a very particular friend of papa's," shesaid. "His letters were full of allusions to the major. Heand papa were in command of the troops at the AndamanIslands, so they were thrown a great deal together. By theway, a curious paper was found in papa's desk which no onecan understand. I don't suppose that it is of the slightestimportance, but I thought you might care to see it, so Ibrought it with me. It is here."

Holmes unfolded the paper carefully and smoothed itout upon his knee. He then very methodically examined itall over with his double lens.

"It is paper of native Indian manufacture," he remarked."It has at some time been pinned to a board. The diagramupon it appears to be a plan of part of a large building, withnumerous halls, corridors, and passages. At one point is asmall cross done in red ink, and above it is '3.37 from left,'in faded pencil-writing. In the left-hand corner is a curioushieroglyphic, like four crosses in a line with their armstouching. Beside it is written, in very rough and coarsecharacters, 'The sign of the four—Jonathan Small, Mahomet Singh,Abdullah Khan, Dost Akbar.' No, I confess that I do notsee how this bears upon the matter! Yet it is evidently adocument of importance. It has been kept carefully in apocket-book; for the one side is as clean as the other."

"It was in his pocket-book that we found it."

"Preserve it carefully, then, Miss Morstan, for it mayprove to be of use to us. I begin to suspect that this mattermay turn out to be much deeper and more subtle than I atfirst supposed. I must reconsider my ideas." He leanedback in the cab, and I could see by his drawn brow and hisvacant eye that he was thinking intently. Miss Morstan andI chatted in an undertone about our present expedition andits possible outcome, but our companion maintained hisimpenetrable reserve until the end of our journey.

It was a September evening, and not yet seven o'clock,but the day had been a dreary one, and a dense, drizzling foglay low upon the great city. Mud-colored clouds droopedsadly over the muddy streets. Down the Strand the lampswere but misty splotches of diffused light which threw afeeble circular glimmer upon the slimy pavement. The yellowglare from the shop-windows streamed out into the steamy,vaporous air, and threw a murky, shifting radiance across thecrowded thoroughfare. There was to my mind somethingeery and ghost-like in the endless procession of faces whichflitted across these narrow bars of light—sad faces and glad,haggard and merry. Like all human kind, they flitted fromthe gloom into the light, and so back into the gloom oncemore. I am not subject to impressions, but the dull, heavyevening, with the strange business upon which we wereengaged, combined to make me nervous and depressed. I couldsee from Miss Morstan's manner that she was suffering fromthe same feeling. Holmes alone could rise superior to pettyinfluences. He held his open note-book upon his knee, andfrom time to time he jotted down figures and memorandain the light of his pocket-lantern.

At the Lyceum Theatre the crowds were already thick atthe side-entrances. In front a continuous stream of hansomsand four-wheelers were rattling up, discharging theircargoes of shirt-fronted men and beshawled, bediamondedwomen. We had hardly reached the third pillar, which wasour rendezvous, before a small, dark, brisk man, in the dressof a coachman, accosted us.

"Are you the parties who come with Miss Morstan?" heasked.

"I am Miss Morstan, and these two gentlemen are myfriends," said she.

He bent a pair of wonderfully penetrating and questioningeyes upon us. "You will excuse me, miss," he said, witha certain dogged manner, "but I was to ask you to give meyour word that neither of your companions is a police officer."

"I give you my word on that," she answered.

He gave a shrill whistle, on which a street Arab ledacross a four-wheeler, and opened the door. The man whohad addressed us mounted to the box, while we took ourplaces inside. We had hardly done so before the driverwhipped up his horse, and we plunged away at a furious pacethrough the foggy streets.

The situation was a curious one. We were driving to anunknown place, on an unknown errand. Yet our invitationwas either a complete hoax, which was an inconceivablehypothesis, or else we had good reason to think thatimportant issues might hang upon our journey. Miss Morstan'sdemeanor was as resolute and collected as ever. I endeavoredto cheer and amuse her by reminiscences of my adventuresin Afghanistan; but to tell the truth, I was myself soexcited at our situation and so curious as to our destinationthat my stories were slightly involved. To this day shedeclares that I told her one moving anecdote as to how amusket looked into my tent at the dead of night, and how Ifired a double-barreled tiger cub at it. At first I had someidea as to the direction in which we were driving; but soon,what with our pace, the fog, and my own limited knowledgeof London, I lost my bearings, and knew nothing, save thatwe seemed to be going a very long way. Sherlock Holmeswas never at fault, however, and he muttered the names asthe cab rattled through squares and in and out by tortuousby-streets.

"Rochester Row," said he. "Now Vincent Square. Nowwe come out on the Vauxhall Bridge Road. We are makingfor the Surrey side apparently. Yes, I thought so. Nowwe are on the bridge. You can catch glimpses of theriver."

We did indeed get a fleeting view of a stretch of theThames, with the lamps shining upon the broad, silentwater; but our cab dashed on, and was soon involved in alabyrinth of streets upon the other side.

"Wordsworth Road," said my companion. "Priory Road.Lark Hall Lane. Stockwell Place. Robert Street. ColdHarbor Lane. Our quest does not appear to take us to veryfashionable regions."

We had, indeed, reached a questionable and forbiddingneighborhood. Long lines of dull brick houses were onlyrelieved by the coarse glare and tawdry brilliancy ofpublic-houses at the corner. Then came rows of two-storied villas,each with a fronting of miniature garden, and then againinterminable lines of new staring brick buildings—the monstertentacles which the giant city was throwing out into thecountry. At last the cab drew up at the third house in anew terrace. None of the other houses was inhabited, andthat at which we stopped was as dark as its neighbors, savefor a single glimmer in the kitchen window. On our knocking,however, the door was instantly thrown open by a Hinduservant clad in a yellow turban, white, loose-fitting clothes,and a yellow sash. There was something strangely incongruousin this Oriental figure framed in the commonplacedoorway of a third-rate suburban dwelling-house.

"The sahib awaits you," said he, and even as he spokethere came a high piping voice from some inner room. "Showthem in to me, khitmutgar," it cried. "Show them straightin to me."

CHAPTER IV

The Story of the Bald-Headed Man

We followed the Indian down the sordid and commonpassage, ill-lighted and worse furnished, until he came toa door upon the right, which he threw open. A blaze ofyellow light streamed out upon us, and in the centre of theglare there stood a small man with a very high head, abristle of red hair all round the fringe of it, and a bald,shining scalp, which shot out from among it like amountain-peak from fir-trees. He rubbed his hands together ashe stood, and his features were in a perpetual jerk, nowsmiling, now scowling, but never for an instant in repose.Nature had given him a pendulous lip, and a too visible lineof yellow and irregular teeth, which he strove feebly toconceal by constantly passing his hand over the lower part of hisface. In spite of his obtrusive baldness, he gave the impressionof youth. In point of fact, he had just turned histhirtieth year.

"Your servant, Miss Morstan," he kept repeating in athin, high voice. "Your servant, gentlemen. Pray step intomy little sanctum. A small place, miss, but furnished to myown liking. An oasis of art in the howling desert of SouthLondon."

We were all astonished by the appearance of the apartmentinto which he invited us. In that sorry house it lookedas out of place as a diamond of the first water in a settingof brass. The richest and glossiest of curtains and draperiesdraped the walls, looped back here and there to expose somerichly mounted painting or Oriental vase. The carpet was ofamber and black, so soft and so thick that the foot sankpleasantly into it, as into a bed of moss. Two great tiger-skinsthrown athwart it increased the suggestion of Easternluxury, as did a huge hookah which stood upon a mat in thecorner. A lamp in the fashion of a silver dove was hungfrom an almost invisible golden wire in the centre of theroom. As it burned it filled the air with a subtle andaromatic odor.

"Mr. Thaddeus Sholto," said the little man, still jerkingand smiling. "That is my name. You are Miss Morstan, ofcourse. And these gentlemen—"

"This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and this Doctor Watson."

"A doctor, eh?" cried he, much excited. "Have you yourstethoscope? Might I ask you—would you have the kindness?I have grave doubts as to my mitral valve, if youwould be so very good. The aortic I may rely upon, but Ishould value your opinion upon the mitral."

I listened to his heart as requested, but was unable to findanything amiss, save indeed that he was in an ecstasy offear, for he shivered from head to foot. "It appears to benormal," I said. "You have no cause for uneasiness."

"You will excuse my anxiety, Miss Morstan," he remarked,airily. "I am a great sufferer, and I have long hadsuspicions as to that valve. I am delighted to hear that theyare unwarranted. Had your father, Miss Morstan, refrainedfrom throwing a strain upon his heart, he might have beenalive now."

I could have struck the man across the face, so hot wasI at this callous and offhand reference to so delicate a matter.Miss Morstan sat down, and her face grew white to the lips."I knew in my heart that he was dead," said she.

"I can give you every information," said he, "and whatis more, I can do you justice; and I will, too, whateverbrother Bartholomew may say. I am so glad to have yourfriends here, not only as an escort to you, but also aswitnesses to what I am about to do and say. The three of uscan show a bold front to brother Bartholomew. But let ushave no outsiders—no police or officials. We can settleeverything satisfactorily among ourselves, without anyinterference. Nothing would annoy brother Bartholomew morethan any publicity." He sat down upon a low settee andblinked at us inquiringly with his weak, watery blue eyes.

"For my part," said Holmes, "whatever you may chooseto say will go no further."

I nodded to show my agreement.

"That is well! That is well!" said he. "May I offer youa glass of Chianti, Miss Morstan? or of Tokay? I keep noother wines. Shall I open a flask? No? Well, then, I trustthat you have no objection to tobacco-smoke, to the mild,balsamic odor of the Eastern tobacco. I am a little nervous,and I find my hookah an invaluable sedative." He applieda taper to the great bowl, and the smoke bubbled merrilythrough the rose-water. We sat all three in a semicircle,with our heads advanced, and our chins upon our hands,while the strange, jerky little fellow, with his high, shininghead, puffed uneasily in the centre.

"When I first determined to make this communication toyou," said he, "I might have given you my address, but Ifeared that you might disregard my request and bringunpleasant people with you. I took the liberty, therefore, ofmaking an appointment in such a way that my man Williamsmight be able to see you first. I have complete confidencein his discretion, and he had orders, if he were dissatisfied,to proceed no further in the matter. You will excuse theseprecautions, but I am a man of somewhat retiring, and, Imight even say, refined tastes, and there is nothing moreunesthetic than a policeman. I have a natural shrinkingfrom all forms of rough materialism. I seldom come incontact with the rough crowd. I live, as you see, with somelittle atmosphere of elegance around me. I may call myselfa patron of the arts. It is my weakness. The landscape isa genuine Corot, and, though a connoisseur might perhapsthrow a doubt upon that Salvator Rosa, there can not be theleast question about the Bouguereau. I am partial to themodern French school."

"You will excuse me, Mr. Sholto," said Miss Morstan,"but I am here at your request to learn something whichyou desire to tell me. It is very late, and I should desire theinterview to be as short as possible."

"At the best it must take some time," he answered; "forwe shall certainly have to go to Norwood and see brotherBartholomew. We shall all go and try if we can get thebetter of brother Bartholomew. He is very angry with mefor taking the course which has seemed right to me. I hadquite high words with him last night. You can not imaginewhat a terrible fellow he is when he is angry."

"If we are to go to Norwood it would perhaps be as wellto start at once," I ventured to remark.

He laughed until his ears were quite red. "That wouldhardly do," he cried. "I don't know what he would say if Ibrought you in that sudden way. No; I must prepare youby showing you how we all stand to each other. In the firstplace, I must tell you that there are several points in thestory of which I am myself ignorant. I can only lay thefacts before you as far as I know them myself.

"My father was, as you may have guessed, Major JohnSholto, once of the Indian army. He retired some elevenyears ago, and came to live at Pondicherry Lodge in UpperNorwood. He had prospered in India, and brought backwith him a considerable sum of money, a large collectionof valuable curiosities, and a staff of native servants. Withthese advantages he bought himself a house, and lived ingreat luxury. My twin-brother Bartholomew and I werethe only children.

"I very well remember the sensation which was causedby the disappearance of Captain Morstan. We read thedetails in the papers, and, knowing that he had been a friendof our father's, we discussed the case freely in his presence.He used to join in our speculations as to what couldhave happened. Never for an instant did we suspect that hehad the whole secret hidden in his own breast—that of allmen he alone knew the fate of Arthur Morstan.

"We did know, however, that some mystery—some positivedanger—overhung our father. He was very fearful ofgoing out alone, and he always employed two prize-fightersto act as porters at Pondicherry Lodge. Williams, whodrove you to-night, was one of them. He was once alight-weight champion of England. Our father would never tellus what it was he feared, but he had a most marked aversionto men with wooden legs. On one occasion he actually firedhis revolver at a wooden-legged man, who proved to be aharmless tradesman canvassing for orders. We had to paya large sum to hush the matter up. My brother and I usedto think this a mere whim of my father's, but events havesince led us to change our opinion.

"Early in 1882 my father received a letter from Indiawhich was a great shock to him. He nearly fainted at thebreakfast-table when he opened it, and from that day hesickened to his death. What was in the letter we couldnever discover, but I could see as he held it that it was shortand written in a scrawling hand. He had suffered for yearsfrom an enlarged spleen, but he now became rapidly worse,and toward the end of April we were informed that he wasbeyond all hope, and that he wished to make a lastcommunication to us.

"When we entered his room he was propped up with pillowsand breathing heavily. He besought us to lock the doorand to come upon either side of the bed. Then, graspingour hands, he made a remarkable statement to us, in a voicewhich was broken as much by emotion as by pain. I shalltry and give it to you in his own very words.

"'I have only one thing,' he said, 'which weighs upon mymind at this supreme moment. It is my treatment of poorMorstan's orphan. The cursed greed which has been mybesetting sin through life has withheld from her the treasure,half at least of which should have been hers. And yet Ihave made no use of it myself—so blind and foolish a thingis avarice. The mere feeling of possession has been so dearto me that I could not bear to share it with another. Seethat chaplet tipped with pearls beside the quinine-bottle.Even that I could not bear to part with, although I had gotit out with the design of sending it to her. You, my sons,will give her a fair share of the Agra treasure. But send hernothing—not even the chaplet—until I am gone. After all,men have been as bad as this and have recovered.

"'I will tell you how Morstan died,' he continued. 'Hehad suffered for years from a weak heart, but he concealedit from every one. I alone knew it. When in India, he andI, through a remarkable chain of circumstances, came intopossession of a considerable treasure. I brought it over toEngland, and on the night of Morstan's arrival he camestraight over here to claim his share. He walked over fromthe station, and was admitted by my faithful old LalChowdar, who is now dead. Morstan and I had a difference ofopinion as to the division of the treasure, and we came toheated words. Morstan had sprung out of his chair in aparoxysm of anger, when he suddenly pressed his hand tohis side, his face turned a dusky hue, and he fell backward,cutting his head against the corner of the treasure-chest.When I stooped over him I found, to my horror, that he wasdead.

"'For a long time I sat half-distracted, wondering whatI should do. My first impulse was, of course, to call forassistance; but I could not but recognize that there wasevery chance that I would be accused of his murder. Hisdeath at the moment of a quarrel, and the gash in his head,would be black against me. Again, an official inquiry couldnot be made without bringing out some facts about thetreasure which I was particularly anxious to keep secret.He had told me that no soul upon earth knew where he hadgone. There seemed to be no necessity why any soul evershould know.

"'I was still pondering over the matter, when, lookingup, I saw my servant, Lal Chowdar, in the doorway. Hestole in, and bolted the door behind him. "Do not fear,sahib," he said. "No one need know that you have killedhim. Let us hide him away, and who is the wiser?" "I didnot kill him," said I. Lal Chowdar shook his head, andsmiled. "I heard it all, sahib," said he. "I heard youquarrel, and I heard the blow. But my lips are sealed. All areasleep in the house. Let us put him away together." Thatwas enough to decide me. If my own servant could notbelieve my innocence, how could I hope to make it good beforetwelve foolish tradesmen in a jury-box? Lal Chowdar andI disposed of the body that night, and within a few days theLondon papers were full of the mysterious disappearance ofCaptain Morstan. You will see from what I say that I canhardly be blamed in the matter. My fault lies in the factthat we concealed, not only the body, but also the treasure,and that I have clung to Morstan's share as well as to myown. I wish you, therefore, to make restitution. Put yourears down to my mouth. The treasure is hidden in—' Atthis instant a horrible change came over his expression; hiseyes stared wildly, his jaw dropped, and he yelled, in a voicewhich I can never forget, 'Keep him out! For Christ's sake,keep him out!' We both stared round at the window behindus upon which his gaze was fixed. A face was looking in atus out of the darkness. We could see the whitening of thenose where it was pressed against the glass. It was abearded, hairy face, with wild, cruel eyes and an expressionof concentrated malevolence. My brother and I rushedtoward the window, but the man was gone. When we returnedto my father, his head had dropped and his pulse hadceased to beat.

"We searched the garden that night, but found no sign ofthe intruder, save that just under the window a singlefootmark was visible in the flower-bed. But for that one trace,we might have thought that our imaginations had conjuredup that wild, fierce face. We soon, however, had anotherand a more striking proof that there were secret agencies atwork all around us. The window of my father's room wasfound open in the morning, his cupboards and boxes hadbeen rifled, and upon his chest was fixed a torn piece ofpaper with the words, 'The sign of the four' scrawled acrossit. What the phrase meant, or who our secret visitor mayhave been, we never knew. As far as we can judge, none ofmy father's property had been actually stolen, thougheverything had been turned out. My brother and I naturallyassociated this peculiar incident with the fear which haunted myfather during his life; but it is still a complete mystery to us."

The little man stopped to relight his hookah, and puffedthoughtfully for a few moments. We had all sat absorbed,listening to his extraordinary narrative. At the shortaccount of her father's death Miss Morstan had turned deathlywhite, and for a moment I feared that she was about tofaint. She rallied, however, on drinking a glass of waterwhich I quietly poured out for her from a Venetian carafeupon the side table. Sherlock Holmes leaned back in hischair with an abstracted expression and the lids drawn overhis glittering eyes. As I glanced at him I could not butthink how on that very day he had complained bitterly ofthe commonplaceness of life. Here, at least, was a problemwhich would tax his sagacity to the utmost. Mr. ThaddeusSholto looked from one to the other of us with an obviouspride at the effect which his story had produced, and thencontinued between the puffs of his overgrown pipe:

"My brother and I;" said he, "were, as you may imagine,much excited as to the treasure which my father hadspoken of. For weeks and for months we dug and delvedin every part of the garden, without discovering itswhereabouts. It was maddening to think that the hiding-place wason his very lips at the moment that he died. We could judgethe splendor of the missing riches by the chaplet which hehad taken out. Over this chaplet my brother Bartholomewand I had some little discussion. The pearls were evidentlyof great value, and he was averse to part with them, for,between friends, my brother was himself a little inclined to myfather's fault. He thought, too, that if we parted with thechaplet it might give rise to gossip, and finally bring us intotrouble. It was all that I could do to persuade him to let mefind out Miss Morstan's address and send her a detachedpearl at fixed intervals, so that, at least, she might never feeldestitute."

"It was a kindly thought," said our companion, earnestly."It was extremely good of you."

The little man waved his hand deprecatingly. "We wereyour trustees," he said. "That was the view which I took ofit, though brother Bartholomew could not altogether see itin that light. We had plenty of money ourselves. I desiredno more. Besides, it would have been such bad taste to havetreated a young lady in so scurvy a fashion. 'Le mauvaisgout mene au crime.' The French have a very neat way ofputting these things. Our difference of opinion on thissubject went so far that I thought it best to set up rooms formyself; so I left Pondicherry Lodge, taking the old khitmutgarand Williams with me. Yesterday, however, I learnedthat an event of extreme importance had occurred. Thetreasure has been discovered. I instantly communicated withMiss Morstan, and it only remains for us to drive out toNorwood and demand our share. I explained my views lastnight to brother Bartholomew; so we shall be expected, ifnot welcome, visitors."

Mr. Thaddeus Sholto ceased, and sat twitching on hisluxurious settee. We all remained silent, with our thoughtsupon the new development which the mysterious businesshad taken. Holmes was the first to spring to his feet.

"You have done well, sir, from first to last," said he. "Itis possible that we may be able to make you some smallreturn by throwing some light upon that which is still dark toyou. But, as Miss Morstan remarked just now, it is late,and we had best put the matter through without delay."

Our new acquaintance very deliberately coiled up the tubeof his hookah, and produced from behind a curtain a verylong befrogged top-coat with astrakhan collar and cuffs.This he buttoned tightly up, in spite of the extremecloseness of the night, and finished his attire by putting on arabbit-skin cap with hanging lappets which covered the ears,so that no part of him was visible save his mobile and peakyface. "My health is somewhat fragile," he remarked, as heled the way down the passage. "I am compelled to be avaletudinarian."

Our cab was awaiting us outside, and our program wasevidently prearranged, for the driver started off at once ata rapid pace. Thaddeus Sholto talked incessantly, in a voicewhich rose high above the rattle of the wheels.

"Bartholomew is a clever fellow," said he. "How do youthink he found out where the treasure was? He had cometo the conclusion that it was somewhere indoors; so heworked out all the cubic space of the house, and mademeasurements everywhere, so that not one inch should beunaccounted for. Among other things, he found that the heightof the building was seventy-four feet, but on adding togetherthe heights of all the separate rooms, and making everyallowance for the space between, which he ascertained byborings, he could not bring the total to more than seventyfeet. There were four feet unaccounted for. These couldonly be at the top of the building. He knocked a hole, therefore,in the lath and plaster ceiling of the highest room, andthere, sure enough, he came upon another little garret aboveit, which had been sealed up and was known to no one. Inthe centre stood the treasure-chest, resting upon two rafters.He lowered it through the hole, and there it lies. He computesthe value of the jewels at not less than half a millionsterling."

At the mention of this gigantic sum we all stared at oneanother open-eyed. Miss Morstan, could we secure herrights, would change from a needy governess to the richestheiress in England. Surely it was the place of a loyal friendto rejoice at such news; yet I am ashamed to say that selfishnesstook me by the soul, and that my heart turned as heavyas lead within me. I stammered out some few halting wordsof congratulation, and then sat downcast, with my headdrooped, deaf to the babble of our new acquaintance. Hewas clearly a confirmed hypochondriac, and I was dreamilyconscious that he was pouring forth interminable trains ofsymptoms, and imploring information as to the compositionand action of innumerable quack nostrums, some of which hebore about in a leather case in his pocket. I trust that hemay not remember any of the answers which I gave him thatnight. Holmes declares that he overheard me caution himagainst the great danger of taking more than two drops ofcastor oil, while I recommended strychnine in larger doses asa sedative. However that may be, I was certainly relievedwhen our cab pulled up with a jerk and the coachman sprangdown to open the door.

"This, Miss Morstan, is Pondicherry Lodge," saidMr. Thaddeus Sholto, as he handed her out.

CHAPTER V

The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge

It was nearly eleven o'clock when we reached this finalstage of our night's adventures. We had left the dampfog of the great city behind us, and the night was fairlyfine. A warm wind blew from the westward, and heavyclouds moved slowly across the sky, with half a moon peepingoccasionally through the rifts. It was clear enough tosee for some distance, but Thaddeus Sholto took down one ofthe side-lamps from the carriage to give us a better lightupon our way.

Pondicherry Lodge stood in its own grounds, and wasgirt round with a very high stone wall topped with brokenglass. A single narrow, iron-clamped door formed the onlymeans of entrance. On this our guide knocked with apeculiar postman-like rat-tat.

"Who is there?" cried a gruff voice from within.

"It is I, McMurdo. You surely know my knock by this time."

There was a grumbling sound, and a clanking and jarringof keys. The door swung heavily back, and a short,deep-chested man stood in the opening, with the yellow light ofthe lantern shining upon his protruded face and twinkling,distrustful eyes.

"That you, Mr. Thaddeus? But who are the others? Ihad no orders about them from the master."

"No, McMurdo? You surprise me! I told my brotherlast night that I should bring some friends."

"He hain't been out o' his room to-day, Mr. Thaddeus,and I have no orders. You know very well that I must stickto regulations. I can let you in; but your friends they mustjust stop where they are."

This was an unexpected obstacle! Thaddeus Sholtolooked about him in a perplexed and helpless manner. "Thisis too bad of you, McMurdo!" he said. "If I guarantee them,that is enough for you. There is a young lady, too. Shecan not wait on the public road at this hour."

"Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus," said the porter, inexorably."Folk may be friends o' yours, and yet no friends o' themaster's. He pays me well to do my duty, and my duty I'lldo. I don't know none o' your friends."

"Oh, yes, you do, McMurdo," cried Sherlock Holmes,genially. "I don't think you can have forgotten me. Don'tyou remember the amateur who fought three rounds withyou at Alison's rooms on the night of your benefit four yearsback?"

"Not Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" roared the prize-fighter."God's truth! how could I have mistook you? If, instead o'standin' there so quiet, you had just stepped up and givenme that cross-hit of yours under the jaw, I'd ha' known youwithout a question. Ah, you're one that has wasted yourgifts, you have! You might have aimed high, if you hadjoined the fancy."

"You see, Watson, if all else fails me I have still one ofthe scientific professions open to me," said Holmes,laughing. "Our friend won't keep us out in the cold now, I amsure."

"In you come, sir; in you come—you and your friends,"he answered. "Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus, but orders arevery strict. Had to be certain of your friends before I letthem in."

Inside a gravel path wound through desolate grounds toa huge clump of a house, square and prosaic, all plunged inshadow save where a moonbeam struck one corner and glimmeredin a garret window. The vast size of the building,with its gloom and its deathly silence, struck a chill to theheart. Even Thaddeus Sholto seemed ill at ease, and thelantern quivered and rattled in his hand.

"I can not understand it," he said. "There must be somemistake. I distinctly told Bartholomew that we should behere, and yet there is no light in his window. I do not knowwhat to make of it."

"Does he always guard the premises in this way?" askedHolmes.

"Yes; he has followed my father's custom. He was thefavorite son, you know, and I sometimes think that my fathermay have told him more than he ever told me. That isBartholomew's window up there where the moonshine strikes.It is quite bright, but there is no light from within, I think."

"None," said Holmes. "But I see the glint of a light inthat little window beside the door."

"Ah, that is the housekeeper's room. That is where oldMrs. Bernstone sits. She can tell us all about it. Butperhaps you would not mind waiting here for a minute or two,for if we all go in together, and she has had no word of ourcoming, she may be alarmed. But hush! what is that?"

He held up the lantern, and his hand shook until thecircles of light flickered and wavered all round us. MissMorstan seized my wrist, and we all stood with thumpinghearts, straining our ears. From the great black house theresounded through the silent night the saddest and most pitifulof sounds—the shrill, broken whimpering of a frightenedwoman.

"It is Mrs. Bernstone," said Sholto. "She is the onlywoman in the house. Wait here, I shall be back in amoment." He hurried for the door, and knocked in hispeculiar way. We could see a tall old woman admit him andsway with pleasure at the very sight of him.

"Oh, Mr. Thaddeus, sir, I am so glad you have come! Iam so glad you have come, Mr. Thaddeus, sir!" We heardher reiterated rejoicings until the door was closed and hervoice died away into a muffled monotone.

Our guide had left us the lantern. Holmes swung it slowlyround, and peered keenly at the house and at the greatrubbish-heaps which cumbered the grounds. Miss Morstan andI stood together, and her hand was in mine. A wondroussubtle thing is love, for here were we two who had neverseen each other before that day, between whom no word oreven look of affection had ever passed, and yet now in anhour of trouble our hands instinctively sought for each other.I have marveled at it since, but at the time it seemed themost natural thing that I should go out to her so, and, as shehas often told me, there was in her also the instinct to turnto me for comfort and protection. So we stood hand in hand,like two children, and there was peace in our hearts for allthe dark things that surrounded us.

"What a strange place!" she said, looking round.

"It looks as though all the moles in England had been letloose in it. I have seen something of the sort on the side ofa hill near Ballarat, where the prospectors had been at work."

"And from the same cause," said Holmes. "These are thetraces of the treasure-seekers. You must remember thatthey were six years looking for it. No wonder that thegrounds look like a gravel-pit."

At that moment the door of the house burst open, andThaddeus Sholto came running out, with his hands thrownforward and terror in his eyes.

"There is something amiss with Bartholomew!" he cried."I am frightened! My nerves can not stand it." He was,indeed, half-blubbering with fear, and his twitching, feebleface, peeping out from the great astrakhan collar, had thehelpless, appealing expression of a terrified child.

"Come into the house," said Holmes, in his crisp, firmway.

"Yes, do!" pleaded Thaddeus Sholto. "I really do notfeel equal to giving directions."

We all followed him into the housekeeper's room, whichstood upon the left-hand side of the passage. The old womanwas pacing up and down with a scared look and restless,picking fingers, but the sight of Miss Morstan appeared tohave a soothing effect upon her.

"God bless your sweet calm face!" she cried, with ahysterical sob. "It does me good to see you. Oh, but I havebeen sorely tried this day!"

Our companion patted her thin, work-worn hand, andmurmured some few words of kindly, womanly comfortwhich brought the color back into the other's bloodlesscheeks.

"Master has locked himself in and will not answer me,"she explained. "All day I have waited to hear from him, forhe often likes to be alone; but an hour ago I feared thatsomething was amiss, so I went up and peeped through thekeyhole. You must go up, Mr. Thaddeus—you must go upand look for yourself. I have seen Mr. Bartholomew Sholtoin joy and in sorrow for ten long years, but I never saw himwith such a face on him as that."

Sherlock Holmes took the lamp and led the way, forThaddeus Sholto's teeth were chattering in his head. Soshaken was he that I had to pass my hand under his armas we went up the stairs, for his knees were trembling underhim. Twice as we ascended Holmes whipped his lens out ofhis pocket and carefully examined marks which appeared tome to be mere shapeless smudges of dust upon the cocoanutmatting which served as a stair-carpet. He walked slowlyfrom step to step, holding the lamp low, and shooting keenglances to right and left. Miss Morstan had remainedbehind with the frightened housekeeper.

The third flight of stairs ended in a straight passage ofsome length, with a great picture in Indian tapestry uponthe right of it and three doors upon the left. Holmesadvanced along it in the same slow and methodical way, whilewe kept close at his heels, with our long black shadowsstreaming backward down the corridor. The third door wasthat which we were seeking. Holmes knocked withoutreceiving any answer, and then tried to turn the handle andforce it open. It was locked on the inside, however, and bya broad and powerful bolt, as we could see when we set ourlamp up against it. The key being turned, however, the holewas not entirely closed. Sherlock Holmes bent down to it,and instantly rose again with a sharp intaking of thebreath.

"There is something devilish in this, Watson," said he,more moved than I had ever before seen him. "What doyou make of it?"

I stooped to the hole, and recoiled in horror. Moonlightwas streaming into the room, and it was bright with a vagueand shifty radiance. Looking straight at me, and suspended,as it were, in the air, for all beneath was in shadow, therehung a face—the very face of our companion Thaddeus.There was the same high, shining head, the same circularbristle of red hair, the same bloodless countenance. Thefeatures were set, however, in a horrible smile, a fixed andunnatural grin, which, in that still and moonlit room, wasmore jarring to the nerves than any scowl or contortion. Solike was the face to that of our little friend that I lookedround at him to make sure that he was indeed with us. ThenI recalled to mind that he had mentioned to us that hisbrother and he were twins.

"This is terrible!" I said to Holmes. "What is to be done?"

"The door must come down," he answered, and, springingagainst it, he put all his weight upon the lock. It creakedand groaned, but did not yield. Together we flung ourselvesupon it once more, and this time it gave way with a suddensnap, and we found ourselves within Bartholomew Sholto'schamber.

It appeared to have been fitted up as a chemical laboratory.A double line of glass-stoppered bottles was drawnup upon the wall opposite the door, and the table was litteredover with Bunsen burners, test-tubes, and retorts. Inthe corners stood carboys of acid in wicker baskets. One ofthese appeared to leak or to have been broken, for a streamof dark-colored liquid had trickled out from it, and the airwas heavy with a peculiarly pungent, tar-like odor. A setof steps stood at one side of the room, in the midst of a litterof lath and plaster, and above them there was an opening inthe ceiling large enough for a man to pass through. At thefoot of the steps a long coil of rope was thrown carelesslytogether.

By the table, in a wooden armchair, the master of thehouse was seated all in a heap, with his head sunk upon hisleft shoulder, and that ghastly, inscrutable smile upon hisface. He was stiff and cold, and had clearly been dead manyhours. It seemed to me that not only his features but all hislimbs were twisted and turned in the most fantastic fashion.By his hand upon the table there lay a peculiar instrument—abrown, close-grained stick, with a stone head like a hammer,rudely lashed on with coarse twine. Beside it was atorn sheet of note-paper with some words scrawled upon it.Holmes glanced at it, and then handed it to me.

"You see," he said, with a significant raising of theeyebrows.

In the light of the lantern I read, with a thrill of horror,"The sign of the four."

"In God's name, what does it all mean?" I asked.

"It means murder," said he, stooping over the dead man."Ah, I expected it. Look here!" He pointed to what lookedlike a long, dark thorn stuck in the skin just above the ear.

"It looks like a thorn," said I.

"It is a thorn. You may pick it out. But be careful, forit is poisoned."

I took it up between my finger and thumb. It came awayfrom the skin so readily that hardly any mark was leftbehind. One tiny speck of blood showed where the puncturehad been.

"This is all an insoluble mystery to me," said I. "Itgrows darker instead of clearer."

"On the contrary," he answered, "it clears every instant.I only require a few missing links to have an entirelyconnected case."

We had almost forgotten our companion's presence sincewe entered the chamber. He was still standing in thedoorway, the very picture of terror, wringing his hands andmoaning to himself. Suddenly, however, he broke out intoa sharp, querulous cry.

"The treasure is gone!" he said. "They have robbed himof the treasure! There is the hole through which we loweredit. I helped him to do it! I was the last person whosaw him! I left him here last night, and I heard him lockthe door as I came downstairs."

"What time was that?"

"It was ten o'clock. And now he is dead, and the policewill be called in, and I shall be suspected of having had ahand in it. Oh, yes, I am sure I shall. But you don't thinkso, gentlemen? Surely you don't think that it was I? Is itlikely that I would have brought you here if it were I? Oh,dear! oh, dear! I know that I shall go mad!" Hejerked his arms and stamped his feet in a kind of convulsivefrenzy.

"You have no reason to fear, Mr. Sholto," said Holmes,kindly, putting his hand upon his shoulder. "Take my advice,and drive down to the station and report the matter to thepolice. Offer to assist them in every way. We shall waithere until your return."

The little man obeyed in a half-stupefied fashion, and weheard him stumbling down the stairs in the dark.

CHAPTER VI

Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration

"Now, Watson," said Holmes, rubbing his hands, "we havehalf an hour to ourselves. Let us make good use of it. Mycase is, as I have told you, almost complete; but we must noterr on the side of overconfidence. Simple as the case seemsnow, there may be something deeper underlying it."

"Simple!" I ejaculated.

"Surely," said he, with something of the air of a clinicalprofessor expounding to his class. "Just sit in the cornerthere, that your footprints may not complicate matters. Nowto work! In the first place, how did these folks come, andhow did they go? The door has not been opened since lastnight. How of the window?" He carried the lamp across toit, muttering his observations aloud the while, but addressingthem to himself rather than to me. "Window is snibbed onthe inner side. Framework is solid. No hinges at the side.Let us open it. No water-pipe near it. Roof quite out ofreach. Yet a man has mounted by the window. It raineda little last night. Here is the print of a foot in mold uponthe sill. And here is a circular muddy mark, and here againupon the floor, and here again by the table. See here,Watson! This is really a very pretty demonstration."

I looked at the round, well-defined, muddy disks. "Thisis not a footmark," said I.

"It is something much more valuable to us. It is theimpression of a wooden stump. You see here on the sill is theboot-mark, a heavy boot with a broad metal heel, and besideit is the mark of the timber-toe."

"It is the wooden-legged man."

"Quite so. But there has been some one else—a veryable and efficient ally. Could you scale that wall, doctor?"

I looked out of the open window. The moon still shonebrightly on that angle of the house. We were a good sixtyfeet from the ground, and, look where I would, I could seeno foothold, nor as much as a crevice in the brick-work.

"It is absolutely impossible," I answered.

"Without aid it is so. But suppose you had a friend uphere who lowered you this good stout rope which I see inthe corner, securing one end of it to this great hook in thewall. Then, I think, if you were an active man you mightclimb up, wooden leg and all. You would depart, of course,in the same fashion, and your ally would draw up the rope,untie it from the hook, shut the window, snib it on theinside, and get away in the way that he originally came. As aminor point it may be noted," he continued, fingering therope, "that our wooden-legged friend, though a fair climber,was not a professional sailor. His hands were far fromhorny. My lens discloses more than one blood-mark, especiallytoward the end of the rope, from which I gather thathe slipped down with such velocity that he took the skin offhis hands."

"This is all very well," said I, "but the thing becomesmore unintelligible than ever. How about this mysteriousally? How came he into the room?"

"Yes, the ally!" repeated Holmes, pensively. "There arefeatures of interest about this ally. He lifts the case fromthe regions of the commonplace. I fancy that this allybreaks fresh ground in the annals of crime in thiscountry—though parallel cases suggest themselves from India, and,if my memory serves me, from Senegambia."

"How came he, then?" I reiterated. "The door is locked,the window is inaccessible. Was it through the chimney?"

"The grate is much too small," he answered. "I havealready considered that possibility."

"How then?" I persisted.

"You will not apply my precept," he said, shaking hishead. "How often have I said to you that when you haveeliminated the impossible, whatever remains, howeverimprobable, must be the truth? We know that he did not comethrough the door, the window, or the chimney. We alsoknow that he could not have been concealed in the room,as there is no concealment possible. Where, then, did hecome?"

"He came through the hole in the roof," I cried.

"Of course he did. He must have done so. If you willhave the kindness to hold the lamp for me, we shall nowextend our researches to the room above—the secret roomin which the treasure was found."

He mounted the steps, and, seizing a rafter with eitherhand, he swung himself up into the garret. Then, lying onhis face, he reached down for the lamp and held it while Ifollowed him.

The chamber in which we found ourselves was about tenfeet one way and six the other. The floor was formed bythe rafters, with thin lath and plaster between them, so thatin walking one had to step from beam to beam. The roofran up to an apex, and was evidently the inner shell of thetrue roof of the house. There was no furniture of anysort, and the accumulated dust of years lay thick uponthe floor.

"Here you are, you see," said Sherlock Holmes, puttinghis hand against the sloping wall. "This is a trap-door whichleads out on to the roof. I can press it back, and here isthe roof itself, sloping at a gentle angle. This, then, is theway by which Number One entered. Let us see if we canfind some other traces of his individuality."

He held down the lamp to the floor, and as he did so Isaw for the second time that night a startled, surprised lookcome over his face. For myself, as I followed his gaze, myskin was cold under my clothes. The floor was coveredthickly with the prints of a naked foot—clear, well defined,perfectly formed, but scarce half the size of those of anordinary man.

"Holmes," I said, in a whisper, "a child has done thishorrid thing."

He had recovered his self-possession in an instant. "Iwas staggered for the moment," he said, "but the thing isquite natural. My memory failed me, or I should have beenable to foretell it. There is nothing more to be learned here.Let us go down."

"What is your theory, then, as to those foot-marks?" Iasked, eagerly, when we had regained the lower room oncemore.

"My dear Watson, try a little analysis yourself," saidhe, with a touch of impatience. "You know my methods.Apply them; and it will be instructive to compare results."

"I can not conceive anything which will cover the facts,"I answered.

"It will be clear enough to you soon," he said, in an off-handway. "I think that there is nothing else of importancehere, but I will look." He whipped out his lens and atape-measure, and comparing, examining, with his long thin noseonly a few inches from the planks, and his beady eyes gleamingand deep-set like those of a bird. So swift, silent, andfurtive were his movements, like those of a trained bloodhoundpicking out a scent, that I could not but think whata terrible criminal he would have made had he turned hisenergy and sagacity against the law instead of exerting themin its defense. As he hunted about, he kept muttering tohimself, and finally he broke out into a loud crow of delight.

"We are certainly in luck," said he. "We ought to havevery little trouble now. Number One has had the misfortuneto tread in the creosote. You can see the outline of theedge of his small foot here at the right of this evil-smellingmess. The carboy has been cracked, you see, and the stuffhas leaked out."

"What then?" I asked.

"Why, we have got him, that's all," said he. "I knowa dog that would follow that scent to the world's end. Ifa pack can track a trailed herring across a shire, how farcan a specially trained hound follow so pungent a smell asthis? It sounds like a sum in the rule of three. The answershould give us the— But halloo! here are the accreditedrepresentatives of the law."

Heavy steps and the clamor of loud voices were audiblefrom below, and the hall door shut with a loud crash.

"Before they come," said Holmes, "just put your handhere on this poor fellow's arm, and here on his leg. Whatdo you feel?"

"The muscles are as hard as a board," I answered.

A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA

BY SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

"A Scandal in Bohemia," which manypeople consider the author's best short story,describes the one instance in which SherlockHolmes acknowledges himself "beaten by awoman's wit"; he always speaks of IreneAdler as THE woman. St. John's Wood,London, where the scene of the story is laid,is well known as the quarter of the city inwhich the professional artistic element of thepopulation resides.

A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA

By SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. Ihave seldom heard him mention her under anyother name. In his eyes she eclipses andpredominates the whole of her sex. It was not thathe felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. Allemotions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold,precise, but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it,the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that theworld has seen; but as a lover he would have placed himselfin a false position. He never spoke of the softer passions,save with a gibe and a sneer. They were admirable thingsfor the observer—excellent for drawing the veil from men'smotives and actions. But for the trained reasoner to admitsuch intrusions into his own delicate and finely adjustedtemperament was to introduce a distracting factor whichmight throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit ina sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his ownhigh-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strongemotion in a nature such as his. And yet there was but onewoman to him, and that woman was the late Irene Adler,of dubious and questionable memory.

I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage haddrifted us away from each other. My own complete happiness,and the home-centred interests which rise up aroundthe man who first finds himself master of his ownestablishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention; whileHolmes, who loathed every form of society with his wholeBohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in Baker Street,buried among his old books, and alternating from week toweek between cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness of thedrug, and the fierce energy of his own keen nature. He wasstill, as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime, andoccupied his immense faculties and extraordinary powers ofobservation in following out those clues, and clearing upthose mysteries, which had been abandoned as hopeless bythe official police. From time to time I heard some vagueaccount of his doings; of his summons to Odessa in the caseof the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up of the singulartragedy of the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee, and finallyof the mission which he had accomplished so delicately andsuccessfully for the reigning family of Holland. Beyondthese signs of his activity, however, which I merely sharedwith all the readers of the daily press, I knew little of myformer friend and companion.

One night—it was on the 20th of March, 1888—I wasreturning from a journey to a patient (for I had nowreturned to civil practise), when my way led me through BakerStreet. As I passed the well-remembered door, which mustalways be associated in my mind with my wooing, and withthe dark incidents of the Study in Scarlet, I was seized witha keen desire to see Holmes again, and to know how he wasemploying his extraordinary powers. His rooms were brilliantlylighted, and even as I looked up, I saw his tall sparefigure pass twice in a dark silhouette against the blind. Hewas pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his head sunkupon his chest, and his hands clasped behind him. To me,who knew his every mood and habit, his attitude andmanner told their own story. He was at work again. He hadrisen out of his drug-created dreams, and was hot upon thescent of some new problem. I rang the bell, and was shownup to the chamber which had formerly been in part my own.

His manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he wasglad, I think, to see me. With hardly a word spoken, butwith a kindly eye, he waved me to an armchair, threw acrosshis case of cigars, and indicated a spirit case and a gasogenein the corner. Then he stood before the fire, and looked meover in his singular introspective fashion.

"Wedlock suits you," he remarked. "I think, Watson,that you have put on seven and a half pounds since I sawyou."

"Seven," I answered.

"Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just atrifle more, I fancy, Watson. And in practise again, Iobserve. You did not tell me that you intended to go intoharness."

"Then how do you know?"

"I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you havebeen getting yourself very wet lately, and that you have amost clumsy and careless servant-girl?"

"My dear Holmes," said I, "this is too much. You wouldcertainly have been burned had you lived a few centuriesago. It is true that I had a country walk on Thursday andcame home in a dreadful mess; but as I have changed myclothes, I can't imagine how you deduce it. As to MaryJane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has given her notice;but there again I fail to see how you work it out."

He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervoushands together.

"It is simplicity itself," said he; "my eyes tell me thaton the inside of your left shoe, just where the fire-lightstrikes it, the leather is scored by six almost parallel cuts.Obviously they have been caused by some one who has verycarelessly scraped round the edges of the sole in order toremove crusted mud from it. Hence, you see, my doublededuction that you had been out in vile weather, and that youhad a particularly malignant boot-slicking specimen of theLondon slavey. As to your practise, if a gentleman walksinto my rooms, smelling of iodoform, with a black mark ofnitrate of silver upon his right forefinger, and a bulge on theside of his top-hat to show where he has secreted hisstethoscope, I must be dull indeed if I do not pronounce him to bean active member of the medical profession."

I could not help laughing at the ease with which heexplained his process of deduction. "When I hear you giveyour reasons," I remarked, "the thing always appears to meso ridiculously simple that I could easily do it myself,though at each successive instance of your reasoning I ambaffled, until you explain your process. And yet, I believethat my eyes are as good as yours."

"Quite so," he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwinghimself down Into an armchair. "You see, but you donot observe. The distinction is clear. For example, youhave frequently seen the steps which lead up from the hallto this room."

"Frequently."

"How often?"

"Well, some hundreds of times."

"Then how many are there?"

"How many? I don't know."

"Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you haveseen. That is just my point. Now, I know there are seventeensteps, because I have both seen and observed. By theway, since you are interested in these little problems, andsince you are good enough to chronicle one or two of mytrifling experiences, you may be interested in this." Hethrew over a sheet of thick pink-tinted note-paper whichhad been lying open upon the table. "It came by the lastpost," said he. "Read it aloud."

The note was undated, and without either signature oraddress.

"There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eighto'clock," it said, "a gentleman who desires to consult youupon a matter of the very deepest moment. Your recentservices to one of the royal houses of Europe have shownthat you are one who may safely be trusted with matterswhich are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated.This account of you we have from all quarters received. Bein your chamber, then, at that hour, and do not take it amissif your visitor wears a mask."

"This is indeed a mystery," I remarked. "What do youimagine that it means?"

"I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorizebefore one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist factsto suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts. But thenote itself—what do you deduce from it?"

I carefully examined the writing, and the paper uponwhich it was written.

"The man who wrote it was presumably well-to-do," Iremarked, endeavoring to imitate my companion's processes."Such paper could not be bought under half a crown a packet.It is peculiarly strong and stiff."

"Peculiar—that is the very word," said Holmes. "It isnot an English paper at all. Hold it up to the light."

I did so, and saw a large E with a small g, a P and alarge G with a small t woven into the texture of the paper.

"What do you make of that?" asked Holmes.

"The name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram,rather."

"Not at all. The G with the small t stands for'Gesellschaft,' which is the German for 'Company.' It is acustomary contraction like our 'Co.' P, of course, stands for'Papier.' Now for the Eg. Let us glance at our 'ContinentalGazetteer.'" He took down a heavy brown volume from hisshelves. "Eglow, Eglonitz—here we are, Egria. It is in aGerman-speaking country—in Bohemia, not far from Carlsbad.'Remarkable as being the scene of the death of Wallenstein,and for its numerous glass factories and papermills.' Ha! ha! my boy, what do you make of that?" His eyessparkled, and he sent up a great blue triumphant cloud fromhis cigarette.

"The paper was made in Bohemia," I said.

"Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is a German.Do you note the peculiar construction of the sentence—'Thisaccount of you we have from all quarters received'?A Frenchman or Russian could not have written that. Itis the German who is so uncourteous to his verbs. It onlyremains, therefore, to discover what is wanted by thisGerman who writes upon Bohemian paper, and prefers wearinga mask to showing his face. And here he comes, if I am notmistaken, to resolve all our doubts."

As he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses' hoofsand grating wheels against the curb followed by a sharp pullat the bell. Holmes whistled.

"A pair, by the sound," said he. "Yes," he continued,glancing out of the window. "A nice little brougham and apair of beauties. A hundred and fifty guineas apiece.There's money in this case, Watson, if there is nothing else."

"I think I had better go, Holmes."

"Not a bit, doctor. Stay where you are. I am lost withoutmy Boswell. And this promises to be interesting. Itwould be a pity to miss it."

"But your client—"

"Never mind him. I may want your help, and so mayhe. Here he comes. Sit down in that armchair, doctor, andgive us your best attention."

A slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon thestairs and in the passage, paused immediately outside thedoor.

Then there was a loud and authoritative tap.

"Come in!" said Holmes.

A man entered who could hardly have been less thansix feet six inches in height, with the chest and limbs of aHercules. His dress was rich with a richness which would,in England, be looked upon as akin to bad taste. Heavybands of astrakhan were slashed across the sleeves and frontof his double-breasted coat, while the deep blue cloak whichwas thrown over his shoulders was lined with flame-coloredsilk, and secured at the neck with a brooch which consistedof a single flaming beryl. Boots which extended half-wayup his calves, and which were trimmed at the tops with richbrown fur, completed the impression of barbaric opulencewhich was suggested by his whole appearance. He carrieda broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across theupper part of his face, extending down past the cheek-bones,a black visard-mask, which he had apparently adjusted thatvery moment, for his hand was still raised to it as he entered.From the lower part of the face he appeared to be a manof strong character, with a thick, hanging lip, and a long,straight chin, suggestive of resolution pushed to the lengthof obstinacy.

"You had my note?" he asked, with a deep, harsh voiceand a strongly marked German accent. "I told you that Iwould call." He looked from one to the other of us, as ifuncertain which to address.

"Pray take a seat," said Holmes. "This is my friendand colleague, Doctor Watson, who is occasionally goodenough to help me in my cases. Whom have I the honorto address?"

"You may address me as the Count von Kramm, a Bohemiannobleman. I understand that this gentleman, yourfriend, is a man of honor and discretion, whom I may trustwith a matter of the most extreme importance. If not, Ishould much prefer to communicate with you alone."

I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist andpushed me back into my chair. "It is both, or none," saidhe. "You may say before this gentleman anything whichyou may say to me."

The count shrugged his broad shoulders. "Then I mustbegin," said he, "by binding you both to absolute secrecyfor two years; at the end of that time the matter will be ofno importance. At present it is not too much to say that itis of such weight that it may have an influence uponEuropean history."

"I promise," said Holmes.

"And I."

"You will excuse this mask," continued our strange visitor."The august person who employs me wishes his agentto be unknown to you, and I may confess at once that the titleby which I have just called myself is not exactly my own."

"I was aware of it," said Holmes, dryly.

"The circumstances are of great delicacy, and everyprecaution has to be taken to quench what might grow to be animmense scandal, and seriously compromise one of the reigningfamilies of Europe. To speak plainly, the matterimplicates the great House of Ormstein, hereditary kings ofBohemia."

"I was also aware of that," murmured Holmes, settlinghimself down in his armchair, and closing his eyes.

Our visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at thelanguid, lounging figure of the man who had been, no doubt,depicted to him as the most incisive reasoner and mostenergetic agent in Europe. Holmes slowly reopened his eyesand looked impatiently at his gigantic client.

"If your majesty would condescend to state your case,"he remarked, "I should be better able to advise you."

The man sprang from his chair, and paced up and downthe room in uncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gestureof desperation, he tore the mask from his face and hurledit upon the ground.

"You are right," he cried, "I am the king. Why should Iattempt to conceal it?"

"Why, indeed?" murmured Holmes. "Your majesty hadnot spoken before I was aware that I was addressingWilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein, Grand Duke ofCassel-Felstein, and hereditary King of Bohemia."

"But you can understand," said our strange visitor,sitting down once more and passing his hand over his high,white forehead, "you can understand that I am notaccustomed to doing such business in my own person. Yet thematter was so delicate that I could not confide it to anagent without putting myself in his power. I have comeincognito from Prague for the purpose of consulting you."

"Then, pray consult," said Holmes, shutting his eyes oncemore.

"The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, duringa lengthy visit to Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of thewell-known adventuress Irene Adler. The name is no doubtfamiliar to you."

"Kindly look her up in my index, doctor," murmuredHolmes, without opening his eyes. For many years he hadadopted a system for docketing all paragraphs concerningmen and things, so that it was difficult to name a subjector a person on which he could not at once furnish information.In this case I found her biography sandwiched in betweenthat of a Hebrew rabbi and that of a staff-commanderwho had written a monogram upon the deep-sea fishes.

"Let me see!" said Holmes. "Hum! Born in New Jerseyin the year 1858. Contralto—hum! La Scala—hum! Primadonna Imperial Opera of Warsaw—yes! Retired from operaticstage—ha! Living in London—quite so! Your majesty,as I understand, became entangled with this young person,wrote her some compromising letters, and is now desirousof getting those letters back."

"Precisely so. But how—"

"Was there a secret marriage?"

"None."

"No legal papers or certificates?"

"None."

"Then I fail to follow your majesty. If this young personshould produce her letters for blackmailing or otherpurposes, how is she to prove their authenticity?"

"There is the writing."

"Pooh, pooh! Forgery."

"My private note-paper."

"Stolen."

"My own seal."

"Imitated."

"My photograph."

"Bought."

"We were both in the photograph."

"Oh, dear! That is very bad. Your majesty has indeedcommitted an indiscretion."

"I was mad—insane."

"You have compromised yourself seriously."

"I was only crown prince then. I was young. I am butthirty now."

"It must be recovered."

"We have tried and failed."

"Your majesty must pay. It must be bought."

"She will not sell."

"Stolen, then."

"Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars in mypay ransacked her house. Once we diverted her luggagewhen she traveled. Twice she has been waylaid. Therehas been no result."

"No sign of it?"

"Absolutely none."

Holmes laughed. "It is quite a pretty little problem,"said he.

"But a very serious one to me," returned the king,reproachfully.

"Very, indeed. And what does she propose to do withthe photograph?"

"To ruin me."

"But how?"

"I am about to be married."

"So I have heard."

"To Clotilde Lotham von Saxe-Meiningen, second daughterof the King of Scandinavia. You may know the strictprinciples of her family. She is herself the very soul ofdelicacy. A shadow of a doubt as to my conduct wouldbring the matter to an end."

"And Irene Adler?"

"Threatens to send them the photograph. And she willdo it. I know that she will do it. You do not know her, butshe has a soul of steel. She has the face of the mostbeautiful of women and the mind of the most resolute of men.Rather than I should marry another woman, there are nolengths to which she would not go—none."

"You are sure that she has not sent it yet?"

"I am sure."

"And why?"

"Because she has said that she would send it on the daywhen the betrothal was publicly proclaimed. That will benext Monday."

"Oh, then we have three days yet," said Holmes, with ayawn. "That is very fortunate, as I have one or two mattersof importance to look into just at present. Your majestywill, of course, stay in London for the present?"

"Certainly. You will find me at the Langham, under thename of the Count von Kramm."

"Then I shall drop you a line to let you know how weprogress."

"Pray do so; I shall be all anxiety."

"Then, as to money?"

"You have carte blanche."

"Absolutely?"

"I tell you that I would give one of the provinces of mykingdom to have that photograph."

"And for present expenses?"

The king took a heavy chamois leather bag from underhis cloak, and laid it on the table.

"There are three hundred pounds in gold, and sevenhundred in notes," he said.

Holmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of his note-book,and handed it to him.

"And mademoiselle's address?" he asked.

"Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John's Wood."

Holmes took a note of it. "One other question," said he,thoughtfully. "Was the photograph a cabinet?"

"It was."

"Then, good-night, your majesty, and I trust that weshall soon have some good news for you. And good-night,Watson," he added, as the wheels of the royal broughamrolled down the street. "If you will be good enough to callto-morrow afternoon, at three o'clock, I should like to chatthis little matter over with you."

At three o'clock precisely I was at Baker Street, butHolmes had not yet returned. The landlady informedme that he had left the house shortly after eight o'clockin the morning. I sat down beside the fire, however, withthe intention of awaiting him, however long he mightbe. I was already deeply interested in his inquiry, for,though it was surrounded by none of the grim andstrange features which were associated with the two crimeswhich I have already recorded, still, the nature of thecase and the exalted station of his client gave it acharacter of its own. Indeed, apart from the nature of theinvestigation which my friend had on hand, there wassomething in his masterly grasp of a situation, and his keen,incisive reasoning, which made it a pleasure to me to studyhis system of work, and to follow the quick, subtle methodsby which he disentangled the most inextricable mysteries.So accustomed was I to his invariable success that the verypossibility of his failing had ceased to enter into my head.

It was close upon four before the door opened, and adrunken-looking groom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, withan inflamed face and disreputable clothes, walked into theroom. Accustomed as I was to my friend's amazing powersin the use of disguises, I had to look three times before Iwas certain that it was indeed he. With a nod he vanishedinto the bedroom, whence he emerged in five minutes tweed-suitedand respectable, as of old. Putting his hand into hispockets, he stretched out his legs in front of the fire, andlaughed heartily for some minutes.

"Well, really!" he cried, and then he choked, and laughedagain until he was obliged to lie back, limp and helpless, inthe chair.

"What is it?"

"It's quite too funny. I am sure you could never guesshow I employed my morning, or what I ended by doing."

"I can't imagine. I suppose that you have been watchingthe habits, and, perhaps, the house of Miss Irene Adler."

"Quite so, but the sequel was rather unusual. I will tellyou, however. I left the house a little after eight o'clockthis morning in the character of a groom out of work. Thereis a wonderful sympathy and freemasonry among horsy men.Be one of them, and you will know all that there is to know.I soon found Briony Lodge. It is a bijou villa, with agarden at the back, but built out in front right up to theroad, two stories. Chubb lock to the door. Large sitting-roomon the right side, well furnished, with long windowsalmost to the floor, and those preposterous Englishwindow-fasteners which a child could open. Behind there wasnothing remarkable, save that the passage window could bereached from the top of the coach-house. I walked round itand examined it closely from every point of view, but withoutnoting anything else of interest.

"I then lounged down the street, and found, as I expected,that there was a mews in a lane which runs down by onewall of the garden. I lent the hostlers a hand in rubbingdown their horses, and I received in exchange twopence, aglass of half-and-half, two fills of shag tobacco, and as muchinformation as I could desire about Miss Adler, to saynothing of half a dozen other people in the neighborhood, inwhom I was not in the least interested, but whosebiographies I was compelled to listen to."

"And what of Irene Adler?" I asked.

"Oh, she has turned all the men's heads down in thatpart. She is the daintiest thing under a bonnet on thisplanet. So say the Serpentine Mews, to a man. She livesquietly, sings at concerts, drives out at five every day, andreturns at seven sharp for dinner. Seldom goes out at othertimes, except when she sings. Has only one male visitor,but a good deal of him. He is dark, handsome, and dashing;never calls less than once a day, and often twice. Heis a Mr. Godfrey Norton of the Inner Temple. See theadvantages of a cabman as a confidant. They had driven himhome a dozen times from Serpentine Mews, and knew allabout him. When I had listened to all that they had to tell,I began to walk up and down near Briony Lodge once more,and to think over my plan of campaign.

"This Godfrey Norton was evidently an important factorin the matter. He was a lawyer. That sounded ominous.What was the relation between them, and what the objectof his repeated visits? Was she his client, his friend, or hismistress? If the former, she had probably transferred thephotograph to his keeping. If the latter, it was less likely.On the issue of this question depended whether I shouldcontinue my work at Briony Lodge, or turn my attention tothe gentleman's chambers in the Temple. It was a delicatepoint, and it widened the field of my inquiry. I fear that Ibore you with these details, but I have to let you see mylittle difficulties, if you are to understand the situation."

"I am following you closely," I answered.

"I was still balancing the matter in my mind when ahansom cab drove up to Briony Lodge and a gentlemansprang out. He was a remarkably handsome man, dark,aquiline, and mustached—evidently the man of whom I hadheard. He appeared to be in a great hurry, shouted to thecabman to wait, and brushed past the maid who openedthe door, with the air of a man who was thoroughly at home.

"He was in the house about half an hour, and I couldcatch glimpses of him in the windows of the sitting-room,pacing up and down, talking excitedly and waving his arms.Of her I could see nothing. Presently he emerged, lookingeven more flurried than before. As he stepped up to thecab, he pulled a gold watch from his pocket and looked atit earnestly. 'Drive like the devil!' he shouted, 'first toGross & Hankey's in Regent Street, and then to the Churchof St. Monica in the Edgeware Road. Half a guinea if youdo it in twenty minutes!'

"Away they went, and I was just wondering whether Ishould not do well to follow them, when up the lane came aneat little landau, the coachman with his coat only half-buttoned,and his tie under his ear, while all the tags of hisharness were sticking out of the buckles. It hadn't pulled upbefore she shot out of the hall door and into it. I onlycaught a glimpse of her at the moment, but she was a lovelywoman, with a face that a man might die for.

"'The Church of St. Monica, John," she cried; "and halfa sovereign if you reach it in twenty minutes."

"This was quite too good to lose, Watson. I was justbalancing whether I should run for it, or whether I shouldperch behind her landau, when a cab came through thestreet. The driver looked twice at such a shabby fare; butI jumped in before he could object. 'The Church of St. Monica,'said I, 'and half a sovereign if you reach it in twentyminutes.' It was twenty-five minutes to twelve, and ofcourse it was clear enough what was in the wind.

"My cabby drove fast. I don't think I ever drove faster,but the others were there before us. The cab and landauwith their steaming horses were in front of the door when Iarrived. I paid the man, and hurried into the church. Therewas not a soul there save the two whom I had followed, anda surpliced clergyman, who seemed to be expostulating withthem. They were all three standing in a knot in front of thealtar. I lounged up the side aisle like any other idler whohas dropped into a church. Suddenly, to my surprise, thethree at the altar faced round to me, and Godfrey Nortoncame running as hard as he could toward me.

"'Thank God!' he cried. 'You'll do. Come! Come!'

"'What then?' I asked.

"'Come, man, come; only three minutes, or it won't belegal.'

"I was half-dragged up to the altar, and, before I knewwhere I was, I found myself mumbling responses which werewhispered in my ear, and vouching for things of which Iknew nothing, and generally assisting in the secure tyingup of Irene Adler, spinster, to Godfrey Norton, bachelor. Itwas all done in an instant, and there was the gentlemanthanking me on the one side and the lady on the other,while the clergyman beamed on me in front. It was themost preposterous position in which I ever found myself inmy life, and it was the thought of it that started me laughingjust now. It seems that there had been some informalityabout their license; that the clergyman absolutely refused tomarry them without a witness of some sort, and that mylucky appearance saved the bridegroom from having to sallyout into the streets in search of a best man. The bride gaveme a sovereign, and I mean to wear it on my watch-chain inmemory of the occasion."

"This is a very unexpected turn of affairs," said I; "andwhat then?"

"Well, I found my plans very seriously menaced. Itlooked as if the pair might take an immediate departure, andso necessitate very prompt and energetic measures on mypart. At the church door, however, they separated, he drivingback to the Temple, and she to her own house. 'I shalldrive out in the park at five as usual,' she said, as she lefthim. I heard no more. They drove away in differentdirections, and I went off to make my own arrangements."

"Which are?"

"Some cold beef and a glass of beer," he answered, ringingthe bell. "I have been too busy to think of food, and Iam likely to be busier still this evening. By the way,doctor, I shall want your cooperation."

"I shall be delighted."

"You don't mind breaking the law?"

"Not in the least."

"Nor running a chance of arrest?"

"Not in a good cause."

"Oh, the cause is excellent!"

"Then I am your man."

"I was sure that I might rely on you."

"But what is it you wish?"

"When Mrs. Turner has brought in the tray I will makeit clear to you. Now," he said, as he turned hungrily onthe simple fare that our landlady had provided, "I mustdiscuss it while I eat, for I have not much time. It is nearlyfive now. In two hours we must be on the scene of action.Miss Irene, or Madame, rather, returns from her drive atseven. We must be at Briony Lodge to meet her."

"And what then?"

"You must leave that to me. I have already arrangedwhat is to occur. There is only one point on which I mustinsist. You must not interfere, come what may. Youunderstand?"

"I am to be neutral?"

"To do nothing whatever. There will probably be somesmall unpleasantness. Do not join in it. It will end in mybeing conveyed into the house. Four or five minutes afterwardthe sitting-room window will open. You are to stationyourself close to that open window."

"Yes."

"You are to watch me, for I will be visible to you."

"Yes."

"And when I raise my hand—so—you will throw into theroom what I give you to throw, and will, at the same time,raise the cry of fire. You quite follow me?"

"Entirely."

"It is nothing very formidable," he said, taking a long,cigar-shaped roll from his pocket. "It is an ordinary plumber'ssmoke-rocket, fitted with a cap at either end, to make itself-lighting. Your task is confined to that. When youraise your cry of fire, it will be taken up by quite a number ofpeople. You may then walk to the end of the street, and Iwill rejoin you in ten minutes. I hope that I have mademyself clear?"

"I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watchyou, and, at the signal, to throw in this object, then to raisethe cry of fire, and to wait you at the corner of the street."

"Precisely."

"Then you may entirely rely on me."

"That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is almost time thatI prepared for the new rôle I have to play."

He disappeared into his bedroom, and returned in a fewminutes in the character of an amiable and simple-mindedNonconformist clergyman. His broad, black hat, his baggytrousers, his white tie, his sympathetic smile, and generallook of peering and benevolent curiosity were such asMr. John Hare alone could have equaled. It was not merelythat Holmes changed his costume. His expression, his manner,his very soul seemed to vary with every fresh part thathe assumed. The stage lost a fine actor, even as sciencelost an acute reasoner, when he became a specialist in crime.

It was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, andit still wanted ten minutes to the hour when we foundourselves in Serpentine Avenue. It was already dusk, andthe lamps were just being lighted as we paced up and downin front of Briony Lodge, waiting for the coming of itsoccupant. The house was just such as I had pictured itfrom Sherlock Holmes's succinct description, but the localityappeared to be less private than I expected. On thecontrary, for a small street in a quiet neighborhood, it wasremarkably animated. There was a group of shabbily dressedmen smoking and laughing in a corner, a scissors-grinderwith his wheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with anurse-girl, and several well-dressed young men who werelounging up and down with cigars in their mouths.

"You see," remarked Holmes, as we paced to and fro infront of the house, "this marriage rather simplifies matters.The photograph becomes a double-edged weapon now. Thechances are that she would be as averse to its being seenby Mr. Godfrey Norton as our client is to its coming tothe eyes of his princess. Now the question is—where arewe to find the photograph?"

"Where, indeed?"

"It is most unlikely that she carries it about with her.It is cabinet size. Too large for easy concealment about awoman's dress. She knows that the king is capable ofhaving her waylaid and searched. Two attempts of the sorthave already been made. We may take it, then, that shedoes not carry it about with her."

"Where, then?"

"Her banker or her lawyer. There is that double possibility.But I am inclined to think neither. Women arenaturally secretive, and they like to do their own secreting.Why should she hand it over to any one else? She couldtrust her own guardianship, but she could not tell whatindirect or political influence might be brought to bear upon abusiness man. Besides, remember that she had resolved touse it within a few days. It must be where she can lay herhands upon it. It must be in her own house."

"But it has twice been burglarized."

"Pshaw! They did not know how to look."

"But how will you look?"

"I will not look."

"What then?"

"I will get her to show me."

"But she will refuse."

"She will not be able to. But I hear the rumble of wheels.It is her carriage. Now carry out my orders to the letter."

As he spoke, the gleam of the side-lights of a carriagecame round the curve of the avenue. It was a smart littlelandau which rattled up to the door of Briony Lodge. Asit pulled up one of the loafing men at the corner dashedforward to open the door in the hope of earning a copper,but was elbowed away by another loafer who had rushedup with the same intention. A fierce quarrel broke outwhich was increased by the two guardsmen, who took sideswith one of the loungers, and by the scissors-grinder, whowas equally hot upon the other side. A blow was struck,and in an instant the lady, who had stepped from hercarriage, was the centre of a little knot of struggling men whostruck savagely at each other with their fists and sticks.Holmes dashed into the crowd to protect the lady; but, justas he reached her, he gave a cry and dropped to the ground,with the blood running freely down his face. At his fallthe guardsmen took to their heels in one direction and theloungers in the other, while a number of better dressedpeople who had watched the scuffle without taking part init crowded in to help the lady and to attend to the injuredman. Irene Adler, as I will still call her, had hurried upthe steps; but she stood at the top, with her superb figureoutlined against the lights of the hall, looking back into thestreet.

"Is the poor gentleman much hurt?" she asked.

"He is dead," cried several voices.

"No, no, there's life in him," shouted another. "But he'llbe gone before you can get him to the hospital."

"He's a brave fellow," said a woman. "They would havehad the lady's purse and watch if it hadn't been for him.They were a gang, and a rough one, too. Ah! he's breathingnow."

"He can't lie in the street. May we bring him in, marm?"

"Surely. Bring him into the sitting-room. There is acomfortable sofa. This way, please." Slowly and solemnlyhe was borne into Briony Lodge, and laid out in the principalroom, while I still observed the proceedings from mypost by the window. The lamps had been lighted, but theblinds had not been drawn, so that I could see Holmes as helay upon the couch. I do not know whether he was seizedwith compunction at that moment for the part he was playing,but I know that I never felt more heartily ashamed ofmyself in my life when I saw the beautiful creature againstwhom I was conspiring, or the grace and kindliness withwhich she waited upon the injured man. And yet it wouldbe the blackest treachery to Holmes to draw back now fromthe part which he had entrusted to me. I hardened my heart,and took the smoke-rocket from under my ulster. Afterall, I thought, we are not injuring her. We are butpreventing her from injuring another.

Holmes had sat upon the couch, and I saw him motionlike a man who is in need of air. A maid rushed across andthrew open the window. At the same instant I saw himraise his hand, and at the signal I tossed my rocket intothe room with a cry of "Fire!" The word was no sooner outof my mouth than the whole crowd of spectators, welldressed and ill—gentlemen-hostlers, and servant-maids—joinedin a general shriek of "Fire!" Thick clouds of smokecurled through the room, and out at the open window. Icaught a glimpse of rushing figures, and a moment later thevoice of Holmes from within assuring them that it was afalse alarm. Slipping through the shouting crowd, I mademy way to the corner of the street, and in ten minutes wasrejoiced to find my friend's arm in mine, and to get awayfrom the scene of uproar. He walked swiftly and in silencefor some few minutes, until we had turned down one of thequiet streets which led toward the Edgware Road.

"You did it very nicely, doctor," he remarked. "Nothingcould have been better. It is all right."

"You have the photograph?"

"I know where it is."

"And how did you find out?"

"She showed me, as I told you that she would."

"I am still in the dark."

"I do not wish to make a mystery," said he, laughing."The matter was perfectly simple. You, of course, saw thatevery one in the street was an accomplice. They were allengaged for the evening."

"I guessed as much."

"Then, when the row broke out, I had a little moist redpaint in the palm of my hand. I rushed forward, fell down,clapped my hand to my face, and became a piteous spectacle.It is an old trick."

"That also I could fathom."

"Then they carried me in. She was bound to have me in.What else could she do? And into her sitting-room, whichwas the very room which I suspected. It lay between thatand her bedroom, and I was determined to see which. Theylaid me on a couch, I motioned for air, they were compelledto open the window, and you had your chance."

"How did that help you?"

"It was all-important. When a woman thinks that herhouse is on fire, her instinct is at once to rush to the thingwhich she values most. It is a perfectly overpoweringimpulse, and I have more than once taken advantage of it.In the case of the Darlington Substitution Scandal it wasof use to me, and also in the Arnsworth Castle business.A married woman grabs at her baby—an unmarried onereaches for her jewel-box. Now it was clear to me thatour lady of to-day had nothing in the house more preciousto her than what we are in quest of. She would rush tosecure it. The alarm of fire was admirably done. Thesmoke and shouting were enough to shake nerves of steel.She responded beautifully. The photograph is in a recessbehind a sliding panel just above the right bell-pull. Shewas there in an instant, and I caught a glimpse of it as shehalf drew it out. When I cried out that it was a false alarm,she replaced it, glanced at the rocket, rushed from the room,and I have not seen her since. I rose, and, making myexcuses, escaped from the house. I hesitated whether toattempt to secure the photograph at once; but the coachmanhad come in, and as he was watching me narrowly, it seemedsafer to wait. A little overprecipitance may ruin all."

"And now?" I asked.

"Our quest is practically finished. I shall call with theking to-morrow, and with you, if you care to come with us.We will be shown into the sitting-room to wait for the lady,but it is probable that when she comes she may find neitherus nor the photograph. It might be a satisfaction to hismajesty to regain it with his own hands."

"And when will you call?"

"At eight in the morning. She will not be up, so thatwe shall have a clear field. Besides, we must be prompt,for this marriage may mean a complete change in her lifeand habits. I must wire to the king without delay."

We had reached Baker Street, and had stopped at thedoor. He was searching his pockets for the key, when someone passing said:

"Good-night, Mister Sherlock Holmes."

There were several people on the pavement at the time,but the greeting appeared to come from a slim youth inan ulster who had hurried by.

"I've heard that voice before," said Holmes, staring downthe dimly lighted street. "Now, I wonder who the deucethat could have been?"

III

I slept at Baker Street that night, and we wereengaged upon our toast and coffee in the morning, whenthe King of Bohemia rushed into the room.

"You have really got it?" he cried, grasping SherlockHolmes by either shoulder, and looking eagerly into hisface.

"Not yet."

"But you have hopes?"

"I have hopes."

"Then come. I am all impatience to be gone."

"We must have a cab."

"No, my brougham is waiting."

"Then that will simplify matters." We descended, andstarted off once more for Briony Lodge.

"Irene Adler is married," remarked Holmes.

"Married! When?"

"Yesterday."

"But to whom?"

"To an English lawyer named Norton."

"But she could not love him."

"I am in hopes that she does."

"And why in hopes?"

"Because it would spare your majesty all fear of futureannoyance. If the lady loves her husband, she does not loveyour majesty. If she does not love your majesty, there is noreason why she should interfere with your majesty's plan."

"It is true. And yet— Well, I wish she had been of myown station. What a queen she would have made!" Herelapsed into a moody silence, which was not broken untilwe drew up in Serpentine Avenue.

The door of Briony Lodge was open, and an elderlywoman stood upon the steps. She watched us with asardonic eye as we stepped from the brougham.

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe?" said she.

"I am Mr. Holmes," answered my companion, lookingat her with a questioning and rather startled gaze.

"Indeed! My mistress told me that you were likely tocall. She left this morning, with her husband, by the 5:15train from Charing Cross, for the Continent."

"What!" Sherlock Holmes staggered back white withchagrin and surprise.

"Do you mean that she has left England?"

"Never to return."

"And the papers?" asked the king, hoarsely. "All is lost!"

"We shall see." He pushed past the servant, and rushedinto the drawing-room, followed by the king and myself.The furniture was scattered about in every direction, withdismantled shelves, and open drawers, as if the lady hadhurriedly ransacked them before her flight. Holmes rushedat the bell-pull, tore back a small sliding shutter, andplunging in his hand, pulled out a photograph and a letter. Thephotograph was of Irene Adler herself in evening dress; theletter was superscribed to "Sherlock Holmes, Esq. To beleft till called for." My friend tore it open, and we all threeread it together. It was dated at midnight of the precedingnight, and ran in this way:

"MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES;—You really did itvery well. You took me in completely. Until after thealarm of the fire, I had not a suspicion. But then, whenI found how I had betrayed myself, I began to think. Ihad been warned against you months ago. I had been toldthat if the king employed an agent, it would certainly beyou. And your address had been given me. Yet, with allthis, you made me reveal what you wanted to know. Evenafter I became suspicious, I found it hard to think evil ofsuch a dear, kind old clergyman. But, you know, I have beentrained as an actress myself. Male costume is nothing newto me. I often take advantage of the freedom which itgives. I sent John, the coachman, to watch you, ran upstairs,got into my walking clothes, as I call them, and camedown just as you departed.

"Well, I followed you to the door, and so made sure thatI was really an object of interest to the celebratedMr. Sherlock Holmes. Then I, rather imprudently, wished yougood-night, and started for the Temple to see my husband.

"We both thought the best resource was flight, whenpursued by so formidable an antagonist; so you will find thenest empty when you call to-morrow. As to the photograph,your client may rest in peace. I love and am loved by abetter man than he. The king may do what he willwithout hindrance from one whom he has cruelly wronged. Ikeep it only to safeguard myself, and preserve a weaponwhich will always secure me from any steps which he mighttake in the future. I leave a photograph which he might careto possess; and I remain, dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, verytruly yours,

"IRENE NORTON, nee ADLER."

"What a woman—oh, what a woman!" cried the King ofBohemia, when we had all three read this epistle. "Did Inot tell you how quick and resolute she was? Would shenot have made an admirable queen? Is it not a pity thatshe was not on my level?"

"From what I have seen of the lady, she seems, indeed,to be on a very different level to your majesty," said Holmes,coldly. "I am sorry that I have not been able to bring yourmajesty's business to a more successful conclusion."

"On the contrary, my dear sir," cried the king, "nothingcould be more successful. I know that her word is inviolate.The photograph is now as safe as if it were in the fire."

"I am glad to hear your majesty say so."

"I am immensely indebted to you. Pray tell me in whatway I can reward you. This ring—" He slipped an emeraldsnake ring from his finger, and held it out upon the palm ofhis hand.

"Your majesty has something which I should value evenmore highly," said Holmes.

"You have but to name it."

"This photograph!"

The king stared at him in amazement.

"Irene's photograph!" he cried. "Certainly, if you wish it."

"I thank your majesty. Then there is no more to be donein the matter. I have the honor to wish you a verygood-morning." He bowed, and, turning away without observingthe hand which the king had stretched out to him, he set offin my company for his chambers.

And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect thekingdom of Bohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. SherlockHolmes were beaten by a woman's wit. He used to makemerry over the cleverness of women, but I have not heardhim do it of late. And when he speaks of Irene Adler, orwhen he refers to her photograph, it is always under thehonorable title of the woman.

THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK

BY ANNA KATHARINE GREEN

Anna Katharine Green (Rohlfs), whosename is firmly linked in the public mindwith "The Leavenworth Case," is recognizedas the foremost American writer of detectivestories. Of these, Mrs. Rohlfs considers "TheDoctor, His Wife, and the Clock" her mostsuccessful effort in the short story form.Additional interest arises from the fact that thescene is laid in those historic old buildings inLafayette Place opposite the Astor Library,known as "the Colonnade Row," in whichlived John Jacob Astor and other richmerchants two generations ago.

THE DOCTOR, HIS WIFE, AND THE CLOCK

By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN

(MRS. CHARLES ROHLFS)

On the 17th of July, 1851, a tragedy of no littleinterest occurred in one of the residences of theColonnade in Lafayette Place.

Mr. Hasbrouck, a well-known and highly respectedcitizen, was attacked in his room by an unknownassailant, and shot dead before assistance could reach him.His murderer escaped, and the problem offered to the policewas, how to identify this person who, by some happy chanceor by the exercise of the most remarkable forethought, hadleft no traces behind him, or any clue by which he could befollowed.

The affair was given to a young man, named EbenezerGryce, to investigate, and the story, as he tells it, is this:

When, some time after midnight, I reached LafayettePlace, I found the block lighted from end to end. Groupsof excited men and women peered from the open doorways,and mingled their shadows with those of the huge pillarswhich adorn the front of this picturesque block of dwellings.

The house in which the crime had been committed wasnear the centre of the row, and, long before I reached it, Ihad learned from more than one source that the alarm wasfirst given to the street by a woman's shriek, and secondlyby the shouts of an old man-servant who had appeared, ina half-dressed condition, at the window of Mr. Hasbrouck'sroom, crying, "Murder! murder!"

But when I had crossed the threshold, I was astonished atthe paucity of the facts to be gleaned from the inmatesthemselves. The old servitor, who was the first to talk, had onlythis account of the crime to give.

The family, which consisted of Mr. Hasbrouck, his wife,and three servants, had retired for the night at the usualhour and under the usual auspices. At eleven o'clock thelights were all extinguished, and the whole household asleep,with the possible exception of Mr. Hasbrouck himself, who,being a man of large business responsibilities, wasfrequently troubled with insomnia.

Suddenly Mrs. Hasbrouck woke with a start. Had shedreamed the words that were ringing in her ears, or hadthey been actually uttered in her hearing? They were short,sharp words, full of terror and menace, and she had nearlysatisfied herself that she had imagined them, when therecame, from somewhere near the door, a sound she neitherunderstood nor could interpret, but which filled her withinexplicable terror, and made her afraid to breathe, or evento stretch forth her hand toward her husband, whom shesupposed to be sleeping at her side. At length anotherstrange sound, which she was sure was not due to herimagination, drove her to make an attempt to rouse him, whenshe was horrified to find that she was alone in the bed, andher husband nowhere within reach.

Filled now with something more than nervous apprehension,she flung herself to the floor, and tried to penetrate,with frenzied glances, the surrounding darkness. But theblinds and shutters both having been carefully closed byMr. Hasbrouck before retiring, she found this impossible,and she was about to sink in terror to the floor, when sheheard a low gasp on the other side of the room, followed bythe suppressed cry:

"God! what have I done!"

The voice was a strange one, but before the fear arousedby this fact could culminate in a shriek of dismay, she caughtthe sound of retreating footsteps, and, eagerly listening, sheheard them descend the stairs and depart by the front door.

Had she known what had occurred—had there been nodoubt in her mind as to what lay in the darkness on theother side of the room—it is likely that, at the noise causedby the closing front door, she would have made at once forthe balcony that opened out from the window before whichshe was standing, and taken one look at the flying figurebelow. But her uncertainty as to what lay hidden from herby the darkness chained her feet to the floor, and there isno knowing when she would have moved, if a carriage hadnot at that moment passed down Astor Place, bringing withit a sense of companionship which broke the spell that heldher, and gave her strength to light the gas, which was inready reach of her hand.

As the sudden blaze illuminated the room, revealing in aburst the old familiar walls and well-known pieces of furniture,she felt for a moment as if released from some heavynightmare and restored to the common experiences of life.But in another instant her former dread returned, and shefound herself quaking at the prospect of passing around thefoot of the bed into that part of the room which was as yethidden from her eyes.

But the desperation which comes with great crises finallydrove her from her retreat; and, creeping slowly forward,she cast one glance at the floor before her, when she foundher worst fears realized by the sight of the dead body of herhusband lying prone before the open doorway, with abullet-hole in his forehead.

Her first impulse was to shriek, but, by a powerful exerciseof will, she checked herself, and, ringing frantically forthe servants who slept on the top floor of the house, flewto the nearest window and endeavored to open it. But theshutters had been bolted so securely by Mr. Hasbrouck, inhis endeavor to shut out light and sound, that by the timeshe had succeeded in unfastening them, all trace of the flyingmurderer had vanished from the street.

Sick with grief and terror, she stepped back into the roomjust as the three frightened servants descended the stairs.As they appeared in the open doorway, she pointed at herhusband's inanimate form, and then, as if suddenly realizingin its full force the calamity which had befallen her, shethrew up her arms, and sank forward to the floor in a deadfaint.

The two women rushed to her assistance, but the oldbutler, bounding over the bed, sprang to the window, andshrieked his alarm to the street.

In the interim that followed, Mrs. Hasbrouck was revived,and the master's body laid decently on the bed; but no pursuitwas made, nor any inquiries started likely to assist mein establishing the identity of the assailant.

Indeed, every one, both in the house and out, seemed dazedby the unexpected catastrophe, and as no one had any suspicionsto offer as to the probable murderer, I had a difficulttask before me.

I began, in the usual way, by inspecting the scene of themurder. I found nothing in the room, or in the condition ofthe body itself, which added an iota to the knowledgealready obtained. That Mr. Hasbrouck had been in bed; thathe had risen upon hearing a noise; and that he had beenshot before reaching the door, were self-evident facts. Butthere was nothing to guide me further. The very simplicityof the circumstances caused a dearth of clues, which madethe difficulty of procedure as great as any I ever encountered.

My search through the hall and down the stairs elicitednothing; and an investigation of the bolts and bars by whichthe house was secured, assured me that the assassin hadeither entered by the front door, or had already beensecreted in the house when it was locked up for the night.

"I shall have to trouble Mrs. Hasbrouck for a shortinterview," I hereupon announced to the trembling old servitor,who had followed me like a dog about the house.

He made no demur, and in a few minutes I was usheredinto the presence of the newly made widow, who sat quitealone, in a large chamber in the rear. As I crossed thethreshold she looked up, and I encountered a good plainface, without the shadow of guile in it.

"Madam," said I, "I have not come to disturb you. I willask two or three questions only, and then leave you to yourgrief. I am told that some words came from the assassinbefore he delivered his fatal shot. Did you hear thesedistinctly enough to tell me what they were?"

"I was sound asleep," said she, "and dreamt, as I thought,that a fierce, strange voice cried somewhere to some one:'Ah! you did not expect me!' But I dare not say that thesewords were really uttered to my husband, for he was not theman to call forth hate, and only a man in the extremity ofpassion could address such an exclamation in such a tone asrings in my memory in connection with the fatal shot whichwoke me."

"But that shot was not the work of a friend," I argued."If, as these words seem to prove, the assassin had someother motive than gain in his assault, then your husband hadan enemy, though you never suspected it."

"Impossible!" was her steady reply, uttered in the mostconvincing tone. "The man who shot him was a commonburglar, and, frightened at having been betrayed intomurder, fled without looking for booty. I am sure I heard himcry out in terror and remorse: 'God! what have I done!'"

"Was that before you left the side of the bed?"

"Yes; I did not move from my place till I heard the frontdoor close. I was paralyzed by my fear and dread."

"Are you in the habit of trusting to the security of alatch-lock only in the fastening of your front door at night? Iam told that the big key was not in the lock, and that thebolt at the bottom of the door was not drawn."

"The bolt at the bottom of the door is never drawn.Mr. Hasbrouck was so good a man he never mistrusted any one.That is why the big lock was not fastened. The key, notworking well, he took it some days ago to the locksmith,and when the latter failed to return it, he laughed, and saidhe thought no one would ever think of meddling with hisfront door."

"Is there more than one night-key to your house?" I nowasked.

She shook her head.

"And when did Mr. Hasbrouck last use his?"

"To-night, when he came home from prayer-meeting,"she answered, and burst into tears.

Her grief was so real and her loss so recent that I hesitatedto afflict her by further questions. So returning to thescene of the tragedy, I stepped out upon the balcony whichran in front. Soft voices instantly struck my ears. Theneighbors on either side were grouped in front of their ownwindows, and were exchanging the remarks natural underthe circumstances. I paused, as in duty bound, and listened.But I heard nothing worth recording, and would haveinstantly reentered the house, if I had not been impressed bythe appearance of a very graceful woman who stood at myright. She was clinging to her husband, who was gazing atone of the pillars before him in a strange, fixed way whichastonished me till he attempted to move, and then I sawthat he was blind. Instantly I remembered that there livedin this row a blind doctor, equally celebrated for his skilland for his uncommon personal attractions, and, greatlyinterested not only in his affliction, but in the sympathy evincedfor him by his young and affectionate wife, I stood still tillI heard her say in the soft and appealing tones of love:

"Come in, Constant; you have heavy duties for to-morrow,and you should get a few hours' rest, if possible."

He came from the shadow of the pillar, and for oneminute I saw his face with the lamplight shining full uponit. It was as regular of feature as a sculptured Adonis, andit was as white.

"Sleep!" he repeated, in the measured tones of deep butsuppressed feeling. "Sleep! with murder on the other sideof the wall!" And he stretched out his arms in a dazedway that insensibly accentuated the horror I myself felt ofthe crime which had so lately taken place in the roombehind me.

She, noting the movement, took one of the groping handsin her own and drew him gently toward her.

"This way," she urged; and, guiding him into the house,she closed the window and drew down the shades, makingthe street seem darker by the loss of her exquisite presence.

This may seem a digression, but I was at the time ayoung man of thirty, and much under the dominion ofwoman's beauty. I was therefore slow in leaving the balcony,and persistent in my wish to learn something of thisremarkable couple before leaving Mr. Hasbrouck's house.

The story told me was very simple. Dr. Zabriskie hadnot been born blind, but had become so after a grievousillness which had stricken him down soon after he receivedhis diploma. Instead of succumbing to an affliction whichwould have daunted most men, he expressed his intentionof practising his profession, and soon became so successfulin it that he found no difficulty in establishing himself inone of the best paying quarters of the city. Indeed, hisintuition seemed to have developed in a remarkable degreeafter his loss of sight, and he seldom, if ever, made a mistakein diagnosis. Considering this fact, and the personalattractions which gave him distinction, it was no wonder thathe soon became a popular physician whose presence was abenefaction and whose word a law.

He had been engaged to be married at the time of hisillness, and, when he learned what was likely to be its results,had offered to release the young lady from all obligation tohim. But she would not be released, and they were married.This had taken place some five years previous toMr. Hasbrouck's death, three of which had been spent by them inLafayette Place.

So much for the beautiful woman next door.

There being absolutely no clue to the assailant ofMr. Hasbrouck, I naturally looked forward to the inquest forsome evidence upon which to work. But there seemed to beno underlying facts to this tragedy. The most careful studyinto the habits and conduct of the deceased brought nothingto light save his general beneficence and rectitude, nor wasthere in his history or in that of his wife any secret orhidden obligation calculated to provoke any such act ofrevenge as murder. Mrs. Hasbrouck's surmise that theintruder was simply a burglar, and that she had ratherimagined than heard the words that pointed to the shootingas a deed of vengeance, soon gained general credence. But,though the police worked long and arduously in this newdirection, their efforts were without fruit, and the case badefair to remain an unsolvable mystery.

But the deeper the mystery the more persistently doesmy mind cling to it, and some five months after the matterhad been delegated to oblivion, I found myself startingsuddenly from sleep, with these words ringing in my ears:

"Who uttered the scream that gave the first alarm ofMr. Hasbrouck's violent death?"

I was in such a state of excitement that the perspirationstood out on my forehead. Mrs. Hasbrouck's story ofthe occurrence returned to me, and I remembered as distinctlyas if she were then speaking, that she had expresslystated that she did not scream when confronted by the sightof her husband's dead body. But some one had screamed,and that very loudly. Who was it, then? One of the maids,startled by the sudden summons from below, or some oneelse—some involuntary witness of the crime, whosetestimony had been suppressed at the inquest, by fear orinfluence?

The possibility of having come upon a clue even at thislate day, so fired my ambition, that I took the first opportunityof revisiting Lafayette Place. Choosing such persons asI thought most open to my questions, I learned that therewere many who could testify to having heard a woman'sshrill scream on that memorable night just prior to thealarm given by old Cyrus, but no one who could tell fromwhose lips it had come. One fact, however, was immediatelysettled. It had not been the result of the servant-women'sfears. Both of the girls were positive that they had utteredno sound, nor had they themselves heard any, till Cyrusrushed to the window with his wild cries. As the scream,by whomever given, was uttered before they descended thestairs, I was convinced by these assurances that it hadissued from one of the front windows, and not from therear of the house, where their own rooms lay. Could it bethat it had sprung from the adjoining dwelling, andthat— My thoughts went no further, but I made up my mind tovisit the Doctor's house at once.

It took some courage to do this, for the Doctor's wife hadattended the inquest, and her beauty, seen in broad daylight,had worn such an aspect of mingled sweetness and dignity,that I hesitated to encounter it under any circumstanceslikely to disturb its pure serenity. But a clue, once grasped,can not be lightly set aside by a true detective, and it wouldhave taken more than a woman's frown to stop me at thispoint. So I rang Dr. Zabriskie's bell.

I am seventy years old now and am no longer dauntedby the charms of a beautiful woman, but I confess that whenI found myself in the fine reception parlor on the first floor,I experienced no little trepidation at the prospect of theinterview which awaited me.

But as soon as the fine commanding form of the Doctor'swife crossed the threshold, I recovered my senses andsurveyed her with as direct a gaze as my position allowed. Forher aspect bespoke a degree of emotion that astonished me;and even before I spoke I perceived her to be trembling,though she was a woman of no little natural dignity andself-possession.

"I seem to know your face," she said, advancing courteouslytoward me, "but your name"—and here she glancedat the card she held in her hand—"is totally unfamiliarto me."

"I think you saw me some eighteen months ago," said I."I am the detective who gave testimony at the inquest whichwas held over the remains of Mr. Hasbrouck."

I had not meant to startle her, but at this introductionof myself I saw her naturally pale cheek turn paler, andher fine eyes, which had been fixed curiously upon me,gradually sink to the floor.

"Great heaven!" thought I, "what is this I have stumbledupon!"

"I do not understand what business you can have withme," she presently remarked, with a show of gentleindifference that did not in the least deceive me.

"I do not wonder," I rejoined. "The crime which tookplace next door is almost forgotten by the community, andeven if it were not, I am sure you would find it difficult toconjecture the nature of the question I have to put toyou."

"I am surprised," she began, rising in her involuntaryemotion and thereby compelling me to rise also. "How canyou have any question to ask me on this subject? Yetif you have," she continued, with a rapid change of mannerthat touched my heart in spite of myself, "I shall, of course,do my best to answer you."

There are women whose sweetest tones and mostcharming smiles only serve to awaken distrust in men of mycalling; but Mrs. Zabriskie was not of this number. Her facewas beautiful, but it was also candid in its expression, andbeneath the agitation which palpably disturbed her, I wassure there lurked nothing either wicked or false. Yet I heldfast by the clue which I had grasped, as it were, in the dark,and without knowing whither I was tending, much lesswhither I was leading her, I proceeded to say:

"The question which I presume to put to you as thenext-door neighbor of Mr. Hasbrouck, is this: Who was thewoman who screamed out so loudly that the whole neighborhoodheard her on the night of that gentleman's assassination?"

The gasp she gave answered my question in a way shelittle realized, and, struck as I was by the impalpable linksthat had led me to the threshold of this hitherto unsolvablemystery, I was about to press my advantage and ask anotherquestion, when she quickly started forward and laid herhand on my lips.

Astonished, I looked at her inquiringly, but her head wasturned aside, and her eyes, fixed upon the door, showed thegreatest anxiety. Instantly I realized what she feared. Herhusband was entering the house, and she dreaded lest hisears should catch a word of our conversation.

Not knowing what was in her mind, and unable to realizethe importance of the moment to her, I yet listened to theadvance of her blind husband with an almost painful interest.Would he enter the room where we were, or would he passimmediately to his office in the rear? She seemed to wondertoo, and almost held her breath as he neared the door,paused, and stood in the open doorway, with his ear turnedtoward us.

As for myself, I remained perfectly still, gazing at hisface in mingled surprise and apprehension. For besides itsbeauty, which was of a marked order, as I have alreadyobserved, it had a touching expression which irresistiblyaroused both pity and interest in the spectator. This mayhave been the result of his affliction, or it may have sprungfrom some deeper cause; but, whatever its source, this lookin his face produced a strong impression upon me andinterested me at once in his personality. Would he enter?Or would he pass on? Her look of silent appeal showedme in which direction her wishes lay, but while I answeredher glance by complete silence, I was conscious in someindistinct way that the business I had undertaken would bebetter furthered by his entrance.

The blind have been often said to possess a sixth sensein place of the one they have lost. Though I am sure wemade no noise, I soon perceived that he was aware of ourpresence. Stepping hastily forward, he said, in the high andvibrating tone of restrained passion:

"Helen, are you here?"

For a moment I thought she did not mean to answer, butknowing doubtless from experience the impossibility ofdeceiving him, she answered with a cheerful assent, droppingher hand as she did so from before my lips.

He heard the slight rustle which accompanied the movement,and a look I found it hard to comprehend flashedover his features, altering his expression so completely thathe seemed another man.

"You have some one with you," he declared, advancinganother step but with none of the uncertainty which usuallyaccompanies the movements of the blind. "Some dearfriend," he went on, with an almost sarcastic emphasis anda forced smile that had little of gaiety in it.

The agitated and distressed blush which answered himcould have but one interpretation. He suspected that herhand had been clasped in mine, and she perceived histhought and knew that I perceived it also.

Drawing herself up, she moved toward him, saying in asweet, womanly tone that to me spoke volumes:

"It is no friend, Constant, not even an acquaintance. Theperson whom I now present to you is an agent from thepolice. He is here upon a trivial errand which will be soonfinished, when I will join you in your office."

I knew she was but taking a choice between two evils.That she would have saved her husband the knowledge of adetective's presence in the house, if her self-respect wouldhave allowed it, but neither she nor I anticipated the effectwhich this presentation produced upon him.

"A police officer," he repeated, staring with his sightlesseyes, as if, in his eagerness to see, he half hoped his lostsense would return. "He can have no trivial errand here;he has been sent by God Himself to—"

"Let me speak for you," hastily interposed his wife,springing to his side and clasping his arm with a fervor thatwas equally expressive of appeal and command. Then turningto me, she explained: "Since Mr. Hasbrouck's unaccountabledeath, my husband has been laboring under a hallucinationwhich I have only to mention for you to recognizeits perfect absurdity. He thinks—oh! do not look like that,Constant; you know it is a hallucination which must vanishthe moment we drag it into broad daylight—that he—he, thebest man in all the world, was himself the assailant ofMr. Hasbrouck."

Good God!

"I say nothing of the impossibility of this being so," shewent on in a fever of expostulation. "He is blind, and couldnot have delivered such a shot even if he had desired to;besides, he had no weapon. But the inconsistency of thething speaks for itself, and should assure him that his mindis unbalanced and that he is merely suffering from a shockthat was greater than we realized. He is a physician andhas had many such instances in his own practise. Why, hewas very much attached to Mr. Hasbrouck! They were thebest of friends, and though he insists that he killed him, hecan not give any reason for the deed."

At these words the Doctor's face grew stern, and hespoke like an automaton repeating some fearful lesson.

"I killed him. I went to his room and deliberately shothim. I had nothing against him, and my remorse isextreme. Arrest me, and let me pay the penalty of my crime.It is the only way in which I can obtain peace."

Shocked beyond all power of self-control by this repetitionof what she evidently considered the unhappy ravingsof a madman, she let go his arm and turned upon me infrenzy.

"Convince him!" she cried. "Convince him by your questionsthat he never could have done this fearful thing."

I was laboring under great excitement myself, for I feltmy youth against me in a matter of such tragic consequence.Besides, I agreed with her that he was in a distemperedstate of mind, and I hardly knew how to deal with one sofixed in his hallucination and with so much intelligence tosupport it. But the emergency was great, for he was holdingout his wrists in the evident expectation of my taking himinto instant custody; and the sight was killing his wife, whohad sunk on the floor between us, in terror and anguish.

"You say you killed Mr. Hasbrouck," I began. "Wheredid you get your pistol, and what did you do with it afteryou left his house?"

"My husband had no pistol; never had any pistol," put inMrs. Zabriskie, with vehement assertion. "If I had seen himwith such a weapon—"

"I threw it away. When I left the house, I cast it asfar from me as possible, for I was frightened at what I haddone, horribly frightened."

"No pistol was ever found," I answered, with a smile,forgetting for the moment that he could not see. "If such aninstrument had been found in the street after a murder ofsuch consequence it certainly would have been brought tothe police."

"You forget that a good pistol is valuable property," hewent on stolidly. "Some one came along before the generalalarm was given; and seeing such a treasure lying on thesidewalk, picked it up and carried it off. Not being an honestman, he preferred to keep it to drawing the attention of thepolice upon himself."

"Hum, perhaps," said I; "but where did you get it. Surelyyou can tell where you procured such a weapon, if, as yourwife intimates, you did not own one."

"I bought it that self-same night of a friend; a friendwhom I will not name, since he resides no longer in thiscountry. I—" He paused; intense passion was in his face;he turned toward his wife, and a low cry escaped him, whichmade her look up in fear.

"I do not wish to go into any particulars," said he. "Godforsook me and I committed a horrible crime. When I ampunished, perhaps peace will return to me and happinessto her. I would not wish her to suffer too long or toobitterly for my sin."

"Constant!" What love was in the cry! and what despair!It seemed to move him and turn his thoughts for a momentinto a different channel.

"Poor child!" he murmured, stretching out his hands byan irresistible impulse toward her. But the change was butmomentary, and he was soon again the stern and determinedself-accuser. "Are you going to take me before amagistrate?" he asked. "If so, I have a few duties to performwhich you are welcome to witness."

"I have no warrant," I said; "besides, I am scarcely theone to take such a responsibility upon myself. If, however,you persist in your declaration, I will communicate with mysuperiors, who will take such action as they think best."

"That will be still more satisfactory to me," said he; "forthough I have many times contemplated giving myself up tothe authorities, I have still much to do before I can leavemy home and practise without injury to others. Good-day;when you want me, you will find me here."

He was gone, and the poor young wife was left crouchingon the floor alone. Pitying her shame and terror, Iventured to remark that it was not an uncommon thing for aman to confess to a crime he had never committed, andassured her that the matter would be inquired into verycarefully before any attempt was made upon his liberty.

She thanked me, and, slowly rising, tried to regain herequanimity; but the manner as well as the matter of herhusband's self-condemnation was too overwhelming in itsnature for her to recover readily from her emotions.

"I have long dreaded this," she acknowledged. "Formonths I have foreseen that he would make some rashcommunication or insane avowal. If I had dared, I would haveconsulted some physician about this hallucination of his;but he was so sane on other points that I hesitated to givemy dreadful secret to the world. I kept hoping that timeand his daily pursuits would have their effect and restorehim to himself. But his illusion grows, and now I fear thatnothing will ever convince him that he did not commit thedeed of which he accuses himself. If he were not blind Iwould have more hope, but the blind have so much time forbrooding."

"I think he had better be indulged in his fancies for thepresent," I ventured. "If he is laboring under an illusionit might be dangerous to cross him."

"If?" she echoed in an indescribable tone of amazementand dread. "Can you for a moment harbor the idea that hehas spoken the truth?"

"Madam," I returned, with something of the cynicism ofmy later years, "what caused you to give such an unearthlyscream just before this murder was made known to theneighborhood?"

She stared, paled, and finally began to tremble, not, as Inow believe, at the insinuation latent in my words, but at thedoubts which my question aroused in her own breast.

"Did I?" she asked; then with a great burst of candor,which seemed inseparable from her nature, she continued:"Why do I try to mislead you or deceive myself? I did givea shriek just before the alarm was raised next door; but itwas not from any knowledge I had of a crime having beencommitted, but because I unexpectedly saw before me myhusband whom I supposed to be on his way to Poughkeepsie.He was looking very pale and strange, and for a momentI thought I was beholding his ghost. But he soonexplained his appearance by saying that he had fallen fromthe train and had been only saved by a miracle from beingdismembered; and I was just bemoaning his mishap andtrying to calm him and myself, when that terrible shout washeard next door of 'Murder! murder!' Coming so soon afterthe shock he had himself experienced, it quite unnerved him,and I think we can date his mental disturbance from thatmoment. For he began almost immediately to take a morbidinterest in the affair next door, though it was weeks, if notmonths, before he let a word fall of the nature of those youhave just heard. Indeed it was not till I repeated to himsome of the expressions he was continually letting fall inhis sleep, that he commenced to accuse himself of crime andtalk of retribution."

"You say that your husband frightened you on thatnight by appearing suddenly at the door when you thoughthim on his way to Poughkeepsie. Is Dr. Zabriskie in thehabit of thus going and coming alone at an hour so late asthis must have been?"

"You forget that to the blind, night is less full of perilsthan the day. Often and often has my husband found hisway to his patients' houses alone after midnight; but on thisespecial evening he had Harry with him. Harry was hisdriver, and always accompanied him when he went any distance."

"Well, then," said I, "all we have to do is to summonHarry and hear what he has to say concerning this affair.He surely will know whether or not his master went into thehouse next door."

"Harry has left us," she said. "Dr. Zabriskie has anotherdriver now. Besides—(I have nothing to conceal fromyou)—Harry was not with him when he returned to the housethat evening, or the Doctor would not have been withouthis portmanteau till the next day. Something—I have neverknown what—caused them to separate, and that is why Ihave no answer to give the Doctor when he accuses himselfof committing a deed on that night which is wholly out ofkeeping with every other act of his life."

"And have you never questioned Harry why they separatedand why he allowed his master to come home aloneafter the shock he had received at the station?"

"I did not know there was any reason for doing so tilllong after he left us."

"And when did he leave?"

"That I do not remember. A few weeks, or possibly afew days, after that dreadful night."

"And where is he now?"

"Ah, that I have not the least means of knowing. But,"she suddenly cried, "what do you want of Harry? If he didnot follow Dr. Zabriskie to his own door, he could tell usnothing that would convince my husband that he is laboringunder an illusion."

"But he might tell us something which would convinceus that Dr. Zabriskie was not himself after the accidentthat he—"

"Hush!" came from her lips in imperious tones. "I willnot believe that he shot Mr. Hasbrouck even if you provehim to have been insane at the time. How could he? Myhusband is blind. It would take a man of very keen sight toforce himself into a house that was closed for the night, andkill a man in the dark at one shot."

"Rather," cried a voice from the doorway, "it is only ablind man who could do this. Those who trust to eyesightmust be able to catch some glimpse of the mark they aim at,and this room, as I have been told, was without a glimmerof light. But the blind trust to sound, and as Mr. Hasbrouckspoke—"

"Oh!" burst from the horrified wife, "is there no one tostop him when he speaks like that?"

When I related to my superiors the details of theforegoing interview, two of them coincided with the wife inthinking that Dr. Zabriskie was in an irresponsible conditionof mind which made any statement of his questionable.But the third seemed disposed to argue the matter, and,casting me an inquiring look, seemed to ask what my opinion wason the subject. Answering him as if he had spoken, I gavemy conclusion as follows: That whether insane or not,Dr. Zabriskie had fired the shot which terminatedMr. Hasbrouck's life.

It was the Inspector's own idea, but it was not shared inby the others, one of whom had known the Doctor for years.Accordingly they compromised by postponing all opinion tillthey had themselves interrogated the Doctor, and I wasdetailed to bring him before them the next afternoon.

He came without reluctance, his wife accompanying him.In the short time which elapsed between their leavingLafayette Place and entering Headquarters, I embraced theopportunity of observing them, and I found the study equallyexciting and interesting. His face was calm but hopeless,and his eye, which should have shown a wild glimmer ifthere was truth in his wife's hypothesis, was dark andunfathomable, but neither frenzied nor uncertain. He spakebut once and listened to nothing, though now and then hiswife moved as if to attract his attention, and once even stoleher hand toward his, in the tender hope that he would feelits approach and accept her sympathy. But he was deaf aswell as blind; and sat wrapped up in thoughts which she, Iknow, would have given worlds to penetrate.

Her countenance was not without its mystery also. Sheshowed in every lineament passionate concern and misery,and a deep tenderness from which the element of fear wasnot absent. But she, as well as he, betrayed that somemisunderstanding, deeper than any I had previously suspected,drew its intangible veil between them and made the nearproximity in which they sat, at once a heart-piercing delight andan unspeakable pain. What was this misunderstanding? andwhat was the character of the fear that modified her everylook of love in his direction? Her perfect indifference to mypresence proved that it was not connected with the positionin which he had put himself toward the police by his voluntaryconfession of crime, nor could I thus interpret theexpression of frantic question which now and then contractedher features, as she raised her eyes toward his sightless orbs,and strove to read, in his firm-set lips, the meaning of thoseassertions she could only ascribe to a loss of reason.

The stopping of the carriage seemed to awaken both fromthoughts that separated rather than united them. He turnedhis face in her direction, and she, stretching forth her hand,prepared to lead him from the carriage, without any of thatdisplay of timidity which had been previously evident in hermanner.

As his guide she seemed to fear nothing; as his lover,everything.

"There is another and a deeper tragedy underlying theoutward and obvious one," was my inward conclusion, as Ifollowed them into the presence of the gentlemen awaitingthem.

.………

Dr. Zabriskie's appearance was a shock to those whoknew him; so was his manner, which was calm,straightforward, and quietly determined.

"I shot Mr. Hasbrouck," was his steady affirmation, givenwithout any show of frenzy or desperation. "If you ask mewhy I did it, I can not answer; if you ask me how, I amready to state all that I know concerning the matter."

"But, Dr. Zabriskie," interposed his friend, "the why isthe most important thing for us to consider just now. Ifyou really desire to convince us that you committed thedreadful crime of killing a totally inoffensive man, you shouldgive us some reason for an act so opposed to all yourinstincts and general conduct."

But the Doctor continued unmoved:

"I had no reason for murdering Mr. Hasbrouck. A hundredquestions can elicit no other reply; you had better keepto the how."

A deep-drawn breath from the wife answered the looksof the three gentlemen to whom this suggestion was offered."You see," that breath seemed to protest, "that he is not inhis right mind."

I began to waver in my own opinion, and yet the intuitionwhich has served me in cases as seemingly impenetrable asthis bade me beware of following the general judgment.

"Ask him to inform you how he got into the house," Iwhispered to Inspector D——, who sat nearest me.

Immediately the Inspector put the question I had suggested:

"By what means did you enter Mr. Hasbrouck's house atso late an hour as this murder occurred?"

The blind doctor's head fell forward on his breast, andhe hesitated for the first and only time.

"You will not believe me," said he; "but the door was ajarwhen I came to it. Such things make crime easy; it is theonly excuse I have to offer for this dreadful deed."

The front door of a respectable citizen's house ajar athalf-past eleven at night. It was a statement that fixed inall minds the conviction of the speaker's irresponsibility.Mrs. Zabriskie's brow cleared, and her beauty became for amoment dazzling as she held out her hands in irrepressiblerelief toward those who were interrogating her husband. Ialone kept my impassibility. A possible explanation of thiscrime had flashed like lightning across my mind; an explanationfrom which I inwardly recoiled, even while I was forcedto consider it.

"Dr. Zabriskie," remarked the Inspector who was mostfriendly to him, "such old servants as those kept byMr. Hasbrouck do not leave the front door ajar at twelve o'clockat night."

"Yet ajar it was," repeated the blind doctor, with quietemphasis; "and finding it so, I went in. When I came outagain, I closed it. Do you wish me to swear to what I say?If so, I am ready."

What could we reply? To see this splendid-lookingman, hallowed by an affliction so great that in itself it calledforth the compassion of the most indifferent, accusinghimself of a cold-blooded crime, in tones that soundeddispassionate because of the will that forced their utterance, wastoo painful in itself for us to indulge in any unnecessarywords. Compassion took the place of curiosity, and each andall of us turned involuntary looks of pity upon the youngwife pressing so eagerly to his side.

"For a blind man," ventured one, "the assault was bothdeft and certain. Are you accustomed to Mr. Hasbrouck'shouse, that you found your way with so little difficulty tohis bedroom?"

"I am accustomed—" he began.

But here his wife broke in with irrepressible passion:

"He is not accustomed to that house. He has never beenbeyond the first floor. Why, why do you question him? Doyou not see—"

His hand was on her lips.

"Hush!" he commanded. "You know my skill in movingabout a house; how I sometimes deceive those who do notknow me into believing that I can see, by the readiness withwhich I avoid obstacles and find my way even in strangeand untried scenes. Do not try to make them think I amnot in my right mind, or you will drive me into the verycondition you deprecate."

His face, rigid, cold, and set, looked like that of a mask.Hers, drawn with horror and filled with question that wasfast taking the form of doubt, bespoke an awful tragedy fromwhich more than one of us recoiled.

"Can you shoot a man dead without seeing him?" askedthe Superintendent, with painful effort.

"Give me a pistol and I will show you," was the quickreply.

A low cry came from the wife. In a drawer near to everyone of us there lay a pistol, but no one moved to take it out.There was a look in the Doctor's eye which made us fear totrust him with a pistol just then.

"We will accept your assurance that you possess a skillbeyond that of most men," returned the Superintendent.And beckoning me forward, he whispered: "This is a casefor the doctors and not for the police. Remove him quietly,and notify Dr. Southyard of what I say."

But Dr. Zabriskie, who seemed to have an almost supernaturalacuteness of hearing, gave a violent start at this andspoke up for the first time with real passion in his voice:

"No, no, I pray you. I can bear anything but that.Remember, gentlemen, that I am blind; that I can not see whois about me; that my life would be a torture if I felt myselfsurrounded by spies watching to catch some evidence ofmadness in me. Rather conviction at once, death, dishonor,and obloquy. These I have incurred. These I have broughtupon myself by crime, but not this worse fate—oh! not thisworse fate."

His passion was so intense and yet so confined within thebounds of decorum that we felt strangely impressed by it.Only the wife stood transfixed, with the dread growing inher heart, till her white, waxen visage seemed even moreterrible to contemplate than his passion-distorted one.

"It is not strange that my wife thinks me demented," theDoctor continued, as if afraid of the silence that answeredhim. "But it is your business to discriminate, and you shouldknow a sane man when you see him."

Inspector D—— no longer hesitated.

"Very well," said he, "give us the least proof that yourassertions are true, and we will lay your case before theprosecuting attorney."

"Proof? Is not a man's word—"

"No man's confession is worth much without some evidenceto support it. In your case there is none. You cannot even produce the pistol with which you assert yourselfto have committed the deed."

"True, true. I was frightened by what I had done, andthe instinct of self-preservation led me to rid myself of theweapon in any way I could. But some one found this pistol;some one picked it up from the sidewalk of Lafayette Placeon that fatal night. Advertise for it. Offer a reward. Iwill give you the money." Suddenly he appeared to realizehow all this sounded. "Alas!" cried he, "I know the storyseems improbable; all I say seems improbable; but it is notthe probable things that happen in this life, but theimprobable, as you should know, who every day dig deep into theheart of human affairs."

Were these the ravings of insanity? I began to understandthe wife's terror.

"I bought the pistol," he went on, "of—alas! I can nottell you his name. Everything is against me. I can notadduce one proof; yet she, even she, is beginning to fear thatmy story is true. I know it by her silence, a silence thatyawns between us like a deep and unfathomable gulf."

But at these words her voice rang out with passionatevehemence.

"No, no, it is false! I will never believe that your handshave been plunged in blood. You are my own pure-heartedConstant, cold, perhaps, and stern, but with no guilt uponyour conscience, save in your own wild imagination."

"Helen, you are no friend to me," he declared, pushing hergently aside. "Believe me innocent, but say nothing to leadthese others to doubt my word."

And she said no more, but her looks spoke volumes.

The result was that he was not detained, though he prayedfor instant commitment. He seemed to dread his own home,and the surveillance to which he instinctively knew he wouldhenceforth be subjected. To see him shrink from his wife'shand as she strove to lead him from the room was sufficientlypainful; but the feeling thus aroused was nothing tothat with which we observed the keen and agonized expectancyof his look as he turned and listened for the steps ofthe officer who followed him.

"I shall never again know whether or not I am alone,"was his final observation as he left our presence.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

I said nothing to my superiors of the thoughts I had hadwhile listening to the above interrogatories. A theory hadpresented itself to my mind which explained in some measurethe mysteries of the Doctor's conduct, but I wished fortime and opportunity to test its reasonableness beforesubmitting it to their higher judgment. And these seemedlikely to be given me, for the Inspectors continued dividedin their opinion of the blind physician's guilt, and theDistrict-Attorney, when told of the affair, pooh-poohed itwithout mercy, and declined to stir in the matter unless sometangible evidence were forthcoming to substantiate the poorDoctor's self-accusations.

"If guilty, why does he shrink from giving his motives,"said he, "and if so anxious to go to the gallows, why doeshe suppress the very facts calculated to send him there? Heis as mad as a March hare, and it is to an asylum he shouldgo and not to a jail."

In this conclusion I failed to agree with him, and as timewore on my suspicions took shape and finally ended in afixed conviction. Dr. Zabriskie had committed the crime heavowed, but—let me proceed a little further with my storybefore I reveal what lies beyond that "but."

Notwithstanding Dr. Zabriskie's almost frenzied appealfor solitude, a man had been placed in surveillance over himin the shape of a young doctor skilled in diseases of thebrain. This man communicated more or less with the police,and one morning I received from him the following extractsfrom the diary he had been ordered to keep:

"The Doctor is settling into a deep melancholy fromwhich he tries to rise at times, but with only indifferentsuccess. Yesterday he rode around to all his patients forthe purpose of withdrawing his services on the plea ofillness. But he still keeps his office open, and to-day I hadthe opportunity of witnessing his reception and treatmentof the many sufferers who came to him for aid. I think hewas conscious of my presence, though an attempt had beenmade to conceal it. For the listening look never left his facefrom the moment he entered the room, and once he rose andpassed quickly from wall to wall, groping with outstretchedhands into every nook and corner, and barely escapingcontact with the curtain behind which I was hidden. But if hesuspected my presence, he showed no displeasure at it, wishingperhaps for a witness to his skill in the treatment ofdisease.

"And truly I never beheld a finer manifestation of practicalinsight in cases of a more or less baffling nature thanI beheld in him to-day. He is certainly a most wonderfulphysician, and I feel bound to record that his mind is asclear for business as if no shadow had fallen upon it.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"Dr. Zabriskie loves his wife, but in a way that torturesboth himself and her. If she is gone from the house he iswretched, and yet when she returns he often forbears tospeak to her, or if he does speak, it is with a constraint thathurts her more than his silence. I was present when shecame in to-day. Her step, which had been eager on thestairway, flagged as she approached the room, and henaturally noted the change and gave his own interpretation toit. His face, which had been very pale, flushed suddenly,and a nervous trembling seized him which he sought in vainto hide. But by the time her tall and beautiful figure stoodin the doorway he was his usual self again in all but theexpression of his eyes, which stared straight before him inan agony of longing only to be observed in those who haveonce seen.

"'Where have you been, Helen?' he asked, as, contraryto his wont, he moved to meet her.

"'To my mother's, to Arnold & Constable's, and to thehospital, as you requested,' was her quick answer, madewithout faltering or embarrassment.

"He stepped still nearer and took her hand, and as hedid so my physician's eye noted how his finger lay overher pulse in seeming unconsciousness.

"'Nowhere else?' he queried.

"She smiled the saddest kind of smile and shook herhead; then, remembering that he could not see thismovement, she cried in a wistful tone:

"'Nowhere else, Constant; I was too anxious to get back.'

"I expected him to drop her hand at this, but he did not;and his finger still rested on her pulse.

"'And whom did you see while you were gone?' he continued.

"She told him, naming over several names.

"'You must have enjoyed yourself,' was his cold comment,as he let go her hand and turned away. But hismanner showed relief, and I could not but sympathize withthe pitiable situation of a man who found himself forcedto means like these for probing the heart of his young wife.

"Yet when I turned toward her I realized that her positionwas but little happier than his. Tears are no strangersto her eyes, but those that welled up at this moment seemedto possess a bitterness that promised but little peace for herfuture. Yet she quickly dried them and busied herself withministrations for his comfort.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"If I am any judge of woman, Helen Zabriskie is superiorto most of her sex. That her husband mistrusts her isevident, but whether this is the result of the stand she hastaken in his regard, or only a manifestation of dementia, Ihave as yet been unable to determine. I dread to leave themalone together, and yet when I presume to suggest that sheshould be on her guard in her interviews with him, shesmiles very placidly and tells me that nothing would giveher greater joy than to see him lift his hand against her,for that would argue that he is not accountable for hisdeeds or for his assertions.

"Yet it would be a grief to see her injured by thispassionate and unhappy man.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"You have said that you wanted all details I could give;so I feel bound to say that Dr. Zabriskie tries to beconsiderate of his wife, though he often fails in the attempt.When she offers herself as his guide, or assists him withhis mail, or performs any of the many acts of kindness bywhich she continually manifests her sense of his affliction,he thanks her with courtesy and often with kindness, yet Iknow she would willingly exchange all his set phrases forone fond embrace or impulsive smile of affection. That heis not in the full possession of his faculties would be toomuch to say, and yet upon what other hypothesis can weaccount for the inconsistencies of his conduct?

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"I have before me two visions of mental suffering. Atnoon I passed the office door, and looking within, saw thefigure of Dr. Zabriskie seated in his great chair, lost inthought or deep in those memories which make an abyss inone's consciousness. His hands, which were clenched, restedupon the arms of his chair, and in one of them I detected awoman's glove, which I had no difficulty in recognizing asone of the pair worn by his wife this morning. He held itas a tiger might hold his prey or a miser his gold, but hisset features and sightless eyes betrayed that a conflict ofemotions was waging within him, among which tendernesshad but little share.

"Though alive, as he usually is, to every sound, he wastoo absorbed at this moment to notice my presence, thoughI had taken no pains to approach quietly. I therefore stoodfor a full minute watching him, till an irresistible sense ofthe shame of thus spying upon a blind man in his momentsof secret anguish seized upon me and I turned away. Butnot before I saw his features relax in a storm of passionatefeeling, as he rained kisses after kisses on the senseless kidhe had so long held in his motionless grasp. Yet when anhour later he entered the dining-room on his wife's arm,there was nothing in his manner to show that he had inany way changed in his attitude toward her.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"The other picture was more tragic still. I have no businesswith Mrs. Zabriskie's affairs; but as I passed upstairsto my room an hour ago, I caught a fleeting vision of hertall form, with the arms thrown up over her head in aparoxysm of feeling which made her as oblivious to mypresence as her husband had been several hours before.Were the words that escaped her lips, 'Thank God we haveno children!' or was this exclamation suggested to me bythe passion and unrestrained impulse of her action?"

Side by side with these lines, I, Ebenezer Gryce, placedthe following extracts from my own diary:

"Watched the Zabriskie mansion for five hours thismorning, from the second story window of an adjoining hotel.Saw the Doctor when he drove away on his round of visits,and saw him when he returned. A colored man accompaniedhim.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"To-day I followed Mrs. Zabriskie. I had a motive forthis, the nature of which I think it wisest not to divulge. Shewent first to a house in Washington Place where I am toldher mother lives. Here she stayed some time, after whichshe drove down to Canal Street, where she did some shopping,and later stopped at the hospital, into which I tookthe liberty of following her. She seemed to know manythere, and passed from cot to cot with a smile in which Ialone discerned the sadness of a broken heart. When sheleft, I left also, without having learned anything beyond thefact that Mrs. Zabriskie is one who does her duty in sorrowas in happiness. A rare and trustworthy woman I shouldsay, and yet her husband does not trust her. Why?

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"I have spent this day in accumulating details in regardto Dr. and Mrs. Zabriskie's life previous to the death ofMr. Hasbrouck. I learned from sources it would be unwise toquote just here that Mrs. Zabriskie had not lacked enemiesready to charge her with coquetry; that while she had neversacrificed her dignity in public, more than one person hadbeen heard to declare that Dr. Zabriskie was fortunate inbeing blind, since the sight of his wife's beauty would havebut poorly compensated him for the pain he would havesuffered in seeing how that beauty was admired.

"That all gossip is more or less tinged with exaggerationI have no doubt, yet when a name is mentioned in connectionwith such stories, there is usually some truth at thebottom of them. And a name is mentioned in this case,though I do not think it worth my while to repeat it here;and loth as I am to recognize the fact, it is a name thatcarries with it doubts that might easily account for thehusband's jealousy. True, I have found no one who dares tohint that she still continues to attract attention or to bestowsmiles in any direction save where they legally belong. Forsince a certain memorable night which we all know, neitherDr. Zabriskie nor his wife have been seen save in theirown domestic circle, and it is not into such scenes that thisserpent, of which I have spoken, ever intrudes, nor is it inplaces of sorrow or suffering that his smile shines, or hisfascinations flourish.

"And so one portion of my theory is proved to be sound.Dr. Zabriskie is jealous of his wife: whether with good causeor bad I am not prepared to decide; for her present attitude,clouded as it is by the tragedy in which she and her husbandare both involved, must differ very much from that which sheheld when her life was unshadowed by doubt, and heradmirers could be counted by the score.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"I have just found out where Harry is. As he is in servicesome miles up the river, I shall have to be absent frommy post for several hours, but I consider the game wellworth the candle.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"Light at last. I have seen Harry, and, by means knownonly to the police, have succeeded in making him talk. Hisstory is substantially this: That on the night so oftenmentioned, he packed his master's portmanteau at eight o'clockand at ten called a carriage and rode with the Doctor to theTwenty-ninth Street station. He was told to buy ticketsfor Poughkeepsie, where his master had been called inconsultation, and having done this, hurried back to join hismaster on the platform. They had walked together as faras the cars, and Dr. Zabriskie was just stepping on to thetrain when a man pushed himself hurriedly between themand whispered something into his master's ear, which causedhim to fall back and lose his footing. Dr. Zabriskie's bodyslid half under the car, but he was withdrawn before anyharm was done, though the cars gave a lurch at that momentwhich must have frightened him exceedingly, for his facewas white when he rose to his feet, and when Harry offeredto assist him again on to the train, he refused to go andsaid he would return home and not attempt to ride toPoughkeepsie that night.

"The gentleman, whom Harry now saw to be Mr. Stanton,an intimate friend of Dr. Zabriskie, smiled very queerlyat this, and taking the Doctor's arm led him away to acarriage. Harry naturally followed them, but the Doctor,hearing his steps, turned and bade him, in a very peremptorytone, to take the omnibus home, and then, as if on secondthought, told him to go to Poughkeepsie in his stead andexplain to the people there that he was too shaken up byhis misstep to do his duty, and that he would be with themnext morning. This seemed strange to Harry, but he had noreasons for disobeying his master's orders, and so rode toPoughkeepsie. But the Doctor did not follow him the nextday; on the contrary, he telegraphed for him to return, andwhen he got back dismissed him with a month's wages.This ended Harry's connection with the Zabriskie family.

"A simple story bearing out what the wife has alreadytold us; but it furnishes a link which may prove invaluable.Mr. Stanton, whose first name is Theodore, knows the realreason why Dr. Zabriskie returned home on the night of theseventeenth of July, 1851. Mr. Stanton, consequently, Imust see, and this shall be my business to-morrow.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"Checkmate! Theodore Stanton is not in this country.Though this points him out as the man from whom Dr. Zabriskiebought the pistol, it does not facilitate my work,which is becoming more and more difficult.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"Mr. Stanton's whereabouts are not even known to hismost intimate friends. He sailed from this country mostunexpectedly on the eighteenth of July a year ago, whichwas the day after the murder of Mr. Hasbrouck. It lookslike a flight, especially as he has failed to maintain opencommunication even with his relatives. Was he the manwho shot Mr. Hasbrouck? No; but he was the man whoput the pistol in Dr. Zabriskie's hand that night, and,whether he did this with purpose or not, was evidently soalarmed at the catastrophe which followed that he took thefirst outgoing steamer to Europe. So far, all is clear, butthere are mysteries yet to be solved, which will require myutmost tact. What if I should seek out the gentleman withwhose name that of Mrs. Zabriskie has been linked, and seeIf I can in any way connect him with Mr. Stanton or theevents of that night?

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"Eureka! I have discovered that Mr. Stanton cherisheda mortal hatred for the gentleman above mentioned. It wasa covert feeling, but no less deadly on that account; andwhile it never led him into any extravagances, it was offorce sufficient to account for many a secret misfortunewhich happened to that gentleman. Now, if I can prove hewas the Mephistopheles who whispered insinuations into theear of our blind Faust, I may strike a fact that will lead meout of this maze.

"But how can I approach secrets so delicate withoutcompromising the woman I feel bound to respect, if only for thedevoted love she manifests for her unhappy husband!

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"I shall have to appeal to Joe Smithers. This is somethingwhich I always hate to do, but as long as he will takemoney, and as long as he is fertile in resources forobtaining the truth from people I am myself unable to reach,so long must I make use of his cupidity and his genius.He is an honorable fellow in one way, and never retailsas gossip what he acquires for our use. How will heproceed in this case, and by what tactics will be gain thevery delicate information which we need? I own that I amcurious to see.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"I shall really have to put down at length the incidentsof this night. I always knew that Joe Smithers wasinvaluable to the police, but I really did not know he possessedtalents of so high an order. He wrote me this morning thathe had succeeded in getting Mr. T——'s promise to spendthe evening with him, and advised me that if I desired tobe present also, his own servant would not be at home, andthat an opener of bottles would be required.

"As I was very anxious to see Mr. T—— with my owneyes, I accepted the invitation to play the spy upon a spy,and went at the proper hour to Mr. Smithers's rooms, whichare in the University Building. I found them picturesque inthe extreme. Piles of books stacked here and there to theceiling made nooks and corners which could be quite shutoff by a couple of old pictures that were set into movableframes that swung out or in at the whim or convenienceof the owner.

"As I liked the dark shadows cast by these pictures, Ipulled them both out, and made such other arrangementsas appeared likely to facilitate the purpose I had in view;then I sat down and waited for the two gentlemen whowere expected to come in together.

"They arrived almost immediately, whereupon I rose andplayed my part with all necessary discretion. While riddingMr. T—— of his overcoat, I stole a look at his face. It isnot a handsome one, but it boasts of a gay, devil-may-careexpression which doubtless makes it dangerous to manywomen, while his manners are especially attractive, and hisvoice the richest and most persuasive that I ever heard. Icontrasted him, almost against my will, with Dr. Zabriskie,and decided that with most women the former's undoubtedfascinations of speech and bearing would outweigh thelatter's great beauty and mental endowments; but I doubtedif they would with her.

"The conversation which immediately began was brilliantbut desultory, for Mr. Smithers, with an airy lightness forwhich he is remarkable, introduced topic after topic, perhapsfor the purpose of showing off Mr. T——'s versatility,and perhaps for the deeper and more sinister purpose ofshaking the kaleidoscope of talk so thoroughly, that the realtopic which we were met to discuss should not make anundue impression on the mind of his guest.

"Meanwhile one, two, three bottles passed, and I sawJoe Smithers's eye grow calmer and that of Mr. T—— morebrilliant and more uncertain. As the last bottle showedsigns of failing, Joe cast me a meaning glance, and the realbusiness of the evening began.

"I shall not attempt to relate the half-dozen failureswhich Joe made in endeavoring to elicit the facts we werein search of, without arousing the suspicion of his visitor.I am only going to relate the successful attempt. They hadbeen talking now for some hours, and I, who had long beforebeen waved from their immediate presence, was hiding mycuriosity and growing excitement behind one of the pictures,when suddenly I heard Joe say:

"'He has the most remarkable memory I ever met. Hecan tell to a day when any notable event occurred.'

"Pshaw!' answered his companion, who, by the by, wasknown to pride himself upon his own memory for dates, 'Ican state where I went and what I did on every day in theyear. That may not embrace what you call "notable events,"but the memory required is all the more remarkable, is itnot?'

"'Pooh!' was his friend's provoking reply, 'you are bluffing,Ben; I will never believe that.'

"Mr. T——, who had passed by this time into that stateof intoxication which makes persistence in an assertion aduty as well as a pleasure, threw back his head, and as thewreaths of smoke rose in airy spirals from his lips,reiterated his statement, and offered to submit to any test ofhis vaunted powers which the other might dictate.

"'You have a diary—' began Joe.

"'Which is at home,' completed the other.

"'Will you allow me to refer to it to-morrow, if I amsuspicious of the accuracy of your recollections?'

"'Undoubtedly,' returned the other.

"'Very well, then, I will wager you a cool fifty that youcan not tell where you were between the hours of ten andeleven on a certain night which I will name.'

"'Done!' cried the other, bringing out his pocket-bookand laying it on the table before him.

"Joe followed his example and then summoned me.

"'Write a date down here,' he commanded, pushing apiece of paper toward me, with a look keen as the flash of ablade. 'Any date, man,' he added, as I appeared to hesitatein the embarrassment I thought natural under the circumstances.'Put down day, month, and year, only don't go toofar back; not farther than two years.'

"Smiling with the air of a flunkey admitted to the sportsof his superiors, I wrote a line and laid it before Mr. Smithers,who at once pushed it with a careless gesture toward hiscompanion. You can of course guess the date I made useof: July 17, 1851. Mr. T——, who had evidently looked uponthis matter as mere play, flushed scarlet as he read thesewords, and for one instant looked as if he had rather flee ourpresence than answer Joe Smithers's nonchalant glance ofinquiry.

"'I have given my word and will keep it,' he said at last,but with a look in my direction that sent me reluctantly backto my retreat. 'I don't suppose you want names,' he wenton, 'that is, if anything I have to tell is of a delicate nature?'

"'O no,' answered the other, 'only facts and places.'

"'I don't think places are necessary either,' he returned.'I will tell you what I did and that must serve you. I didnot promise to give number and street.'

"'Well, well,' Joe exclaimed; 'earn your fifty, that is all.Show that you remember where you were on the night of'—andwith an admirable show of indifference he pretended toconsult the paper between them—'the seventeenth of July,1851, and I shall be satisfied.'

"'I was at the club for one thing,' said Mr. T——; 'then Iwent to see a lady friend, where I stayed till eleven. Shewore a blue muslin—What is that?'

"I had betrayed myself by a quick movement which senta glass tumbler crashing to the floor. Helen Zabriskie hadworn a blue muslin on that same night. I had noted itwhen I stood on the balcony watching her and her husband.

"'That noise?' It was Joe who was speaking. 'You don'tknow Reuben as well as I do or you wouldn't ask. It is hispractise, I am sorry to say, to accentuate his pleasure indraining my bottles, by dropping a glass at every third one.'

"Mr. T—— went on.

"'She was a married woman and I thought she lovedme; but—and this is the greatest proof I can offer you thatI am giving you a true account of that night—she had nothad the slightest idea of the extent of my passion, and onlyconsented to see me at all because she thought, poor thing,that a word from her would set me straight, and rid her ofattentions that were fast becoming obnoxious. A sorryfigure for a fellow to cut who has not been without histriumphs; but you caught me on the most detestable date inmy calendar, and—'

"There is where he stopped being interesting, so I willnot waste time by quoting further. And now what replyshall I make when Joe Smithers asks me double his usualprice, as he will be sure to do, next time? Has he notearned an advance? I really think so.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

"I have spent the whole day in weaving together the factsI have gleaned, and the suspicions I have formed, into aconsecutive whole likely to present my theory in a favorablelight to my superiors. But just as I thought myself in shapeto meet their inquiries, I received an immediate summonsinto their presence, where I was given a duty to performof so extraordinary and unexpected a nature, that iteffectually drove from my mind all my own plans for theelucidation of the Zabriskie mystery.

"This was nothing more or less than to take charge of aparty of people who were going to the Jersey Heights forthe purpose of testing Dr. Zabriskie's skill with a pistol."

III

The cause of this sudden move was soon explainedto me. Mrs. Zabriskie, anxious to have an end put tothe present condition of affairs, had begged for a morerigid examination into her husband's state. This beingaccorded, a strict and impartial inquiry had taken place,with a result not unlike that which followed the first one.Three out of his four interrogators judged him insane,and could not be moved from their opinion though opposedby the verdict of the young expert who had been living in thehouse with him. Dr. Zabriskie seemed to read their thoughts,and, showing extreme agitation, begged as before for anopportunity to prove his sanity by showing his skill inshooting. This time a disposition was evinced to grant hisrequest, which Mrs. Zabriskie no sooner perceived, than sheadded her supplications to his that the question might bethus settled.

A pistol was accordingly brought; but at sight of it hercourage failed, and she changed her prayer to an entreatythat the experiment should be postponed till the next day,and should then take place in the woods away from the sightand hearing of needless spectators.

Though it would have been much wiser to have endedthe matter there and then, the Superintendent was prevailedupon to listen to her entreaties, and thus it was thatI came to be a spectator, if not a participator, in the finalscene of this most sombre drama.

There are some events which impress the human mind sodeeply that their memory mingles with all after-experiences.Though I have made it a rule to forget as soon as possiblethe tragic episodes into which I am constantly plunged, thereis one scene in my life which will not depart at my will; andthat is the sight which met my eyes from the bow of thesmall boat in which Dr. Zabriskie and his wife were rowedover to Jersey on that memorable afternoon.

Though it was by no means late in the day, the sun wasalready sinking, and the bright red glare which filled theheavens and shone full upon the faces of the half-dozenpersons before me added much to the tragic nature of thescene, though we were far from comprehending its fullsignificance.

The Doctor sat with his wife in the stern, and it wasupon their faces my glance was fixed. The glare shoneluridly on his sightless eyeballs, and as I noticed hisunwinking lids I realized as never before what it was to beblind in the midst of sunshine. Her eyes, on the contrary,were lowered, but there was a look of hopeless misery inher colorless face which made her appearance infinitelypathetic, and I felt confident that if he could only have seenher, he would not have maintained the cold and unresponsivemanner which chilled the words on her lips and made alladvance on her part impossible.

On the seat in front of them sat the Inspector and adoctor, and from some quarter, possibly from under theInspector's coat, there came the monotonous ticking of a smallclock, which, I had been told, was to serve as a target forthe blind man's aim.

This tickling was all I heard, though the noise and bustleof a great traffic was pressing upon us on every side. And Iam sure it was all that she heard, as, with hand pressed toher heart and eyes fixed on the opposite shore, she waitedfor the event which was to determine whether the man sheloved was a criminal or only a being afflicted of God, andworthy of her unceasing care and devotion.

As the sun cast its last scarlet gleam over the water,the boat grounded, and it fell to my lot to assistMrs. Zabriskie up the bank. As I did so, I allowed myself to say:"I am your friend, Mrs. Zabriskie," and was astonished tosee her tremble, and turn toward me with a look like thatof a frightened child.

But there was always this characteristic blending in hercountenance of the childlike and the severe, such as may sooften be seen in the faces of nuns, and beyond an addedpang of pity for this beautiful but afflicted woman, I let themoment pass without giving it the weight it perhaps demanded.

"The Doctor and his wife had a long talk last night," waswhispered in my ear as we wound our way along into thewoods. I turned and perceived at my side the expertphysician, portions of whose diary I have already quoted. Hehad come by another boat.

"But it did not seem to heal whatever breach lies betweenthem," he proceeded. Then in a quick, curious tone, heasked: "Do you believe this attempt on his part is likelyto prove anything but a farce?"

"I believe he will shatter the clock to pieces with hisfirst shot," I answered, and could say no more, for we hadalready reached the ground which had been selected forthis trial at arms, and the various members of the partywere being placed in their several positions.

The Doctor, to whom light and darkness were alike, stoodwith his face toward the western glow, and at his side weregrouped the Inspector and the two physicians. On the armof one of the latter hung Dr. Zabriskie's overcoat, which hehad taken off as soon as he reached the field.

Mrs. Zabriskie stood at the other end of the opening,near a tall stump, upon which it had been decided that theclock should be placed when the moment came for the Doctorto show his skill. She had been accorded the privilegeof setting the clock on this stump, and I saw it shining inher hand as she paused for a moment to glance back at thecircle of gentlemen who were awaiting her movements. Thehands of the clock stood at five minutes to five, though Iscarcely noted the fact at the time, for her eyes were onmine, and as she passed me she spoke:

"If he is not himself, he can not be trusted. Watch himcarefully, and see that he does no mischief to himself orothers. Be at his right hand, and stop him if he does nothandle his pistol properly."

I promised, and she passed on, setting the clock upon thestump and immediately drawing back to a suitable distanceat the right, where she stood, wrapped in her long darkcloak, quite alone. Her face shone ghastly white, even in itsenvironment of snow-covered boughs which surrounded her,and, noting this, I wished the minutes fewer between thepresent moment and the hour of five, at which he was todraw the trigger.

"Dr. Zabriskie," quoth the Inspector, "we have endeavoredto make this trial a perfectly fair one. You are to have oneshot at a small clock which has been placed within a suitabledistance, and which you are expected to hit, guided only bythe sound which it will make in striking the hour of five.Are you satisfied with the arrangement?"

"Perfectly. Where is my wife?"

"On the other side of the field, some ten paces from thestump upon which the clock is fixed."

He bowed, and his face showed satisfaction.

"May I expect the clock to strike soon?"

"In less than five minutes," was the answer.

"Then let me have the pistol; I wish to become acquaintedwith its size and weight."

We glanced at each other, then across at her.

She made a gesture; it was one of acquiescence.

Immediately the Inspector placed the weapon in theblind man's hand. It was at once apparent that the Doctorunderstood the instrument, and my last doubt vanished asto the truth of all he had told us.

"Thank God I am blind this hour and can not see her,"fell unconsciously from his lips; then, before the echo ofthese words had left my ears, he raised his voice andobserved calmly enough, considering that he was about toprove himself a criminal in order to save himself from beingthought a madman:

"Let no one move. I must have my ears free forcatching the first stroke of the clock." And he raised the pistolbefore him.

There was a moment of torturing suspense and deep,unbroken silence. My eyes were on him, and so I did notwatch the clock, but suddenly I was moved by some irresistibleimpulse to note how Mrs. Zabriskie was bearing herselfat this critical moment, and, casting a hurried glance in herdirection, I perceived her tall figure swaying from side toside, as if under an intolerable strain of feeling. Her eyeswere on the clock, the hands of which seemed to creep withsnail-like pace along the dial, when unexpectedly, and a fullminute before the minute hand had reached the stroke offive, I caught a movement on her part, saw the flash ofsomething round and white show for an instant against thedarkness of her cloak, and was about to shriek warning tothe Doctor, when the shrill, quick stroke of a clock rang outon the frosty air, followed by the ping and flash of a pistol.

A sound of shattered glass, followed by a suppressed cry,told us that the bullet had struck the mark, but before wecould move, or rid our eyes of the smoke which the windhad blown into our faces, there came another sound whichmade our hair stand on end and sent the blood back interror to our hearts. Another clock was striking, the clockwhich we now perceived was still standing upright on thestump where Mrs. Zabriskie had placed it.

Whence came the clock, then, which had struck beforethe time and been shattered for its pains? One quick looktold us. On the ground, ten paces at the right, lay HelenZabriskie, a broken clock at her side, and in her breast abullet which was fast sapping the life from her sweet eyes.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

We had to tell him, there was such pleading in her looks;and never shall I forget the scream that rang from his lipsas he realized the truth. Breaking from our midst, he rushedforward, and fell at her feet as if guided by somesupernatural instinct.

"Helen," he shrieked, "what is this? Were not my handsdyed deep enough in blood that you should make meanswerable for your life also?"

Her eyes were closed, but she opened them. Lookinglong and steadily at his agonized face, she faltered forth:

"It is not you who have killed me; it is your crime. Hadyou been innocent of Mr. Hasbrouck's death, your bulletwould never have found my heart. Did you think I couldsurvive the proof that you had killed that good man?"

"I—I did it unwittingly. I—"

"Hush!" she commanded, with an awful look, which,happily, he could not see. "I had another motive. I wishedto prove to you, even at the cost of my life, that I loved you,had always loved you, and not—"

It was now his turn to silence her. His hand crept overher lips, and his despairing face turned itself blindlytoward us.

"Go," he cried; "leave us! Let me take a last farewell ofmy dying wife, without listeners or spectators."

Consulting the eye of the physician who stood beside me,and seeing no hope in it, I fell slowly back. The othersfollowed, and the Doctor was left alone with his wife. Fromthe distant position we took, we saw her arms creep roundhis neck, saw her head fall confidingly on his breast, thensilence settled upon them and upon all nature, the gatheringtwilight deepening, till the last glow disappeared fromthe heavens above and from the circle of leafless trees whichenclosed this tragedy from the outside world.

But at last there came a stir, and Dr. Zabriskie, risingup before us, with the dead body of his wife held closely tohis breast, confronted us with a countenance so rapturousthat he looked like a man transfigured.

"I will carry her to the boat," said he. "Not anotherhand shall touch her. She was my true wife, my true wife!" Andhe towered into an attitude of such dignity and passionthat for a moment he took on heroic proportions and weforgot that he had just proved himself to have committed acold-blooded and ghastly crime.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

The stars were shining when we again took our seats inthe boat; and if the scene of our crossing to Jersey wasimpressive, what shall be said of that of our return?

The Doctor, as before, sat in the stern, an awesomefigure, upon which the moon shone with a white radiancethat seemed to lift his face out of the surrounding darknessand set it, like an image of frozen horror, before our eyes.Against his breast he held the form of his dead wife, andnow and then I saw him stoop as if he were listening forsome tokens of life at her set lips. Then he would lifthimself again, with hopelessness stamped upon his features,only to lean forward in renewed hope that was againdestined to disappointment.

The Inspector and the accompanying physician had takenseats in the bow, and unto me had been assigned the specialduty of watching over the Doctor. This I did from a lowseat in front of him. I was therefore so close that I heardhis laboring breath, and though my heart was full of aweand compassion, I could not prevent myself from bendingtoward him and saying these words:

"Dr. Zabriskie, the mystery of your crime is no longer amystery to me. Listen and see if I do not understand yourtemptation, and how you, a conscientious and God-fearingman, came to slay your innocent neighbor.

"A friend of yours, or so he called himself, had for a longtime filled your ears with tales tending to make yoususpicious of your wife and jealous of a certain man whom Iwill not name. You knew that your friend had a grudgeagainst this man, and so for many months turned a deaf earto his insinuations. But finally some change which youdetected in your wife's bearing or conversation roused yourown suspicions, and you began to doubt if all was falsethat came to your ears, and to curse your blindness, whichin a measure rendered you helpless. The jealous fever grewand had risen to a high point, when one night—a memorablenight—this friend met you just as you were leaving town,and with cruel craft whispered in your ear that the man youhated was even then with your wife, and that if you wouldreturn at once to your home you would find him in hercompany.

"The demon that lurks at the heart of all men, good orbad, thereupon took complete possession of you, and youanswered this fake friend by saying that you would notreturn without a pistol. Whereupon he offered to take you tohis house and give you his. You consented, and getting ridof your servant by sending him to Poughkeepsie with yourexcuses, you entered a coach with your friend.

"You say you bought the pistol, and perhaps you did, but,however that may be, you left his house with it in yourpocket and, declining companionship, walked home, arrivingat the Colonnade a little before midnight.

"Ordinarily you have no difficulty in recognizing yourown doorstep. But, being in a heated frame of mind, youwalked faster than usual and so passed your own house andstopped at that of Mr. Hasbrouck's, one door beyond. Asthe entrances of these houses are all alike, there was but oneway by which you could have made yourself sure that youhad reached your own dwelling, and that was by feeling forthe doctor's sign at the side of the door. But you neverthought of that. Absorbed in dreams of vengeance, yoursole impulse was to enter by the quickest means possible.Taking out your night-key, you thrust it into the lock. Itfitted, but it took strength to turn it, so much strength thatthe key was twisted and bent by the effort. But thisincident, which would have attracted your attention at anothertime, was lost upon you at this moment. An entrance hadbeen effected, and you were in too excited a frame of mindto notice at what cost, or to detect the small differencesapparent in the atmosphere and furnishings of the twohouses—trifles which would have arrested your attention underother circumstances, and made you pause before the upperfloor had been reached.

"It was while going up the stairs that you took out yourpistol, so that by the time you arrived at the front-room dooryou held it ready cocked and drawn in your hand. For,being blind, you feared escape on the part of your victim,and so waited for nothing but the sound of a man's voicebefore firing. When, therefore, the unfortunate Mr. Hasbrouck,roused by this sudden intrusion, advanced with anexclamation of astonishment, you pulled the trigger, killinghim on the spot. It must have been immediately upon hisfall that you recognized from some word he uttered, or fromsome contact you may have had with your surroundings, thatyou were in the wrong house and had killed the wrong man;for you cried out, in evident remorse, 'God! what have Idone!' and fled without approaching your victim.

"Descending the stairs, you rushed from the house, closingthe front door behind you and regaining your own withoutbeing seen. But here you found yourself baffled in yourattempted escape by two things. First, by the pistol youstill held in your hand, and secondly, by the fact that thekey upon which you depended for entering your own doorwas so twisted out of shape that you knew it would beuseless for you to attempt to use it. What did you do in thisemergency? You have already told us, though the storyseemed so improbable at the time, you found nobody tobelieve it but myself. The pistol you flung far away from youdown the pavement, from which, by one of those rare chanceswhich sometimes happen in this world, it was presentlypicked up by some late passer-by of more or less doubtfulcharacter. The door offered less of an obstacle than youanticipated; for when you turned to it again you found it, ifI am not greatly mistaken, ajar, left so, as we have reason tobelieve, by one who had gone out of it but a few minutesbefore in a state which left him but little master of hisactions. It was this fact which provided you with an answerwhen you were asked how you succeeded in getting intoMr. Hasbrouck's house after the family had retired for thenight.

"Astonished at the coincidence, but hailing with gladnessthe deliverance which it offered, you went in and ascendedat once into your wife's presence; and it was from her lips,and not from those of Mrs. Hasbrouck, that the cry arosewhich startled the neighborhood and prepared men's mindsfor the tragic words which were shouted a moment laterfrom the next house.

"But she who uttered the scream knew of no tragedysave that which was taking place in her own breast. Shehad just repulsed a dastardly suitor, and, seeing you enterso unexpectedly in a state of unaccountable horror andagitation, was naturally stricken with dismay, and thought shesaw your ghost, or, what was worse, a possible avenger;while you, having failed to kill the man you sought, andhaving killed a man you esteemed, let no surprise on her partlure you into any dangerous self-betrayal. You stroveinstead to soothe her, and even attempted to explain theexcitement under which you labored, by an account of yournarrow escape at the station, till the sudden alarm fromnext door distracted her attention, and sent both yourthoughts and hers in a different direction. Not tillconscience had fully awakened and the horror of your act hadhad time to tell upon your sensitive nature, did you breatheforth those vague confessions, which, not being supported bythe only explanations which would have made them credible,led her, as well as the police, to consider you affected inyour mind. Your pride as a man, and your consideration forher as a woman, kept you silent, but did not keep the wormfrom preying upon your heart.

"Am I not correct in my surmises, Dr. Zabriskie, and isnot this the true explanation of your crime?"

With a strange look, he lifted up his face.

"Hush!" said he; "you will awaken her. See how peacefullyshe sleeps! I should not like to have her awakenednow, she is so tired, and I—I have not watched over her asI should."

Appalled at his gesture, his look, his tone, I drew back,and for a few minutes no sound was to be heard but thesteady dip-dip of the oars and the lap-lap of the watersagainst the boat. Then there came a quick uprising, theswaying before me of something dark and tall and threatening,and before I could speak or move, or even stretchforth my hands to stay him, the seat before me was empty,and darkness had filled the place where but an instantprevious he had sat, a fearsome figure, erect and rigid as asphinx.

What little moonlight there was only served to show usa few rising bubbles, marking the spot where the unfortunateman had sunk with his much-loved burden. We could notsave him. As the widening circles fled farther and fartherout, the tide drifted us away, and we lost the spot which hadseen the termination of one of earth's saddest tragedies.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

The bodies were never recovered. The police reserved tothemselves the right of withholding from the public the realfacts which made this catastrophe an awful remembrance tothose who witnessed it. A verdict of accidental death bydrowning answered all purposes, and saved the memory ofthe unfortunate pair from such calumny as might have otherwiseassailed it. It was the least we could do for two beingswhom circumstances had so greatly afflicted.

THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND

BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

The four stories published under thisgeneral title are four steps in the unraveling ofthe mystery of "The Pride of Kashgar," thatmarvelous diamond "as big as a duck's eggand without a flaw, whose value, in money,would be sufficient to build cathedrals morestately than Ely or Cologne." Through themmoves that prince of entertainers, PrinceFlorizel of Bohemia. The buoyant, extravagantnote of the author is one of the most refreshingthings in short-story literature, and the storieshave that rare quality of charm which was thepeculiar grace of the author's personality.

THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND

By ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

————

STORY OF THE BANDBOX

Up to the age of sixteen, at a private school andafterward at one of those great institutions for whichEngland is justly famous, Mr. Harry Hartley hadreceived the ordinary education of a gentleman.At that period, he manifested a remarkable distaste forstudy; and his only surviving parent being both weak andignorant, he was permitted thenceforward to spend his timein the attainment of petty and purely elegant accomplishments.Two years later, he was left an orphan and almosta beggar. For all active and industrious pursuits, Harry wasunfitted alike by nature and training. He could singromantic ditties, and accompany himself with discretion on thepiano; he was a graceful although a timid cavalier; he hada pronounced taste for chess; and nature had sent him intothe world with one of the most engaging exteriors that canwell be fancied. Blond and pink, with dove's eyes and agentle smile, he had an air of agreeable tenderness andmelancholy, and the most submissive and caressing manners.But when all is said, he was not the man to lead armamentsof war, or direct the councils of a state.

A fortunate chance and some influence obtained for Harry,at the time of his bereavement, the position of privatesecretary to Major-General Sir Thomas Vandeleur, C.B. SirThomas was a man of sixty, loud-spoken, boisterous, anddomineering. For some reason, some service the nature ofwhich had been often whispered and repeatedly denied, theRajah of Kashgar had presented this officer with the sixthknown diamond of the world. The gift transformed GeneralVandeleur from a poor into a wealthy man, from an obscureand unpopular soldier into one of the lions of Londonsociety; the possessor of the Rajah's Diamond was welcomein the most exclusive circles; and he had found a lady,young, beautiful, and well-born, who was willing to call thediamond hers even at the price of marriage with Sir ThomasVandeleur. It was commonly said at the time that, as likedraws to like, one jewel had attracted another; certainlyLady Vandeleur was not only a gem of the finest water inher own person, but she showed herself to the world in avery costly setting; and she was considered by manyrespectable authorities as one among the three or four bestdressed women in England.

Harry's duty as secretary was not particularly onerous;but he had a dislike for all prolonged work; it gave him painto ink his fingers; and the charm of Lady Vandeleur and hertoilets drew him often from the library to the boudoir. Hehad the prettiest ways among women, could talk fashionswith enjoyment, and was never more happy than whencriticizing a shade of ribbon, or running on an errand to themilliner's. In short, Sir Thomas's correspondence fell intopitiful arrears, and my Lady had another lady's-maid.

At last the General, who was one of the least patientof military commanders, arose from his place in a violentaccess of passion, and indicated to his secretary that he hadno further need for his services, with one of thoseexplanatory gestures which are most rarely employed betweengentlemen. The door being unfortunately open, Mr. Hartley felldownstairs headforemost.

He arose somewhat hurt and very deeply aggrieved. Thelife in the General's house precisely suited him; he moved,on a more or less doubtful footing, in very genteel company,he did little, he ate of the best, and he had a lukewarmsatisfaction in the presence of Lady Vandeleur, which, in hisown heart, he dubbed by a more emphatic name.

Immediately after he had been outraged by the militaryfoot, he hurried to the boudoir and recounted his sorrows.

"You know very well, my dear Harry," replied Lady Vandeleur,for she called him by name like a child or a domesticservant, "that you never by any chance do what the Generaltells you. No more do I, you may say. But that is different.A woman can earn her pardon for a good year of disobedienceby a single adroit submission; and, besides, no oneis married to his private secretary. I shall be sorry to loseyou; but since you can not stay longer in a house whereyou have been insulted, I shall wish you good-by, and Ipromise you to make the General smart for his behavior."

Harry's countenance fell; tears came into his eyes andhe gazed on Lady Vandeleur with a tender reproach.

"My Lady," said he, "what is an insult? I should thinklittle indeed of any one who could not forgive them by thescore. But to leave one's friend; to tear up the bonds ofaffection—"

He was unable to continue, for his emotion choked him,and he began to weep.

Lady Vandeleur looked at him with a curious expression."This little fool," she thought, "imagines himself to bein love with me. Why should he not become my servantinstead of the General's? He is good-natured, obliging, andunderstands dress; and besides it will keep him out ofmischief. He is positively too pretty to be unattached."

That night she talked over the General, who was alreadysomewhat ashamed of his vivacity; and Harry was transferredto the feminine department, where his life was littleshort of heavenly. He was always dressed with uncommonnicety, wore delicate flowers in his buttonhole, and couldentertain a visitor with tact and pleasantry. He took a pridein servility to a beautiful woman; received Lady Vandeleur'scommands as so many marks of favor; and was pleased toexhibit himself before other men, who derided and despisedhim, in his character of male lady's-maid and man milliner.Nor could he think enough of his existence from a moralpoint of view. Wickedness seemed to him an essentiallymale attribute, and to pass one's days with a delicate woman,and principally occupied about trimmings, was to inhabit anenchanted isle among the storms of life.

One fine morning he came into the drawing-room andbegan to arrange some music on the top of the piano. LadyVandeleur, at the other end of the apartment, was speakingsomewhat eagerly with her brother, Charlie Pendragon, anelderly young man, much broken with dissipation, and verylame of one foot. The private secretary, to whose entrancethey paid no regard, could not avoid overhearing a part oftheir conversation.

"To-day or never," said the lady. "Once and for all, itshall be done to-day."

"To-day if it must be," replied the brother, with a sigh."But it is a false step, a ruinous step, Clara; and we shalllive to repent it dismally."

Lady Vandeleur looked her brother steadily and somewhatstrangely in the face.

"You forget," she said; "the man must die at last."

"Upon my word, Clara," said Pendragon, "I believe youare the most heartless rascal in England."

"You men," she returned, "are so coarsely built, that youcan never appreciate a shade of meaning. You are yourselvesrapacious, violent, immodest, careless of distinction;and yet the least thought for the future shocks you in awoman. I have no patience with such stuff. You woulddespise in a common banker the imbecility that you expect tofind in us."

"You are very likely right," replied her brother; "youwere always cleverer than I. And, anyway, you know mymotto: 'The family before all.'"

"Yes, Charlie," she returned, taking his hand in hers, "Iknow your motto better than you know it yourself. 'AndClara before the family!' Is not that the second part ofit? Indeed, you are the best of brothers, and I love youdearly."

Mr. Pendragon got up, looking a little confused by thesefamily endearments.

"I had better not be seen," said he. "I understand mypart to a miracle, and I'll keep an eye on the Tame Cat."

"Do," she replied. "He is an abject creature, and mightruin all."

She kissed the tips of her fingers to him daintily; and thebrother withdrew by the boudoir and the back stair.

"Harry," said Lady Vandeleur, turning toward the secretaryas soon as they were alone, "I have a commission foryou this morning. But you shall take a cab; I can not havemy secretary freckled."

She spoke the last words with emphasis and a look ofhalf-motherly pride that caused great contentment to poorHarry; and he professed himself charmed to find anopportunity of serving her.

"It is another of our great secrets," she went on, archly,"and no one must know of it but my secretary and me. SirThomas would make the saddest disturbance; and if youonly knew how weary I am of these scenes! Oh, Harry,Harry, can you explain to me what makes you men so violentand unjust? But, indeed, I know you can not; you arethe only man in the world who knows nothing of theseshameful passions; you are so good, Harry, and so kind; you,at least, can be a woman's friend; and, do you know? I thinkyou make the others more ugly by comparison."

"It is you," said Harry, gallantly, "who are so kind tome. You treat me like—"

"Like a mother," interposed Lady Vandeleur, "I try to bea mother to you. Or, at least," she corrected herself with asmile, "almost a mother. I am afraid I am too young to beyour mother really. Let us say a friend—a dear friend."

She paused long enough to let her words take effect inHarry's sentimental quarters, but not long enough to allowhim a reply.

"But all this is beside our purpose," she resumed. "Youwill find a bandbox in the left-hand side of the oak wardrobe;it is underneath the pink slip that I wore on Wednesday withmy Mechlin. You will take it immediately to this address,"and she gave him a paper; "but do not, on any account, letit out of your hands until you have received a receipt writtenby myself. Do you understand? Answer, if you please—answer!This is extremely important, and I must ask youto pay some attention."

Harry pacified her by repeating her instructions perfectly;and she was just going to tell him more when GeneralVandeleur flung into the apartment, scarlet with anger,and holding a long and elaborate milliner's bill in his hand.

"Will you look at this, madam!" cried he. "Will youhave the goodness to look at this document? I know wellenough you married me for my money, and I hope I canmake as great allowances as any other man in the service;but, as sure as God made me, I mean to put a period to thisdisreputable prodigality."

"Mr. Hartley," said Lady Vandeleur, "I think you understandwhat you have to do. May I ask you to see to itat once?"

"Stop," said the General, addressing Harry, "one wordbefore you go." And then, turning again to Lady Vandeleur,"What is this precious fellow's errand?" he demanded. "Itrust him no further than I do yourself, let me tell you. Ifhe had as much as the rudiments of honesty, he would scornto stay in this house; and what he does for his wages is amystery to all the world. What is his errand, madam? andwhy are you hurrying him away?"

"I supposed you had something to say to me in private,"replied the lady.

"You spoke about an errand," insisted the General. "Donot attempt to deceive me in my present state of temper. Youcertainly spoke about an errand."

"If you insist on making your servants privy to ourhumiliating dissensions," replied Lady Vandeleur, "perhaps Ihad better ask Mr. Hartley to sit down. No?" shecontinued; "then you may go, Mr. Hartley. I trust you mayremember all that you have heard in this room; it may beuseful to you."

Harry at once made his escape from the drawing-room;and as he ran upstairs he could hear the General's voiceupraised in declamation, and the thin tones of Lady Vandeleurplanting icy repartees at every opening. How cordiallyhe admired the wife! How skilfully she could evade an awkwardquestion! with what secure effrontery she repeated herinstructions under the very guns of the enemy! and on theother hand, how he detested the husband!

There had been nothing unfamiliar in the morning'sevents, for he was continually in the habit of serving LadyVandeleur on secret missions, principally connected withmillinery. There was a skeleton in the house, as he wellknew. The bottomless extravagance and the unknownliabilities of the wife had long since swallowed her ownfortune, and threatened day by day to engulf that of thehusband. Once or twice in every year exposure and ruin seemedimminent, and Harry kept trotting round to all sorts offurnishers' shops, telling small fibs, and paying small advanceson the gross amount, until another term was tided over, andthe lady and her faithful secretary breathed again. ForHarry, in a double capacity, was heart and soul upon thatside of the war: not only did he adore Lady Vandeleur andfear and dislike her husband, but he naturally sympathizedwith the love of finery, and his own single extravagance wasat the tailor's.

He found the bandbox where it had been described, arrangedhis toilet with care, and left the house. The sunshone brightly; the distance he had to travel wasconsiderable, and he remembered with dismay that the General'ssudden irruption had prevented Lady Vandeleur from givinghim money for a cab. On this sultry day there was everychance that his complexion would suffer severely; and towalk through so much of London with a bandbox on hisarm was a humiliation almost insupportable to a youth ofhis character. He paused, and took counsel with himself.The Vandeleurs lived in Eaton Place; his destination wasnear Notting Hill; plainly, he might cross the Park bykeeping well in the open and avoiding populous alleys; andhe thanked his stars when he reflected that it was stillcomparatively early in the day.

Anxious to be rid of his incubus, he walked somewhatfaster than his ordinary, and he was already some waythrough Kensington Gardens when, in a solitary spot amongthe trees, he found himself confronted by the General.

"I beg your pardon, Sir Thomas," observed Harry, politelyfalling on one side; for the other stood directly in hispath.

"Where are you going, sir?" asked the General.

"I am taking a little walk among the trees," replied thelad.

The General struck the bandbox with his cane.

"With that thing?" he cried; "you lie, sir, and you knowyou lie!"

"Indeed, Sir Thomas," returned Harry, "I am not accustomedto be questioned in so high a key."

"You do not understand your position," said the General."You are my servant, and a servant of whom I have conceivedthe most serious suspicions. How do I know but thatyour box is full of teaspoons?"

"It contains a silk hat belonging to a friend," saidHarry.

"Very well," replied General Vandeleur. "Then I wantto see your friend's silk hat. I have," he added, grimly, "asingular curiosity for hats; and I believe you know me to besomewhat positive."

"I beg your pardon, Sir Thomas, I am exceedinglygrieved," Harry apologized; "but indeed this is a privateaffair."

The General caught him roughly by the shoulder withone hand, while he raised his cane in the most menacingmanner with the other. Harry gave himself up for lost; butat the same moment Heaven vouchsafed him an unexpecteddefender in the person of Charlie Pendragon, who nowstrode forward from behind the trees.

"Come, come, General, hold your hand," said he, "thisis neither courteous nor manly."

"Aha!" cried the General, wheeling round upon his newantagonist, "Mr. Pendragon! And do you suppose, Mr. Pendragon,that, because I have had the misfortune to marryyour sister, I shall suffer myself to be dogged and thwartedby a discredited and bankrupt libertine like you? Myacquaintance with Lady Vandeleur, sir, has taken away allmy appetite for the other members of her family."

"And do you fancy, General Vandeleur," retorted Charlie,"that, because my sister has had the misfortune to marryyou, she there and then forfeited her rights and privileges asa lady? I own, sir, that by that action she did as much asanybody could to derogate from her position; but to me sheis still a Pendragon. I make it my business to protect herfrom ungentlemanly outrage, and if you were ten times herhusband I would not permit her liberty to be restrained, norher private messengers to be violently arrested."

"How is that, Mr. Hartley?" interrogated the General."Mr. Pendragon is of my opinion, it appears. He toosuspects that Lady Vandeleur has something to do with yourfriend's silk hat."

Charlie saw that he had committed an unpardonableblunder, which he hastened to repair.

"How, sir?" he cried; "I suspect, do you say? I suspectnothing. Only where I find strength abused and a manbrutalizing his inferiors, I take the liberty to interfere."

As he said these words he made a sign to Harry,which the latter was too dull or too much troubled tounderstand.

"In what way am I to construe your attitude, sir?"demanded Vandeleur.

"Why, sir, as you please," returned Pendragon.

The General once more raised his cane, and made a cutfor Charlie's head; but the latter, lame foot and all, evadedthe blow with his umbrella, ran in, and immediately closedwith his formidable adversary.

"Run, Harry, run!" he cried; "run, you dolt!"

Harry stood petrified for a moment, watching the twomen sway together in this fierce embrace; then he turnedand took to his heels. When he cast a glance over hisshoulder he saw the General prostrate under Charlie's knee,but still making desperate efforts to reverse the situation;and the Gardens seemed to have filled with people, whowere running from all directions toward the scene of thefight. This spectacle lent the secretary wings; and he didnot relax his pace until he had gained the Bayswater road,and plunged at random into an unfrequented by-street.

To see two gentlemen of his acquaintance thus brutallymauling each other was deeply shocking to Harry. Hedesired to forget the sight; he desired, above all, to put asgreat a distance as possible between himself and GeneralVandeleur; and in his eagerness for this he forgot everythingabout his destination and hurried before him headlongand trembling. When he remembered that LadyVandeleur was the wife of one and the sister of the other of thesegladiators, his heart was touched with sympathy for awoman so distressingly misplaced in life. Even his ownsituation in the General's household looked hardly sopleasing as usual in the light of these violent transactions.

He had walked some little distance, busied with thesemeditations, before a slight collision with another passengerreminded him of the bandbox on his arm.

"Heavens!" cried he, "where was my head? and whitherhave I wandered?"

Thereupon he consulted the envelope which Lady Vandeleurhad given him. The address was there, but without aname. Harry was simply directed to ask for "the gentlemanwho expected a parcel from Lady Vandeleur," and if hewere not at home to await his return. The gentleman, addedthe note, should present a receipt in the handwriting of thelady herself. All this seemed mightily mysterious, andHarry was above all astonished at the omission of the nameand the formality of the receipt. He had thought little ofthis last when he heard it dropped in conversation; butreading it in cold blood, and taking it in connection with theother strange particulars, he became convinced that he wasengaged in perilous affairs. For half a moment he had adoubt of Lady Vandeleur herself; for he found theseobscure proceedings somewhat unworthy of so high a lady,and became more critical when her secrets were preservedagainst himself. But her empire over his spirit was toocomplete, he dismissed his suspicions and blamed himselfroundly for having so much as entertained them.

In one thing, however, his duty and interest, his generosityand his terrors, coincided—to get rid of the bandboxwith the greatest possible despatch.

He accosted the first policeman and courteously inquiredhis way. It turned out that he was already not far fromhis destination, and a walk of a few minutes brought himto a small house in a lane, freshly painted, and kept withthe most scrupulous attention. The knocker and bell-pullwere highly polished; flowering pot-herbs garnished the sillsof the different windows; and curtains of some rich materialconcealed the interior from the eyes of curious passengers.The place had an air of repose and secrecy; and Harry wasso far caught with this spirit that he knocked with more thanusual discretion, and was more than usually careful toremove all impurity from his boots.

A servant-maid of some personal attractions immediatelyopened the door, and seemed to regard the secretary withno unkind eyes.

"This is the parcel from Lady Vandeleur," said Harry.

"I know," replied the maid, with a nod. "But thegentleman is from home. Will you leave it with me?"

"I can not," answered Harry. "I am directed not to partwith it but upon a certain condition, and I must ask you, Iam afraid, to let me wait."

"Well," said she, "I suppose I may let you wait. I amlonely enough, I can tell you, and you do not look as thoughyou would eat a girl. But be sure and do not ask thegentleman's name, for that I am not to tell you."

"Do you say so?" cried Harry. "Why, how strange! Butindeed for some time back I walk among surprises. Onequestion I think I may surely ask without indiscretion:Is he the master of this house?"

"He is a lodger, and not eight days old at that," returnedthe maid. "And now a question for a question: Do youknow Lady Vandeleur?"

"I am her private secretary," replied Harry, with a glowof modest pride.

"She is pretty, is she not?" pursued the servant.

"Oh, beautiful!" cried Harry; "wonderfully lovely, andnot less good and kind!"

"You look kind enough yourself," she retorted; "and Iwager you are worth a dozen Lady Vandeleurs."

Harry was properly scandalized.

"I!" he cried. "I am only a secretary!"

"Do you mean that for me?" said the girl. "Because Iam only a housemaid, if you please." And then, relentingat the sight of Harry's obvious confusion, "I know you meannothing of the sort," she added; "and I like your looks; butI think nothing of your Lady Vandeleur. Oh, thesemistresses!" she cried. "To send out a real gentleman likeyou—with a bandbox—in broad day!"

During this talk they had remained in their originalpositions—she on the doorstep, he on the sidewalk, bareheadedfor the sake of coolness, and with the bandbox on his arm.But upon this last speech, Harry, who was unable tosupport such pointblank compliments to his appearance, northe encouraging look with which they were accompanied,began to change his attitude, and glance from left to rightin perturbation. In so doing he turned his face toward thelower end of the lane, and there, to his indescribable dismay,his eyes encountered those of General Vandeleur. TheGeneral, in a prodigious fluster of heat, hurry, and indignation,had been scouring the streets in chase of his brother-in-law;but so soon as he caught a glimpse of the delinquentsecretary, his purpose changed, his anger flowed into a newchannel, and he turned on his heel and came tearing up thelane with truculent gestures and vociferations.

Harry made but one bolt of it into the house, driving themaid before him; and the door was slammed in his pursuer'scountenance.

"Is there a bar? Will it lock?" asked Harry, while asalvo on the knocker made the house echo from wall towall.

"Why, what is wrong with you?" asked the maid. "Isit this old gentleman?"

"If he gets hold of me," whispered Harry, "I am as goodas dead. He has been pursuing me all day, carries asword-stick, and is an Indian military officer."

"These are fine manners," cried the maid. "And what,if you please, may be his name?"

"It is the General, my master," answered Harry. "He isafter this bandbox."

"Did not I tell you?" cried the maid in triumph. "I toldyou I thought worse than nothing of your Lady Vandeleur;and if you had an eye in your head you might see what sheis for yourself. An ungrateful minx, I will be bound forthat!"

The General renewed his attack upon the knocker, andhis passion growing with delay, began to kick and beatupon the panels of the door.

"It is lucky," observed the girl, "that I am alone in thehouse; your General may hammer until he is weary, andthere is none to open for him. Follow me!"

So saying, she led Harry into the kitchen, where she madehim sit down, and stood by him herself in an affectionateattitude, with a hand upon his shoulder. The din at thedoor, so far from abating, continued to increase in volume,and at each blow the unhappy secretary was shaken to theheart.

"What is your name?" asked the girl.

"Harry Hartley," he replied.

"Mine," she went on, "is Prudence. Do you like it?"

"Very much," said Harry. "But hear for a moment howthe General beats upon the door. He will certainly breakit in, and then, in Heaven's name, what have I to look forbut death?"

"You put yourself very much about with no occasion,"answered Prudence. "Let your General knock, he will do nomore than blister his hands. Do you think I would keepyou here, if I were not sure to save you? Oh, no, I am agood friend to those that please me! and we have a backdoor upon another lane. But," she added, checking him, forhe had got upon his feet immediately on this welcome news,"but I will not show you where it is unless you kiss me.Will you, Harry?"

"That I will," he cried, remembering his gallantry, "notfor your back door, but because you are good and pretty."

And he administered two or three cordial salutes, whichwere returned to him in kind.

Then Prudence led him to the back gate, and put herhand upon the key.

"Will you come and see me?" she asked.

"I will, indeed," said Harry. "Do not I owe you my life?"

"And now," she added, opening the door, "run as hardas you can, for I shall let in the General."

Harry scarcely required this advice; fear had him by theforelock; and he addressed himself diligently to flight. Afew steps, and he believed he would escape from his trials,and return to Lady Vandeleur in honor and safety. Butthese few steps had not been taken before he heard a man'svoice hailing him by name with many execrations, andlooking over his shoulder, he beheld Charlie Pendragonwaving him with both arms to return. The shock of this newincident was so sudden and profound, and Harry was alreadyworked into so high a state of nervous tension, that he couldthink of nothing better than to accelerate his pace, andcontinue running. He should certainly have remembered thescene in Kensington Gardens; he should certainly haveconcluded that, where the General was his enemy, CharliePendragon could be no other than a friend. But such was thefever and perturbation of his mind that he was struck bynone of these considerations, and only continued to runthe faster up the lane.

Charlie, by the sound of his voice and the vile terms thathe hurled after the secretary, was obviously beside himselfwith rage. He, too, ran his very best; but, try as he might,the physical advantages were not upon his side, and hisoutcries and the fall of his lame foot on the macadam beganto fall further and further into the wake.

Harry's hopes began once more to arise. The lane wasboth steep and narrow, but it was exceedingly solitary,bordered on either hand by garden walls, overhung withfoliage; and, for as far as the fugitive could see in front ofhim, there was neither a creature moving nor an open door.Providence, weary of persecution, was now offering him anopen field for his escape.

Alas! as he came abreast of a garden door under a tuft ofchestnuts, it was suddenly drawn back, and he could seeinside, upon a garden path, the figure of a butcher's boy withhis tray upon his arm. He had hardly recognized the factbefore he was some steps beyond upon the other side. Butthe fellow had had time to observe him; he was evidentlymuch surprised to see a gentleman go by at so unusual apace; and he came out into the lane and began to call afterHarry with shouts of ironical encouragement.

His appearance gave a new idea to Charlie Pendragon,who, although he was now sadly out of breath, once moreupraised his voice.

"Stop thief!" he cried.

And immediately the butcher's boy had taken up the cryand joined in the pursuit.

This was a bitter moment for the hunted secretary. Itis true that his terror enabled him once more to improvehis pace, and gain with every step on his pursuers; but hewas well aware that he was near the end of his resources,and should he meet any one coming the other way, hispredicament in the narrow lane would be desperate indeed.

"I must find a place of concealment," he thought, "andthat within the next few seconds, or all is over with me inthis world."

Scarcely had the thought crossed his mind than the lanetook a sudden turning; and he found himself hidden fromhis enemies. There are circumstances in which even theleast energetic of mankind learn to behave with vigor anddecision; and the most cautious forget their prudence andembrace foolhardy resolutions. This was one of thoseoccasions for Harry Hartley; and those who knew him bestwould have been the most astonished at the lad's audacity.He stopped dead, flung the bandbox over a garden wall;and leaping upward with incredible agility and seizing thecopestone with his hands, he tumbled headlong after it intothe garden.

He came to himself a moment afterward, seated in aborder of small rose-bushes. His hands and knees were cutand bleeding, for the wall had been protected against suchan escalade by a liberal provision of old bottles; and hewas conscious of a general dislocation and a painful swimmingin the head. Facing him across the garden, which wasin admirable order, and set with flowers of the most deliciousperfume, he beheld the back of a house. It was of considerableextent, and plainly habitable; but, in odd contrast to thegrounds, it was crazy, ill-kept, and of a mean appearance.On all other sides the circuit of the garden wall appearedunbroken.

He took in these features of the scene with mechanicalglances, but his mind was still unable to piece together ordraw a rational conclusion from what he saw. And when heheard footsteps advancing on the gravel, although he turnedhis eyes in that direction, it was with no thought either fordefense or flight.

The newcomer was a large, coarse, and very sordid personage,in gardening clothes, and with a watering-pot in hisleft hand. One less confused would have been affected withsome alarm at the sight of this man's huge proportions andblack and lowering eyes. But Harry was too gravely shakenby his fall to be so much as terrified; and if he was unableto divert his glances from the gardener, he remained absolutelypassive, and suffered him to draw near, to take him bythe shoulder, and to plant him roughly on his feet, without amotion of resistance.

For a moment the two stared into each other's eyes,Harry fascinated, the man filled with wrath and a cruel,sneering humor.

"Who are you?" he demanded at last. "Who are you tocome flying over my wall and break my Gloire de Dijons?What is your name?" he added, shaking him; "and what maybe your business here?"

Harry could not as much as proffer a word in explanation.

But just at that moment Pendragon and the butcher's boywent clumping past, and the sound of their feet and theirhoarse cries echoed loudly in the narrow lane. The gardenerhad received his answer; and he looked down into Harry'sface with an obnoxious smile.

"A thief!" he said. "Upon my word, and a very goodthing you must make of it; for I see you dressed like agentleman from top to toe. Are you not ashamed to goabout the world in such a trim, with honest folk, I dare say,glad to buy your cast-off finery second-hand. Speak up, youdog," the man went on; "you can understand English, Isuppose; and I mean to have a bit of talk with you before Imarch you to the station."

"Indeed, sir," said Harry, "this is all a dreadfulmisconception; and if you will go with me to Sir ThomasVandeleur's in Eaton Place, I can promise that all will be madeplain. The most upright person, as I now perceive, can beled into suspicious positions."

"My little man," replied the gardener, "I will go withyou no further than the station-house in the next street.The inspector, no doubt, will be glad to take a stroll with youas far as Eaton Place, and have a bit of afternoon tea withyour great acquaintances. Or would you prefer to go directto the Home Secretary? Sir Thomas Vandeleur, indeed!Perhaps you think I don't know a gentleman when I seeone from a common run-the-hedge like you? Clothes or noclothes, I can read you like a book. Here is a shirt thatmaybe cost as much as my Sunday hat; and that coat, Itake it, has never seen the inside of Rag-fair, and thenyour boots—"

The man, whose eyes had fallen upon the ground, stoppedshort in his insulting commentary, and remained for amoment looking intently upon something at his feet. When hespoke his voice was strangely altered.

"What, in God's name," said he, "is all this?"

Harry, following the direction of the man's eyes, behelda spectacle that struck him dumb with terror and amazement.In his fall he had descended vertically upon thebandbox and burst it open from end to end; thence a greattreasure of diamonds had poured forth, and now lay abroad,part trodden in the soil, part scattered on the surface inregal and glittering profusion. There was a magnificentcoronet which he had often admired on Lady Vandeleur;there were rings and brooches, ear-drops and bracelets, andeven unset brilliants rolling here and there among therose-bushes like drops of morning dew. A princely fortune laybetween the two men upon the ground—a fortune in themost inviting, solid, and durable form, capable of beingcarried in an apron, beautiful in itself, and scattering thesunlight in a million rainbow flashes.

"Good God!" said Harry, "I am lost!"

His mind raced backward into the past with theincalculable velocity of thought, and he began to comprehendhis day's adventures, to conceive them as a whole, and torecognize the sad imbroglio in which his own character andfortunes had become involved. He looked round him as iffor help, but he was alone in the garden, with his scattereddiamonds and his redoubtable interlocutor; and when hegave ear, there was no sound but the rustle of the leaves andthe hurried pulsation of his heart. It was little wonder ifthe young man felt himself deserted by his spirits, and witha broken voice repeated his last ejaculation:

"I am lost!"

The gardener peered in all directions with an air of guilt;but there was no face at any of the windows, and he seemedto breathe again.

"Pick up a heart," he said, "you fool! The worst of it isdone. Why could you not say at first there was enoughfor two? Two?" he repeated, "aye, and for two hundred!But come away from here, where we may be observed; and,for the love of wisdom, straighten out your hat and brushyour clothes. You could not travel two steps the figureof fun you look just now."

While Harry mechanically adopted these suggestions, thegardener, getting upon his knees, hastily drew together thescattered jewels and returned them to the bandbox. Thetouch of these costly crystals sent a shiver of emotionthrough the man's stalwart frame; his face was transfigured,and his eyes shone with concupiscence; indeed it seemed asif he luxuriously prolonged his occupation, and dallied withevery diamond that he handled. At last, however, it wasdone; and, concealing the bandbox in his smock, thegardener beckoned to Harry and preceded him in the directionof the house.

Near the door they were met by a young man evidentlyin holy orders, dark and strikingly handsome, with a lookof mingled weakness and resolution, and very neatly attiredafter the manner of his caste. The gardener was plainlyannoyed by this encounter; but he put as good a face uponit as he could, and accosted the clergyman with anobsequious and smiling air.

"Here is a fine afternoon, Mr. Rolles," said he: "a fineafternoon, as sure as God made it! And here is a youngfriend of mine who had a fancy to look at my roses. I tookthe liberty to bring him in, for I thought none of the lodgerswould object."

"Speaking for myself," replied the Reverend Mr. Rolles,"I do not; nor do I fancy any of the rest of us would be moredifficult upon so small a matter. The garden is your own,Mr. Raeburn; we must none of us forget that; and becauseyou give us liberty to walk there we should be indeedungracious if we so far presumed upon your politeness as tointerfere with the convenience of your friends. But, onsecond thoughts," he added, "I believe that this gentleman andI have met before. Mr. Hartley, I think. I regret to observethat you have had a fall."

And he offered his hand.

A sort of maiden dignity and a desire to delay as longas possible the necessity for explanation moved Harry torefuse this chance of help, and to deny his own identity. Hechose the tender mercies of the gardener, who was at leastunknown to him, rather than the curiosity and perhaps thedoubts of an acquaintance.

"I fear there is some mistake," said he. "My name isThomlinson and I am a friend of Mr. Raeburn's."

"Indeed?" said Mr. Rolles. "The likeness is amazing."

Mr. Raeburn, who had been upon thorns throughout thiscolloquy, now felt it high time to bring it to a period.

"I wish you a pleasant saunter, sir," said he.

And with that he dragged Harry after him into the house,and then into a chamber on the garden. His first care was todraw down the blind, for Mr. Rolles still remained wherethey had left him, in an attitude of perplexity and thought.Then he emptied the broken bandbox on the table, and stoodbefore the treasure, thus fully displayed, with an expressionof rapturous greed, and rubbing his hands upon his thighs.For Harry, the sight of the man's face under the influenceof this base emotion, added another pang to those he wasalready suffering. It seemed incredible that, from his lifeof pure and delicate trifling, he should be plunged in a breathamong sordid and criminal relations. He could reproach hisconscience with no sinful act; and yet he was now sufferingthe punishment of sin in its most acute and cruel forms—thedread of punishment, the suspicions of the good, and thecompanionship and contamination of vile and brutal natures.He felt he could lay his life down with gladness to escapefrom the room and the society of Mr. Raeburn.

"And now," said the latter, after he had separated thejewels into two nearly equal parts, and drawn one of themnearer to himself; "and now," said he, "everything in thisworld has to be paid for, and some things sweetly. Youmust know, Mr. Hartley, if such be your name, that I am aman of a very easy temper, and good nature has been mystumbling-block from first to last. I could pocket the wholeof these pretty pebbles, if I chose, and I should like to seeyou dare to say a word; but I think I must have taken aliking to you; for I declare I have not the heart to shaveyou so close. So, do you see, in pure kind feeling, Ipropose that we divide; and these," indicating the two heaps,"are the proportions that seem to me just and friendly. Doyou see any objection, Mr. Hartley, may I ask? I am notthe man to stick upon a brooch."

"But, sir," cried Harry, "what you propose to me isimpossible. The jewels are not mine, and I can not share whatis another's, no matter with whom, nor in what proportions."

"They are not yours, are they not?" returned Raeburn."And you could not share them with anybody, couldn't you?Well now, that is what I call a pity; for here am I obligedto take you to the station. The police—think of that," hecontinued; "think of the disgrace for your respectableparents; think," he went on, taking Harry by the wrist; "thinkof the Colonies and the Day of Judgment."

"I can not help it," wailed Harry. "It is not my fault.You will not come with me to Eaton Place?"

"No," replied the man, "I will not, that is certain. And Imean to divide these playthings with you here."

And so saying he applied a sudden and severe torsion tothe lad's wrist.

Harry could not suppress a scream, and the perspirationburst forth upon his face. Perhaps pain and terror quickenedhis intelligence, but certainly at that moment the wholebusiness flashed across him in another light; and he saw thatthere was nothing for it but to accede to the ruffian'sproposal, and trust to find the house and force him to disgorge,under more favorable circumstances, and when he himselfwas clear from all suspicion. "I agree," he said.

"There is a lamb," sneered the gardener. "I thought youwould recognize your interests at last. This bandbox," hecontinued, "I shall burn with my rubbish; it is a thing thatcurious folk might recognize; and as for you, scrape up yourgaieties and put them in your pocket."

Harry proceeded to obey, Raeburn watching him, andevery now and again, his greed rekindled by some brightscintillation, abstracting another jewel from the secretary'sshare, and adding it to his own.

When this was finished, both proceeded to the frontdoor, which Raeburn cautiously opened to observe the street.This was apparently clear of passengers; for he suddenlyseized Harry by the nape of the neck, and holding his facedownward so that he could see nothing but the roadway andthe doorsteps of the houses, pushed him violently beforehim down one street and up another for the space of perhapsa minute and a half. Harry had counted three cornersbefore the bully relaxed his grasp, and crying, "Now be offwith you!" sent the lad flying headforemost with awell-directed and athletic kick.

When Harry gathered himself up, half-stunned and bleedingfreely at the nose, Mr. Raeburn had entirely disappeared.For the first time, anger and pain so completely overcamethe lad's spirits that he burst into a fit of tears and remainedsobbing in the middle of the road.

After he had thus somewhat assuaged his emotion, hebegan to look about him and read the names of the streetsat whose intersection he had been deserted by the gardener.He was still in an unfrequented portion of West London,among villas and large gardens; but he could see somepersons at a window who had evidently witnessed his misfortune;and almost immediately after a servant came runningfrom the house and offered him a glass of water. At thesame time, a dirty rogue, who had been slouchingsomewhere in the neighborhood, drew near him from the otherside.

"Poor fellow," said the maid, "how vilely you have beenhandled, to be sure! Why, your knees are all cut, and yourclothes ruined! Do you know the wretch who used you so?"

"That I do!" cried Harry, who was somewhat refreshedby the water; "and shall run him home in spite of hisprecautions. He shall pay dearly for this day's work, I promiseyou."

"You had better come into the house and have yourselfwashed and brushed," continued the maid. "My mistress willmake you welcome, never fear. And see, I will pick upyour hat. Why, love of mercy!" she screamed, "if you havenot dropped diamonds all over the street!"

Such was the case; a good half of what remained to him,after the depredations of Mr. Raeburn, had been shaken outof his pockets by the somersault and once more lay glitteringon the ground. He blessed his fortune that the maidhad been so quick of eye; "there is nothing so bad but itmight be worse," thought he; and the recovery of these fewseemed to him almost as great an affair as the loss of allthe rest. But, alas! as he stooped to pick up his treasures,the loiterer made a rapid onslaught, overset both Harry andthe maid with a movement of his arms, swept up a doublehandful of the diamonds, and made off along the street withan amazing swiftness.

Harry, as soon as he could get upon his feet, gave chaseto the miscreant with many cries, but the latter was too fleetof foot, and probably too well acquainted with the locality;for turn where the pursuer would he could find no tracesof the fugitive.

In the deepest despondency, Harry revisited the scene ofhis mishap, where the maid, who was still waiting, veryhonestly returned him his hat and the remainder of thefallen diamonds. Harry thanked her from his heart, andbeing now in no humor for economy, made his way to thenearest cabstand and set off for Eaton Place by coach.

The house, on his arrival, seemed in some confusion, asif a catastrophe had happened in the family; and theservants clustered together in the hall, and were unable, orperhaps not altogether anxious, to suppress their merrimentat the tatterdemalion figure of the secretary. He passedthem with as good an air of dignity as he could assume, andmade directly for the boudoir. When he opened the dooran astonishing and even menacing spectacle presented itselfto his eyes; for he beheld the General and his wife, and, ofall people, Charlie Pendragon, closeted together and speakingwith earnestness and gravity on some important subject.Harry saw at once that there was little left for him toexplain—plenary confession had plainly been made to theGeneral of the intended fraud upon his pocket, and theunfortunate miscarriage of the scheme; and they had allmade common cause against a common danger.

"Thank Heaven!" cried Lady Vandeleur, "here he is!The bandbox, Harry—the bandbox!"

But Harry stood before them silent and downcast.

"Speak!" she cried. "Speak! Where is the bandbox?"

And the men, with threatening gestures, repeated thedemand.

Harry drew a handful of jewels from his pocket. Hewas very white.

"This is all that remains," said he. "I declare beforeHeaven it was through no fault of mine; and if you willhave patience, although some are lost, I am afraid, forever,others, I am sure, may be still recovered."

"Alas!" cried Lady Vandeleur, "all our diamonds aregone, and I owe ninety thousand pounds for dress!"

"Madam," said the General, "you might have paved thegutter with your own trash; you might have made debts tofifty times the sum you mention; you might have robbedme of my mother's coronet and ring; and Nature might havestill so far prevailed that I could have forgiven you at last.But, madam, you have taken the Rajah's Diamond—the Eyeof Light, as the Orientals poetically termed it—the Pride ofKashgar! You have taken from me the Rajah's Diamond,"he cried, raising his hands, "and all, madam, all is at an endbetween us!"

"Believe me, General Vandeleur," she replied, "that isone of the most agreeable speeches that ever I heard fromyour lips; and since we are to be ruined, I could almostwelcome the change, if it delivers me from you. You havetold me often enough that I married you for your money;let me tell you now that I always bitterly repented thebargain; and if you were still marriageable, and had a diamondbigger than your head, I should counsel even my maidagainst a union so uninviting and disastrous. As for you,Mr. Hartley," she continued, turning on the secretary, "youhave sufficiently exhibited your valuable qualities in thishouse; we are now persuaded that you equally lack manhood,sense, and self-respect; and I can see only one course openfor you—to withdraw instanter, and, if possible, return nomore. For your wages you may rank as a creditor in mylate husband's bankruptcy."

Harry had scarcely comprehended this insulting addressbefore the General was down upon him with another.

"And in the meantime," said that personage, "follow mebefore the nearest Inspector of Police. You may imposeupon a simple-minded soldier, sir, but the eye of the law willread your disreputable secret. If I must spend my old agein poverty through your underhand intriguing with my wife,I mean at least that you shall not remain unpunished foryour pains; and God, sir, will deny me a very considerablesatisfaction if you do not pick oakum from now until yourdying day."

With that, the General dragged Harry from the apartment,and hurried him downstairs and along the street to thepolice-station of the district.

[Here, says my Arabian author, ended this deplorablebusiness of the bandbox. But to the unfortunate secretarythe whole affair was the beginning of a new and manlier life.The police were easily persuaded of his innocence; and, afterhe had given what help he could in the subsequentinvestigations, he was even complimented by one of the chiefsof the detective department on the probity and simplicity ofhis behavior. Several persons interested themselves in oneso unfortunate; and soon after he inherited a sum of moneyfrom a maiden aunt in Worcestershire. With this hemarried Prudence, and set sail for Bendigo, or according toanother account, for Trincomalee, exceedingly content, andwith the best of prospects.]

STORY OF THE YOUNG MAN IN HOLY ORDERS

The Reverend Mr. Simon Rolles had distinguishedhimself in the Moral Sciences, and was more than usuallyproficient in the study of Divinity. His essay "On theChristian Doctrine of the Social Obligations" obtained forhim, at the moment of its production, a certain celebrityin the University of Oxford; and it was understood inclerical and learned circles that young Mr. Rolles had incontemplation a considerable work—a folio, it was said—on theauthority of the Fathers of the Church. These attainments,these ambitious designs, however, were far from helping himto any preferment; and he was still in quest of his firstcuracy when a chance ramble in that part of London, thepeaceful and rich aspect of the garden, a desire for solitudeand study, and the cheapness of the lodging, led him to takeup his abode with Mr. Raeburn, the nurseryman of Stockdove Lane.

It was his habit every afternoon, after he had workedseven or eight hours on St. Ambrose or St. Chrysostom, towalk for a while in meditation among the roses. And thiswas usually one of the most productive moments of his day.But even a sincere appetite for thought, and the excitementof grave problems awaiting solution, are not always sufficientto preserve the mind of the philosopher against thepetty shocks and contacts of the world. And whenMr. Rolles found General Vandeleur's secretary, ragged andbleeding, in the company of his landlord; when he saw bothchange color and seek to avoid his questions; and, above all,when the former denied his own identity with the mostunmoved assurance, he speedily forgot the Saints and Fathersin the vulgar interest of curiosity.

"I can not be mistaken," thought he. "That is Mr. Hartleybeyond a doubt. How comes he in such a pickle? whydoes he deny his name? and what can be his business withthat black-looking ruffian, my landlord?"

As he was thus reflecting, another peculiar circumstanceattracted his attention. The face of Mr. Raeburn appearedat a low window next the door; and, as chance directed,his eyes met those of Mr. Rolles. The nurseryman seemeddisconcerted, and even alarmed; and immediately after theblind of the apartment was pulled sharply down.

"This may all be very well," reflected Mr. Rolles; "it maybe all excellently well; but I confess freely that I do notthink so. Suspicious, underhand, untruthful, fearful ofobservation—I believe upon my soul," he thought, "the pair areplotting some disgraceful action."

The detective that there is in all of us awoke and becameclamant in the bosom of Mr. Rolles; and with a brisk,eager step, that bore no resemblance to his usual gait, heproceeded to make the circuit of the garden. When hecame to the scene of Harry's escalade, his eye was at oncearrested by a broken rose-bush and marks of trampling onthe mold. He looked up, and saw scratches on the brick,and a rag of trouser floating from a broken bottle. This,then, was the mode of entrance chosen by Mr. Raeburn'sparticular friend! It was thus that General Vandeleur'ssecretary came to admire a flower-garden! The youngclergyman whistled softly to himself as he stooped toexamine the ground. He could make out where Harry hadlanded from his perilous leap; he recognized the flat foot ofMr. Raeburn where it had sunk deeply in the soil as hepulled up the secretary by the collar; nay, on a closerinspection, he seemed to distinguish the marks of gropingfingers, as though something had been spilled abroad andeagerly collected.

"Upon my word," he thought, "the thing grows vastlyinteresting."

And just then he caught sight of something almost entirelyburied in the earth. In an instant he had disinterreda dainty morocco case, ornamented and clasped in gilt. Ithad been trodden heavily underfoot, and thus escaped thehurried search of Mr. Raeburn. Mr. Rolles opened the case,and drew a long breath of almost horrified astonishment;for there lay before him, in a cradle of green velvet, adiamond of prodigious magnitude and of the finest water. Itwas of the bigness of a duck's egg; beautifully shaped, andwithout a flaw; and as the sun shone upon it, it gave fortha lustre like that of electricity, and seemed to burn in hishand with a thousand internal fires.

He knew little of precious stones; but the Rajah's Diamondwas a wonder that explained itself; a village child, ifhe found it, would run screaming for the nearest cottage;and a savage would prostrate himself in adoration beforeso imposing a fetish. The beauty of the stone flattered theyoung clergyman's eyes; the thought of its incalculablevalue overpowered his intellect. He knew that what heheld in his hand was worth more than many years' purchaseof an archiepiscopal see; that it would build cathedralsmore stately than Ely or Cologne; that he who possessedit was set free forever from the primal curse, andmight follow his own inclinations without concern or hurry,without let or hindrance. And as he suddenly turned it, therays leaped forth again with renewed brilliancy, and seemedto pierce his very heart.

Decisive actions are often taken in a moment and withoutany conscious deliverance from the rational parts ofman. So it was now with Mr. Rolles. He glanced hurriedlyround; beheld, like Mr. Raeburn before him, nothingbut the sunlit flower-garden, the tall treetops, and the housewith blinded windows; and in a trice he had shut the case,thrust it into his pocket, and was hastening to his study withthe speed of guilt.

The Reverend Simon Rolles had stolen the Rajah's Diamond.

Early in the afternoon the police arrived with HarryHartley. The nurseryman, who was beside himself with terror,readily discovered his hoard; and the jewels were identifiedand inventoried in the presence of the secretary. Asfor Mr. Rolles, he showed himself in a most obliging temper,communicated what he knew with freedom, and professedregret that he could do no more to help the officers in theirduty.

"Still," he added, "I suppose your business is nearly atan end."

"By no means," replied the man from Scotland Yard;and he narrated the second robbery of which Harry hadbeen the immediate victim, and gave the young clergyman adescription of the more important jewels that were still notfound, dilating particularly on the Rajah's Diamond.

"It must be worth a fortune," observed Mr. Rolles.

"Ten fortunes—twenty fortunes," cried the officer.

"The more it is worth," remarked Simon shrewdly, "themore difficult it must be to sell. Such a thing has aphysiognomy not to be disguised, and I should fancy a man mightas easily negotiate St. Paul's Cathedral."

"Oh, truly!" said the officer; "but if the thief be a manof any intelligence, he will cut it into three or four, andthere will be still enough to make him rich."

"Thank you," said the clergyman. "You can not imaginehow much your conversation interests me."

Whereupon the functionary admitted that they knewmany strange things in his profession, and immediatelyafter took his leave.

Mr. Rolles regained his apartment. It seemed smallerand barer than usual; the materials for his great work hadnever presented so little interest; and he looked upon hislibrary with the eye of scorn. He took down, volume byvolume, several Fathers of the Church, and glanced themthrough; but they contained nothing to his purpose.

"These old gentlemen," thought he, "are no doubt veryvaluable writers, but they seem to me conspicuously ignorantof life. Here am I, with learning enough to be a Bishop,and I positively do not know how to dispose of a stolendiamond. I glean a hint from a common policeman, and,with all my folios, I can not so much as put it intoexecution. This inspires me with very low ideas of Universitytraining."

Herewith he kicked over his book-shelf and, putting onhis hat, hastened from the house to the club of which hewas a member. In such a place of mundane resort hehoped to find some man of good counsel and a shrewdexperience in life. In the reading-room he saw many of thecountry clergy and an Archdeacon; there were threejournalists and a writer upon the Higher Metaphysic, playingpool; and at dinner only the raff of ordinary clubfrequenters showed their commonplace and obliteratedcountenances. None of these, thought Mr. Rolles, would knowmore on dangerous topics than he knew himself; none ofthem were fit to give him guidance in his present strait. Atlength, in the smoking-room, up many weary stairs, he hitupon a gentleman of somewhat portly build and dressedwith conspicuous plainness. He was smoking a cigar andreading the "Fortnightly Review"; his face was singularlyfree from all sign of preoccupation or fatigue; and there wassomething in his air which seemed to invite confidence andto expect submission. The more the young clergymanscrutinized his features, the more he was convinced that he hadfallen on one capable of giving pertinent advice.

"Sir," said he, "you will excuse my abruptness; but Ijudge you from your appearance to be preeminently a manof the world."

"I have indeed considerable claims to that distinction,"replied the stranger, laying aside his magazine with a lookof mingled amusement and surprise.

"I, sir," continued the Curate, "am a recluse, a student,a creature of ink-bottles and patristic folios. A recent eventhas brought my folly vividly before my eyes, and I desireto instruct myself in life. By life," he added, "I do notmean Thackeray's novels; but the crimes and secretpossibilities of our society, and the principles of wise conductamong exceptional events. I am a patient reader; can thething be learned in books?"

"You put me in a difficulty," said the stranger. "I confessI have no great notion of the use of books, except toamuse a railway journey; although, I believe, there aresome very exact treatises on astronomy, the use of theglobes, agriculture, and the art of making paper-flowers.Upon the less apparent provinces of life I fear you willfind nothing truthful. Yet stay," he added, "have you readGaboriau?"

Mr. Rolles admitted he had never even heard the name.

"You may gather some notions from Gaboriau," resumedthe stranger. "He is at least suggestive; and as he is anauthor much studied by Prince Bismarck, you will, at theworst, lose your time in good society."

"Sir," said the Curate, "I am infinitely obliged by yourpoliteness."

"You have already more than repaid me," returned theother.

"How?" inquired Simon.

"By the novelty of your request," replied the gentleman;and with a polite gesture, as though to ask permission, heresumed the study of the "Fortnightly Review."

On his way home Mr. Rolles purchased a work on preciousstones and several of Gaboriau's novels. These lasthe eagerly skimmed until an advanced hour in the morning;but although they introduced him to many new ideas,he could nowhere discover what to do with a stolen diamond.He was annoyed, moreover, to find the informationscattered among romantic story-telling, instead of soberlyset forth after the manner of a manual; and he concludedthat, even if the writer had thought much upon thesesubjects, he was totally lacking in educational method. Forthe character and attainments of Lecoq, however, he wasunable to contain his admiration.

"He was truly a great creature," ruminated Mr. Rolles."He knew the world as I know Paley's Evidences. Therewas nothing that he could not carry to a termination withhis own hand, and against the largest odds. Heavens!" hebroke out suddenly, "is not this the lesson? Must I notlearn to cut diamonds for myself?"

It seemed to him as if he had sailed at once out of hisperplexities; he remembered that he knew a jeweler, oneB. Macculloch, in Edinburgh, who would be glad to put himin the way of the necessary training; a few months, perhapsa few years, of sordid toil, and he would be sufficientlyexpert to divide and sufficiently cunning to dispose withadvantage of the Rajah's Diamond. That done, he mightreturn to pursue his researches at leisure, a wealthy andluxurious student, envied and respected by all. Goldenvisions attended him through his slumber, and he awokerefreshed and light-hearted with the morning sun.

Mr. Raeburn's house was on that day to be closed by thepolice, and this afforded a pretext for his departure. Hecheerfully prepared his baggage, transported it to King'sCross, where he left it in the cloak room, and returned tothe club to while away the afternoon and dine.

"If you dine here to-day, Rolles," observed an acquaintance,"you may see two of the most remarkable men inEngland—Prince Florizel of Bohemia and old Jack Vandeleur."

"I have heard of the Prince," replied Mr. Rolles; "andGeneral Vandeleur I have even met in society."

"General Vandeleur is an ass!" returned the other. "Thisis his brother John, the biggest adventurer, the best judgeof precious stones, and one of the most acute diplomatists inEurope. Have you never heard of his duel with the Duc deVal d'Orge? of his exploits and atrocities when he wasDictator of Paraguay? of his dexterity in recovering Sir SamuelLevi's jewelry? nor of his services in the IndianMutiny—services by which the Government profited, but which theGovernment dared not recognize? You make me wonderwhat we mean by fame, or even by infamy; for Jack Vandeleurhas prodigious claims to both. Run downstairs," hecontinued, "take a table near them, and keep your ears open.You will hear some strange talk, or I am much misled."

"But how shall I know them?" inquired the clergyman.

"Know them!" cried his friend; "why, the Prince is thefinest gentleman in Europe, the only living creature wholooks like a king; and as for Jack Vandeleur, if you canimagine Ulysses at seventy years of age, and with asabre-cut across his face, you have the man before you! Knowthem, indeed! Why, you could pick either of them out of aDerby day!"

Rolles eagerly hurried to the dining-room. It was as hisfriend had asserted; it was impossible to mistake the pairin question. Old John Vandeleur was of a remarkable forceof body, and obviously broken to the most difficultexercises. He had neither the carriage of a swordsman, nor ofa sailor, nor yet of one much inured to the saddle; butsomething made up of all these, and the result and expression ofmany different habits and dexterities. His features werebold and aquiline; his expression arrogant and predatory;his whole appearance that of a swift, violent, unscrupulousman of action; and his copious white hair and the deepsabre-cut that traversed his nose and temple added a noteof savagery to a head already remarkable and menacing initself.

In his companion, the Prince of Bohemia, Mr. Rolles wasastonished to recognize the gentleman who had recommendedhim the study of Gaboriau. Doubtless Prince Florizel,who rarely visited the club, of which, as of most others,he was an honorary member, had been waiting for JohnVandeleur when Simon accosted him on the previousevening.

The other diners had modestly retired into the angles ofthe room, and left the distinguished pair in a certainisolation, but the young clergyman was unrestrained by anysentiment of awe, and, marching boldly up, took his place atthe nearest table.

The conversation was, indeed, new to the student's ears.The ex-Dictator of Paraguay stated many extraordinaryexperiences in different quarters of the world; and the Princesupplied a commentary which, to a man of thought, waseven more interesting than the events themselves. Twoforms of experience were thus brought together and laidbefore the young clergyman; and he did not know whichto admire the most—the desperate actor, or the skilledexpert in life; the man who spoke boldly of his own deeds andperils, or the man who seemed, like a god, to know all thingsand to have suffered nothing. The manner of each aptlyfitted with his part in the discourse. The Dictator indulgedin brutalities alike of speech and gesture; his hand openedand shut and fell roughly on the table; and his voice wasloud and heady. The Prince, on the other hand, seemed thevery type of urbane docility and quiet; the least movement,the least inflection, had with him a weightier significancethan all the shouts and pantomime of his companion; and ifever, as must frequently have been the case, he describedsome experience personal to himself, it was so aptlydissimulated as to pass unnoticed with the rest.

At length the talk wandered on to the late robberies andthe Rajah's Diamond.

"That diamond would be better in the sea," observedPrince Florizel.

"As a Vandeleur," replied the Dictator, "your Highnessmay imagine my dissent."

"I speak on grounds of public policy," pursued the Prince."Jewels so valuable should be reserved for the collection ofa Prince or the treasury of a great nation. To hand themabout among the common sort of men is to set a price onVirtue's head; and if the Rajah of Kashgar—a Prince, Iunderstand, of great enlightenment—desired vengeance uponthe men of Europe, he could hardly have gone more efficaciouslyabout his purpose than by sending us this apple ofdiscord. There is no honesty too robust for such a trial. Imyself, who have many duties and many privileges of myown—I myself, Mr. Vandeleur, could scarce handle theintoxicating crystal and be safe. As for you, who are adiamond-hunter by taste and profession, I do not believe thereis a crime in the calendar you would not perpetrate—I donot believe you have a friend in the world whom you wouldnot eagerly betray—I do not know if you have a family, butif you have I declare you would sacrifice your children—andall this for what? Not to be richer, nor to have morecomforts or more respect, but simply to call this diamondyours for a year or two until you die, and now and again toopen a safe and look at it as one looks at a picture."

"It is true," replied Vandeleur. "I have hunted mostthings, from men and women down to mosquitoes; I havedived for coral; I have followed both whales and tigers;and a diamond is the tallest quarry of the lot. It has beautyand worth; it alone can properly reward the ardors of thechase. At this moment, as your Highness may fancy, I amupon the trail; I have a sure knack, a wide experience; Iknow every stone of price in my brother's collection as ashepherd knows his sheep; and I wish I may die if I do notrecover them every one!"

"Sir Thomas Vandeleur will have great cause to thankyou," said the Prince.

"I am not so sure," returned the Dictator, with a laugh."One of the Vandeleurs will. Thomas or John—Peter orPaul—we are all apostles."

"I did not catch your observation," said the Prince withsome disgust.

And at the same moment the waiter informed Mr. Vandeleurthat his cab was at the door.

Mr. Rolles glanced at the clock, and saw that he alsomust be moving; and the coincidence struck him sharplyand unpleasantly, for he desired to see no more of thediamond-hunter.

Much study having somewhat shaken the young man'snerves, he was in the habit of traveling in the most luxuriousmanner; and for the present journey he had taken a sofa inthe sleeping carriage.

"You will be very comfortable," said the guard; "thereis no one in your compartment, and only one old gentlemanin the other end."

It was close upon the hour, and the tickets were beingexamined, when Mr. Rolles beheld this other fellow-passengerushered by several porters into his place; certainly,there was not another man in the world whom he wouldnot have preferred—for it was old John Vandeleur, theex-Dictator.

The sleeping carriages on the Great Northern line weredivided into three compartments—one at each end for travelers,and one in the centre fitted with the conveniences ofa lavatory. A door running in grooves separated each of theothers from the lavatory; but as there were neither bolts norlocks, the whole suite was practically common ground.

When Mr. Rolles had studied his position, he perceivedhimself without defense. If the Dictator chose to pay hima visit in the course of the night, he could do no less thanreceive it; he had no means of fortification, and lay opento attack as if he had been lying in the fields. This situationcaused him some agony of mind. He recalled with alarmthe boastful statements of his fellow-traveler across thedining-table, and the professions of immorality which he hadheard him offering to the disgusted Prince. Some persons,he remembered to have read, are endowed with a singularquickness of perception for the neighborhood of preciousmetals; through walls and even at considerable distancesthey are said to divine the presence of gold. Might it notbe the same with diamonds? he wondered; and if so, whowas more likely to enjoy this transcendental sense than theperson who gloried in the appellation of the DiamondHunter? From such a man he recognized that he hadeverything to fear, and longed eagerly for the arrival ofthe day.

In the meantime he neglected no precaution, concealedhis diamond in the most internal pocket of a system ofgreatcoats, and devoutly recommended himself to the care ofProvidence.

The train pursued its usual even and rapid course; andnearly half the journey had been accomplished beforeslumber began to triumph over uneasiness in the breast ofMr. Rolles. For some time he resisted its influence; but itgrew upon him more and more, and a little before York hewas fain to stretch himself upon one of the couches andsuffer his eyes to close; and almost at the same instantconsciousness deserted the young clergyman. His last thoughtwas of his terrifying neighbor.

When he awoke it was still pitch dark except for theflicker of the veiled lamp; and the continual roaring andoscillation testified to the unrelaxed velocity of the train.He sat upright in a panic, for he had been tormented by themost uneasy dreams; it was some seconds before herecovered his self-command; and even after he had resumed arecumbent attitude sleep continued to flee him, and he layawake with his brain in a state of violent agitation, and hiseyes fixed upon the lavatory door. He pulled his clerical felthat over his brow still further to shield him from the light;and he adopted the usual expedients, such as counting athousand or banishing thought, by which experiencedinvalids are accustomed to woo the approach of sleep. In thecase of Mr. Rolles they proved one and all vain; he washarassed by a dozen different anxieties—the old man in theother end of the carriage haunted him in the most alarmingshapes; and in whatever attitude he chose to lie thediamond in his pocket occasioned him a sensible physicaldistress. It burned, it was too large, it bruised his ribs; andthere were infinitesimal fractions of a second in which hehad half a mind to throw it from the window.

While he was thus lying, a strange incident took place.

The sliding-door into the lavatory stirred a little, andthen a little more, and was finally drawn back for the spaceof about twenty inches. The lamp in the lavatory wasunshaded, and in the lighted aperture thus disclosedMr. Rolles could see the head of Mr. Vandeleur in an attitudeof deep attention. He was conscious that the gaze of theDictator rested intently on his own face and the instinct ofself-preservation moved him to hold his breath, to refrainfrom the least movement, and keeping his eyes lowered, towatch his visitor from underneath the lashes. After abouta moment the head was withdrawn and the door of thelavatory replaced.

The Dictator had not come to attack, but to observe; hisaction was not that of a man threatening another, but thatof a man who was himself threatened; if Mr. Rolles wasafraid of him, it appeared that he, in his turn, was not quiteeasy on the score of Mr. Rolles. He had come, it wouldseem, to make sure that his only fellow-traveler was asleep;and, when satisfied on that point, he had at once withdrawn.

The clergyman leaped to his feet. The extreme of terrorhad given place to a reaction of foolhardy daring. Hereflected that the rattle of the flying train concealed all othersounds, and determined, come what might, to return thevisit he had just received. Divesting himself of his cloak,which might have interfered with the freedom of his action,he entered the lavatory and paused to listen. As he hadexpected, there was nothing to be heard above the roar ofthe train's progress; and laying his hand on the door at thefurther side, he proceeded cautiously to draw it back forabout six inches. Then he stopped, and could not containan ejaculation of surprise.

John Vandeleur wore a fur traveling cap with lappets toprotect his ears; and this may have combined with the soundof the express to keep him in ignorance of what was goingforward. It is certain, at least, that he did not raise hishead, but continued without interruption to pursue hisstrange employment. Between his feet stood an open hat-box;in one hand he held the sleeve of his sealskin greatcoat;in the other a formidable knife, with which he hadjust slit up the lining of the sleeve. Mr. Rolles had read ofpersons carrying money in a belt; and as he had no acquaintancewith any but cricket-belts, he had never been ablerightly to conceive how this was managed. But here wasa stranger thing before his eyes; for John Vandeleur, itappeared, carried diamonds in the lining of his sleeve; andeven as the young clergyman gazed, he could see oneglittering brilliant drop after another into the hat-box.

He stood riveted to the spot, following this unusual businesswith his eyes. The diamonds were, for the most part,small, and not easily distinguishable either in shape or fire.Suddenly the Dictator appeared to find a difficulty; heemployed both hands and stopped over his task; but it was notuntil after considerable maneuvring that he extricated alarge tiara of diamonds from the lining, and held it up forsome seconds' examination before he placed it with theothers in the hat-box. The tiara was a ray of light toMr. Rolles; he immediately recognized it for a part of thetreasure stolen from Harry Hartley by the loiterer. There wasno room for mistake; it was exactly as the detective haddescribed it; there were the ruby stars, with a great emeraldin the centre; there were the interlacing crescents; andthere were the pear-shaped pendants, each a single stone,which gave a special value to Lady Vandeleur's tiara.

Mr. Rolles was hugely relieved. The Dictator was asdeeply in the affair as he was; neither could tell tales uponthe other. In the first glow of happiness, the clergymansuffered a deep sigh to escape him; and as his bosom hadbecome choked and his throat dry during his previoussuspense, the sigh was followed by a cough.

Mr. Vandeleur looked up; his face contracted with theblackest and most deadly passion; his eyes opened widely,and his under jaw dropped in an astonishment that wasupon the brink of fury. By an instinctive movement he hadcovered the hat-box with the coat. For half a minute thetwo men stared upon each other in silence. It was not along interval, but it sufficed for Mr. Rolles; he was one ofthose who think swiftly on dangerous occasions; he decidedon a course of action of a singularly daring nature;and although he felt he was setting his life upon the hazard,he was the first to break silence.

"I beg your pardon," said he.

The Dictator shivered slightly, and when he spoke hisvoice was hoarse.

"What do you want here?" he asked.

"I take a particular interest in diamonds," repliedMr. Rolles, with an air of perfect self-possession. "Twoconnoisseurs should be acquainted. I have here a trifle of myown which may perhaps serve for an introduction."

And so saying, he quietly took the case from his pocket,showed the Rajah's Diamond to the Dictator for an instant,and replaced it in security.

"It was once your brother's," he added.

John Vandeleur continued to regard him with a look ofalmost painful amazement; but he neither spoke nor moved.

"I was pleased to observe," resumed the young man,"that we have gems from the same collection."

The Dictator's surprise overpowered him.

"I beg your pardon," he said; "I begin to perceive thatI am growing old! I am positively not prepared for littleincidents like this. But set my mind at rest upon one point:do my eyes deceive me, or are you indeed a parson?"

"I am in holy orders," answered Mr. Rolles.

"Well," cried the other, "as long as I live I will neverhear another word against the cloth!"

"You flatter me," said Mr. Rolles.

"Pardon me," replied Vandeleur; "pardon me, youngman. You are no coward, but it still remains to be seenwhether you are not the worst of fools. Perhaps," hecontinued, leaning back upon his seat, "perhaps you wouldoblige me with a few particulars. I must suppose you hadsome object in the stupefying impudence of your proceedings,and I confess I have a curiosity to know it."

"It is very simple," replied the clergyman; "it proceedsfrom my great inexperience of life."

"I shall be glad to be persuaded," answered Vandeleur.

Whereupon Mr. Rolles told him the whole story of hisconnection with the Rajah's Diamond, from the time he foundit in Raeburn's garden to the time when he left London inthe Flying Scotchman. He added a brief sketch of his feelingsand thoughts during the journey, and concluded in thesewords:

"When I recognized the tiara I knew we were in thesame attitude toward Society, and this inspired me with ahope, which I trust you will say was not ill-founded, thatyou might become in some sense my partner in the difficultiesand, of course, the profits of my situation. To one ofyour special knowledge and obviously great experience thenegotiation of the diamond would give but little trouble,while to me it was a matter of impossibility. On the otherpart, I judged that I might lose nearly as much by cuttingthe diamond, and that not improbably with an unskilfulhand, as might enable me to pay you with proper generosityfor your assistance. The subject was a delicate one tobroach; and perhaps I fell short in delicacy. But I must askyou to remember that for me the situation was a new one,and I was entirely unacquainted with the etiquette in use.I believe without vanity that I could have married orbaptized you in a very acceptable manner; but every man hashis own aptitudes, and this sort of bargain was not amongthe list of my accomplishments."

"I do not wish to flatter you," replied Vandeleur; "but,upon my word, you have an unusual disposition for a lifeof crime. You have more accomplishments than youimagine; and though I have encountered a number of roguesin different quarters of the world, I never met with one sounblushing as yourself. Cheer up, Mr. Rolles, you are in theright profession at last! As for helping you, you maycommand me as you will. I have only a day's business inEdinburgh on a little matter for my brother; and once that isconcluded, I return to Paris, where I usually reside. If youplease you may accompany me thither. And before the endof a month I believe I shall have brought your littlebusiness to a satisfactory conclusion."

[At this point, contrary to all the canons of his art, ourArabian Author breaks off the "Story of the Young Man inHoly Orders." I regret and condemn such practises; but Imust follow my original, and refer the reader for theconclusion of Mr. Rolles's adventures to the next number of thecycle, the "Story of the House with the Green Blinds."]

STORY OF THE HOUSE WITH THE GREEN BLINDS

Francis Scrymgeour, a clerk in the Bank of Scotlandat Edinburgh, had attained the age of twenty-five in a sphereof quiet, creditable, and domestic life. His mother died whilehe was young; but his father, a man of sense and probity, hadgiven him an excellent education at school, and brought himup at home to orderly and frugal habits. Francis, who wasof a docile and affectionate disposition, profited by theseadvantages with zeal, and devoted himself heart and soul to hisemployment. A walk upon Saturday afternoon, an occasionaldinner with members of his family, and a yearly tourof a fortnight in the Highlands or even on the continent ofEurope, were his principal distractions, and he grew rapidlyin favor with his superiors, and enjoyed already a salary ofnearly two hundred pounds a year, with the prospect of anultimate advance to almost double that amount. Few youngmen were more contented, few more willing and laborious,than Francis Scrymgeour. Sometimes at night, when he hadread the daily paper, he would play upon the flute to amusehis father, for whose qualities he entertained a great respect.

One day he received a note from a well-known firm ofWriters to the Signet, requesting the favor of an immediateinterview with him. The letter was marked "Private andConfidential," and had been addressed to him at the bank,instead of at home—two unusual circumstances which madehim obey the summons with the more alacrity. The seniormember of the firm, a man of much austerity of manner,made him gravely welcome, requested him to take a seat,and proceeded to explain the matter in hand in the pickedexpressions of a veteran man of business. A person, whomust remain nameless, but of whom the lawyer had everyreason to think well—a man, in short, of some station inthe country—desired to make Francis an annual allowanceof five hundred pounds. The capital was to be placed underthe control of the lawyer's firm and two trustees who mustalso remain anonymous. There were conditions annexedto this liberality, but he was of opinion that his new clientwould find nothing either excessive or dishonorable in theterms; and he repeated these two words with emphasis, asthough he desired to commit himself to nothing more.

Francis asked their nature.

"The conditions," said the Writer to the Signet, "are, asI have twice remarked, neither dishonorable nor excessive.At the same time I can not conceal from you that they aremost unusual. Indeed, the whole case is very much out ofour way; and I should certainly have refused it had it notbeen for the reputation of the gentleman who entrusted itto my care, and, let me add, Mr. Scrymgeour, the interest Ihave been led to take in yourself by many complimentaryand, I have no doubt, well-deserved reports."

Francis entreated him to be more specific.

"You can not picture my uneasiness as to these conditions,"he said.

"They are two," replied the lawyer, "only two; and thesum, as you will remember, is five hundred a year—andunburdened, I forgot to add, unburdened."

And the lawyer raised his eyebrows at him with solemngusto.

"The first," he resumed, "is of remarkable simplicity.You must be in Paris by the afternoon of Sunday, the 15th;there you will find, at the box-office of the Comedie Française,a ticket for admission taken in your name and waitingyou. You are requested to sit out the whole performancein the seat provided, and that is all."

"I should certainly have preferred a week-day," repliedFrancis. "But, after all, once in a way—"

"And in Paris, my dear sir," added the lawyer, soothingly."I believe I am something of a precisian myself, but uponsuch a consideration, and in Paris, I should not hesitate aninstant."

And the pair laughed pleasantly together.

"The other is of more importance," continued the Writerto the Signet. "It regards your marriage. My client, takinga deep interest in your welfare, desires to advise youabsolutely in the choice of a wife. Absolutely, youunderstand," he repeated.

"Let us be more explicit, if you please," returned Francis."Am I to marry any one, maid or widow, black or white,whom this invisible person chooses to propose?"

"I was to assure you that suitability of age and positionshould be a principle with your benefactor," replied thelawyer. "As to race, I confess the difficulty had not occurredto me, and I failed to inquire; but if you like I will makea note of it at once, and advise you on the earliestopportunity."

"Sir," said Francis, "it remains to be seen whether thiswhole affair is not a most unworthy fraud. The circumstancesare inexplicable—I had almost said incredible; anduntil I see a little more daylight, and some plausible motive,I confess I should be very sorry to put a hand to the transaction.I appeal to you in this difficulty for information. Imust learn what is at the bottom of it all. If you do notknow, can not guess, or are not at liberty to tell me, I shalltake my hat and go back to my bank as I came."

"I do not know," answered the lawyer, "but I have anexcellent guess. Your father, and no one else, is at the rootof this apparently unnatural business."

"My father!" cried Francis, in extreme disdain. "Worthyman, I know every thought of his mind, every penny of hisfortune!"

"You misinterpret my words," said the lawyer. "Ido not refer to Mr. Scrymgeour, senior; for he is not yourfather. When he and his wife came to Edinburgh, you werealready nearly one year old, and you had not yet been threemonths in their care. The secret has been well kept; butsuch is the fact. Your father is unknown, and I say againthat I believe him to be the original of the offers I amcharged at present to transmit to you."

It would be impossible to exaggerate the astonishmentof Francis Scrymgeour at this unexpected information. Hepleaded this confusion to the lawyer.

"Sir," said he, "after a piece of news so startling, youmust grant me some hours for thought. You shall know thisevening what conclusion I have reached."

The lawyer commended his prudence; and Francis, excusinghimself upon some pretext at the bank, took a longwalk into the country, and fully considered the differentsteps and aspects of the case. A pleasant sense of his ownimportance rendered him the more deliberate: but the issuewas from the first not doubtful. His whole carnal manleaned irresistibly toward the five hundred a year, and thestrange conditions with which it was burdened; he discoveredin his heart an invincible repugnance to the name ofScrymgeour, which he had never hitherto disliked; he beganto despise the narrow and unromantic interests of his formerlife; and when once his mind was fairly made up, he walkedwith a new feeling of strength and freedom, and nourishedhimself with the gayest anticipations.

He said but a word to the lawyer, and immediatelyreceived a check for two quarters' arrears; for the allowancewas antedated from the first of January. With this in hispocket, he walked home. The flat in Scotland Street lookedmean in his eyes; his nostrils, for the first time, rebelledagainst the odor of broth; and he observed little defects ofmanner in his adoptive father which filled him with surpriseand almost with disgust. The next day, he determined,should see him on his way to Paris.

In that city, where he arrived long before the appointeddate, he put up at a modest hotel frequented by English andItalians, and devoted himself to improvement in the Frenchtongue; for this purpose he had a master twice a week,entered into conversation with loiterers in the ChampsElysées, and nightly frequented the theatre. He had his wholetoilet fashionably renewed; and was shaved and had his hairdressed every morning by a barber in a neighboring street.This gave him something of a foreign air, and seemed towipe off the reproach of his past years.

At length, on the Saturday afternoon, he betook himselfto the box-office of the theatre in the Rue Richelieu. Nosooner had he mentioned his name than the clerk producedthe order in an envelope of which the address was scarcely dry.

"It has been taken this moment," said the clerk.

"Indeed!" said Francis. "May I ask what the gentlemanwas like?"

"Your friend is easy to describe," replied the official. "Heis old and strong and beautiful, with white hair and a sabre-cutacross his face. You can not fail to recognize so markeda person."

"No, indeed," returned Francis; "and I thank you foryour politeness."

"He can not yet be far distant," added the clerk. "Ifyou make haste you might still overtake him."

Francis did not wait to be twice told; he ran precipitatelyfrom the theatre into the middle of the street and lookedin all directions. More than one white-haired man waswithin sight; but though he overtook each of them insuccession, all wanted the sabre-cut. For nearly half an hourhe tried one street after another in the neighborhood, untilat length, recognizing the folly of continued search, hestarted on a walk to compose his agitated feelings; for thisproximity of an encounter with him to whom he could notdoubt he owed the day had profoundly moved the youngman.

It chanced that his way lay up the Rue Drouot and thenceup the Rue des Martyrs; and chance, in this case, served himbetter than all the forethought in the world. For on theouter boulevard he saw two men in earnest colloquy upon aseat. One was dark, young, and handsome, secularly dressed,but with an indelible clerical stamp; the other answered inevery particular to the description given him by the clerk.Francis felt his heart beat high in his bosom; he knew hewas now about to hear the voice of his father; and makinga wide circuit, he noiselessly took his place behind thecouple in question, who were too much interested in theirtalk to observe much else. As Francis had expected, theconversation was conducted in the English language.

"Your suspicions begin to annoy me, Rolles," said theolder man. "I tell you I am doing my utmost; a man cannot lay his hand on millions in a moment. Have I not takenyou up, a mere stranger, out of pure goodwill? Are you notliving largely on my bounty?"

"On your advances, Mr. Vandeleur," corrected the other.

"Advances, if you choose; and interest instead of good-will,if you prefer it," returned Vandeleur, angrily. "I amnot here to pick expressions. Business is business; and yourbusiness, let me remind you, is too muddy for such airs.Trust me, or leave me alone and find some one else; but letus have an end, for God's sake, of your jeremiads."

"I am beginning to learn the world," replied the other,"and I see that you have every reason to play me false, andnot one to deal honestly. I am not here to pick expressions,either; you wish the diamond for yourself; you know youdo—you dare not deny it. Have you not already forged myname, and searched my lodging in my absence? I understandthe cause of your delays; you are lying in wait; youare the diamond-hunter, forsooth; and sooner or later, byfair means or foul, you'll lay your hands upon it. I tell you,it must stop; push me much further and I promise you asurprise."

"It does not become you to use threats," returned Vandeleur."Two can play at that. My brother is here in Paris;the police are on the alert; and if you persist in wearyingme with your caterwauling, I will arrange a little astonishmentfor you, Mr. Rolles. But mine shall be once and forall. Do you understand, or would you prefer me to tell ityou in Hebrew? There is an end to all things, and you havecome to the end of my patience. Tuesday, at seven; nota day, not an hour sooner, not the least part of a second,if it were to save your life. And if you do not choose towait, you may go to the bottomless pit for me, and welcome."

And so saying, the Dictator arose from the bench, andmarched off in the direction of Montmartre, shaking his headand swinging his cane with a most furious air; while hiscompanion remained where he was, in an attitude of greatdejection.

Francis was at the pitch of surprise and horror; hissentiments had been shocked to the last degree; the hopefultenderness with which he had taken his place upon the benchwas transformed into repulsion and despair; old Mr. Scrymgeour,he reflected, was a far more kindly and creditableparent than this dangerous and violent intriguer; but heretained his presence of mind, and suffered not a moment toelapse before he was on the trail of the Dictator.

That gentleman's fury carried him forward at a briskpace, and he was so completely occupied in his angrythoughts that he never so much as cast a look behind himtill he reached his own door.

His house stood high up in the Rue Lepic, commandinga view of all Paris and enjoying the pure air of the heights.It was two stories high, with green blinds and shutters; andall the windows looking on the street were hermeticallyclosed. Tops of trees showed over the high garden wall,and the wall was protected by chevaux-de-frise. TheDictator paused a moment while he searched his pocket for akey; and then, opening a gate, disappeared within theenclosure.

Francis looked about him; the neighborhood was verylonely; the house isolated in its garden. It seemed as if hisobservation must here come to an abrupt end. A secondglance, however, showed him a tall house next door presentinga gable to the garden, and in this gable a singlewindow. He passed to the front and saw a ticket offeringunfurnished lodgings by the month; and, on inquiry, theroom which commanded the Dictator's garden proved to beone of those to let. Francis did not hesitate a moment; hetook the room, paid an advance upon the rent, and returnedto his hotel to seek his baggage.

The old man with the sabre-cut might or might not behis father; he might or he might not be upon the true scent;but he was certainly on the edge of an exciting mystery,and he promised himself that he would not relax hisobservation until he had got to the bottom of the secret.

From the window of his new apartment Francis Scrymgeourcommanded a complete view into the garden of thehouse with the green blinds. Immediately below him a verycomely chestnut with wide boughs sheltered a pair of rustictables where people might dine in the height of summer.On all sides save one a dense vegetation concealed the soil;but there, between the tables and the house, he saw a patchof gravel walk leading from the veranda to the garden gate.Studying the place from between the boards of the Venetianshutters, which he durst not open for fear of attractingattention, Francis observed but little to indicate the mannersof the inhabitants, and that little argued no more than aclose reserve and a taste for solitude. The garden wasconventual, the house had the air of a prison. The green blindswere all drawn down upon the outside; the door into theveranda was closed; the garden, as far as he could see it,was left entirely to itself in the evening sunshine. A modestcurl of smoke from a single chimney alone testified to thepresence of living people.

In order that he might not be entirely idle, and to givea certain color to his way of life, Francis had purchasedEuclid's Geometry in French, which he set himself to copyand translate on the top of his portmanteau and seated onthe floor against the wall; for he was equally without chairor table. From time to time he would rise and cast aglance into the enclosure of the house with the green blinds;but the windows remained obstinately closed and thegarden empty.

Only late in the evening did anything occur to rewardhis continued attention. Between nine and ten the sharptinkle of a bell aroused him from a fit of dozing; and hesprang to his observatory in time to hear an important noiseof locks being opened and bars removed, and to seeMr. Vandeleur, carrying a lantern and clothed in a flowing robeof black velvet with a skull-cap to match, issue from underthe veranda and proceed leisurely toward the garden gate.The sound of bolts and bars was then repeated; and amoment after Francis perceived the Dictator escorting intothe house, in the mobile light of the lantern, an individualof the lowest and most despicable appearance.

Half an hour afterward the visitor was reconducted to thestreet; and Mr. Vandeleur, setting his light upon one of therustic tables, finished a cigar with great deliberation underthe foliage of the chestnut. Francis, peering through a clearspace among the leaves, was able to follow his gestures ashe threw away the ash or enjoyed a copious inhalation; andbeheld a cloud upon the old man's brow and a forcible actionof the lips which testified to some deep and probablypainful train of thought. The cigar was already almost at anend, when the voice of a young girl was heard suddenlycrying the hour from the interior of the house.

"In a moment," replied John Vandeleur.

And, with that, he threw away the stump and, taking upthe lantern, sailed away under the veranda for the night. Assoon as the door was closed, absolute darkness fell uponthe house. Francis might try his eyesight as much as hepleased, he could not detect so much as a single chinkof light below a blind; and he concluded, with greatgood sense, that the bedchambers were all upon the otherside.

Early the next morning (for he was early awake afteran uncomfortable night upon the floor), he saw cause toadopt a different explanation. The blinds rose, one afteranother, by means of a spring in the interior, and disclosedsteel shutters such as we see on the front of shops; these intheir turn were rolled up by a similar contrivance; and, forthe space of about an hour, the chambers were left open tothe morning air. At the end of that time Mr. Vandeleur,with his own hand, once more closed the shutters andreplaced the blinds from within.

While Francis was still marveling at these precautions,the door opened and a young girl came forth to look abouther in the garden. It was not two minutes before shereentered the house, but even in that short time he saw enoughto convince him that she possessed the most unusualattractions. His curiosity was not only highly excited by thisincident, but his spirits were improved to a still morenotable degree. The alarming manners and more than equivocallife of his father ceased from that moment to prey upon hismind; from that moment he embraced his new family withardor; and whether the young lady should prove his sisteror his wife, he felt convinced she was an angel in disguise.So much was this the case that he was seized with a suddenhorror when he reflected how little he really knew, and howpossible it was that he had followed the wrong person whenhe followed Mr. Vandeleur.

The porter, whom he consulted, could afford him littleinformation; but, such as it was, it had a mysterious andquestionable sound. The person next door was an Englishgentleman of extraordinary wealth, and proportionatelyeccentric in his tastes and habits. He possessed greatcollections, which he kept in the house beside him; and it was toprotect these that he had fitted the place with steel shutters,elaborate fastenings, and chevaux-de-frise along the gardenwall. He lived much alone, in spite of some strange visitorswith whom, it seemed, he had business to transact; and therewas no one else in the house, except Mademoiselle and anold woman servant.

"Is Mademoiselle his daughter?" inquired Francis.

"Certainly," replied the porter. "Mademoiselle is thedaughter of the house; and strange it is to see how she ismade to work. For all his riches, it is she who goes tomarket; and every day in the week you may see her goingby with a basket on her arm."

"And the collections?" asked the other.

"Sir," said the man, "they are immensely valuable. MoreI can not tell you. Since M. de Vandeleur's arrival no onein the quarter has so much as passed the door."

"Suppose not," returned Francis, "you must surely havesome notion what these famous galleries contain. Is itpictures, silks, statues, jewels, or what?"

"My faith, sir," said the fellow with a shrug, "it mightbe carrots, and still I could not tell you. How should Iknow? The house is kept like a garrison, as you perceive."

And then as Francis was returning disappointed to hisroom, the porter called him back.

"I have just remembered, sir," said he. "M. de Vandeleurhas been in all parts of the world, and I once heard the oldwoman declare that he had brought many diamonds backwith him. If that be the truth, there must be a fine showbehind those shutters."

By an early hour on Sunday Francis was in his placeat the theatre. The seat which had been taken for him wasonly two or three numbers from the left-hand side, anddirectly opposite one of the lower boxes. As the seat hadbeen specially chosen there was doubtless something to belearned from its position; and he judged by an instinct thatthe box upon his right was, in some way or other, to beconnected with the drama in which he ignorantly played apart. Indeed it was so situated that its occupants couldsafely observe him from beginning to end of the piece, ifthey were so minded; while, profiting by the depth, theycould screen themselves sufficiently well from anycounter-examination on his side. He promised himself not to leaveit for a moment out of sight; and while he scanned the restof the theatre, or made a show of attending to the businessof the stage, he always kept a corner of an eye upon theempty box.

The second act had been some time in progress, and waseven drawing toward a close, when the door opened andtwo persons entered and ensconced themselves in the darkestof the shade. Francis could hardly control his emotion.It was Mr. Vandeleur and his daughter. The blood cameand went in his arteries and veins with stunning activity; hisears sang; his head turned. He dared not look lest heshould awake suspicion; his play-bill, which he kept readingfrom end to end and over and over again, turned from whiteto red before his eyes; and when he cast a glance upon thestage, it seemed incalculably far away, and he found thevoices and gestures of the actors to the last degreeimpertinent and absurd.

From time to time he risked a momentary look in thedirection which principally interested him; and once at leasthe felt certain that his eyes encountered those of the younggirl. A shock passed over his body, and he saw all thecolors of the rainbow. What would he not have givento overhear what passed between the Vandeleurs? Whatwould he not have given for the courage to take up hisopera-glass and steadily inspect their attitude andexpression? There, for aught he knew, his whole life was beingdecided—and he not able to interfere, not able even tofollow the debate, but condemned to sit and suffer where hewas, in impotent anxiety.

At last the act came to an end. The curtain fell, andthe people around him began to leave their places for theinterval. It was only natural that he should follow theirexample; and if he did so, it was not only natural butnecessary that he should pass immediately in front of the box inquestion. Summoning all his courage, but keeping his eyeslowered, Francis drew near the spot. His progress wasslow, for the old gentleman before him moved with incredibledeliberation, wheezing as he went. What was he to do?Should he address the Vandeleurs by name as he went by?Should he take the flower from his buttonhole and throw itinto the box? Should he raise his face and direct one longand affectionate look upon the lady who was either hissister or his betrothed? As he found himself thus strugglingamong so many alternatives, he had a vision of his oldequable existence in the bank, and was assailed by a thoughtof regret for the past.

By this time he had arrived directly opposite the box;and although he was still undetermined what to do orwhether to do anything, he turned his head and lifted hiseyes. No sooner had he done so than he uttered a cry ofdisappointment and remained rooted to the spot. The boxwas empty. During his slow advance Mr. Vandeleur and hisdaughter had quietly slipped away.

A polite person in his rear reminded him that he wasstopping the path; and he moved on again with mechanicalfootsteps, and suffered the crowd to carry him unresistingout of the theatre. Once in the street, the pressure ceasing,he came to a halt, and the cool night air speedily restoredhim to the possession of his faculties. He was surprised tofind that his head ached violently, and that he rememberednot one word of the two acts which he had witnessed. Asthe excitement wore away, it was succeeded by an over-weeningappetite for sleep, and he hailed a cab and droveto his lodging in a state of extreme exhaustion and somedisgust of life.

Next morning he lay in wait for Miss Vandeleur on herroad to market, and by eight o'clock beheld her steppingdown a lane. She was simply, and even poorly, attired; butin the carriage of her head and body there was somethingflexible and noble that would have lent distinction to themeanest toilet. Even her basket, so aptly did she carry it,became her like an ornament. It seemed to Francis, as heslipped into a doorway, that the sunshine followed and theshadows fled before her as she walked; and he was conscious,for the first time, of a bird singing in a cage abovethe lane.

He suffered her to pass the doorway, and then, comingforth once more, addressed her by name from behind.

"Miss Vandeleur," said he.

She turned, and, when she saw who he was, becamedeadly pale.

"Pardon me," he continued; "Heaven knows I had nowill to startle you; and, indeed, there should be nothingstartling in the presence of one who wishes you so well asI do. And, believe me, I am acting rather from necessitythan choice. We have many things in common, and I amsadly in the dark. There is much that I should be doing,and my hands are tied. I do not know even what to feel,nor who are my friends and enemies."

She found her voice with an effort.

"I do not know who you are," she said.

"Ah, yes! Miss Vandeleur, you do," returned Francis;"better than I do myself. Indeed it is on that, above all,that I seek light. Tell me what you know," he pleaded."Tell me who I am, who you are, and how our destinies areintermixed. Give me a little help with my life, MissVandeleur—only a word or two to guide me, only the name of myfather, if you will—and I shall be grateful and content."

"I will not attempt to deceive you," she replied. "Iknow who you are, but I am not at liberty to say."

"Tell me, at least, that you have forgiven my presumption,and I shall wait with all the patience I have," he said."If I am not to know, I must do without. It is cruel, butI can bear more upon a push. Only do not add to mytroubles the thought that I have made an enemy of you."

"You did only what was natural," she said, "and I havenothing to forgive you. Farewell."

"Is it to be farewell?" he asked.

"Nay, that I do not know myself," she answered. "Farewellfor the present, if you like."

And with these words she was gone.

Francis returned to his lodging in a state of considerablecommotion of mind. He made the most trifling progresswith his Euclid for that forenoon, and was more often at thewindow than at his improvised writing-table. But beyondseeing the return of Miss Vandeleur, and the meetingbetween her and her father, who was smoking a Trichinopolicigar in the veranda, there was nothing notable in theneighborhood of the house with the green blinds before the timeof the midday meal. The young man hastily allayed hisappetite in a neighboring restaurant, and returned with thespeed of unallayed curiosity to the house in the Rue Lepic.A mounted servant was leading a saddle-horse to and frobefore the garden wall; and the porter of Francis's lodgingwas smoking a pipe against the door-post, absorbed incontemplation of the livery and the steeds.

"Look!" he cried to the young man, "what fine cattle! whatan elegant costume! They belong to the brother ofM. de Vandeleur, who is now within upon a visit. He is agreat man, a general, in your country; and you doubtlessknow him well by reputation."

"I confess," returned Francis, "that I have never heardof General Vandeleur before. We have many officers of thatgrade, and my pursuits have been exclusively civil."

"It is he," replied the porter, "who lost the great diamondof the Indies. Of that at least you must have read often inthe papers."

As soon as Francis could disengage himself from theporter he ran upstairs and hurried to the window. Immediatelybelow the clear space in the chestnut leaves, the twogentlemen were seated in conversation over a cigar. TheGeneral, a red, military-looking man, offered some traces ofa family resemblance to his brother; he had something ofthe same features, something, although very little, of thesame free and powerful carriage; but he was older, smaller,and more common in air; his likeness was that of acaricature, and he seemed altogether a poor and debile beingby the side of the Dictator.

They spoke in tones so low, leaning over the table withevery appearance of interest, that Francis could catch nomore than a word or two on an occasion. For as little ashe heard, he was convinced that the conversation turnedupon himself and his own career; several times the name ofScrymgeour reached his ear, for it was easy to distinguish,and still more frequently he fancied he could distinguish thename Francis.

At length the General, as if in a hot anger, broke forthinto several violent exclamations.

"Francis Vandeleur!" he cried, accentuating the last word."Francis Vandeleur, I tell you."

The Dictator made a movement of his whole body, halfaffirmative, half contemptuous, but his answer was inaudibleto the young man.

Was he the Francis Vandeleur in question? he wondered.Were they discussing the name under which he was to bemarried? Or was the whole affair a dream and a delusionof his own conceit and self-absorption?

After another interval of inaudible talk, dissension seemedagain to arise between the couple underneath the chestnut,and again the General raised his voice angrily so as to beaudible to Francis.

"My wife?" he cried. "I have done with my wife forgood. I will not hear her name. I am sick of her veryname."

And he swore aloud and beat the table with his fist.

The Dictator appeared, by his gestures, to pacify himafter a paternal fashion; and a little after he conducted himto the garden gate. The pair shook hands affectionatelyenough; but as soon as the door had closed behind his visitor,John Vandeleur fell into a fit of laughter which soundedunkindly and even devilish in the ears of Francis Scrymgeour.

So another day had passed, and little more learned. Butthe young man remembered that the morrow was Tuesday,and promised himself some curious discoveries; all mightbe well, or all might be ill; he was sure, at least, to gleansome curious information, and, perhaps, by good luck, getat the heart of the mystery which surrounded his fatherand his family.

As the hour of the dinner drew near many preparationswere made in the garden of the house with the green blinds.That table which was partly visible to Francis through thechestnut leaves was destined to serve as a sideboard, andcarried relays of plates and the materials for salad; theother, which was almost entirely concealed, had been setapart for the diners, and Francis could catch glimpses ofwhite cloth and silver plate.

Mr. Rolles arrived, punctual to the minute; he looked likea man upon his guard, and spoke low and sparingly. TheDictator, on the other hand, appeared to enjoy an unusualflow of spirits; his laugh, which was youthful and pleasantto hear, sounded frequently from the garden; by the modulationand the changes of his voice it was obvious that hetold many droll stories and imitated the accents of a varietyof different nations; and before he and the young clergymanhad finished their vermuth all feeling of distrust was at anend, and they were talking together like a pair of schoolcompanions.

At length Miss Vandeleur made her appearance, carryingthe soup-tureen. Mr. Rolles ran to offer her assistancewhich she laughingly refused; and there was an interchangeof pleasantries among the trio which seemed to havereference to this primitive manner of waiting by one of thecompany.

"One is more at one's ease," Mr. Vandeleur was heard todeclare.

Next moment they were all three in their places, andFrancis could see as little as he could hear of what passed.But the dinner seemed to go merrily; there was a perpetualbabble of voices and sound of knives and forks below thechestnut; and Francis, who had no more than a roll tognaw, was affected with envy by the comfort and deliberationof the meal. The party lingered over one dish afteranother, and then over a delicate dessert, with a bottle ofold wine carefully uncorked by the hand of the Dictatorhimself. As it began to grow dark a lamp was set upon thetable and a couple of candles on the sideboard; for the nightwas perfectly pure, starry, and windless. Light overflowedbesides from the door and window in the veranda, so thatthe garden was fairly illuminated and the leaves twinkledin the darkness.

For perhaps the tenth time Miss Vandeleur entered thehouse; and on this occasion she returned with the coffee-tray,which she placed upon the sideboard. At the samemoment her father rose from his seat.

"The coffee is my province," Francis heard him say.

And next moment he saw his supposed father standingby the sideboard in the light of the candles.

Talking over his shoulder all the while, Mr. Vandeleurpoured out two cups of the brown stimulant, and then, bya rapid act of prestidigitation, emptied the contents of a tinyphial into the smaller of the two. The thing was so swiftlydone that even Francis, who looked straight into his face,had hardly time to perceive the movement before it wascompleted. And next instant, and still laughing, Mr. Vandeleurhad turned again toward the table with a cup in eitherhand.

"Ere we have done with this," said he, "we may expectour famous Hebrew."

It would be impossible to depict the confusion anddistress of Francis Scrymgeour. He saw foul play goingforward before his eyes, and he felt bound to interfere, butknew not how. It might be a mere pleasantry, and thenhow should he look if he were to offer an unnecessary warning?Or again, if it were serious, the criminal might be hisown father, and then how should he not lament if he wereto bring ruin on the author of his days? For the first timehe became conscious of his own position as a spy. To waitinactive at such a juncture and with such a conflict ofsentiments in his bosom was to suffer the most acute torture; heclung to the bars of the shutters, his heart beat fast andwith irregularity, and he felt a strong sweat break forthupon his body.

Several minutes passed.

He seemed to perceive the conversation die away andgrow less and less in vivacity and volume; but still no signof any alarming or even notable event.

Suddenly the ring of a glass breaking was followed bya faint and dull sound, as of a person who should havefallen forward with his head upon the table. At the samemoment a piercing scream rose from the garden.

"What have you done?" cried Miss Vandeleur. "He is dead!"

The Dictator replied in a violent whisper, so strong andsibilant that every word was audible to the watcher at thewindow.

"Silence!" said Mr. Vandeleur; "the man is as well as Iam. Take him by the heels while I carry him by theshoulders."

Francis heard Miss Vandeleur break forth into a passionof tears.

"Do you hear what I say?" resumed the Dictator, in thesame tones. "Or do you wish to quarrel with me? I giveyou your choice, Miss Vandeleur."

There was another pause, and the Dictator spoke again.

"Take that man by the heels," he said. "I must havehim brought into the house. If I were a little younger, Icould help myself against the world. But now that yearsand dangers are upon me and my hands are weakened, Imust turn to you for aid."

"It is a crime," replied the girl.

"I am your father," said Mr. Vandeleur.

This appeal seemed to produce its effect. A scufflingnoise followed upon the gravel, a chair was overset, andthen Francis saw the father and daughter stagger across thewalk and disappear under the veranda, bearing the inanimatebody of Mr. Rolles embraced about the knees andshoulders. The young clergyman was limp and pallid, andhis head rolled upon his shoulders at every step.

Was he alive or dead? Francis, in spite of the Dictator'sdeclaration, inclined to the latter view. A great crime hadbeen committed; a great calamity had fallen upon the inhabitantsof the house with the green blinds. To his surprise,Francis found all horror for the deed swallowed up in sorrowfor a girl and an old man whom he judged to be in theheight of peril. A tide of generous feeling swept into hisheart; he, too, would help his father against man and mankind,against fate and justice; and casting open the shuttershe closed his eyes and threw himself with outstretched armsinto the foliage of the chestnut.

Branch after branch slipped from his grasp or broke underhis weight; then he caught a stalwart bough under hisarmpit, and hung suspended for a second; and then he lethimself drop and fell heavily against the table. A cry of alarmfrom the house warned him that his entrance had not beeneffected unobserved. He recovered himself with a stagger,and in three bounds crossed the intervening space and stoodbefore the door in the veranda.

In a small apartment, carpeted with matting and surroundedby glazed cabinets full of rare and costly curios,Mr. Vandeleur was stooping over the body of Mr. Rolles. Heraised himself as Francis entered, and there was aninstantaneous passage of hands. It was the business of a second;as fast as an eye can wink the thing was done; the youngman had not the time to be sure, but it seemed to him as ifthe Dictator had taken something from the curate's breast,looked at it for the least fraction of time as it lay in his hand,and then suddenly and swiftly passed it to his daughter.

All this was over while Francis had still one foot uponthe threshold, and the other raised in air. The next instanthe was on his knees to Mr. Vandeleur.

"Father!" he cried. "Let me too help you. I will dowhat you wish and ask no questions; I will obey you withmy life; treat me as a son, and you will find I have a son'sdemotion."

A deplorable explosion of oaths was the Dictator's firstreply.

"Son and father?" he cried. "Father and son? Whatd——d unnatural comedy is all this? How do you come inmy garden? What do you want? And who, in God's name,are you?"

Francis, with a stunned and shamefaced aspect, got uponhis feet again, and stood in silence.

Then a light seemed to break upon Mr. Vandeleur, and helaughed aloud.

"I see," cried he. "It is the Scrymgeour. Very well,Mr. Scrymgeour. Let me tell you in a few words how you stand.You have entered my private residence by force, or perhapsby fraud, but certainly with no encouragement from me; andyou come at a moment of some annoyance, a guest havingfainted at my table, to besiege me with your protestations.You are no son of mine. You are my brother's bastard bya fishwife, if you want to know. I regard you with anindifference closely bordering on aversion; and from what Inow see of your conduct, I judge your mind to be exactlysuitable to your exterior. I recommend you these mortifyingreflections for your leisure; and, in the meantime, let mebeseech you to rid us of your presence. If I were notoccupied," added the Dictator, with a terrifying oath, "I shouldgive you the unholiest drubbing ere you went!"

Francis listened in profound humiliation. He would havefled had it been possible; but as he had no means of leavingthe residence into which he had so unfortunately penetrated,he could do no more than stand foolishly where he was.

It was Miss Vandeleur who broke the silence.

"Father," she said, "you speak in anger. Mr. Scrymgeourmay have been mistaken, but he meant well and kindly."

"Thank you for speaking," returned the Dictator. "Youremind me of some other observations which I hold it apoint of honor to make to Mr. Scrymgeour. My brother,"he continued, addressing the young man, "has been foolishenough to give you an allowance; he was foolish enough andpresumptuous enough to propose a match between you andthis young lady. You were exhibited to her two nights ago;and I rejoice to tell you that she rejected the idea withdisgust. Let me add that I have considerable influence withyour father; and it shall not be my fault if you are notbeggared of your allowance and sent back to your scriveningere the week be out."

The tones of the old man's voice were, if possible, morewounding than his language; Francis felt himself exposedto the most cruel, blighting, and unbearable contempt; hishead turned, and he covered his face with his hands, utteringat the same time a tearless sob of agony. But Miss Vandeleuronce again interfered in his behalf.

"Mr. Scrymgeour," she said, speaking in clear and eventones, "you must not be concerned at my father's harshexpressions. I felt no disgust for you; on the contrary, Iasked an opportunity to make your better acquaintance. Asfor what has passed to-night, believe me, it has filled mymind with both pity and esteem."

Just then Mr. Rolles made a convulsive movement withhis arm, which convinced Francis that he was only drugged,and was beginning to throw off the influence of the opiate.Mr. Vandeleur stooped over him and examined his face foran instant.

"Come, come!" cried he, raising his head. "Let there bean end of this. And since you are so pleased with hisconduct, Miss Vandeleur, take a candle and show the bastardout."

The young lady hastened to obey.

"Thank you," said Francis, as soon as he was alone withher in the garden. "I thank you from my soul. This hasbeen the bitterest evening of my life, but it will have alwaysone pleasant recollection."

"I spoke as I felt," she replied, "and in justice to you.It made my heart sorry that you should be so unkindly used."

By this time they had reached the garden gate; and MissVandeleur, having set the candle on the ground, was alreadyunfastening the bolts.

"One word more," said Francis. "This is not for the lasttime—I shall see you again, shall I not?"

"Alas!" she answered. "You have heard my father.What can I do but obey?"

"Tell me at least that it is not with your consent,"returned Francis; "tell me that you have no wish to see thelast of me."

"Indeed," replied she, "I have none. You seem to meboth brave and honest."

"Then," said Francis, "give me a keepsake."

She paused for a moment, with her hand upon the key;for the various bars and bolts were all undone, and therewas nothing left but to open the lock.

"If I agree," she said, "will you promise to do as I tellyou from point to point?"

"Can you ask?" replied Francis. "I would do so willinglyon your bare word."

She turned the key and threw open the door.

"Be it so," said she. "You do not know what you ask,but be it so. Whatever you hear," she continued, "whateverhappens, do not return to this house; hurry fast untilyou reach the lighted and populous quarters of the city; eventhere be upon your guard. You are in a greater danger thanyou fancy. Promise me you will not so much as look at mykeepsake until you are in a place of safety."

"I promise," replied Francis.

She put something loosely wrapped in a handkerchief intothe young man's hand; and at the same time, with morestrength than he could have anticipated, she pushed himinto the street.

"Now, run!" she cried.

He heard the door close behind him, and the noise of thebolts being replaced.

"My faith," said he, "since I have promised!"

And he took to his heels down the lane that leads into theRue Ravignan.

He was not fifty paces from the house with the greenblinds when the most diabolical outcry suddenly arose out ofthe stillness of the night. Mechanically he stood still;another passenger followed his example; in the neighboringfloors he saw people crowding to the windows; a conflagrationcould not have produced more disturbance in this emptyquarter. And yet it seemed to be all the work of a singleman, roaring between grief and rage, like a lioness robbed ofher whelps; and Francis was surprised and alarmed to hear hisown name shouted with English imprecations to the wind.

His first movement was to return to the house; his second,as he remembered Miss Vandeleur's advice, to continuehis flight with greater expedition than before; and he was inthe act of turning to put his thought in action, when theDictator, bare-headed, bawling aloud, his white hair blowingabout his head, shot past him like a ball out of the cannon'smouth, and went careering down the street.

"That was a close shave," thought Francis to himself."What he wants with me, and why he should be so disturbed,I can not think; but he is plainly not good company for themoment, and I can not do better than follow MissVandeleur's advice."

So saying, he turned to retrace his steps, thinking to doubleand descend by the Rue Lepic itself while his pursuer shouldcontinue to follow after him on the other line of street. Theplan was ill-devised: as a matter of fact, he should have takenhis seat in the nearest café, and waited there until the firstheat of the pursuit was over. But besides that Francis hadno experience and little natural aptitude for the small warof private life, he was so unconscious of any evil on hispart, that he saw nothing to fear beyond a disagreeableinterview. And to disagreeable interviews he felt he hadalready served his apprenticeship that evening; nor could hesuppose that Miss Vandeleur had left anything unsaid.Indeed, the young man was sore both in body and mind—theone was all bruised, the other was full of smarting arrows;and he owned to himself that Mr. Vandeleur was master ofa very deadly tongue.

The thought of his bruises reminded him that he hadnot only come without a hat, but that his clothes hadconsiderably suffered in his descent through the chestnut. Atthe first magazine he purchased a cheap wideawake, and hadthe disorder of his toilet summarily repaired. The keepsake,still rolled in the handkerchief, he thrust in the meanwhileinto his trousers pocket.

Not many steps beyond the shop he was conscious of asudden shock, a hand upon his throat, an infuriated faceclose to his own, and an open mouth bawling curses in hisear. The Dictator, having found no trace of his quarry, wasreturning by the other way. Francis was a stalwart youngfellow, but he was no match for his adversary whether instrength or skill; and after a few ineffectual struggles heresigned himself entirely to his captor.

"What do you want with me?" said he.

"We will talk of that at home," returned the Dictator,grimly.

And he continued to march the young man up hill in thedirection of the house with the green blinds.

But Francis, although he no longer struggled, was onlywaiting an opportunity to make a bold push for freedom.With a sudden jerk he left the collar of his coat in the handsof Mr. Vandeleur, and once more made off at his best speedin the direction of the Boulevards.

The tables were now turned. If the Dictator was thestronger, Francis, in the top of his youth, was the morefleet of foot, and he had soon effected his escape among thecrowds. Relieved for a moment, but with a growingsentiment of alarm and wonder in his mind, he walked brisklyuntil he debouched upon the Place de l'Opera, lit up like daywith electric lamps.

"This, at least," thought he, "should satisfy Miss Vandeleur."

And turning to his right along the Boulevards, he enteredthe Café Americain and ordered some beer. It was both lateand early for the majority of the frequenters of theestablishment. Only two or three persons, all men, were dottedhere and there at separate tables in the hall; and Franciswas too much occupied by his own thoughts to observetheir presence.

He drew the handkerchief from his pocket. The objectwrapped in it proved to be a morocco case, clasped andornamented in gilt, which opened by means of a spring, anddisclosed to the horrified young man a diamond of monstrousbigness and extraordinary brilliancy. The circumstancewas so inexplicable, the value of the stone was plainlyso enormous, that Francis sat staring into the open casketwithout movement, without conscious thought, like a manstricken suddenly with idiocy.

A hand was laid upon his shoulder, lightly but firmly, anda quiet voice, which yet had in it the ring of command,uttered these words in his ear:

"Close the casket, and compose your face."

Looking up, he beheld a man, still young, of an urbaneand tranquil presence, and dressed with rich simplicity. Thispersonage had risen from a neighboring table, and, bringinghis glass with him, had taken a seat beside Francis.

"Close the casket," repeated the stranger, "and put itquietly back into your pocket, where I feel persuaded itshould never have been. Try, if you please, to throw offyour bewildered air, and act as thought I were one of youracquaintances whom you had met by chance. So! Touchglasses with me. That is better. I fear, sir, you must bean amateur."

And the stranger pronounced these last words with asmile of peculiar meaning, leaned back in his seat, andenjoyed a deep inhalation of tobacco.

"For God's sake," said Francis, "tell me who you are andwhat this means? Why I should obey your most unusualsuggestions I am sure I know not; but the truth is, I havefallen this evening into so many perplexing adventures, andall I meet conduct themselves so strangely, that I think Imust either have gone mad or wandered into another planetYour face inspires me with confidence; you seem wise, good,and experienced; tell me, for Heaven's sake, why you accostme in so odd a fashion?"

"All in due time," replied the stranger. "But I have thefirst hand, and you must begin by telling me how the Rajah'sDiamond is in your possession."

"The Rajah's Diamond!" echoed Francis.

"I would not speak so loud, if I were you," returned theother. "But most certainly you have the Rajah's Diamondin your pocket. I have seen and handled it a score of timesin Sir Thomas Vandeleur's collection."

"Sir Thomas Vandeleur! The General! My father!"cried Francis.

"Your father?" repeated the stranger. "I was not awarethe General had any family."

"I am illegitimate, sir," replied Francis, with a flush.

The other bowed with gravity. It was a respectful bow,as of a man silently apologizing to his equal; and Francisfelt relieved and comforted, he scarce knew why. The societyof this person did him good; he seemed to touch firm ground;a strong feeling of respect grew up in his bosom, andmechanically he removed his wideawake as though in the presenceof a superior.

"I perceive," said the stranger, "that your adventures havenot all been peaceful. Your collar is torn, your face isscratched, you have a cut upon your temple; you will,perhaps, pardon my curiosity when I ask you to explain howyou came by these injuries, and how you happen to havestolen property to an enormous value in your pocket."

"I must differ from you!" returned Francis, hotly. "Ipossess no stolen property. And if you refer to the diamond, itwas given to me not an hour ago by Miss Vandeleur in theRue Lepic."

"By Miss Vandeleur of the Rue Lepic!" repeated theother. "You interest me more than you suppose. Praycontinue."

"Heavens!" cried Francis.

His memory had made a sudden bound. He had seenMr. Vandeleur take an article from the breast of his druggedvisitor, and that article, he was now persuaded, was amorocco case.

"You have a light?" inquired the stranger.

"Listen," replied Francis. "I know not who you are, butI believe you to be worthy of confidence and helpful; I findmyself in strange waters; I must have counsel and support,and since you invite me I shall tell you all."

And he briefly recounted his experiences since the daywhen he was summoned from the bank by his lawyer.

"Yours is indeed a remarkable history," said the stranger,after the young man had made an end of his narrative; "andyour position is full of difficulty and peril. Many wouldcounsel you to seek out your father, and give the diamondto him; but I have other views. Waiter!" he cried.

The waiter drew near.

"Will you ask the manager to speak with me a moment?"said he; and Francis observed once more, both in his toneand manner, the evidence of a habit of command.

The waiter withdrew, and returned in a moment with themanager, who bowed with obsequious respect.

"What," said he, "can I do to serve you?"

"Have the goodness," replied the stranger, indicatingFrancis, "to tell this gentleman my name."

"You have the honor, sir," said the functionary, addressingyoung Scrymgeour, "to occupy the same table with HisHighness Prince Florizel of Bohemia."

Francis rose with precipitation, and made a gratefulreverence to the Prince, who bade him resume his seat.

"I thank you," said Florizel, once more addressing thefunctionary; "I am sorry to have deranged you for so smalla matter."

And he dismissed him with a movement of his hand.

"And now," added the Prince, turning to Francis, "giveme the diamond."

Without a word the casket was handed over.

"You have done right," said Florizel; "your sentimentshave properly inspired you, and you will live to be gratefulfor the misfortunes of to-night. A man, Mr. Scrymgeour,may fall into a thousand perplexities, but if his heart beupright and his intelligence unclouded, he will issue fromthem all without dishonor. Let your mind be at rest; youraffairs are in my hand; and with the aid of Heaven I amstrong enough to bring them to a good end. Follow me,if you please, to my carriage."

So saying, the Prince arose and, having left a piece ofgold for the waiter, conducted the young man from the caféand along the Boulevard to where an unpretentious broughamand a couple of servants out of livery awaited his arrival.

"This carriage," said he, "is at your disposal; collectyour baggage as rapidly as you can make it convenient, andmy servants will conduct you to a villa in the neighborhoodof Paris where you can wait in some degree of comfortuntil I have had time to arrange your situation. You willfind there a pleasant garden, a library of good authors, acook, a cellar, and some good cigars, which I recommendto your attention. Jerome," he added, turning to one of theservants, "you have heard what I say; I leave Mr. Scrymgeourin your charge; you will, I know, be careful of myfriend."

Francis uttered some broken phrases of gratitude.

"It will be time enough to thank me," said the Prince,"when you are acknowledged by your father and married toMiss Vandeleur."

And with that the Prince turned away and strolled leisurelyin the direction of Montmarte. He hailed the firstpassing cab, gave an address, and a quarter of an hourafterward, having discharged the driver some distancelower, he was knocking at Mr. Vandeleur's garden-gate.

It was opened with singular precautions by the Dictatorin person.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"You must pardon me this late visit, Mr. Vandeleur,"replied the Prince.

"Your Highness is always welcome," returned Mr. Vandeleur,stepping back.

The Prince profited by the open space, and without waitingfor his host walked right into the house and opened thedoor of the salon. Two people were seated there; one wasMiss Vandeleur, who bore the marks of weeping about hereyes, and was still shaken from time to time by a sob; inthe other the Prince recognized the young man who hadconsulted him on literary matters about a month before, ina club smoking-room.

"Good-evening, Miss Vandeleur," said Florizel; "you lookfatigued. Mr. Rolles, I believe? I hope you have profitedby the study of Gaboriau, Mr. Rolles."

But the young clergyman's temper was too much embitteredfor speech; and he contented himself with bowingstiffly, and continued to gnaw his lip.

"To what good wind," said Mr. Vandeleur, following hisguest, "am I to attribute the honor of your Highness'spresence?"

"I am come on business," returned the Prince; "on businesswith you; as soon as that is settled I shall requestMr. Rolles to accompany me for a walk. Mr. Rolles," he added,with severity, "let me remind you that I have not yet satdown."

The clergyman sprang to his feet with an apology; whereuponthe Prince took an armchair beside the table, handedhis hat to Mr. Vandeleur, his cane to Mr. Rolles, and,leaving them standing and thus menially employed upon hisservice, spoke as follows:

"I have come here, as I said, upon business; but, had Icome looking for pleasure, I could not have been moredispleased with my reception nor more dissatisfied with mycompany. You, sir," addressing Mr. Rolles, "you havetreated your superior in station with discourtesy; you,Vandeleur, receive me with a smile, but you know right wellthat your hands are not yet cleansed from misconduct. Ido not desire to be interrupted, sir," he added, imperiously;"I am here to speak, and not to listen; and I have to askyou to hear me with respect, and to obey punctiliously. Atthe earliest possible date your daughter shall be married atthe Embassy to my friend, Francis Scrymgeour, yourbrother's acknowledged son. You will oblige me by offeringnot less than ten thousand pounds dowry. For yourself,I will indicate to you in writing a mission of someimportance in Siam which I destine to your care. And now, sir,you will answer me in two words whether or not you agreeto these conditions."

"Your Highness will pardon me," said Mr. Vandeleur, "andpermit me, with all respect, to submit to him two queries?"

"The permission is granted," replied the Prince.

"Your Highness," resumed the Dictator, "has calledMr. Scrymgeour his friend. Believe me, had I known he wasthus honored, I should have treated him with proportionalrespect."

"You interrogate adroitly," said the Prince; "but it willnot serve your turn. You have my commands; if I hadnever seen that gentleman before to-night, it would notrender them less absolute."

"Your Highness interprets my meaning with his usualsubtlety," returned Vandeleur. "Once more: I have, unfortunately,put the police upon the track of Mr. Scrymgeour ona charge of theft; am I to withdraw or to uphold theaccusation?"

"You will please yourself," replied Florizel. "The questionis one between your conscience and the laws of thisland. Give me my hat; and you, Mr. Rolles, give me mycane and follow me. Miss Vandeleur, I wish you good-evening.I judge," he added to Vandeleur, "that your silencemeans unqualified assent."

"If I can do no better," replied the old man, "I shallsubmit; but I warn you openly it shall not be without astruggle."

"You are old," said the Prince; "but years are disgracefulto the wicked. Your age is more unwise than the youth ofothers. Do not provoke me, or you may find me harderthan you dream. This is the first time that I have fallenacross your path in anger; take care that it be the last."

With these words, motioning the clergyman to follow,Florizel left the apartment and directed his steps towardthe garden gate; and the Dictator, following with a candle,gave them light, and once more undid the elaborate fasteningswith which he sought to protect himself from intrusion.

"Your daughter is no longer present," said the Prince,turning on the threshold. "Let me tell you that I understandyour threats; and you have only to lift your hand tobring upon yourself sudden and irremediable ruin."

The Dictator made no reply; but as the Prince turnedhis back upon him in the lamplight he made a gesture fullof menace and insane fury; and the next moment, slippinground a corner, he was running at full speed for the nearestcab-stand.

[Here, says my Arabian, the thread of events is finallydiverted from "The House with the Green Blinds." Onemore adventure, he adds, and we have done with "TheRajah's Diamond." That last link in the chain is knownamong the inhabitants of Bagdad by the name of "TheAdventure of Prince Florizel and a Detective."]

THE ADVENTURE OF PRINCE FLORIZEL AND A DETECTIVE

Prince Florizel walked with Mr. Rolles to the doorof a small hotel where the latter resided. They spoke muchtogether, and the clergyman was more than once affectedto tears by the mingled severity and tenderness of Florizel'sreproaches.

"I have made ruin of my life," he said at last. "Help me;tell me what I am to do; I have, alas! neither the virtues ofa priest nor the dexterity of a rogue."

"Now that you are humbled," said the Prince, "I commandno longer; the repentant have to do with God and notwith princes. But if you will let me advise you, go toAustralia as a colonist, seek menial labor in the open air, andtry to forget that you have ever been a clergyman, or thatyou ever set eyes on that accursed stone."

"Accursed, indeed!" replied Mr. Rolles. "Where is it now?What further hurt is it not working for mankind?"

"It will do no more evil," returned the Prince. "It ishere in my pocket. And this," he added, kindly, "will showthat I place some faith in your penitence, young as it is."

"Suffer me to touch your hand," pleaded Mr. Rolles.

"No," replied Prince Florizel, "not yet."

The tone in which he uttered these last words waseloquent in the ears of the young clergyman; and for someminutes after the Prince had turned away he stood on thethreshold following with his eyes the retreating figure andinvoking the blessing of Heaven upon a man so excellent incounsel.

For several hours the Prince walked alone in unfrequentedstreets. His mind was full of concern; what to dowith the diamond, whether to return it to its owner, whomhe judged unworthy of this rare possession, or to take somesweeping and courageous measure and put it out of thereach of all mankind at once and forever, was a problem toograve to be decided in a moment. The manner in which ithad come into his hands appeared manifestly providential;and as he took out the jewel and looked at it under thestreet lamps, its size and surprising brilliancy inclined himmore and more to think of it as of an unmixed anddangerous evil for the world.

"God help me!" he thought; "if I look at it much oftenerI shall begin to grow covetous myself."

At last, though still uncertain in his mind, he turned hissteps toward the small but elegant mansion on the riversidewhich had belonged for centuries to his royal family. Thearms of Bohemia are deeply graved over the door and uponthe tall chimneys; passengers have a look into a green courtset with the most costly flowers, and a stork, the only onein Paris, perches on the gable all day long and keeps a crowdbefore the house. Grave servants are seen passing to andfro within; and from time to time the great gate is thrownopen and a carriage rolls below the arch. For many reasonsthis residence was especially dear to the heart of PrinceFlorizel; he never drew near to it without enjoying thatsentiment of home-coming so rare in the lives of the great;and on the present evening he beheld its tall roof and mildlyilluminated windows with unfeigned relief and satisfaction.

As he was approaching the postern-door by which healways entered when alone, a man stepped forth from theshadow and presented himself with an obeisance in thePrince's path.

"I have the honor of addressing Prince Florizel ofBohemia?" said he.

"Such is my title," replied the Prince. "What do youwant with me?"

"I am," said the man, "a detective, and I have to presentyour Highness with this billet from the Prefect of Police."

The Prince took the letter and glanced it through bythe light of the street lamp. It was highly apologetic, butrequested him to follow the bearer to the Prefecturewithout delay.

"In short," said Florizel, "I am arrested."

"Your Highness," replied the officer, "nothing, I amcertain, could be further from the intention of the Prefect.You will observe that he has not granted a warrant. It ismere formality, or call it, if you prefer, an obligation thatyour Highness lays on the authorities."

"At the same time," asked the Prince, "if I were torefuse to follow you?"

"I will not conceal from your Highness that a considerablediscretion has been granted me," replied the detectivewith a bow.

"Upon my word," cried Florizel, "your effrontery astoundsme! Yourself, as an agent, I must pardon; but your superiorsshall dearly smart for their misconduct. What, haveyou any idea, is the cause of this impolitic and unconstitutionalact? You will observe that I have as yet neitherrefused nor consented, and much may depend on your promptand ingenuous answer. Let me remind you, officer, that thisis an affair of some gravity."

"Your Highness," said the detective humbly, "GeneralVandeleur and his brother have had the incredible presumptionto accuse you of theft. The famous diamond, theydeclare, is in your hands. A word from you in denial willmost amply satisfy the Prefect; nay, I go further: if yourHighness would so far honor a subaltern as to declare hisignorance of the matter even to myself, I should askpermission to retire upon the spot."

Florizel, up to the last moment, had regarded his adventurein the light of a trifle, only serious upon internationalconsiderations. At the name of Vandeleur the horrible truthbroke upon him in a moment; he was not only arrested, buthe was guilty. This was not only an annoying incident—itwas a peril to his honor. What was he to say? What washe to do? The Rajah's Diamond was indeed an accursedstone; and it seemed as if he were to be the last victim toits influence.

One thing was certain. He could not give the requiredassurance to the detective. He must gain time.

His hesitation had not lasted a second.

"Be it so," said he, "let us walk together to the Prefecture."

The man once more bowed, and proceeded to followFlorizel at a respectful distance in the rear.

"Approach," said the Prince. "I am in a humor to talk,and, if I mistake not, now I look at you again, this is notthe first time that we have met."

"I count it an honor," replied the officer, "that your Highnessshould recollect my face. It is eight years since I hadthe pleasure of an interview."

"To remember faces," returned Florizel, "is as much apart of my profession as it is of yours. Indeed, rightlylooked upon, a Prince and a detective serve in the samecorps. We are both combatants against crime; only mineis the more lucrative and yours the more dangerous rank,and there is a sense in which both may be made equallyhonorable to a good man. I had rather, strange as you maythink it, be a detective of character and parts than a weakand ignoble sovereign."

The officer was overwhelmed.

"Your Highness returns good for evil," said he. "Toan act of presumption he replies by the most amiablecondescension."

"How do you know," replied Florizel, "that I am notseeking to corrupt you?"

"Heaven preserve me from the temptation!" cried thedetective.

"I applaud your answer," returned the Prince. "It isthat of a wise and honest man. The world is a great placeand stocked with wealth and beauty, and there is no limitto the rewards that may be offered. Such a one who wouldrefuse a million of money may sell his honor for an empireor the love of a woman; and I myself, who speak to you,have seen occasions so tempting, provocations so irresistibleto the strength of human virtue, that I have been glad totread in your steps and recommend myself to the grace ofGod. It is thus, thanks to that modest and becoming habitalone," he added, "that you and I can walk this towntogether with untarnished hearts."

"I had always heard that you were brave," replied theofficer, "but I was not aware that you were wise and pious.You speak the truth, and you speak it with an accent thatmoves me to the heart. This world is indeed a place oftrial."

"We are now," said Florizel, "in the middle of the bridge.Lean your elbows on the parapet and look over. As thewater rushing below, so the passions and complications oflife carry away the honesty of weak men. Let me tell youa story."

"I receive your Highness's commands," replied the man.

And, imitating the Prince, he leaned against the parapet,and disposed himself to listen. The city was already sunkin slumber; had it not been for the infinity of lights and theoutline of buildings on the starry sky, they might have beenalone beside some country river.

"An officer," began Prince Florizel, "a man of courage andconduct, who had already risen by merit to an eminent rank,and won not only admiration but respect, visited, in anunfortunate hour for his peace of mind, the collections of anIndian prince. Here he beheld a diamond so extraordinary forsize and beauty that from that instant he had only one desirein life: honor, reputation, friendship, the love of country, hewas ready to sacrifice all for this lump of sparkling crystal.For three years he served this semi-barbarian potentate asJacob served Laban; he falsified frontiers, he connived atmurders, he unjustly condemned and executed a brother-officerwho had the misfortune to displease the Rajah by somehonest freedoms; lastly, at a time of great danger to hisnative land, he betrayed a body of his fellow-soldiers, andsuffered them to be defeated and massacred by thousands.In the end, he had amassed a magnificent fortune, andbrought home with him the coveted diamond.

"Years passed," continued the Prince, "and at length thediamond is accidentally lost. It falls into the hands of asimple and laborious youth, a student, a minister of God, justentering on a career of usefulness and even distinction. Uponhim also the spell is cast; he deserts everything, his holycalling, his studies, and flees with the gem into a foreigncountry. The officer has a brother, an astute, daring,unscrupulous man, who learns the clergyman's secret. Whatdoes he do? Tell his brother, inform the police? No; uponthis man also the Satanic charm has fallen; he must havethe stone for himself. At the risk of murder, he drugs theyoung priest and seizes the prey. And now, by an accidentwhich is not important to my moral, the jewel passes out ofhis custody into that of another, who, terrified at what hesees, gives it into the keeping of a man in high station andabove reproach.

"The officer's name is Thomas Vandeleur," continued Florizel."The stone is called the Rajah's Diamond. And"—suddenlyopening his hand—"you behold it here before youreyes." The officer started back with a cry.

"We have spoken of corruption," said the Prince. "Tome this nugget of bright crystal is as loathsome as though itwere crawling with the worms of death; it is as shocking asthough it were compacted out of innocent blood. I see ithere in my hand, and I know it is shining with hell-fire. Ihave told you but a hundredth part of its story; what passedin former ages, to what crimes and treacheries it incited menof yore, the imagination trembles to conceive; for years andyears it has faithfully served the powers of hell; enough, Isay, of blood, enough of disgrace, enough of broken lives andfriendships; all things come to an end, the evil like the good;pestilence as well as beautiful music; and as for this diamond,God forgive me if I do wrong, but its empire ends to-night."

The Prince made a sudden movement with his hand, andthe jewel, describing an arc of light, dived with a splash intothe flowing river.

"Amen," said Florizel, with gravity. "I have slain acockatrice!"

"God pardon me!" cried the detective. "What have youdone? I am a ruined man."

"I think," returned the Prince with a smile, "that manywell to do people in this city might envy you your ruin."

"Alas! your Highness!" said the officer, "and you corruptme after all?"

"It seems there was no help for it," replied Florizel."And now let us go forward to the Prefecture."

Not long after, the marriage of Francis Scrymgeour andMiss Vandeleur was celebrated in great privacy; and thePrince acted on that occasion as groomsman. The twoVandeleurs surmised some rumor of what had happened to thediamond; and their vast diving operations on the River Seineare the wonder and amusement of the idle. It is true thatthrough some miscalculation they have chosen the wrongbranch of the river. As for the Prince, that sublime person,having now served his turn, may go, along with the "ArabianAuthor," topsy-turvy into space. But if the reader insists onmore specific information, I am happy to say that a recentrevolution hurled him from the throne of Bohemia, inconsequence of his continued absence and edifying neglect ofpublic business; and that his Highness now keeps a cigarstore in Rupert Street, much frequented by other foreignrefugees. I go there from time to time to smoke and have achat, and find him as great a creature as in the days of hisprosperity; he has an Olympian air behind the counter; andalthough a sedentary life is beginning to tell upon hiswaistcoat, he is probably, take him for all in all, the handsomesttobacconist in London.

THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK

BY BROUGHTON BRANDENBURG

Broughton Brandenburg, a young Ohioan,was educated at Otterbein and PrincetonUniversities, became a war correspondent attwenty, serving in the Spanish-American andBoer wars, and shortly thereafter attractedattention as a traveler and sociologicalinvestigator. He studied immigration disguisedas an Italian peasant, and sea-faring life as acommon sailor and stevedore. Then he began towrite sea stories, immigration articles, circusstories, and occasionally unusually interestingdetective stories. "Lawrence Rand" has beenthe central figure in a number of talesnotable for business-like handling of real people.

THE MYSTERY OF THE STEEL DISK

By BROUGHTON BRANDENBURG

The telephone bell in the outer office rang, andopening the switch at the side of my desk I tookup my stand-'phone and answered:

"Hello. Well?"

"Hello, is this Duncan & Betts?" inquired a man's voicewith a slight foreign accent.

"Yes."

"I want to speak wit' Mister Lawrence Duncan."

"This is Mr. Duncan. What can I do for you?"

"T'is is Mr. Martin Anderson of 196 Gramercy Park.Yust now while I was eating my breakwast in my roomsover my real estate office, I was called to my telephone byMr. George Rhodes, who is in t'e Municipal Bank. He is ayoung man who wants to marry my daughter Marie, and hecalled me up to tell me t'at when he opened t'e wault a littlewhile ago he found t'at since he closed it t'e night before apackage wit' more t'an a million dollars in bonds was gone.He is responsible for t'e wault and no one else, and hecalled me up to tell me, and say he did not take it, to tellMarie t'at, but he wit'drew his request for her hand. Now,t'en, Mr. Duncan, I don't care one tam about him, but mydaughter must not be made to come in in t'is case wit' t'enoos-papers or t'e gossip, so I want you to go over to t'ebank and see him and help him out in every way, yust so hekeep his mout' shut about Marie, and if t'ey lock him up Iwant t'at she don't get to see him or no such foolishness.I send you my check for five hundred t'is morning, and Iwant to know all about what you do, at my house to-night.Will you do it?"

"Yes, I will go over at once," I answered.

"T'at is all. Good-by—"

"Thank you. Good-by. I will call this evening."

"Good-by, Mr. Duncan."

My first impression as I hung up the receiver was athrill at being thus thrust into the centre of what appearedto be one of the biggest cases which had transpired inyears. My second was a pleasurable recognition of thecrisp, direct, clear, and ample statement of the matter whichthe old real estate man had made. It had all been done intwo minutes or less. It is not often that we lawyersencounter people outside of our own and the newspaperprofession who can state anything so concisely and not lose anyvalue in it.

At this moment, Betts, my partner, and the stenographercame in, so I hurried over to the Municipal Bank.

Business was just beginning for the day. I could seeat a glance over the men behind the brass screens that theyas a whole did not as yet know that the bank was a loserby a million. The cashier's door was open, and he wasjust smoothing out his morning mail in the calmest ofmanners. No one looked up as I entered; that showed normalstate of mind among the clerks.

I asked for Mr. George Rhodes, and a tall, broad shouldered,clean-cut young chap came forward from a desk inthe extreme rear of the place and took my card through thebars. Even with the slight view I could get of his face, Iperceived he was pale and haggard. He opened a side doorand admitted me to the anteroom of the directors' chamber.I told him I had come in his interest, retained by Mr. Anderson,and stated my client's reason for sending me, namely,to prevent his daughter's name from being mentioned in thematter at any or all times, and asked the young man what Icould do for him.

He had been sitting running his thumb-nail preciselyalong the edge of my card, and now he looked up and said,in a dull, expressionless way:

"Really, Mr. Duncan, I have thought the matter overcarefully, and there is nothing to do."

He seemed so numbed and hopeless that I was amused.

"You surprise me, Mr. Rhodes," I said. "Surely a thinglike this can not in itself shut off any action. In the firstplace, give me the facts. We will see what can be done."

"The facts are few enough," he answered, simply. "Thebonds were in a package four inches thick. They were '90government fours, clipped and worth one million two hundredthousand when entered the first of the month, threeweeks ago. They were marked with a typewritten slip onthe end and lay in the securities compartment of the vault.Last night, with the assistant cashier and the receivingteller, as is our rule here, I checked the cash and books goingin. We together do not check securities in that compartmentexcept once every month, but I go over them everynight and morning in the way that I was instructed by thecashier; that is, the packets are piled in alphabeticalclassification, and the piling is done so that if a packet were takenout it would make a hole which I should see at a glance, andby reference to my list see what it was. Last night therewas nothing missing, for the pile was perfectly even acrossthe top, and we closed the vault and set the time-lock. Thismorning the time-lock was still running when I arrivedand the safe was absolutely just as I left it. When I openedthe vault, I went over the securities as usual, and, observinga slight depression in the rear tier, put my hand on it. Itgave way enough to show something was missing, and Ichecked off the packets and found the '90 governments gone.I checked them over three times, and then, when I had gotover the shock, went into the booth outside and telephonedMr. Anderson just what I have told you. Having asked himfor his daughter, I felt I owed that to them and to myself.The assistant cashier and the assistant receiving teller werewith me when I opened the vault, and I checked out thebooks and cash so that they know the safe had not beentouched overnight; now you see it is up to me to account forthose bonds. Mr. Anderson asked me to wait and see youbefore I told the cashier. The president is not down yet."

I had been watching him covertly as he spoke, and theinstant that he had given me the case I felt the convictionstealing over me that he had the bonds, or had had them.The case of a small-salaried trust company clerk, who putfour hundred thousand dollars of his employer's moneyinto Wall Street in four weeks, rose in my mind. Nomatter, however, whether he had taken them or not, a fifteenor twenty years' term stared him in the face. Perhaps hethought that worth the gain. I supposed that, of course,he was bonded for one or two hundred thousand by someone of the fidelity companies, so I did not trouble to askhim as to that. I merely remarked, drawing on my gloves:

"Well, Mr. Rhodes, I would advise you to put backthe bonds if you can do it without detection, orelse—slide."

A red flush crept up to his temples. It was either angeror guilt, probably both, but he controlled himself and saidalmost between his teeth, rising and turning away:

"I wish to bid you good-morning, Mr. Duncan. Youcan go back to Mr. Anderson and tell him Marie willreceive a last note from me in an hour, and now, if you willexcuse me, I shall inform the cashier."

Something in his manner and the remembrance of hisquixotic haste in calling up his sweetheart's father causeda pang of remorse to shoot through me and I put out myhand and stopped him.

"I beg your pardon, Rhodes. I did not mean to be brutal,but the facts—"

The tense line of his white lips relaxed into a sicklysmile.

"Yes, the facts—I know. I am not in a position toresent being reminded of them. But, I have made up mymind to tell the cashier."

We left the room together, and I walked with him alongthe outer corridor to the cashier's door, where thestenographer said he had gone out, and we found the presidentwould not be down until one o'clock.

"See here, Rhodes," I said with sudden determination,"I'm going to do what I can in this matter. Is there anyreason why it will become known as a matter of course?"

"The first of the month, a week from to-morrow, willbe the triple checking-up time."

"Very well, just you hold off this morning, anyhow.You will probably have three-quarters of an hour forlunch; meet me at Haan's at 12:15."

"All right. Good-morning."

After I had gone twenty yards from the bank I wassorry that I had made the engagement. It was not in theline of my duty to my client, Mr. Anderson, and I waslikely to become unprofitably involved with young Rhodes.I saw, even without thought, that there were twoalternatives. Either he had taken the bonds or they had beenremoved overnight from the vault, and I believed he wastelling the truth when he said the vault was all right inthe morning, for if it had not been, he would have eagerlyseized on the circumstance; and furthermore, the factwould have been known by the other officials and the stateof peace which I had found on entering would not haveexisted. There was but one thing to think: Rhodes hadtaken the bonds, or was shielding the thief.

I related the case to Betts when I reached the office, andhe laughed incredulously:

"Say, Duncan," he said, "that is a bit too wild a talefor me. Twelve hundred thousand dollars gone from atime-locked bank vault overnight without opening it! Gee!Why don't you consult that man Rand, Lawrence Rand,the fellow who has been untying some of those hard knotsout West? Don't you remember the Johnstone mirrorpoisoning case and the Rebstock mines affair?"

"Yes, I do. Is Rand his name? Where is he to be found?"

"Jordan went up to his place one night—I think it isin Fifty-seventh Street, in some apartment house. Here,look him up in the telephone book."

I found him entered there. "Lawrence Rand, SpecialAgent. 32088 Plaza." And calling him up made anengagement for an hour later.

I was ushered into the reception-room of his apartmentby a dark-skinned young giant, whom I at first thoughta negro, but as I saw him in the full light and noted hisstraight hair and heavy coppery features, I was surprisedto find he was a full-blooded Indian. He was dressed inclothes that did not seem compatible with the rank of aservant.

Rand entered with a brisk step, a frank smile on hiskeen face. As he gripped my hand I realized that far morephysical power was in his possession than one would thinkby his frame, of medium height and slender almost tothinness. It was afterward that I found every inch of himwas whipcord and steel.

We sat down in the inner room and I told him the storyof Rhodes and the bonds. When I had finished he frownedever so slightly and said, "Is that all?"

I thought I had been rather explicit. So I replied witha little rigor: "That seems to cover the case."

"Do you know whether there is one night-watchmanor two? What is the make of the safe? Have there everbeen any attempts at robbery of the bank? Are all of themembers of the bank staff present this morning? Has thepresident been on the right side of the market for the pastyear?"

The questions came like shots from a rapid-fire gun.He did not wait for me to answer.

"I see you do not know. We will waste no time. Youare to meet young Rhodes at lunch. I want you to inviteme, too, for I want to see him."

We took a Sixth Avenue train to Rector Street, and at12:15 chose our seats in a corner compartment in Haan's.We had been at the table a moment when Rhodes, stillvery pale, entered and looked around for me. As I introducedhim to Rand, I noticed that the latter, after lookingthe bank clerk full in the eyes a second, let his gaze playlike lightning over Rhodes's head and features, and beforewe sat down he even sought a pretext to step behindRhodes and look at the back of his head.

Rhodes was subjected to a severe questioning at once,and some of the queries seemed to be anything butrelevant, and in sum were meant to make sure that it wasimpossible for any one but Rhodes to take the bonds at anytime the safe was open. After the books and cash hadbeen checked out, Rhodes said, a sliding steel screen wasdrawn over the approach to the vault at such times as hewas not inside to get or replace papers or securitiesordered out on written slip by some one of the officers. Hewas sure the bonds could not have been given out by mistakeon a slip for other securities because the list tallied.

"Then either you took the bonds or they were extractedfrom the safe after the time-lock was set, and thetime-lock being all right up to the present minute, you arefacing toward Sing Sing," summarized Rand, tilting hiscigar and spilling salt into his beer.

Rhodes looked down and swallowed hard at somethingin his throat, but could not answer.

"Who made the vault, when and where?" asked Rand.

"Mahler, in 1890, in Cincinnati."

"Hm, is that so—a Mahler vault, eh? Did I understandyou to say the watchman is an old Irishman named Hanahan,has been at the bank twenty years and has considerableproperty? How do you know about his property?"

"When I was on accounts he always had fifteen ortwenty thousand on time deposits, and drew some largechecks or made heavy deposits when Mr. Anderson boughtor sold property for him—"

"Whom did you say, Mr. Anderson? The real estateagent who sent Mr. Duncan to see you?"

"Yes, Mr. Martin Anderson. He is Hanahan's agent.They were old volunteer firemen together in Williamsburgshortly after they came to this country."

"Indeed! How do you know that?"

"Well, one evening shortly after I met Marie, I went tocall on her and she said her father was not at home; thathe was down at our bank chatting with Hanahan and havinga smoke. Then she told me about their having belonged tothe same fire company. After the old man had taken adislike to me and threatened to shoot me if I came to thehouse again, I used to watch for Hanahan's check, for everytime he drew, I knew he was expecting to see Mr. Andersonand I would go up to the house. I never missed it."

Rand smiled as if he enjoyed the humor in theinstance. He thought a moment and then said:

"Well, now, if you will go back to the bank I willbe over presently accompanied by a man from the Broadwayoffice of Mahler's, and you will be asked to show usthe vault. Please do not indicate that you know me."

When Rhodes was gone, Rand turned to me quickly andsaid: "Mr. Duncan, kindly go over to Mr. Robert Steele inHargan's office in Wall Street and tell him I sent you. Askhim whether any government fours of '90 have been in evidencein the market recently. Meet me in half an hour atthe telephone booth in the Park Row drug store."

I hurried to the office of the great firm of Hargan &Company and sent in my card to Mr. Steele with "throughMr. Rand" on the corner. I was ushered in immediately.

"Mr. Steele, I was sent here by Mr. Rand to inquirewhether there have been any '90 government fours on themarket in more than the usual quantity recently?"

At the question he started visibly and whirled abruptlyaround in his desk chair to face me. He stared at me amoment as if weighing his words forthcoming.

"Well—yes," he said slowly, dropping his eyes in amanner that was anything but frank. "Yes, there havebeen—some." He paused and looked up at me again, took off hisglasses, and, wiping them tentatively, put them on andlooked me full in the face as if decided on his course.

"Since Mr. Rand sent you, it must be all right, for wetrust Mr. Rand thoroughly here. Tell him that a pile ofthem has been dumped into the market in the past week,not into the market exactly, but Strauss brokers had themand loans on them were used to buy Overland Pacific at anaverage of 87, and when it reached 161 last Thursday,whoever was in this pool began to take profits as nearly as wecan tell and closed out the line at an average of 157. Ofcourse Overland went to 136, but she is—let me see—letme see—" he looked at the tape—"is 206, so whoever heldthese bonds must have been outside of Strauss's pool. Itcost us about three million dollars, and if you can tell meany more about it I will be very grateful."

I told him there was absolutely nothing of which I knewpersonally.

Suddenly I remembered that I had not learned even thename of the president of the Municipal Bank, and if Randhad asked Rhodes at lunch I had let it slip by me.Inwardly ashamed of my loose methods, compared withRand's thorough ones, I hastened to ask of Mr. Steele, asa by-matter, being sure that he would know. I was atthe door ready to go out when the matter flashed into mymind.

"By the way, Mr. Steele," I said, "do you happen toknow the president of the Municipal Bank—"

"J. R. Farrington Smith?" He jerked his head aroundsharply toward me as he interrupted me. "Indeed I do." Thenhe emitted a short, grating laugh, and continued, lookingat me sharply all the while: "How odd I should bethinking of him also at that moment! Do you know,Mr. Duncan, that Strauss is or was his broker? Yet, he was onthe short end of Overland very badly; that I know, to mysorrow."

He dropped his voice to a confidence-inviting tone, andsaid as he leaned forward, motioning me to a chair oncemore:

"Come now, Mr. Duncan, why should we dissemble?You are evidently very well informed in this matter. DidSmith flop and put up those bonds to go long on Overland?He made a pretty penny if he did. Honestly, is that the wayhe played fast and loose with us?"

I remained standing and put on my hat to furthersignify that I was about to go.

"Mr. Steele, to tell the truth, I did not know until amoment ago that J. R. Farrington Smith is president of theMunicipal Bank. You have just informed me."

He became very stiff in his manner, and turned to hispapers as if already thinking of them, and said quietly:

"Oh, then we are talking to no purpose. Good morning,Mr. Duncan."

By a short cut and a brisk walk up Nassau Street Ireached the Park Row drug store on the minute of the halfhour. A man was in the telephone booth talking, andjust outside the half-open door was Rand, directing thequeries that the man was making. The stranger wasevidently the man from Mahler's. As I approached Randmotioned me to silence.

"Well, my books show the number is D186N," the safeman was saying; "we have no record of complaints orrepairs back to '94. Have you any before that?—All right,I'll hold the wire.—Hello, yes. You have none at all. Now,what is the pattern of the time-lock?—Neilson patent,yes.— Well, who superintended the Secret Construction Room whenthis one was made?—The old man himself, eh?—Whereis Neilson now?—How long has he been dead?—Well, washis brother-in-law working with him in 1890?—Wait amoment—"

He kept the receiver to his ear and turned to Rand.

"Is there anything else you wish me to ask, Mr. Rand?"

"Inquire if there has ever been any trouble with any Dclass vaults. That will be all."

The safe man repeated the question into the 'phone; receivedthe answer, hung up the receiver, turned around andsaid:

"None but an attempt to blow one open in the ProduceExchange in Springfield. It failed. He says the man whocontrolled the secret measurements on that set of vaultswas the patentee of the time-lock and he is dead. Themeasurements are sealed and filed. The patents went to hisbrother-in-law, who worked with him, who sold themoutright to the company for a song."

"What was his name?" asked Rand, with disappointmentin his voice and manner.

"They have no record and do not remember. He wasjust a drunken thick-headed Swede."

When Rand was paying the telephone toll the clerkfigured on the rate to Cincinnati, so I knew they had beentalking to the Mahler offices at the factory. I told Randjust what had happened in Steele's office, and he smiledslightly and said:

"Well, well, the lost bonds or others have been used ascollateral for a week past, eh, and Farrington Smith was onthe wrong side of the market? I do not think Rhodes will'do any time' if he is clever. I have learned that he was afavorite employee of Smith's. Let us go over to theMunicipal."

At the bank, the man from Mahler's spoke a moment tothe cashier and received his permission to show the vaultto "two prospective customers," and a boy was sent to tellRhodes that the visitors had been accorded the courtesy.

As we passed the president's inner office door, I sawSmith at his desk and noticed how pale and careworn heappeared. I saw that Rand observed it also.

Rhodes admitted us to the enclosure, and, according toRand's previous instructions, gave us no sign of recognition.Rand and the man from Mahler's examined the interior ofthe electrically lighted vault. The safe man tapped the floorall around with the stick he carried, sounding for concealedtunneling, but the inspection was unfruitful. The place wasin perfect order, and the lock responded repeatedly to thesafe man's skilled touch in a way that showed it was inexcellent condition. Rand had been standing still, lookingcarefully at everything within range of his keen eyes,stroking his silver-touched hair lightly with one hand in a wayI have observed many times since.

Suddenly he pulled out his watch, looked at the dial ofthe time-lock, then at his watch, then at the bank clock, anelectrically regulated affair hung on the wall. The clockread 2 P.M. to the second.

"I beg pardon," said Rand to Rhodes. "What time is itby your watch?"

Rhodes took out his timepiece, and said: "I have twoo'clock flat."

I now noticed that the dial of the time-lock stood 1.58:30.

"When did you notice that the clock of the time-lock wasslow?"

"It is slow, isn't it? Why, I had forgot that. It was lastMonday morning, a week ago. I remember I was a littlelate," replied Rhodes.

"Has any one swept in here since?"

Rand asked this with his eyes fixed on a dark corner atthe heel of the right door.

"No, not in the vault."

Rand stooped and put his hand into the corner. For amoment I thought he was picking up something, but hestraightened up and brushed his fingers one against theother as if ridding them of dust, so I knew his hands wereempty.

In a moment he signified he was through and we leftthe place, and at the corner parted with the man fromMahler's. We walked on toward my office.

"What do you make of that?" said Rand suddenly, andI saw that he was holding something toward me between histhumb and forefinger. I was sure he had put neither handin his pockets since we had left the bank.

The small, bright object was merely a plain, smooth-wornbit of steel, thinner than a penny, and not as broad, with asmall round hole in the centre. Just a tiny disk of steel.

"Did you pick that up in the vault?" I asked.

"Yes, out of that dark corner by the door."

"Why, how is that? I saw your hands as you rose andthey were empty."

"Oh, no, you were mistaken, just as that man fromMahler's was. I merely palmed the disk, that is all, so hecould not see it. There is no reason why he should be onthe inside of this case. He thinks too much of his owncleverness as it is."

"Well, what is this thing?" I said, slightly irritated athaving been so easily tricked.

"I wish I could answer that question as easily as you askit," replied Rand, and relapsed into silence.

As we entered the building in which I had my office, thereemerged from an elevator car that had just descended agirl, whose appearance caught my attention. She was attiredin a dark street suit that set her small, trim figure toadvantage, but by contrast emphasized the pallor of her face.Her hair was of that abundant flaxen quality so often seenin Germans and Scandinavians, and her eyes were large anddark blue. They were very troubled and it was plain shehad been crying. There was something bravely piteous inevery line of her face. She paused a moment as if halfexpecting some one and hurried out as we entered the nextup-bound car.

When I went into the office, Betts came in with a slipof paper in his hand. After I had introduced him to Rand,he said:

"Duncan, for shame not to be in when nice young ladiescall on you. The pretty daughter of your old real estateclient, Anderson, was just here. She has received a letterfrom the young fellow who took those bonds in which hesays he wishes her to forget him. She refuses to believehe is guilty, and has had a scene with her father, who musthave told her that he has retained you, for she came downhere demanding that you take her to see the young chap,wherever he is locked up. Has he been arrested yet?"

"No," I said, "he is over in the bank."

"I think he will be there for some time yet," observedRand, looking out the window.

"Well, she will be back in half an hour," said Betts,laying down the strip of paper on my desk. "She did not havea card and wrote her name. Excuse me, Mr. Rand, I am notthrough with my correspondence yet, and it will soon bethree o'clock."

As Betts went out Rand rose and looked at the strip withthe name written in a tall, delicate hand, "Miss MarieNeilson Anderson."

In a short time Miss Anderson came into the outeroffice and I brought her in and closed the door. Withtrembling lips and tears constantly ready to fall, she repeatedwhat she had already told Betts and demanded that Iarrange an interview with Rhodes at once.

I reassured her to the best of my ability. Rand sat quietand said nothing. I thought he might at least have repeatedto her what he had just said to Betts, though I could notexactly make out what were his grounds for the statement.Instead, just before she was leaving, much comforted andcalmer, he said:

"Excuse me, Miss Anderson, when did you last see Mr. Rhodes?"

"Oh, I have had a letter from him nearly every day, butI have not talked with him since Sunday night a week ago,when he came to see me at the house."

"How long have you known him?"

"Nearly two years."

"How did you meet him?"

"Why, he knew papa at the bank, and one day when papawas ill he sent for George to come up to the house to getsome papers about his accounts and papa introduced us.When we were first engaged, he did not seem to dislikeGeorge, and often sat talking with him about matters in thebank and other things."

"By the way, how old are you, Miss Anderson?"

She did not seem to mind the blunt question and repliedquickly:

"I am twenty-one."

"Were you born in this country?"

"Yes, I was born in New York."

"Thank you, kindly; that is all," said Rand, and waspromptly so deep in thought that he barely rose and bowedas she left a few minutes later. He kept his feet and puton his hat as if he, too, were going.

"I believe you told me that you were to go to Anderson'shouse to-night and report, did you not?" he asked.

"Yes, I am sorry that I can not make a better showingboth for my client and for Rhodes."

"I suppose you mean that you hoped a man of my reputationwould have offered better support to you in yours,"he observed with a quizzical smile that nettled me as hewalked over to the door.

"I should like to go with you, Mr. Duncan," he continued."I will meet you at the northwest corner of Gramercy Parkat eight o'clock. Will you be so kind as to bring youngRhodes with you? 'Phone him at the bank, now, and youmight come prepared for anything in the way of a fightfor—we will close up the case to-night."

He shut the door and went out. I was wild to call himback and get an explanation, but pride restrained me.

That evening Rhodes met me by appointment at theFifth Avenue Hotel and we walked over to the corner Randhad named. We had been standing there a moment whena carriage drove up, stopped, and Rand alighted, followedby J. R. Farrington Smith and the brawny Indian.

I could see by the street light that Smith was very white,and the Indian kept just at his elbow and a little behindhim as they advanced to meet us. Rand presented me toSmith, who bowed coldly. If Smith and Rhodes exchangedsalutations I did not notice it. Rand said to me as wewalked along to the house after he had told the cabman towait for him:

"Will you kindly ask Mr. Anderson to see Mr. Duncanand some gentlemen?"

I was angry with him for a number of small things whichhad occurred during the day, but more than ever now forbringing Smith into the case, and at Anderson's house, aproceeding which would be sure to involve Anderson andhis daughter in the exposé that must occur in so short atime.

A little maid admitted us at a door beside Anderson'sreal estate office, and passed back along a narrow hall andup to a well-furnished apartment immediately over the offices.The maid vanished through portières, and I judged by thesounds that she found Anderson in the third room to therear. I could hear him clearing his throat as he came.

As he stepped through the portières, I saw he was a manof fifty, of good appearance, short and heavy, with largehands and a massive jaw. His eyes were very small andnearly hidden by the overfolding wrinkles about them.

"Good-evening, gentlemen," he said cheerily, lookingabout in a pleasant though puzzled way. I rose and wentforward, saying:

"I am Mr. Duncan, Mr. Anderson. I believe you knowMr. Smith and Mr. Rhodes. This is Mr. Lawrence Rand,with whom I have consulted in this matter."

The Indian, whom I scarcely knew how to consider,whether companion of Rand's or his servant, had steppedback into the shadow by the portières, and I do not thinkAnderson saw him, so I made no reference to him whatever.I was very busy thinking just what to say and how to sayit, for Rand's bringing Smith with him showed Smith wasinformed in part or wholly, and was so unexpected that Ihad had no chance to ask him aside just what the situationwas. He left me in no uncertainty. He gracefullysuperseded me in the initiative by drawing back a chair at asmall table in the centre of the room, in the full glow of theshaded light, and saying:

"Would you mind sitting here, please, Mr. Anderson? Ishall want you to write something in a moment and it willbe more convenient for you."

Anderson sat down, as requested, and turned his facetoward Rand as if he knew where the power lay. I couldsee the arteries in his neck throbbing. I noticed thatRhodes was very pale, and the bank president was laboringunder great excitement.

"Now, to be brief, gentlemen, we are about to adjust thismatter of the disappearance of twelve hundred thousanddollars' worth of bonds from the vault of the Municipal Bank."

Rand spoke in a soft even voice. I think I was the onlyman who moved a muscle. I could see that at least Anderson'sblood did not quicken any. His eyes may have turnedtoward Rhodes. I could not tell. Rand went on:

"Before I say anything further, I wish to remind theinterested parties that I have brought an officer with meand any violence would be inadvisable.

"Mr. Anderson, you will kindly turn over to Mr. Smiththat packet of '90 government fours. Mr. Smith will giveyou a receipt in full. You will also give Mr. Smith yourorder on Strauss & Company for four hundred thousanddollars, which is approximately what Mr. Smith lost whencaught short on Overland Pacific ten days ago, and alsoyour order to Mr. George Rhodes for the remainder of yourprofits when you went long on Overland Pacific this lastweek by using the Municipal Bank as an involuntary partner.You will also give your consent to his marriage withyour daughter. Mr. Duncan here will arrange the matter offees and that will close the incident. If you do not, Mr. Smithwill prosecute you and I will furnish the evidence. If Mr. Smithdoes not perform his share I will, in behalf of Mr. Rhodes,inform the bank directors of his hand in Overland. Kindly doas I have requested, Mr. Anderson."

The old fellow never changed color one whit, nor did thethrobbing of the arteries in his neck increase. They diminished,if anything. A bitter sneer came on his face, and ashe spoke he dropped into very broken English.

"Vot iss diss nonsense, Meester, vot-afer-your nem-iss?Vot a ni'ice liddle scheme bote Ah don't ma'eke no mohneybaycoss Ah aindt got dey bonts-s—"

Rand held up a forefinger and the old man stopped. Hewas now breathing hard and was flushed. Rand drew fromhis vest pocket and laid on the table before Anderson thelittle steel disk.

Before Rand could speak, the portières parted, and in theopening stood Marie Anderson, very white and drawn up toher full height. In one hand she extended the packet withthe typewritten slip still on the end.

"Father," she said slowly, in a low, tense voice, "hereare the bonds. By accident I just found them in a jar onthe sideboard."

With surprising quickness Anderson drew out a drawer inthe table at which he sat, snatched up a revolver, leaped tothe doorway, thrusting his daughter aside, but as he turnedand fired pointblank at Rand, who had vaulted the table toreach him, the Indian knocked up the muzzle of the revolverfrom behind. The bullet struck the ceiling and the nextinstant Anderson was on the floor, helpless in the bearlikeclasp of the big red man.

The girl had reeled as if about to faint. Rhodes hadsprung to her assistance, but she recovered herself andseemed to be anxious to get away from her father, as iffrom a reptile. Rhodes led her to the other side of the room.

"Take the gun away from him and set him on the chairagain, Tom," said Rand, as if nothing had happened. Hereturned to his own seat, and we too sat down.

In fifteen seconds the smoke floating about the ceilingwas the only sign of the crisis just passed. Rand beganagain:

"In order to give you an opportunity to recover yourcomposure before you begin writing, Mr. Anderson, and toprevent your indulging in any more foolish lies, I will tellyou the evidence against you. You helped your brother-in-law,Neilson, make the time-lock on the vault ordered forthe Municipal Bank in 1890. You inserted in the journal ofthe main standard of the clock works a steel disk insteadof a brass one, knowing that the steel against steel wouldmake a friction that would wear out both in several years'time. By means of a second time-lock accurately duplicated,and which, if I am not mistaken, is ticking away in thatblack box on the mantel behind you, you were able to tellvery nearly the very hour when you could turn back the boltsof the Municipal vault without let or hindrance. Whenyour brother-in-law died, you sold his patents to thecompany, returned to New York, and began to live for thehour when you could help yourself to whatever you wished.You stopped drinking and settled down. You went into thereal estate business because you could obtain in that mannera permanent hold on Hanahan, the watchman at the Municipal,whom you already knew, and you drew him into thehabit of seeing you on business regularly at the bank atnight. You have his perfect confidence. When you foundthat about the time you were ready to make your haulGeorge Rhodes would be the young man in charge of thevault, you called him to the house on a pretext and madehim acquainted with your daughter and encouraged his visitsthat you might get from him in your chats, bit by bit,knowledge of just what to put your hand on in the shorttime you were in the vault, and how to conceal the theftlong enough for you to convert the securities. This is oneof the deepest and cleverest criminal plots of which I haveever heard. Your life for all these years has been devotedto it. I am not surprised that you succeeded. Your onemistake was in giving so flimsy a pretext to Mr. Duncan forcalling him up and retaining him. That attracted myattention to you. What you really wanted was to be able tohave constant information from Mr. Duncan when he shouldbecome Rhodes's counsel in the natural course of events, asto efforts to explain the disappearance of the bonds in orderto defend Rhodes. In that way you would always knowhow close he was on the track of the real thief, Mr. MartinAnderson. Few men pay attorneys $500 retaining fees topersuade young men who really love their daughters fromdragging them into a scandal which does not essentiallyconcern the daughters at best. You were surprised intothis mistake when Rhodes called you up and crystallizedyour plan to force your choice of counsel on him too hastily.

"On Sunday night a week ago you went to the bank, asyour duplicate time-lock showed you the steel disk was wornso thin a jar on the door would cause the standard to dropand the lock to release. Hanahan, as he told me an hourago, went across the street for some tobacco that Sundaynight, leaving you in the bank. In ninety seconds you hadopened the vault, taken the right packet, opened the case ofthe time-lock, replaced the disk with a brass one, closedthe case, and closed the vault, but—you carelessly droppedthis worn disk on the floor.

"You used the bonds as collateral to buy stock, not asa speculation, but as an investment that would conceal thebonds, and by chance chose Overland Pacific at a low figureand it rose. You thought best to take your profits, and onlyyour greed prevented you from returning the bonds to Rhodesby mail. As we have seen, you had not thought long enoughor deeply enough what you would do with your lifetimeharvest after you got it in your hands, and suddenly youfound yourself out of your depth. You hid the bonds in ajar, just like a foolish old woman. But I must complimentyou on your clear thinking and previous planning. I havenever known of anything so deliberate, and only a phlegmaticScandinavian would be capable of it, especially to endup with such good nerves as you have shown to-night.Mr. Smith does not wish to prosecute you and expose hisspeculations. Since Mr. Smith and Mr. Duncan doubtless haveother engagements to-night, kindly write as I requested afew minutes ago."

Muttering objurgations in his native tongue, Andersonwrote the two drafts, Rhodes's being for more than onehundred thousand, and both Rhodes and Smith receipted. Smithtook the bonds and thrust them into his overcoat pocket.Miss Anderson refused to remain an hour longer under herfather's roof, and left the house to go to the home of adistant relative. I pocketed the odd little steel disk, whichlies before me as I write, with a slip copied from a page ofRand's notebook that lays out so plainly and simply hisquick, sure, and unerring processes in this remarkable case,that I can not refrain from giving it.

(1) Anderson's retaining Duncan very strange.

(2) Rhodes's cranium shows moral incapacity for theft.Innocent.

(3) Neilson's brother-in-law could know lock construction.

(4) Smith lost speculating. Thief won half million withbonds.

(5) Time-clock lost 90 sec. Sunday night, week beforediscovery.

(6) Disk of steel instead of brass. Meant to wear out.Is discarded part of lock. Must be a new disk in lock. Workof expert. Prepared since making of lock.

(7) Marie Neilson Anderson.

(8) Anderson was alone in bank 3 min. Sunday night ofrobbery.

Anderson guilty. Proved and confessed. Adjusted, noproceedings, by L. R.

THE CHRONICLES OF ADDINGTON PEACE

BY B. FLETCHER ROBINSON

Fletcher Robinson is a London journalist,the editor of "Vanity Fair," and author of adozen detective stories in which are recordedthe startling adventures of Mr. AddingtonPeace of Scotland Yard. He collaborated withConan Doyle in "The Hound of theBaskervilles." When some of these stories appearedin the American magazines, for an unexplainedreason (presumably editorial) the nameof the hero was changed to Inspector Hartley.

THE CHRONICLES OF ADDINGTON PEACE

By B. FLETCHER ROBINSON

THE VANISHED MILLIONAIRE

I, James Phillips, stood with my back to thefire, smoking and puzzling over it. It was worthall the headlines the newspapers had given it;there was no loophole to the mystery.

Both sides of the Atlantic knew Silas J. Ford. He hadestablished a business reputation in America that had madehim a celebrity in England from the day he stepped off theliner. Once in London his syndicates and companies andconsolidations had startled the slow-moving British mind.The commercial sky of the United Kingdom was overshadowedby him and his schemes. The papers were full of praiseand blame, of puffs and denunciations. He was a millionaire;he was on the verge of a smash that would paralyze themarkets of the world. He was an abstainer, a drunkard, agambler, a most religious man. He was a confirmedbachelor, a woman hater; his engagement was to be announcedshortly. So was the gossip kept rolling with the limelightalways centred upon the spot where Silas J. Ford happenedto be standing.

And now he had disappeared, vanished, evaporated.

On the night of December 18, a Thursday, he had leftLondon for Meudon Hall, the fine old Hampshire mansionthat he had rented from Lord Beverley. The two mosttrusted men in his office accompanied him. Friday morninghe had spent with them; but at three o'clock the pair hadreturned to London, leaving their chief behind. From four toseven he had been shut up with his secretary. It was a hardtime for every one, a time verging upon panic, and at suchtimes Silas J. Ford was not an idle man.

At eight o'clock he had dined. His one recreation wasmusic, and after the meal he had played the organ in thepicture gallery for an hour. At a quarter past eleven heretired to his bedroom, dismissing Jackson, his body servant,for the night. Three-quarters of an hour later, however,Harbord, his secretary, had been called to the privatetelephone, for Mr. Ford had brought an extension wire fromthe neighboring town of Camdon. It was a London message,and so urgent that he decided to wake his chief. Therewas no answer to his knock, and on entering the room hefound that Mr. Ford was not in bed. He was surprised, butin no way suspicious, and started to search the house. Hewas joined by a footman, and, a little later, by Jackson andthe butler. Astonishment changed to alarm. Other servantswere roused to aid in the quest. Finally, a party, providedwith lanterns from the stables, commenced to examine thegrounds.

Snow had fallen early in the day, covering the great lawnsin front of the entrance porch with a soft white blanket,about an inch in thickness. It was the head groom whostruck the trail. Apparently Mr. Ford had walked out of theporch, and so over the drive and across the lawn toward thewall that bounded the public road. This road, which ledfrom Meudon village to the town of Camdon, crossed thefront of Meudon Hall at a distance of some quarter of a mile.

There was no doubt as to the identity of the footprints, forSilas Ford affected a broad, square-toed boot, easilyrecognizable from its unusual impression.

They tracked him by their lanterns to the park wall, andthere all trace of him disappeared. The wall was of roughstone, easily surmountable by an active man. The snow thatcovered the road outside had been churned into muddy pasteby the traffic of the day; there were no further footprintsobservable.

The party returned to the house in great bewilderment.The telephone to London brought no explanation, and thefollowing morning Mr. Harbord caught the first train totown to make inquiries. For private reasons his friends didnot desire publicity for the affair, and it was not until thelate afternoon, when all their investigations had provedfruitless, that they communicated with Scotland Yard. Whenthe papers went to press the whereabouts of the greatMr. Ford still remained a mystery.

In keen curiosity I set off up the stairs to Inspector Peace'sroom. Perhaps the little detective had later news to give me.

I found him standing with his back to the fire puffing athis cigarette with a plump solemnity. A bag, neatly shaped,lay on the rug at his feet. He nodded a welcome, watchingme over his glasses.

"I expected you, Mr. Phillips," he said. "And how doyou explain it?"

"A love affair or temporary insanity," I suggested vaguely.

"Surely we can combine those solutions," he smiled."Anything else?"

"No. I came to ask your opinion."

"My mind is void of theories, Mr. Phillips, and I shallendeavor to keep it so for the present. If you wish to amuseyourself by discussing possibilities, I would suggest yourconsideration of the reason why, if he wanted to disappearquietly, he should leave so obvious a track through the snowof his own lawn. For myself, as I am leaving for Camdonvia Waterloo Station in ten minutes, I shall hope for moredefinite data before night."

"Peace," I asked him eagerly, "may I come with you?"

"If you can be ready in time," he said.

It was past two o'clock when we arrived at the old townof Camdon. A carriage met us at the station. Five minutesmore and we were clear of the narrow streets and climbingthe first bare ridge of the downs. It was a desolate prospectenough—a bare expanse of wind-swept land that rose andfell with the sweeping regularity of the Pacific swell. Hereand there a clump of ragged firs showed black against thesnow. Under that gentle carpet the crisp turf of the crestsand the broad plow lands of the lower ground alike layhidden. I shivered, drawing my coat more closely about me.

It was half an hour later that we topped a swelling riseand saw the gray towers of the ancient mansion beneath us.In the shelter of the valley by the quiet river, that now layfrozen into silence, the trees had grown into splendid woodlands,circling the hall on the further side. From the broadfront the white lawns crept down to the road on which wewere driving. Dark masses of shrubberies and the traceryof scattered trees broke their silent curves. The park wallthat fenced them from the road stood out like an ink lineruled upon paper.

"It must have been there that he disappeared," I cried,with a speculative finger.

"So I imagine," said Peace. "And if he has spent twonights on the Hampshire downs, he will be looking for a fireto-day. You have rather more than your fair share of therug, Mr. Phillips, if you will excuse my mentioning it."

A man was standing on the steps of the entrance porchwhen we drove up. As we unrolled ourselves he steppedforward to help us. He was a thin, pale-faced fellow, withfair hair and indeterminate eyes.

"My name is Harbord," he said. "You are Inspector AddingtonPeace, I believe."

His hand shook as he stretched it out in a tremulousgreeting. Plainly the secretary was afraid, visibly andanxiously afraid.

"Mr. Ransome, the manager of Mr. Ford's London office,is here," he continued. "He is waiting to see you in thelibrary."

We followed him through a great hall into a room linedwith books from floor to ceiling. A stout, dark man, whowas pacing it like a beast in a cage, stopped at the sight ofus. His face, as he turned it toward us, looked pinched andgray in the full light.

"Inspector Peace, eh?" he said. "Well, Inspector, if youwant a reward, name it. If you want to pull the house down,only say the word. But find him for us, or, by heaven, we'redone."

"Is it as bad as that?"

"You can keep a secret, I suppose. Yes—it couldn't wellbe worse. It was a tricky time; he hid half his schemes inhis own head; he never trusted even me altogether. If hewere dead I could plan something, but now—"

He thumped his hand on the table and turned away tothe window.

"When you last saw Mr. Ford was he in good health?Did he stand the strain?"

"Ford had no nerves. He was never better in his life."

"In these great transactions he would have his enemies.If his plans succeeded there would be many hard hit, perhapsruined. Have you any suspicion of a man who, to savehimself, might make away with Mr. Ford?"

"No," said the manager after a moment's thought. "No,I can not give you a single name. The players are all bigmen, Inspector. I don't say that their consciences wouldstop them from trying such a trick, but it wouldn't be worththeir while. They hold off when jail is the certainpunishment."

"Was this financial crisis in his own affairs generallyknown?"

"Certainly not."

"Who would know of it?"

"There might be a dozen men on both sides of the Atlanticwho would suspect the truth. But I don't suppose thatmore than four people were actually in possession of thefacts."

"And who would they be?"

"His two partners in America, myself, and Mr. Harbordthere."

Peace turned to the young man with a smile and a politebow.

"Can you add any names to the list?" he asked.

"No," said Harbord, staring at the detective with a puzzledlook, as if trying to catch the drift of his questions.

"Thank you," said the Inspector; "and now will you showme the place where this curious disappearance occurred?"

We crossed the drive, where the snow lay torn and trampledby the carriages, and so to the white, even surface ofthe lawn. We soon struck the trail, a confused path beatenby many footprints. Peace stooped for a moment, and thenturned to the secretary with an angry glance.

"Were you with them?" he said.

"Yes."

"Then why, in the name of common sense, didn't you keepthem off his tracks? You have simply trampled them out ofexistence, between you."

"We were in a hurry, Inspector," said the secretarymeekly. "We didn't think about it."

We walked forward, following the broad trail until wecame to a circular patch of trodden snow. Evidently thesearchers had stopped and stood talking together. On thefurther side I saw the footprints of a man plainly defined.There were some half-dozen clear impressions and theyended at the base of the old wall, which was some six feetin height.

"I am glad to see that you and your friends have left mesomething, Mr. Harbord," said the Inspector.

He stepped forward and, kneeling down, examined thenearest footprint.

"Mr. Ford dressed for dinner?" he inquired, glancing upat the secretary.

"Certainly! Why do you ask?"

"Merely that he had on heavy shooting boots when hetook this evening stroll. It will be interesting to discoverwhat clothes he wore."

The Inspector walked up to the wall, moving parallel tothe tracks in the snow. With singular activity for his plumpand unathletic figure he climbed to the top and seatedhimself while he stared about him. Then on his hands andknees he began to crawl forward along the coping. It was aquaint spectacle, but the extraordinary care and vigilance ofthe little man took the farce out of it.

Presently he stopped and looked down at us with a gentlesmile.

"Please stay where you are," he said, and disappeared onthe further side.

Harbord offered me a cigarette, and we waited with dueobedience till the Inspector's bullet-head again broke thehorizon as he struggled back to his position on the copingof the wall.

He seemed in a very pleasant temper when he joined us;but he said nothing of his discoveries, and I had grown toowise to inquire. When we reached the entrance hall heasked for Jackson, the valet, and in a couple of minutes theman appeared. He was a tall, hatchet-faced fellow, veryneatly dressed in black. He made a little bow, and thenstood watching us in a most respectful attitude.

"A queer business this, Jackson," said Addington Peace.

"Yes, sir."

"And what is your opinion on it?"

"To be frank, sir, I thought at first that Mr. Ford hadrun away; but now I don't know what to make of it."

"And why should he run away?"

"I have no idea, sir; but he seemed to me rather strangein his manner yesterday."

"Have you been with him long?"

"No, sir. I was valet to the Honorable John Dorn, LordBeverley's second son. Mr. Ford took me from Mr. Dorn atthe time he rented the Hall."

"I see. And now will you show me your master's room?I shall see you again later, Mr. Harbord," he continued;"in the meanwhile I will leave my assistant with you."

We sat and smoked in the secretary's room. He was notmuch of a talker, consuming cigarette after cigarette insilence. The winter dusk had already fallen when theInspector joined us, and we retired to our rooms to prepare fordinner. I tried a word with Peace upon the staircase, but heshook his head and walked on.

The meal dragged itself to an end somehow, and we leftRansome with a second decanter of port before him. Peaceslipped away again, and I consoled myself with a book in thelibrary until half-past ten, when I walked off to bed. Aservant was switching off the light in the hall when I mountedthe great staircase.

My room was in the old wing at the further side of thepicture gallery, and I had some difficulty in steering my waythrough the dark corridors. The mystery that hung over thehouse had shaken my nerves, and I remember that I startedat every creak of a board and peered into the shadows as Ipassed along with, Heaven knows, what ghostlyexpectations. I was glad enough to close my door upon them andsee the wood fire blazing cheerfully in the open hearth.

.………

I woke with a start that left me sitting up in bed, with myheart thumping in my ribs like a piston rod. I am not generallya light sleeper, but that night, even while I snored, mynerves were active. Some one had tapped at my door—thatwas my impression.

I listened with the uncertain fear that comes to the newlywaked. Then I heard it again—on the wall near my headthis time. A board creaked. Some one was groping his waydown the dark corridor without. Presently he stopped, anda faint line of illumination sprang out under my door. Itwinked, and then grew still. He had lighted a candle.

Assurance came with the streak of light. What was hedoing, groping in the dark, if he had a candle with him?I crept over to the door, opened it, and stared cautiouslyout.

About a dozen feet away a man was standing, a strikingfigure against the light he carried. His back was toward me,but I could see that his hand was shading the candle fromhis eyes while he stared into the shadows that clung aboutthe further end of the corridor.

Presently he began to move forward.

The picture gallery and the body of the house lay behind.The corridor in which he stood terminated in a window, setdeep into the stone of the old walls. The man walked slowly,throwing the light to right and left. His attitude was ofnervous expectation—that of a man who looked for somethingthat he feared to see.

At the window he stopped, staring about him and listening.He examined the fastenings, and then tried a door onhis right. It was locked against him. As he did so I caughthis profile against the light. It was Harbord, the secretary.From where I stood he was not more than forty feet away.There was no possibility of a mistake.

As he turned to come back I retreated into my room,closing the door. The fellow was in a state of great agitation,and I could hear him muttering to himself as he walked.When he had passed by I peeped out to see him and his lightdwindle, reach the corner by the picture gallery, and fadeinto a reflection, a darkness.

I took care to turn the key before I got back into bed.

I woke again at seven, and, hurrying on my clothes, setoff to tell Peace all about it. I took him to the place, andtogether we examined the corridor. There were only tworooms beyond mine. The one on the left was occupied byRansome; that on the right was a large store-room, the doorof which was locked. The housekeeper kept the key, welearned upon inquiry. Whom had Harbord followed? Theproblem was beyond me. As for Inspector Peace, he did notindulge in verbal speculations.

It was in the central hall that we encountered thesecretary on his way to the breakfast-room. The man lookednervous and depressed; he nodded to us and was passing on,when Peace stopped him.

"Good-morning, Mr. Harbord," he said. "Can I have aword with you?"

"Certainly, Inspector. What is it?"

"I have a favor to ask. My assistant and myself have ourhands full here. If necessary, could you help us by runningup to London and—"

"For the day?" he interrupted.

"No. It may be an affair of three or four days."

"Then I must refuse. I am sorry, but—"

"Don't apologize, Mr. Harbord," said the little man,cheerfully. "I shall have to find some one else, that is all."

We walked into the breakfast-room, and a few minuteslater Ransome appeared with a great bundle of letters andtelegrams in his hand. He said not a word to any of us,but dropped into a chair, tearing open the envelopes andglancing at their contents. His face grew darker as he read,and once he thumped his hand upon the table with a crashthat set the china jingling.

"Well, Inspector?" he said at last.

The little detective's head shook out a negative.

"Perhaps you require an incentive," he sneered. "Is it amatter of a reward?"

"No, Mr. Ransome; but it is becoming one of my personalreputation."

"Then, by thunder, you are in danger of losing it. Whydon't you and your friend hustle instead of loitering aroundas if you were paid by the job? I tell you, man, there arethousands, hundreds of thousands melting, slipping throughour fingers, every hour of the day."

He sprang from his seat and started his walk again, upand down, up and down, as we had first seen him.

"Shall you be returning to London?"

At the question the manager halted in his stride, staringsharply down into the Inspector's bland countenance.

"No," he said; "I shall stay here, Mr. Addington Peace,until such time as you have something definite to tell me."

"I have an inquiry to make which I would rather placein the hands of some one who has personal knowledge ofMr. Ford. Neither Mr. Harbord nor yourself desire to leaveMeudon. Is there any one else you can suggest?"

"There is Jackson, Ford's valet," said the manager, aftera moment's thought. "He can go if you think him brightenough. I'll send for him."

While the footman who answered the bell was gone uponhis errand we waited in an uneasy silence. There was theshadow of an ugly mystery upon us all. Jackson, as heentered, was the only one who seemed at his ease. Hestood there, a tall figure of all the respectabilities.

"The Inspector here wishes you to go to London, Jackson,"said the manager. "He will explain the details. Thereis a fast train from Camdon at eleven."

"Certainly, sir. Do I return to-night?"

"No, Jackson," said Peace. "It will take a day or two."

The man took a couple of steps toward the door, hesitated,and then returned to his former place.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he began, addressing Ransome."But I would rather remain at Meudon under presentcircumstances."

"What on earth do you mean?" thundered the manager.

"Well, sir, I was the last to see Mr. Ford. There is, asit were, a suspicion upon me. I should like to be presentwhile the search continues, both for his sake—and my own."

"Very kind of you, I'm sure," growled Ransome. "Butyou either do what I tell you, Jackson, or you pack yourboxes and clear out. So be quick and make up your mind."

"I think you are treating me most unfairly, sir. But Ican not be persuaded out of what I know to be my duty."

"You impertinent rascal!—" began the furious manager.But Peace was already on his feet with a chubby handoutstretched.

"Perhaps, after all, I can make other arrangements,Mr. Ransome," he said. "It is natural that Jackson shouldconsider his own reputation in this affair. That is all, Jackson;you may go now."

It was half an hour afterward, when the end of breakfasthad dispersed the party, that I spoke to Peace about it,offering to go to London myself and do my best to carryout his instructions.

"I had bad luck in my call for volunteers," he said.

"I should have thought they would have been gladenough to get the chance of work. They can find noparticular amusement in loafing about the place all day."

"Doubtless they all had excellent reasons," he said witha smile. "But, anyway, you can not be spared, Mr. Phillips."

"You flatter me."

"I want you to stay in your bedroom. Write, read, dowhat you like, but keep your door ajar. If any one passesdown the corridor, see where he goes, only don't let himknow that you are watching him if you can help it. I willtake my turn at half-past one. I don't mean to starveyou."

I obeyed. After all, it was, in a manner, promotion thatthe Inspector had given me; yet it was a tedious, anxioustime. No one came my way, barring a sour-looking housemaid.I tried to argue out the case, but the deeper I gotthe more conflicting grew my theories. I was never moreglad to see a friendly face than when the little man camein upon me.

The short winter's afternoon crept on, the Inspector andI taking turn and turn about in our sentry duty. Dinner-timecame and went. I had been off duty from nine, but atten-thirty I poured out a whisky and soda and went backto join him. He was sitting in the middle of the roomsmoking a pipe in great apparent satisfaction.

"Bed-time, isn't it?" I grumbled, sniffing at his strongtobacco.

"Oh, no," he said. "The fact is, we are going to sit upall night."

I threw myself on a couch by the window without reply.Perhaps I was not in the best of tempers; certainly I did notfeel so.

"You insisted on coming down with me," he suggested.

"I know all about that," I told him. "I haven'tcomplained, have I? If you want me to shut myself up fora week I'll do it; but I should prefer to have some idea of thereason why."

"I don't wish to create mysteries, Mr. Phillips," he saidkindly; "but believe me there is nothing to be gained invague discussions."

I knew that settled it as far as he was concerned, so Inodded my head and filled a pipe. At eleven he walkedacross the room and switched off the light.

"If nothing happens you can take your turn in four hoursfrom now," he said. "In the meanwhile get to sleep. Iwill keep the first watch."

I shut my eyes, but there was no rest in me that night.I lay listening to the silence of the old house with a dullspeculation. Somewhere far down in the lower floor agreat gong-like clock chimed the hours and quarters. Iheard them every one, from twelve to one, from one to two.Peace had stopped smoking. He sat as silent as a cat at amousehole.

It must have been some fifteen minutes after two that Iheard the faint, faint creak of a board in the corridor outside.I sat up, every nerve strung to a tense alertness. Andthen there came a sound I knew well, the soft drawing touchof a hand groping in the darkness as some one felt his wayalong the paneled walls. It passed us and was gone. YetPeace never moved. Could he have fallen asleep? Iwhispered his name.

"Hush!"

The answer came to me like a gentle sigh.

One minute, two minutes more and the room sprang intosight under the steady glow of an electric hand-lamp. TheInspector rose from his seat and slid through the doorwith me upon his heels. The light he carried searched theclustered shadows; but the corridor was empty, nor wasthere any place where a man might hide.

"You waited too long," I whispered impatiently.

"The man is no fool, Mr. Phillips. Do you imagine thathe was not listening and staring like a hunted beast? Anoisy board, a stumble, or a flash of light, and we shouldhave wasted a tiring day."

"Nevertheless he has got clear away."

"I think not."

As we crept forward I saw that a strip of the oak flooringalong the walls was gray with dust. If it had beenin such a neglected state in the afternoon I should surelyhave noticed it. In some curiosity I stooped to examine thephenomenon.

"Flour," whispered the little man touching my shoulder.

"Flour?"

"Yes. I sprinkled it myself. Look—there is the firstresult."

He steadied his light as he spoke, pointing with his otherhand. On the powdery surface was the half footprint of aman.

The flour did not extend more than a couple of feet fromthe walls, so that it was only here and there that we caughtup the trail. We had passed the bedroom on the left—yetthe footprints still went on; we were at the store-room door,yet they still were visible before us. There was no otheregress from the corridor. The tall window at the end was,as I knew, a good twenty feet from the ground. Had thisman also vanished off the earth like Silas Ford?

Suddenly the inspector stopped, grasping my arm. Thelight he held fell upon two footprints close together. Theywere at right angles to the passage. Apparently the manhad passed into the solid wall!

"Peace, what does this mean?"

You, sir, sitting peaceably at home, with a good lightand an easy conscience, may think I was a timid fool; yetI was afraid—honestly and openly afraid. The littledetective heard the news of it in my voice, for he gave mea reassuring pat upon the back.

"Have you never heard of a 'priest's hole'?" hewhispered. "In the days when Meudon Hall was built, nocountry house was without its hiding-place. Protestantsand priests, Royalists and Republicans, they all used thesecret burrow at one time or another."

"How did he get in?"

"That is what we are here to discover, and as I haveno wish to destroy Mr. Ford's old oak panels I thinkour simplest plan will be to wait until he comes backagain."

The shadows leaped upon us as Peace extinguished thelight he carried. The great window alone was luminouswith the faint starlight that showed the tracery of its ancientstonework; for the rest, the darkness hedged us about inimpenetrable barriers. Side by side, we stood by the wall inwhich we knew the secret entrance must exist.

It may have been ten minutes or more when from thedistance—somewhere below our feet, or so it seemed tome—there came the faint echo of a closing door. It was onlyin such cold silence that we could have heard it. The timeticked on. Suddenly, upon the black of the floor, thereshone a thin reflection like the slash of a sword—a reflectionthat grew into a broad gush of light as the sliding panelin the wall, six feet from where we stood, rose to the fullopening. There followed another pause, during which Icould see Peace draw himself together as if for some unusualexertion.

A shadow darkened the reflection on the floor, and ahead came peering out. The light but half displayed theface, but I could see that the teeth were bare and glistening,like those of a man in some deadly expectation. The nextmoment he stepped across the threshold. With a spring likethe rush of a terrier, Addington Peace was upon him,driving him off his balance with the impact of the blow.Before I could reach them, the little detective had him down,though he still kicked viciously until I lent a hand. Theclick of the handcuffs on his wrist ended the matter.

It was Ford's valet, the man Jackson.

We were not long by ourselves. I heard a key turnedin the lock, and Ransome burst out of his room into thecorridor like an angry bull. Almost at the same momentthere sounded a quick patter of naked feet from behind us,and Harbord, the secretary, came running up, swinging aheavy stick in his hand. They both stopped at the edgeof the patch of light in which we were, staring from us tothe gaping hole in the wall.

"What in thunder are you about?" cried the manager.

"Finding a solution to your problem," said the littledetective, getting to his feet. "Perhaps, gentlemen, youwill be good enough to follow me."

He stepped through the opening in the wall, and lifted thecandle which the valet had placed on the floor while he wasraising the panel from within. By its light I could see thefirst steps of a flight which led down into darkness.

"We will take Jackson with us," he continued. "Keep aneye on him, Mr. Phillips, if you please."

It was a strange procession that we made. First Peace,with the candle, then Ransome, with the valet, following,while I and Harbord brought up the rear. We descendedsome thirty steps, formed in the thickness of the wall,opened a heavy door, and so found ourselves in a narrowchamber, some twelve feet long by seven broad. Upon amattress at the further end lay a man, gagged and bound.As the light fell upon his features, Ransome sprang forward,shouting his name.

"Silas Ford, by thunder!"

With eager fingers we loosened the gag and cut the ropesthat bound his wrists. He sat up, turning his long, thin facefrom one to the other of us as he stretched the cramp fromhis limbs.

"Thank you, gentlemen," said he. "Well, Ransome, howare things?"

"Bad, sir; but it's not too late."

He nodded his head, passing his hands through his hairwith a quick, nervous movement.

"You've caught my clever friend, I see. Kindly gothrough his pockets, will you? He has something I mustask him to return to me."

We found it in Jackson's pocket-book—a check, antedateda week, for five thousand pounds, with a coveringletter to the manager of the bank. Ford took the bit ofstamped paper, twisting it to and fro in his supple fingers.

"It was smart of you, Jackson," he said, addressing thebowed figure before him: "I give you credit for the idea.To kidnap a man just as he was bringing off a bigdeal—well, you would have earned the money."

"But how did you get down here?" struck in the manager.

"He told me that he had discovered an old hiding-place—a'priest's hole,' he called it—and I walked into the trap asthe best man may do sometimes. As we got to the bottomof that stairway he slipped a sack over my head and hadme fixed in thirty seconds. He fed me himself twice a day,standing by to see I didn't halloo. When I paid up hewas to have twenty-four hours' start; then he would let youknow where I was. I held out awhile, but I gave in to-night.The delay was getting too dangerous. Have you a cigarette,Harbord? Thank you. And who may you be?"

It was to the detective he spoke.

"My name is Peace, Inspector Addington Peace, fromScotland Yard."

"And I owe my rescue to you?"

The little man bowed.

"You will have no reason to regret it. And what did theythink had become of me, Inspector?"

"It was the general opinion that you had taken to yourselfwings, Mr. Ford."

. . . . . . . . . . . .

It was as we traveled up to town next day that Peace toldme his story. I will set it down as briefly as may be.

"I soon came to the conclusion that Ford, whether deador alive, was inside the grounds of Meudon Hall. If he hadbolted, for some reason, by the way, which was perfectlyincomprehensible, a man of his ability would not have lefta broad trail across the centre of his lawn for all to see.There was, moreover, no trace of him that our men couldferret out at any station within reasonable distance. Amotor was possible, but there were no marks of its presence nextmorning in the mud of the roads. That fact I learned froma curious groom who had aided in the search, and who, witha similar idea upon him, had carefully examined the highwayat daybreak.

"When I clambered to the top of the wall I found thatthe snow upon the coping had been dislodged. I traced themarks, as you saw, for about a dozen yards. Where theyended I, too, dropped to the ground outside. There I madea remarkable discovery. Upon a little drift of snow thatlay in the shallow ditch beneath were more footprints. Butthey were not those of Ford. They were the marks of longand narrow boots, which led into the road, where they werelost in the track of a flock of sheep that had been drivenover it the day before.

"I took a careful measurement of those footprints. Theymight, of course, belong to some private investigator; butthey gave me an idea. Could some man have walked acrossthe lawn in Ford's boots, changed them to his own on the topof the wall, and so departed? Was it the desire of someoneto let it be supposed that Ford had run away?

"When I examined Ford's private rooms I was evenmore fortunate. From the boot-boy I discovered that themaster had three pairs of shooting boots. There were threepairs in the stand. Some one had made a very seriousmistake. Instead of hiding the pair he had used on the lawn,he had returned them to their place. The trick was becomingevident. But where was Ford? In the house or grounds,dead or alive, but where?

"I was able, through my friend the boot-boy, to examinethe boots on the night of our arrival. My measurementscorresponded with those that Jackson, the valet, wore. Washe acting for himself, or was Harbord, or even Ransome,in the secret? That, too, it was necessary to discoverbefore I showed my hand.

"Your story of Harbord's midnight excursion supplieda clue. The secretary had evidently followed some manwho had disappeared mysteriously. Could there be theentrance to a secret chamber in that corridor? That wouldexplain the mystification of Harbord as well as thedisappearance of Silas Ford. If so, Harbord was not involved.

"If Ford were held a prisoner he must be fed. His jailermust of necessity remain in the house. But the trap I setin the suggested journey to town was an experiment singularlyunsuccessful, for all the three men I desired to testrefused. However, if I were right about the secret chamberI could checkmate the blackmailer by keeping a watch onhim from your room, which commanded the line of communications.But Jackson was clever enough to leave his victualingto the night-time. I scattered the flour to try theresult of that ancient trick. It was successful. That is all.Do you follow me?"

"Yes," said I; "but how did Jackson come to know thesecret hiding place?"

"He has long been a servant of the house. You hadbetter ask his old master."

END OF VOLUME ONE

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74548 ***