For a few seconds, I think, I was on the point of fainting; but a gentle stir outside the door, close to my ear, startled me, and proved that there had been a watcher posted outside. There was a little tapping at the door. Whos that? whispered Dudley, hoarsely. A friend, answered a sweet voice. And a key was introduced, the door quickly unlocked, and Uncle Silas entered. I saw that frail, tall, white figure, the venerable silver locks that resembled those upon the honoured head of John Wesley, and his thin white hand, the back of which hung so close to my face that I feared to breathe. I could see his fingers twitching nervously. The smell of perfumes and of ether entered the room with him. Dudley was trembling now like a man in an aguefit. Look what you made me do! he said, maniacally. Steady, sir! said the old man, close beside me. Yes, you damned old murderer! Ive a mind to do for you. There, Dudley, like a dear boy, dont give way; its done. Right or wrong, we cant help it. You must be quiet, said the old man, with a stern gentleness. Dudley groaned. Whoever advised it, youre a gainer, Dudley, said Uncle Silas. Then there was a pause. I hope that was not heard, said Uncle Silas. Dudley walked to the window and stood there. Come, Dudley, you and Hawkes must use expedition. You know you must get that out of the way. Ive done too much. I wont do nout; Ill not touch it. I wish my hand was off first; I wish I was a soger. Do as ye like, you an Hawkes. I wont go nigh it; damn ye bothand that! and he hurled the hammer with all his force upon the floor. Come, come, be reasonable, Dudley, dear boy. Theres nothing to fear but your own folly. You wont make a noise? Oh, oh, my God! said Dudley, hoarsely, and wiped his forehead with his open hand. There now, youll be all well in a minute, continued the old man. You said twouldnt hurt her. If Id a known shed a screeched like that Id never a done it. Twas a damn lie. Youre the damndest villain on earth. Come, Dudley! said the old man under his breath, but very sternly, make up your mind. If you dont choose to go on, it cant be helped; only its a pity you began. For you it is a good dealit does not much matter for me. Ay, for you! echoed Dudley, through his set teeth. The old talk! Well, sir, snarled the old man, in the same low tones, you should have thought of all this before. Its only taking leave of the world a year or two sooner, but a year or twos something. Ill leave you to do as you please. Stop, will you? Stop here. I know its a fixt thing now. If a fella does a thing hes damned for, you might let him talk a bit anyhow. I dont care much if I was shot. There nowtherejust stick to that, and dont run off again. Theres a box and a bag here; we must change the direction, and take them away. The box has some jewels. Can you see them? I wish we had a light. No, Id rayther not; I can see well enough. I wish we were out o this. Heres the box. Pull it to the window, said the old man, to my inexpressible relief advancing at last a few steps. Coolness was given me in that dreadful moment, and I knew that all depended on my being prompt and resolute. I stood up swiftly. I often thought if I had happened to wear silk instead of the cachmere I had on that night, its rustle would have betrayed me. I distinctly saw the tall stooping figure of my uncle, and the outline of his venerable tresses, as he stood between me and the dull light of the window, like a shape cut in card. He was saying just to there, and pointing with his long arm at that contracting patch of moonlight which lay squared upon the floor. The door was about a quarter open, and just as Dudley began to drag Madames heavy box, with my jewelcase in it, across the floor from her room, inhaling a great breathwith a mental prayer for helpI glided on tiptoe from the room and found myself on the gallery floor. I turned to my right, simply by chance, and followed a long gallery in the dark, not runningI was too fearful of making the least noisebut walking with the tiptoeswiftness of terror. At the termination of this was a crossgallery, one end of whichthat to my leftterminated in a great window, through which the dusky nightview was visible. With the instinct of terror I chose the darker, and turned again to my right; hurrying through this long and nearly dark passage, I was terrified by a light, about thirty feet before me, emerging from the ceiling. In spotted patches this light fell through the door and sides of a stable lantern, and showed me a ladder, down which, from an open skylight I suppose for the cool nightair floated in my face, came Dickon Hawkes notwithstanding his maimed condition, with so much celerity as to leave me hardly a moment for consideration. He sat on the last round of the ladder, and tightened the strap of his wooden leg. At my left was a doorcase open, but no door. I entered; it was a short passage about six feet long, leading perhaps to a backstair, but the door at the end was locked. I was forced to stand in this recess, then, which afforded no shelter, while Pegtop stumped by with his lantern in his hand. I fancy he had some idea of listening to his master unperceived, for he stopped close to my hidingplace, blew out the candle, and pinched the long snuff with his horny finger and thumb. Having listened for a few seconds, he stumped stealthily along the gallery which I had just traversed, and turned the corner in the direction of the chamber where the crime had just been committed, and the discovery was impending. I could see him against the broad window which in the daytime lighted this long passage, and the moment he had passed the corner I resumed my flight. I descended a stair corresponding with that backstair, as I am told, up which Madame had led me only the night before. I tried the outer door. To my wild surprise it was open. In a moment I was upon the step, in the free air, and as instantaneously was seized by the arm in the grip of a man. It was Tom Brice, who had already betrayed me, and who was now, in surtout and hat, waiting to drive the carriage with the guilty father and son from the scene of their abhorred outrage. XXX In the Oak Parlour So it was vain I was trapped, and all was over. I stood before him on the step, the white moon shining on my face. I was trembling so that I wonder I could stand, my helpless hands raised towards him, and I looked up in his face. A long shuddering moanOhohoh! was all I uttered. The man, still holding my arm, looked, I thought frightened, into my white dumb face. Suddenly he said, in a wild, fierce whisper Never say another word (I had not uttered one). They shant hurt ye, Miss; git ye in; I dont care a damn! It was an uncouth speech. To me it was the voice of an angel. With a burst of gratitude that sounded in my own ears like a laugh, I thanked God for those blessed words. In a moment more he had placed me in the carriage, and almost instantly we were in motionvery cautiously while crossing the court, until he had got the wheels upon the grass, and then at a rapid pace, improving his speed as the distance increased. He drove along the side of the backapproach to the house, keeping on the grass; so that our progress, though swaying like that of a ship in a swell, was very nearly as noiseless. The gate had been left unlockedhe swung it open, and remounted the box. And we were now beyond the spell of BartramHaugh, thunderingHeaven be praised!along the Queens highway, right in the route to Elverston. It was literally a gallop. Through the chariot windows I saw Tom stand as he drove, and every now and then throw an awful glance over his shoulder. Were we pursued? Never was agony of prayer like mine, as with clasped hands and wild stare I gazed through the windows on the road, whose trees and hedges and gabled cottages were chasing one another backward at so giddy a speed. We were now ascending that identical steep, with the giant ashtrees at the right and the stile between, which my vision of Meg Hawkes had presented all that night, when my excited eye detected a running figure within the hedge. I saw the head of someone crossing the stile in pursuit, and I heard Brices name shrieked. Drive ononon! I screamed. But Brice pulled up. I was on my knees on the floor of the carriage, with clasped hands, expecting capture, when the door opened, and Meg Hawkes, pale as death, her cloak drawn over her black tresses, looked in. Oh!ho!ho!thank God! she screamed. Shake hands, lass. Tom, yer a good un! Hes a good lad, Tom. Come in, Megyou must sit by me, I said, recovering all at once. Meg made no demur. Take my hand, I said offering mine to her disengaged one. I cant, Missmy arms broke. And so it was, poor thing! She had been espied and overtaken in her errand of mercy for me, and her ruffian father had felled her with his cudgel, and then locked her into the cottage, whence, however, she had contrived to escape, and was now flying to Elverston, having tried in vain to get a hearing in Feltram, whose people had been for hours in bed. The door being shut upon Meg, the steaming horses were instantly at a gallop again. Tom was still watching as before, with many an anxious glance to rearward, for pursuit. Again he pulled up, and came to the window. Oh, what is it? cried I.  Bout that letter, Miss; I couldnt help. Twas Dickon, he found it in my pocket. Thats a. Oh yes!no matterthank youthank Heaven! Are we near Elverston?  Twill be a mile, Miss and pleasem to mind I had no finger int. Thanksthank youyoure very goodI shall always thank you, Tom, as long as I live! At length we entered Elverston. I think I was half wild. I dont know how I got into the hall. I was in the oakparlour, I believe, when I saw cousin Monica. I was standing, my arms extended. I could not speak; but I ran with a loud long scream into her arms. I forget a great deal after that. Colophon Uncle Silas was published in 1864 by J. Sheridan Le Fanu. This ebook was produced for Standard Ebooks by Kenneth Williams, and is based on a transcription produced in 2005 by Suzanne Shell, Bob McKillip, and The Online Distributed Proofreading Team for Project Gutenberg and on digital scans from Google Books. The cover page is adapted from Study of an Old Man with a Gold Chain, a painting completed in 1632 by Rembrandt. The cover and title pages feature the League Spartan and Sorts Mill Goudy typefaces created in 2014 and 2009 by The League of Moveable Type. This edition was released on November 13, 2024, 914 p.m. and is based on revision 692d1c5. The first edition of this ebook was released on December 6, 2017, 837 p.m. You can check for updates to this ebook, view its revision history, or download it for different ereading systems at standardebooks.orgebooksjsheridanlefanuunclesilas. The volunteerdriven Standard Ebooks project relies on readers like you to submit typos, corrections, and other improvements. Anyone can contribute at standardebooks.org. Conclusion Oh, my beloved cousin Monica! Thank Heaven, you are living still, and younger, I think, than I in all things but in years. And Milly, my dear companion, she is now the happy wife of that good little clergyman, Sprigge Biddlepen. It has been in my power to be of use to them, and he shall have the next presentation to Dawling. Meg Hawkes, proud and wayward, and the most affectionate creature on earth, was married to Tom Brice a few months after these events; and, as both wished to emigrate, I furnished them with the capital, and I am told they are likely to be rich. I hear from my kind Meg often, and she seems very happy. My dear old friends, Mary Quince and Mrs. Rusk, are, alas! growing old, but living with me, and very happy. And after long solicitation, I persuaded Doctor Bryerly, the best and truest of ministers, with my dearest friends concurrence, to undertake the management of the Derbyshire estates. In this I have been most fortunate. He is the very person for such a chargeso punctual, so laborious, so kind, and so shrewd. In compliance with medical advice, cousin Monica hurried me away to the Continent, where she would never permit me to allude to the terrific scenes which remain branded so awfully on my brain. It needed no constraint. It is a sort of agony to me even now to think of them. The plan was craftily devised. Neither old Wyat nor Giles, the butler, had a suspicion that I had returned to Bartram. Had I been put to death, the secret of my fate would have been deposited in the keeping of four persons onlythe two Ruthyns, Hawkes, and ultimately Madame. My dear cousin Monica had been artfully led to believe in my departure for France, and prepared for my silence. Suspicion might not have been excited for a year after my death, and then would never, in all probability, have pointed to Bartram as the scene of the crime. The weeds would have grown over me, and I should have lain in that deep grave where the corpse of Madame de la Rougierre was unearthed in the darksome quadrangle of BartramHaugh. It was more than two years after that I heard what had befallen at Bartram after my flight. Old Wyat, who went early to Uncle Silass room, to her surprisefor he had told her that he was that night to accompany his son, who had to meet the mailtrain to Derby at five oclock in the morningsaw her old master lying on the sofa, much in his usual position. There was nout much strange about him, old Wyat said, but that his scentbottle was spilt on its side over on the table, and he dead. She thought he was not quite cold when she found him, and she sent the old butler for Doctor Jolks, who said he died of too much loddlum. Of my wretched uncles religion what am I to say? Was it utter hypocrisy, or had it at any time a vein of sincerity in it? I cannot say. I dont believe that he had any heart left for religion, which is the highest form of affection, to take hold of. Perhaps he was a sceptic with misgivings about the future, but past the time for finding anything reliable in it. The devil approached the citadel of his heart by stealth, with many zigzags and parallels. The idea of marrying me to his son by fair means, then by foul, and, when that wicked chance was gone, then the design of seizing all by murder, supervened. I dare say that Uncle Silas thought for a while that he was a righteous man. He wished to have heaven and to escape hell, if there were such places. But there were other things whose existence was not speculative, of which some he coveted, and some he dreaded more, and temptation came. Now if any man build upon this foundation, gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, stubble, every mans work shall be made manifest; for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every mans work of what sort it is. There comes with old age a time when the heart is no longer fusible or malleable, and must retain the form in which it has cooled down. He that is unjust, let him be unjust still; he which is filthy, let him be filthy still. Dudley had disappeared; but in one of her letters, Meg, writing from her Australian farm, says Theres a fella in toon as calls hisself Colbroke, wi a good hoose o wood, fifteen foot length, and as by bout as silling o the pearler o Bartramonly lots o rats, they do say, my ladya bying and sellin of goold back and forred wi the diggin foke and the marchants. His chick and mouth be wry wi scar o burns or vitterel, an no wiskers, bless you; but my Tom ee toll him he knowed him for Master Doodley. I ant seed him; but he sade ad shute Tom soon is look at im, an denide it, wi mouthful o curses and oaf. Tom baint right shure; if I seed un wons id no for sartin; but appen, twil best be let be. This was all. Old Hawkes stood his ground, relying on the profound cunning with which their actual proceedings had been concealed, even from the suspicions of the two inmates of the house, and on the mystery that habitually shrouded BartramHaugh and all its belongings from the eyes of the outer world. Strangely enough, he fancied that I had made my escape long before the room was entered; and, even if he were arrested, there was no evidence, he was certain, to connect him with the murder, all knowledge of which he would stoutly deny. There was an inquest on the body of my uncle, and Dr. Jolks was the chief witness. They found that his death was caused by an excessive dose of laudanum, accidentally administered by himself. It was not until nearly a year after the dreadful occurrences at Bartram that Dickon Hawkes was arrested on a very awful charge, and placed in gaol. It was an old crime, committed in Lancashire, that had found him out. After his conviction, as a last chance, he tried a disclosure of all the circumstances of the unsuspected death of the Frenchwoman. Her body was discovered buried where he indicated, in the inner court of BartramHaugh, and, after due legal enquiry, was interred in the churchyard of Feltram. Thus I escaped the horrors of the witnessbox, or the far worse torture of a dreadful secret. Doctor Bryerly, shortly after Lady Knollys had described to him the manner in which Dudley entered my room, visited the house of BartramHaugh, and minutely examined the windows of the room in which Mr. Charke had slept on the night of his murder. One of these he found provided with powerful steel hinges, very craftily sunk and concealed in the timber of the windowframe, which was secured by an iron pin outside, and swung open on its removal. This was the room in which they had placed me, and this the contrivance by means of which the room had been entered. The problem of Mr. Charkes murder was solved. I have penned it. I sit for a moment breathless. My hands are cold and damp. I rise with a great sigh, and look out on the sweet green landscape and pastoral hills, and see the flowers and birds and the waving boughs of glorious treesall images of liberty and safety; and as the tremendous nightmare of my youth melts into air, I lift my eyes in boundless gratitude to the God of all comfort, whose mighty hand and outstretched arm delivered me. When I lower my eyes and unclasp my hands, my cheeks are wet with tears. A tiny voice is calling me Mamma! and a beloved smiling face, with his dear fathers silken brown tresses, peeps in. Yes, darling, our walk. Come away! I am Lady Ilbury, happy in the affection of a beloved and noblehearted husband. The shy useless girl you have known is now a mothertrying to be a good one; and this, the last pledge, has lived. I am not going to tell of sorrowshow brief has been my pride of early maternity, or how beloved were those whom the Lord gave and the Lord has taken away. But sometimes as, smiling on my little boy, the tears gather in my eyes, and he wonders, I can see, why they come, I am thinkingand trembling while I smileto think, how strong is love, how frail is life; and rejoicing while I tremble that, in the deathless love of those who mourn, the Lord of Life, who never gave a pang in vain, conveys the sweet and ennobling promise of a compensation by eternal reunion. So, through my sorrows, I have heard a voice from heaven say, Write, from hencefore blessed are the dead that die in the Lord! This world is a parablethe habitation of symbolsthe phantoms of spiritual things immortal shown in material shape. May the blessed secondsight be mineto recognise under these beautiful forms of earth the Angels who wear them; for I am sure we may walk with them if we will, and hear them speak! To the right Hon. the Countess of Gifford, as a token of respect, sympathy, and admiration, this tale is inscribed by the Author. Uncle Silas A Tale of BartramHaugh Imprint This ebook is the product of many hours of hard work by volunteers for Standard Ebooks, and builds on the hard work of other literature lovers made possible by the public domain. This particular ebook is based on a transcription from Project Gutenberg and on digital scans from Google Books. The source text and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. They may still be copyrighted in other countries, so users located outside of the United States must check their local laws before using this ebook. The creators of, and contributors to, this ebook dedicate their contributions to the worldwide public domain via the terms in the CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication. For full license information, see the Uncopyright at the end of this ebook. Standard Ebooks is a volunteerdriven project that produces ebook editions of public domain literature using modern typography, technology, and editorial standards, and distributes them free of cost. You can download this and other ebooks carefully produced for true book lovers at standardebooks.org. A Preliminary Word The writer of this Tale ventures, in his own person, to address a very few words, chiefly of explanation, to his readers. A leading situation in this Story of BartramHaugh is repeated, with a slight variation, from a short magazine tale of some fifteen pages written by him, and published long ago in a periodical under the title of A Passage in the Secret History of an Irish Countess, and afterwards, still anonymously, in a small volume under an altered title. It is very unlikely that any of his readers should have encountered, and still more so that they should remember, this trifle. The bare possibility, however, he has ventured to anticipate by this brief explanation, lest he should be charged with plagiarismalways a disrespect to a reader. May he be permitted a few words also of remonstrance against the promiscuous application of the term sensation to that large school of fiction which transgresses no one of those canons of construction and morality which, in producing the unapproachable Waverley Novels, their great author imposed upon himself? No one, it is assumed, would describe Sir Walter Scotts romances as sensation novels; yet in that marvellous series there is not a single tale in which death, crime, and, in some form, mystery, have not a place. Passing by those grand romances of Ivanhoe, Old Mortality, and Kenilworth, with their terrible intricacies of crime and bloodshed, constructed with so fine a mastery of the art of exciting suspense and horror, let the reader pick out those two exceptional novels in the series which profess to paint contemporary manners and the scenes of common life; and remembering in the Antiquary the vision in the tapestried chamber, the duel, the horrible secret, and the death of old Elspeth, the drowned fisherman, and above all the tremendous situation of the tidebound party under the cliffs; and in St. Ronans Well, the longdrawn mystery, the suspicion of insanity, and the catastrophe of suicide;determine whether an epithet which it would be a profanation to apply to the structure of any, even the most exciting of Sir Walter Scotts stories, is fairly applicable to tales which, though illimitably inferior in execution, yet observe the same limitations of incident, and the same moral aims. The author trusts that the Press, to whose masterly criticism and generous encouragement he and other humble labourers in the art owe so much, will insist upon the limitation of that degrading term to the peculiar type of fiction which it was originally intended to indicate, and prevent, as they may, its being made to include the legitimate school of tragic English romance, which has been ennobled, and in great measure founded, by the genius of Sir Walter Scott. December, 1864. Uncle Silas By J. Sheridan Le Fanu. Uncopyright May you do good and not evil. May you find forgiveness for yourself and forgive others. May you share freely, never taking more than you give. Copyright pages exist to tell you that you cant do something. Unlike them, this Uncopyright page exists to tell you that the writing and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. 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Volume I Volume II Table of Contents Titlepage Imprint Dedication A Preliminary Word Uncle Silas Volume I I Austin Ruthyn, of Knowl, and His Daughter II Uncle Silas III A New Face IV Madame de la Rougierre V Sights and Noises VI A Walk in the Wood VII Church Scarsdale VIII The Smoker IX Monica Knollys X Lady Knollys Removes a Coverlet XI Lady Knollys Sees the Features XII A Curious Conversation XIII Before and After Breakfast XIV Angry Words XV A Warning XVI Doctor Bryerly Looks In XVII An Adventure XVIII A Midnight Visitor XIX Au Revoir XX Austin Ruthyn Sets Out on His Journey XXI Arrivals XXII Somebody in the Room with the Coffin XXIII I Talk with Doctor Bryerly XXIV The Opening of the Will XXV I Hear from Uncle Silas XXVI The Story of Uncle Silas XXVII More About Tom Charkes Suicide XXVIII I Am Persuaded XXIX How the Ambassador Fared XXX On the Road XXXI BartramHaugh XXXII Uncle Silas XXXIII The Windmill Wood XXXIV Zamiel XXXV We Visit a Room in the Second Storey Volume II I An Arrival at Dead of Night II Doctor Bryerly Emerges III A Midnight Departure IV Cousin Monica and Uncle Silas Meet V In Which I Make Another Cousins Acquaintance VI My Cousin Dudley VII Elverston and Its People VIII News at Bartram Gate IX A Friend Arises X A ChapterFull of Lovers XI The Rivals XII Doctor Bryerly Reappears XIII Question and Answer XIV An Apparition XV Millys Farewell XVI Sarah Matilda Comes to Light XVII The Picture of a Wolf XVIII An Odd Proposal XIX In Search of Mr. Charkes Skeleton XX The Foot of Hercules XXI I Conspire XXII The Letter XXIII Lady Knollys Carriage XXIV A Sudden Departure XXV The Journey XXVI Our Bedchamber XXVII A WellKnown Face Looks In XXVIII Spiced Claret XXIX The Hour of Death XXX In the Oak Parlour Conclusion Colophon Uncopyright Landmarks Uncle Silas


I I Take a Country House This is the story of how a middleaged spinster lost her mind, deserted her domestic gods in the city, took a furnished house for the summer out of town, and found herself involved in one of those mysterious crimes that keep our newspapers and detective agencies happy and prosperous. For twenty years I had been perfectly comfortable; for twenty years I had had the windowboxes filled in the spring, the carpets lifted, the awnings put up and the furniture covered with brown linen; for as many summers I had said goodbye to my friends, and, after watching their perspiring hegira, had settled down to a delicious quiet in town, where the mail comes three times a day, and the water supply does not depend on a tank on the roof. And thenthe madness seized me. When I look back over the months I spent at Sunnyside, I wonder that I survived at all. As it is, I show the wear and tear of my harrowing experiences. I have turned very grayLiddy reminded me of it, only yesterday, by saying that a little bluing in the rinsewater would make my hair silvery, instead of a yellowish white. I hate to be reminded of unpleasant things and I snapped her off. No, I said sharply, Im not going to use bluing at my time of life, or starch, either. Liddys nerves are gone, she says, since that awful summer, but she has enough left, goodness knows! And when she begins to go around with a lump in her throat, all I have to do is to threaten to return to Sunnyside, and she is frightened into a semblance of cheerfulnessfrom which you may judge that the summer there was anything but a success. The newspaper accounts have been so garbled and incompleteone of them mentioned me but once, and then only as the tenant at the time the thing happenedthat I feel it my due to tell what I know. Mr. Jamieson, the detective, said himself he could never have done without me, although he gave me little enough credit, in print. I shall have to go back several yearsthirteen, to be exactto start my story. At that time my brother died, leaving me his two children. Halsey was eleven then, and Gertrude was seven. All the responsibilities of maternity were thrust upon me suddenly; to perfect the profession of motherhood requires precisely as many years as the child has lived, like the man who started to carry the calf and ended by walking along with the bull on his shoulders. However, I did the best I could. When Gertrude got past the hairribbon age, and Halsey asked for a scarfpin and put on long trousersand a wonderful help that was to the darning!I sent them away to good schools. After that, my responsibility was chiefly postal, with three months every summer in which to replenish their wardrobes, look over their lists of acquaintances, and generally to take my fostermotherhood out of its nine months retirement in camphor. I missed the summers with them when, somewhat later, at boardingschool and college, the children spent much of their vacations with friends. Gradually I found that my name signed to a check was even more welcome than when signed to a letter, though I wrote them at stated intervals. But when Halsey had finished his electrical course and Gertrude her boardingschool, and both came home to stay, things were suddenly changed. The winter Gertrude came out was nothing but a succession of sitting up late at night to bring her home from things, taking her to the dressmakers between naps the next day, and discouraging ineligible youths with either more money than brains, or more brains than money. Also, I acquired a great many things to say lingerie for undergarments, frocks and gowns instead of dresses, and that beardless sophomores are not college boys, but college men. Halsey required less personal supervision, and as they both got their mothers fortune that winter, my responsibility became purely moral. Halsey bought a car, of course, and I learned how to tie over my bonnet a gray baize veil, and, after a time, never to stop to look at the dogs one has run down. People are apt to be so unpleasant about their dogs. The additions to my education made me a properly equipped maiden aunt, and by spring I was quite tractable. So when Halsey suggested camping in the Adirondacks and Gertrude wanted Bar Harbor, we compromised on a good country house with links near, within motor distance of town and telephone distance of the doctor. That was how we went to Sunnyside. We went out to inspect the property, and it seemed to deserve its name. Its cheerful appearance gave no indication whatever of anything out of the ordinary. Only one thing seemed unusual to me the housekeeper, who had been left in charge, had moved from the house to the gardeners lodge, a few days before. As the lodge was far enough away from the house, it seemed to me that either fire or thieves could complete their work of destruction undisturbed. The property was an extensive one the house on the top of a hill, which sloped away in great stretches of green lawn and clipped hedges, to the road; and across the valley, perhaps a couple of miles away, was the Greenwood Club House. Gertrude and Halsey were infatuated. Why, its everything you want, Halsey said. View, air, good water and good roads. As for the house, its big enough for a hospital, if it has a Queen Anne front and a Mary Anne back, which was ridiculous it was pure Elizabethan. Of course we took the place; it was not my idea of comfort, being much too large and sufficiently isolated to make the servant question serious. But I give myself credit for this whatever has happened since, I never blamed Halsey and Gertrude for taking me there. And another thing if the series of catastrophes there did nothing else, it taught me one thingthat somehow, somewhere, from perhaps a halfcivilized ancestor who wore a sheepskin garment and trailed his food or his prey, I have in me the instinct of the chase. Were I a man I should be a trapper of criminals, trailing them as relentlessly as no doubt my sheepskin ancestor did his wild boar. But being an unmarried woman, with the handicap of my sex, my first acquaintance with crime will probably be my last. Indeed, it came near enough to being my last acquaintance with anything. The property was owned by Paul Armstrong, the president of the Traders Bank, who at the time we took the house was in the west with his wife and daughter, and a Doctor Walker, the Armstrong family physician. Halsey knew Louise Armstronghad been rather attentive to her the winter before, but as Halsey was always attentive to somebody, I had not thought of it seriously, although she was a charming girl. I knew of Mr. Armstrong only through his connection with the bank, where the childrens money was largely invested, and through an ugly story about the son, Arnold Armstrong, who was reported to have forged his fathers name, for a considerable amount, to some bank paper. However, the story had had no interest for me. I cleared Halsey and Gertrude away to a house party, and moved out to Sunnyside the first of May. The roads were bad, but the trees were in leaf, and there were still tulips in the borders around the house. The arbutus was fragrant in the woods under the dead leaves, and on the way from the station, a short mile, while the car stuck in the mud, I found a bank showered with tiny forgetmenots. The birdsdont ask me what kind; they all look alike to me, unless they have a hallmark of some bright colorthe birds were chirping in the hedges, and everything breathed of peace. Liddy, who was born and bred on a brick pavement, got a little bit downspirited when the crickets began to chirp, or scrape their legs together, or whatever it is they do, at twilight. The first night passed quietly enough. I have always been grateful for that one nights peace; it shows what the country might be, under favorable circumstances. Never after that night did I put my head on my pillow with any assurance how long it would be there; or on my shoulders, for that matter. On the following morning Liddy and Mrs. Ralston, my own housekeeper, had a difference of opinion, and Mrs. Ralston left on the eleven train. Just after luncheon, Burke, the butler, was taken unexpectedly with a pain in his right side, much worse when I was within hearing distance, and by afternoon he was started cityward. That night the cooks sister had a babythe cook, seeing indecision in my face, made it twins on second thoughtand, to be short, by noon the next day the household staff was down to Liddy and myself. And this in a house with twentytwo rooms and five baths! Liddy wanted to go back to the city at once, but the milkboy said that Thomas Johnson, the Armstrongs colored butler, was working as a waiter at the Greenwood Club, and might come back. I have the usual scruples about coercing peoples servants away, but few of us have any conscience regarding institutions or corporationswitness the way we beat railroads and streetcar companies when we canso I called up the club, and about eight oclock Thomas Johnson came to see me. Poor Thomas! Well, it ended by my engaging Thomas on the spot, at outrageous wages, and with permission to sleep in the gardeners lodge, empty since the house was rented. The old manhe was whitehaired and a little stooped, but with an immense idea of his personal dignitygave me his reasons hesitatingly. I aint sayin nothin, Mis Innes, he said, with his hand on the doorknob, but theres been goinson here this las few months as aint natchal. Taint one thing an taint anotherits jest a door squealin here, an a winder closin there, but when doors an winders gets to cuttin up capers and theres nobody nigh em, its time Thomas Johnson sleeps somewhars else. Liddy, who seemed to be never more than ten feet away from me that night, and was afraid of her shadow in that great barn of a place, screamed a little, and turned a yellowgreen. But I am not easily alarmed. It was entirely in vain; I represented to Thomas that we were alone, and that he would have to stay in the house that night. He was politely firm, but he would come over early the next morning, and if I gave him a key, he would come in time to get some sort of breakfast. I stood on the huge veranda and watched him shuffle along down the shadowy drive, with mingled feelingsirritation at his cowardice and thankfulness at getting him at all. I am not ashamed to say that I doublelocked the hall door when I went in. You can lock up the rest of the house and go to bed, Liddy, I said severely. You give me the creeps standing there. A woman of your age ought to have better sense. It usually braces Liddy to mention her age she owns to fortywhich is absurd. Her mother cooked for my grandfather, and Liddy must be at least as old as I. But that night she refused to brace. Youre not going to ask me to lock up, Miss Rachel! she quavered. Why, theres a dozen French windows in the drawingroom and the billiardroom wing, and every one opens on a porch. And Mary Anne said that last night there was a man standing by the stable when she locked the kitchen door. Mary Anne was a fool, I said sternly. If there had been a man there, she would have had him in the kitchen and been feeding him what was left from dinner, inside of an hour, from force of habit. Now dont be ridiculous. Lock up the house and go to bed. I am going to read. But Liddy set her lips tight and stood still. Im not going to bed, she said. I am going to pack up, and tomorrow I am going to leave. Youll do nothing of the sort, I snapped. Liddy and I often desire to part company, but never at the same time. If you are afraid, I will go with you, but for goodness sake dont try to hide behind me. The house was a typical summer residence on an extensive scale. Wherever possible, on the first floor, the architect had done away with partitions, using arches and columns instead. The effect was cool and spacious, but scarcely cozy. As Liddy and I went from one window to another, our voices echoed back at us uncomfortably. There was plenty of lightthe electric plant down in the village supplied usbut there were long vistas of polished floor, and mirrors which reflected us from unexpected corners, until I felt some of Liddys foolishness communicate itself to me. The house was very long, a rectangle in general form, with the main entrance in the center of the long side. The brickpaved entry opened into a short hall to the right of which, separated only by a row of pillars, was a huge livingroom. Beyond that was the drawingroom, and in the end, the billiardroom. Off the billiardroom, in the extreme right wing, was a den, or cardroom, with a small hall opening on the east veranda, and from there went up a narrow circular staircase. Halsey had pointed it out with delight. Just look, Aunt Rachel, he said with a flourish. The architect that put up this joint was wise to a few things. Arnold Armstrong and his friends could sit here and play cards all night and stumble up to bed in the early morning, without having the family send in a police call. Liddy and I got as far as the cardroom and turned on all the lights. I tried the small entry door there, which opened on the veranda, and examined the windows. Everything was secure, and Liddy, a little less nervous now, had just pointed out to me the disgracefully dusty condition of the hardwood floor, when suddenly the lights went out. We waited a moment; I think Liddy was stunned with fright, or she would have screamed. And then I clutched her by the arm and pointed to one of the windows opening on the porch. The sudden change threw the window into relief, an oblong of grayish light, and showed us a figure standing close, peering in. As I looked it darted across the veranda and out of sight in the darkness. II A Link CuffButton Liddys knees seemed to give away under her. Without a sound she sank down, leaving me staring at the window in petrified amazement. Liddy began to moan under her breath, and in my excitement I reached down and shook her. Stop it, I whispered. Its only a womanmaybe a maid of the Armstrongs. Get up and help me find the door. She groaned again. Very well, I said, then Ill have to leave you here. Im going. She moved at that, and, holding to my sleeve, we felt our way, with numerous collisions, to the billiardroom, and from there to the drawingroom. The lights came on then, and, with the long French windows unshuttered, I had a creepy feeling that each one sheltered a peering face. In fact, in the light of what happened afterward, I am pretty certain we were under surveillance during the entire ghostly evening. We hurried over the rest of the lockingup and got upstairs as quickly as we could. I left the lights all on, and our footsteps echoed cavernously. Liddy had a stiff neck the next morning, from looking back over her shoulder, and she refused to go to bed. Let me stay in your dressingroom, Miss Rachel, she begged. If you dont, Ill sit in the hall outside the door. Im not going to be murdered with my eyes shut. If youre going to be murdered, I retorted, it wont make any difference whether they are shut or open. But you may stay in the dressingroom, if you will lie on the couch when you sleep in a chair you snore. She was too far gone to be indignant, but after a while she came to the door and looked in to where I was composing myself for sleep with Drummonds Spiritual Life. That wasnt a woman, Miss Rachel, she said, with her shoes in her hand. It was a man in a long coat. What woman was a man? I discouraged her without looking up, and she went back to the couch. It was eleven oclock when I finally prepared for bed. In spite of my assumption of indifference, I locked the door into the hall, and finding the transom did not catch, I put a chair cautiously before the doorit was not necessary to rouse Liddyand climbing up put on the ledge of the transom a small dressingmirror, so that any movement of the frame would send it crashing down. Then, secure in my precautions, I went to bed. I did not go to sleep at once. Liddy disturbed me just as I was growing drowsy, by coming in and peering under the bed. She was afraid to speak, however, because of her previous snubbing, and went back, stopping in the doorway to sigh dismally. Somewhere downstairs a clock with a chime sang away the hourseleventhirty, fortyfive, twelve. And then the lights went out to stay. The Casanova Electric Company shuts up shop and goes home to bed at midnight when one has a party, I believe it is customary to fee the company, which will drink hot coffee and keep awake a couple of hours longer. But the lights were gone for good that night. Liddy had gone to sleep, as I knew she would. She was a very unreliable person always awake and ready to talk when she wasnt wanted and dozing off to sleep when she was. I called her once or twice, the only result being an explosive snore that threatened her very windpipethen I got up and lighted a bedroom candle. My bedroom and dressing room were above the big livingroom on the first floor. On the second floor a long corridor ran the length of the house, with rooms opening from both sides. In the wings were small corridors crossing the main onethe plan was simplicity itself. And just as I got back into bed, I heard a sound from the east wing, apparently, that made me stop, frozen, with one bedroom slipper half off, and listen. It was a rattling metallic sound, and it reverberated along the empty halls like the crash of doom. It was for all the world as if something heavy, perhaps a piece of steel, had rolled clattering and jangling down the hardwood stairs leading to the cardroom. In the silence that followed Liddy stirred and snored again. I was exasperated first she kept me awake by silly alarms, then when she was needed she slept like Joe Jefferson, or Ripthey are always the same to me. I went in and aroused her, and I give her credit for being wide awake the minute I spoke. Get up, I said, if you dont want to be murdered in your bed. Where? How? she yelled vociferously, and jumped up. Theres somebody in the house, I said. Get up. Well have to get to the telephone. Not out in the hall! she gasped; Oh, Miss Rachel, not out in the hall! trying to hold me back. But I am a large woman and Liddy is small. We got to the door, somehow, and Liddy held a brass andiron, which it was all she could do to lift, let alone brain anybody with. I listened, and, hearing nothing, opened the door a little and peered into the hall. It was a black void, full of terrible suggestion, and my candle only emphasized the gloom. Liddy squealed and drew me back again, and as the door slammed, the mirror I had put on the transom came down and hit her on the head. That completed our demoralization. It was some time before I could persuade her she had not been attacked from behind by a burglar, and when she found the mirror smashed on the floor she wasnt much better. Theres going to be a death! she wailed. Oh, Miss Rachel, theres going to be a death! There will be, I said grimly, if you dont keep quiet, Liddy Allen. And so we sat there until morning, wondering if the candle would last until dawn, and arranging what trains we could take back to town. If we had only stuck to that decision and gone back before it was too late! The sun came finally, and from my window I watched the trees along the drive take shadowy form, gradually lose their ghostlike appearance, become gray and then green. The Greenwood Club showed itself a dab of white against the hill across the valley, and an early robin or two hopped around in the dew. Not until the milkboy and the sun came, about the same time, did I dare to open the door into the hall and look around. Everything was as we had left it. Trunks were heaped here and there, ready for the trunkroom, and through an end window of stained glass came a streak of red and yellow daylight that was eminently cheerful. The milkboy was pounding somewhere below, and the day had begun. Thomas Johnson came ambling up the drive about halfpast six, and we could hear him clattering around on the lower floor, opening shutters. I had to take Liddy to her room upstairs, howevershe was quite sure she would find something uncanny. In fact, when she did not, having now the courage of daylight, she was actually disappointed. Well, we did not go back to town that day. The discovery of a small picture fallen from the wall of the drawingroom was quite sufficient to satisfy Liddy that the alarm had been a false one, but I was anything but convinced. Allowing for my nerves and the fact that small noises magnify themselves at night, there was still no possibility that the picture had made the series of sounds I heard. To prove it, however, I dropped it again. It fell with a single muffled crash of its wooden frame, and incidentally ruined itself beyond repair. I justified myself by reflecting that if the Armstrongs chose to leave pictures in unsafe positions, and to rent a house with a family ghost, the destruction of property was their responsibility, not mine. I warned Liddy not to mention what had happened to anybody, and telephoned to town for servants. Then after a breakfast which did more credit to Thomas heart than his head, I went on a short tour of investigation. The sounds had come from the east wing, and not without some qualms I began there. At first I found nothing. Since then I have developed my powers of observation, but at that time I was a novice. The small cardroom seemed undisturbed. I looked for footprints, which is, I believe, the conventional thing to do, although my experience has been that as clues both footprints and thumbmarks are more useful in fiction than in fact. But the stairs in that wing offered something. At the top of the flight had been placed a tall wicker hamper, packed, with linen that had come from town. It stood at the edge of the top step, almost barring passage, and on the step below it was a long fresh scratch. For three steps the scratch was repeated, gradually diminishing, as if some object had fallen, striking each one. Then for four steps nothing. On the fifth step below was a round dent in the hard wood. That was all, and it seemed little enough, except that I was positive the marks had not been there the day before. It bore out my theory of the sound, which had been for all the world like the bumping of a metallic object down a flight of steps. The four steps had been skipped. I reasoned that an iron bar, for instance, would do something of the sortstrike two or three steps, end down, then turn over, jumping a few stairs, and landing with a thud. Iron bars, however, do not fall downstairs in the middle of the night alone. Coupled with the figure on the veranda the agency by which it climbed might be assumed. Butand here was the thing that puzzled me mostthe doors were all fastened that morning, the windows unmolested, and the particular door from the cardroom to the veranda had a combination lock of which I held the key, and which had not been tampered with. I fixed on an attempt at burglary, as the most natural explanationan attempt frustrated by the falling of the object, whatever it was, that had roused me. Two things I could not understand how the intruder had escaped with everything locked, and why he had left the small silver, which, in the absence of a butler, had remained downstairs overnight. Under pretext of learning more about the place, Thomas Johnson led me through the house and the cellars, without result. Everything was in good order and repair; money had been spent lavishly on construction and plumbing. The house was full of conveniences, and I had no reason to repent my bargain, save the fact that, in the nature of things, night must come again. And other nights must followand we were a long way from a policestation. In the afternoon a hack came up from Casanova, with a fresh relay of servants. The driver took them with a flourish to the servants entrance, and drove around to the front of the house, where I was awaiting him. Two dollars, he said in reply to my question. I dont charge full rates, because, bringin em up all summer as I do, it pays to make a special price. When they got off the train, I sez, sez I, Theres another bunch for Sunnyside, cook, parlor maid and all. Yesmsix summers, and a new lot never less than once a month. They wont stand for the country and the lonesomeness, I reckon. But with the presence of the bunch of servants my courage revived, and late in the afternoon came a message from Gertrude that she and Halsey would arrive that night at about eleven oclock, coming in the car from Richfield. Things were looking up; and when Beulah, my cat, a most intelligent animal, found some early catnip on a bank near the house and rolled in it in a feline ecstasy, I decided that getting back to nature was the thing to do. While I was dressing for dinner, Liddy rapped at the door. She was hardly herself yet, but privately I think she was worrying about the broken mirror and its augury, more than anything else. When she came in she was holding something in her hand, and she laid it on the dressingtable carefully. I found it in the linen hamper, she said. It must be Mr. Halseys, but it seems queer how it got there. It was the half of a link cuffbutton of unique design, and I looked at it carefully. Where was it? In the bottom of the hamper? I asked. On the very top, she replied. Its a mercy it didnt fall out on the way. When Liddy had gone I examined the fragment attentively. I had never seen it before, and I was certain it was not Halseys. It was of Italian workmanship, and consisted of a motherofpearl foundation, encrusted with tiny seedpearls, strung on horsehair to hold them. In the center was a small ruby. The trinket was odd enough, but not intrinsically of great value. Its interest for me lay in this Liddy had found it lying in the top of the hamper which had blocked the eastwing stairs. That afternoon the Armstrongs housekeeper, a youngish goodlooking woman, applied for Mrs. Ralstons place, and I was glad enough to take her. She looked as though she might be equal to a dozen of Liddy, with her snapping black eyes and heavy jaw. Her name was Anne Watson, and I dined that evening for the first time in three days. III Mr. John Bailey Appears I had dinner served in the breakfastroom. Somehow the huge diningroom depressed me, and Thomas, cheerful enough all day, allowed his spirits to go down with the sun. He had a habit of watching the corners of the room, left shadowy by the candles on the table, and altogether it was not a festive meal. Dinner over I went into the livingroom. I had three hours before the children could possibly arrive, and I got out my knitting. I had brought along two dozen pairs of slipper soles in assorted sizesI always send knitted slippers to the Old Ladies Home at Christmasand now I sorted over the wools with a grim determination not to think about the night before. But my mind was not on my work at the end of a halfhour I found I had put a row of blue scallops on Eliza Klinefelters lavender slippers, and I put them away. I got out the cufflink and went with it to the pantry. Thomas was wiping silver and the air was heavy with tobacco smoke. I sniffed and looked around, but there was no pipe to be seen. Thomas, I said, you have been smoking. No, mam. He was injured innocence itself. Its on my coat, mam. Over at the club the gentlemen But Thomas did not finish. The pantry was suddenly filled with the odor of singeing cloth. Thomas gave a clutch at his coat, whirled to the sink, filled a tumbler with water and poured it into his right pocket with the celerity of practice. Thomas, I said, when he was sheepishly mopping the floor, smoking is a filthy and injurious habit. If you must smoke, you must; but dont stick a lighted pipe in your pocket again. Your skins your own you can blister it if you like. But this house is not mine, and I dont want a conflagration. Did you ever see this cufflink before? No, he never had, he said, but he looked at it oddly. I picked it up in the hall, I added indifferently. The old mans eyes were shrewd under his bushy eyebrows. Theres strange goinson here, Mis Innes, he said, shaking his head. Somethins goin to happen, sure. You aint took notice that the big clock in the hall is stopped, I reckon? Nonsense, I said. Clocks have to stop, dont they, if theyre not wound? Its wound up, all right, and it stopped at three oclock last night, he answered solemnly. Moren that, that there clock aint stopped for fifteen years, not since Mr. Armstrongs first wife died. And that aint allno mam. Last three nights I slep in this place, after the electrics went out I had a token. My oil lamp was full of oil, but it kep goin out, do what I would. Minute I shet my eyes, out that lampd go. There aint no surer token of death. The Bible sez, Let yer light shine! When a hand you cant see puts yer light out, it means death, sure. The old mans voice was full of conviction. In spite of myself I had a chilly sensation in the small of my back, and I left him mumbling over his dishes. Later on I heard a crash from the pantry, and Liddy reported that Beulah, who is coal black, had darted in front of Thomas just as he picked up a tray of dishes; that the bad omen had been too much for him, and he had dropped the tray. The chug of the automobile as it climbed the hill was the most welcome sound I had heard for a long time, and with Gertrude and Halsey actually before me, my troubles seemed over for good. Gertrude stood smiling in the hall, with her hat quite over one ear, and her hair in every direction under her pink veil. Gertrude is a very pretty girl, no matter how her hat is, and I was not surprised when Halsey presented a goodlooking young man, who bowed at me and looked at Trudethat is the ridiculous nickname Gertrude brought from school. I have brought a guest, Aunt Ray, Halsey said. I want you to adopt him into your affections and your SaturdaytoMonday list. Let me present John Bailey, only you must call him Jack. In twelve hours hell be calling you Aunt I know him. We shook hands, and I got a chance to look at Mr. Bailey; he was a tall fellow, perhaps thirty, and he wore a small mustache. I remember wondering why he seemed to have a good mouth and when he smiled his teeth were above the average. One never knows why certain men cling to a messy upper lip that must get into things, any more than one understands some women building up their hair on wire atrocities. Otherwise, he was very good to look at, stalwart and tanned, with the direct gaze that I like. I am particular about Mr. Bailey, because he was a prominent figure in what happened later. Gertrude was tired with the trip and went up to bed very soon. I made up my mind to tell them nothing until the next day, and then to make as light of our excitement as possible. After all, what had I to tell? An inquisitive face peering in at a window; a crash in the night; a scratch or two on the stairs, and half a cuffbutton! As for Thomas and his forebodings, it was always my belief that a negro is one part thief, one part pigment, and the rest superstition. It was Saturday night. The two men went to the billiardroom, and I could hear them talking as I went upstairs. It seemed that Halsey had stopped at the Greenwood Club for gasoline and found Jack Bailey there, with the Sunday golf crowd. Mr. Bailey had not been hard to persuadeprobably Gertrude knew whyand they had carried him off triumphantly. I roused Liddy to get them something to eatThomas was beyond reach in the lodgeand paid no attention to her evident terror of the kitchen regions. Then I went to bed. The men were still in the billiardroom when I finally dozed off, and the last thing I remember was the howl of a dog in front of the house. It wailed a crescendo of woe that trailed off hopefully, only to break out afresh from a new point of the compass.


At three oclock in the morning I was roused by a revolver shot. The sound seemed to come from just outside my door. For a moment I could not move. ThenI heard Gertrude stirring in her room, and the next moment she had thrown open the connecting door. O Aunt Ray! Aunt Ray! she cried hysterically. Someone has been killed, killed! Thieves, I said shortly. Thank goodness, there are some men in the house tonight. I was getting into my slippers and a bathrobe, and Gertrude with shaking hands was lighting a lamp. Then we opened the door into the hall, where, crowded on the upper landing of the stairs, the maids, whitefaced and trembling, were peering down, headed by Liddy. I was greeted by a series of low screams and questions, and I tried to quiet them. Gertrude had dropped on a chair and sat there limp and shivering. I went at once across the hall to Halseys room and knocked; then I pushed the door open. It was empty; the bed had not been occupied! He must be in Mr. Baileys room, I said excitedly, and followed by Liddy, we went there. Like Halseys, it had not been occupied! Gertrude was on her feet now, but she leaned against the door for support. They have been killed! she gasped. Then she caught me by the arm and dragged me toward the stairs. They may only be hurt, and we must find them, she said, her eyes dilated with excitement. I dont remember how we got down the stairs I do remember expecting every moment to be killed. The cook was at the telephone upstairs, calling the Greenwood Club, and Liddy was behind me, afraid to come and not daring to stay behind. We found the livingroom and the drawingroom undisturbed. Somehow I felt that whatever we found would be in the cardroom or on the staircase, and nothing but the fear that Halsey was in danger drove me on; with every step my knees seemed to give way under me. Gertrude was ahead and in the cardroom she stopped, holding her candle high. Then she pointed silently to the doorway into the hall beyond. Huddled there on the floor, face down, with his arms extended, was a man. Gertrude ran forward with a gasping sob. Jack, she cried, oh, Jack! Liddy had run, screaming, and the two of us were there alone. It was Gertrude who turned him over, finally, until we could see his white face, and then she drew a deep breath and dropped limply to her knees. It was the body of a man, a gentleman, in a dinner coat and white waistcoat, stained now with bloodthe body of a man I had never seen before. IV Where Is Halsey? Gertrude gazed at the face in a kind of fascination. Then she put out her hands blindly, and I thought she was going to faint. He has killed him! she muttered almost inarticulately; and at that, because my nerves were going, I gave her a good shake. What do you mean? I said frantically. There was a depth of grief and conviction in her tone that was worse than anything she could have said. The shake braced her, anyhow, and she seemed to pull herself together. But not another word would she say she stood gazing down at that gruesome figure on the floor, while Liddy, ashamed of her flight and afraid to come back alone, drove before her three terrified womenservants into the drawingroom, which was as near as any of them would venture. Once in the drawingroom, Gertrude collapsed and went from one fainting spell into another. I had all I could do to keep Liddy from drowning her with cold water, and the maids huddled in a corner, as much use as so many sheep. In a short time, although it seemed hours, a car came rushing up, and Anne Watson, who had waited to dress, opened the door. Three men from the Greenwood Club, in all kinds of costumes, hurried in. I recognized a Mr. Jarvis, but the others were strangers. Whats wrong? the Jarvis man askedand we made a strange picture, no doubt. Nobody hurt, is there? He was looking at Gertrude. Worse than that, Mr. Jarvis, I said. I think it is murder. At the word there was a commotion. The cook began to cry, and Mrs. Watson knocked over a chair. The men were visibly impressed. Not any member of the family? Mr. Jarvis asked, when he had got his breath. No, I said; and motioning Liddy to look after Gertrude, I led the way with a lamp to the cardroom door. One of the men gave an exclamation, and they all hurried across the room. Mr. Jarvis took the lamp from meI remember thatand then, feeling myself getting dizzy and lightheaded, I closed my eyes. When I opened them their brief examination was over, and Mr. Jarvis was trying to put me in a chair. You must get upstairs, he said firmly, you and Miss Gertrude, too. This has been a terrible shock. In his own home, too. I stared at him without comprehension. Who is it? I asked with difficulty. There was a band drawn tight around my throat. It is Arnold Armstrong, he said, looking at me oddly, and he has been murdered in his fathers house. After a minute I gathered myself together and Mr. Jarvis helped me into the livingroom. Liddy had got Gertrude upstairs, and the two strange men from the club stayed with the body. The reaction from the shock and strain was tremendous I was collapsedand then Mr. Jarvis asked me a question that brought back my wandering faculties. Where is Halsey? he asked. Halsey! Suddenly Gertrudes stricken face rose before me the empty rooms upstairs. Where was Halsey? He was here, wasnt he? Mr. Jarvis persisted. He stopped at the club on his way over. Idont know where he is, I said feebly. One of the men from the club came in, asked for the telephone, and I could hear him excitedly talking, saying something about coroners and detectives. Mr. Jarvis leaned over to me. Why dont you trust me, Miss Innes? he said. If I can do anything I will. But tell me the whole thing. I did, finally, from the beginning, and when I told of Jack Baileys being in the house that night, he gave a long whistle. I wish they were both here, he said when I finished. Whatever mad prank took them away, it would look better if they were here. Especially Especially what? Especially since Jack Bailey and Arnold Armstrong were notoriously bad friends. It was Bailey who got Arnold into trouble last springsomething about the bank. And then, too Go on, I said. If there is anything more, I ought to know. Theres nothing more, he said evasively. Theres just one thing we may bank on, Miss Innes. Any court in the country will acquit a man who kills an intruder in his house, at night. If Halsey Why, you dont think Halsey did it! I exclaimed. There was a queer feeling of physical nausea coming over me. No, no, not at all, he said with forced cheerfulness. Come, Miss Innes, youre a ghost of yourself and I am going to help you upstairs and call your maid. This has been too much for you. Liddy helped me back to bed, and under the impression that I was in danger of freezing to death, put a hotwater bottle over my heart and another at my feet. Then she left me. It was early dawn now, and from voices under my window I surmised that Mr. Jarvis and his companions were searching the grounds. As for me, I lay in bed, with every faculty awake. Where had Halsey gone? How had he gone, and when? Before the murder, no doubt, but who would believe that? If either he or Jack Bailey had heard an intruder in the house and shot himas they might have been justified in doingwhy had they run away? The whole thing was unheard of, outrageous, andimpossible to ignore. About six oclock Gertrude came in. She was fully dressed, and I sat up nervously. Poor Aunty! she said. What a shocking night you have had! She came over and sat down on the bed, and I saw she looked very tired and worn. Is there anything new? I asked anxiously. Nothing. The car is gone, but Warnerhe is the chauffeurWarner is at the lodge and knows nothing about it. Well, I said, if I ever get my hands on Halsey Innes, I shall not let go until I have told him a few things. When we get this cleared up, I am going back to the city to be quiet. One more night like the last two will end me. The peace of the countryfiddlesticks! Whereupon I told Gertrude of the noises the night before, and the figure on the veranda in the east wing. As an afterthought I brought out the pearl cufflink. I have no doubt now, I said, that it was Arnold Armstrong the night before last, too. He had a key, no doubt, but why he should steal into his fathers house I can not imagine. He could have come with my permission, easily enough. Anyhow, whoever it was that night, left this little souvenir. Gertrude took one look at the cufflink, and went as white as the pearls in it; she clutched at the foot of the bed, and stood staring. As for me, I was quite as astonished as she was. Where didyoufind it? she asked finally, with a desperate effort at calm. And while I told her she stood looking out of the window with a look I could not fathom on her face. It was a relief when Mrs. Watson tapped at the door and brought me some tea and toast. The cook was in bed, completely demoralized, she reported, and Liddy, brave with the daylight, was looking for footprints around the house. Mrs. Watson herself was a wreck; she was bluewhite around the lips, and she had one hand tied up. She said she had fallen downstairs in her excitement. It was natural, of course, that the thing would shock her, having been the Armstrongs housekeeper for several years, and knowing Mr. Arnold well. Gertrude had slipped out during my talk with Mrs. Watson, and I dressed and went downstairs. The billiard and cardrooms were locked until the coroner and the detectives got there, and the men from the club had gone back for more conventional clothing. I could hear Thomas in the pantry, alternately wailing for Mr. Arnold, as he called him, and citing the tokens that had precursed the murder. The house seemed to choke me, and, slipping a shawl around me, I went out on the drive. At the corner by the east wing I met Liddy. Her skirts were draggled with dew to her knees, and her hair was still in crimps. Go right in and change your clothes, I said sharply. Youre a sight, and at your age! She had a golfstick in her hand, and she said she had found it on the lawn. There was nothing unusual about it, but it occurred to me that a golfstick with a metal end might have been the object that had scratched the stairs near the cardroom. I took it from her, and sent her up for dry garments. Her daylight courage and selfimportance, and her shuddering delight in the mystery, irritated me beyond words. After I left her I made a circuit of the building. Nothing seemed to be disturbed the house looked as calm and peaceful in the morning sun as it had the day I had been coerced into taking it. There was nothing to show that inside had been mystery and violence and sudden death. In one of the tulip beds back of the house an early blackbird was pecking viciously at something that glittered in the light. I picked my way gingerly over through the dew and stooped down almost buried in the soft ground was a revolver! I scraped the earth off it with the tip of my shoe, and, picking it up, slipped it into my pocket. Not until I had got into my bedroom and doublelocked the door did I venture to take it out and examine it. One look was all I needed. It was Halseys revolver. I had unpacked it the day before and put it on his shavingstand, and there could be no mistake. His name was on a small silver plate on the handle. I seemed to see a network closing around my boy, innocent as I knew he was. The revolverI am afraid of them, but anxiety gave me courage to look through the barrelthe revolver had still two bullets in it. I could only breathe a prayer of thankfulness that I had found the revolver before any sharpeyed detective had come around. I decided to keep what clues I had, the cufflink, the golfstick and the revolver, in a secure place until I could see some reason for displaying them. The cufflink had been dropped into a little filigree box on my toilet table. I opened the box and felt around for it. The box was emptythe cufflink had disappeared! V Gertrudes Engagement At ten oclock the Casanova hack brought up three men. They introduced themselves as the coroner of the county and two detectives from the city. The coroner led the way at once to the locked wing, and with the aid of one of the detectives examined the rooms and the body. The other detective, after a short scrutiny of the dead man, busied himself with the outside of the house. It was only after they had got a fair idea of things as they were that they sent for me. I received them in the livingroom, and I had made up my mind exactly what to tell. I had taken the house for the summer, I said, while the Armstrongs were in California. In spite of a rumor among the servants about strange noisesI cited Thomasnothing had occurred the first two nights. On the third night I believed that someone had been in the house I had heard a crashing sound, but being alone with one maid had not investigated. The house had been locked in the morning and apparently undisturbed. Then, as clearly as I could, I related how, the night before, a shot had roused us; that my niece and I had investigated and found a body; that I did not know who the murdered man was until Mr. Jarvis from the club informed me, and that I knew of no reason why Mr. Arnold Armstrong should steal into his fathers house at night. I should have been glad to allow him entre there at any time. Have you reason to believe, Miss Innes, the coroner asked, that any member of your household, imagining Mr. Armstrong was a burglar, shot him in selfdefense? I have no reason for thinking so, I said quietly. Your theory is that Mr. Armstrong was followed here by some enemy, and shot as he entered the house? I dont think I have a theory, I said. The thing that has puzzled me is why Mr. Armstrong should enter his fathers house two nights in succession, stealing in like a thief, when he needed only to ask entrance to be admitted. The coroner was a very silent man he took some notes after this, but he seemed anxious to make the next train back to town. He set the inquest for the following Saturday, gave Mr. Jamieson, the younger of the two detectives, and the more intelligent looking, a few instructions, and, after gravely shaking hands with me and regretting the unfortunate affair, took his departure, accompanied by the other detective. I was just beginning to breathe freely when Mr. Jamieson, who had been standing by the window, came over to me. The family consists of yourself alone, Miss Innes? My niece is here, I said. There is no one but yourself and your niece? My nephew. I had to moisten my lips. Oh, a nephew. I should like to see him, if he is here. He is not here just now, I said as quietly as I could. I expect himat any time. He was here yesterday evening, I believe? Noyes. Didnt he have a guest with him? Another man? He brought a friend with him to stay over Sunday, Mr. Bailey. Mr. John Bailey, the cashier of the Traders Bank I believe. And I knew that someone at the Greenwood Club had told. When did they leave? Very earlyI dont know at just what time. Mr. Jamieson turned suddenly and looked at me. Please try to be more explicit, he said. You say your nephew and Mr. Bailey were in the house last night, and yet you and your niece, with some womenservants, found the body. Where was your nephew? I was entirely desperate by that time. I do not know, I cried, but be sure of this Halsey knows nothing of this thing, and no amount of circumstantial evidence can make an innocent man guilty. Sit down, he said, pushing forward a chair. There are some things I have to tell you, and, in return, please tell me all you know. Believe me, things always come out. In the first place, Mr. Armstrong was shot from above. The bullet was fired at close range, entered below the shoulder and came out, after passing through the heart, well down the back. In other words, I believe the murderer stood on the stairs and fired down. In the second place, I found on the edge of the billiardtable a charred cigar which had burned itself partly out, and a cigarette which had consumed itself to the cork tip. Neither one had been more than lighted, then put down and forgotten. Have you any idea what it was that made your nephew and Mr. Bailey leave their cigars and their game, take out the automobile without calling the chauffeur, and all this atlet me seecertainly before three oclock in the morning? I dont know, I said; but depend on it, Mr. Jamieson, Halsey will be back himself to explain everything. I sincerely hope so, he said. Miss Innes, has it occurred to you that Mr. Bailey might know something of this? Gertrude had come downstairs and just as he spoke she came in. I saw her stop suddenly, as if she had been struck. He does not, she said in a tone that was not her own. Mr. Bailey and my brother know nothing of this. The murder was committed at three. They left the house at a quarter before three. How do you know that? Mr. Jamieson asked oddly. Do you know at what time they left? I do, Gertrude answered firmly. At a quarter before three my brother and Mr. Bailey left the house, by the main entrance. Iwasthere. Gertrude, I said excitedly, you are dreaming! Why, at a quarter to three Listen, she said. At halfpast two the downstairs telephone rang. I had not gone to sleep, and I heard it. Then I heard Halsey answer it, and in a few minutes he came upstairs and knocked at my door. Wewe talked for a minute, then I put on my dressinggown and slippers, and went downstairs with him. Mr. Bailey was in the billiardroom. Wewe all talked together for perhaps ten minutes. Then it was decided thatthat they should both go away Cant you be more explicit? Mr. Jamieson asked. Why did they go away? I am only telling you what happened, not why it happened, she said evenly. Halsey went for the car, and instead of bringing it to the house and rousing people, he went by the lower road from the stable. Mr. Bailey was to meet him at the foot of the lawn. Mr. Bailey left Which way? Mr. Jamieson asked sharply. By the main entrance. He leftit was a quarter to three. I know exactly. The clock in the hall is stopped, Miss Innes, said Jamieson. Nothing seemed to escape him. He looked at his watch, she replied, and I could see Mr. Jamiesons snap, as if he had made a discovery. As for myself, during the whole recital I had been plunged into the deepest amazement. Will you pardon me for a personal question? The detective was a youngish man, and I thought he was somewhat embarrassed. What are youryour relations with Mr. Bailey? Gertrude hesitated. Then she came over and put her hand lovingly in mine. I am engaged to marry him, she said simply. I had grown so accustomed to surprises that I could only gasp again, and as for Gertrude, the hand that lay in mine was burning with fever. Andafter that, Mr. Jamieson went on, you went directly to bed? Gertrude hesitated. No, she said finally. II am not nervous, and after I had extinguished the light, I remembered something I had left in the billiardroom, and I felt my way back there through the darkness. Will you tell me what it was you had forgotten? I can not tell you, she said slowly. II did not leave the billiardroom at once Why? The detectives tone was imperative. This is very important, Miss Innes. I was crying, Gertrude said in a low tone. When the French clock in the drawingroom struck three, I got up, and thenI heard a step on the east porch, just outside the cardroom. Someone with a key was working with the latch, and I thought, of course, of Halsey. When we took the house he called that his entrance, and he had carried a key for it ever since. The door opened and I was about to ask what he had forgotten, when there was a flash and a report. Some heavy body dropped, and, half crazed with terror and shock, I ran through the drawingroom and got upstairsI scarcely remember how. She dropped into a chair, and I thought Mr. Jamieson must have finished. But he was not through. You certainly clear your brother and Mr. Bailey admirably, he said. The testimony is invaluable, especially in view of the fact that your brother and Mr. Armstrong had, I believe, quarreled rather seriously some time ago. Nonsense, I broke in. Things are bad enough, Mr. Jamieson, without inventing bad feeling where it doesnt exist. Gertrude, I dont think Halsey knew thethe murdered man, did he? But Mr. Jamieson was sure of his ground. The quarrel, I believe, he persisted, was about Mr. Armstrongs conduct to you, Miss Gertrude. He had been paying you unwelcome attentions. And I had never seen the man! When she nodded a yes I saw the tremendous possibilities involved. If this detective could prove that Gertrude feared and disliked the murdered man, and that Mr. Armstrong had been annoying and possibly pursuing her with hateful attentions, all that, added to Gertrudes confession of her presence in the billiardroom at the time of the crime, looked strange, to say the least. The prominence of the family assured a strenuous effort to find the murderer, and if we had nothing worse to look forward to, we were sure of a distasteful publicity. Mr. Jamieson shut his notebook with a snap, and thanked us. I have an idea, he said, apropos of nothing at all, that at any rate the ghost is laid here. Whatever the rappings have beenand the colored man says they began when the family went west three months agothey are likely to stop now. Which shows how much he knew about it. The ghost was not laid with the murder of Arnold Armstrong he, or it, only seemed to take on fresh vigor. Mr. Jamieson left then, and when Gertrude had gone upstairs, as she did at once, I sat and thought over what I had just heard. Her engagement, once so engrossing a matter, paled now beside the significance of her story. If Halsey and Jack Bailey had left before the crime, how came Halseys revolver in the tulip bed? What was the mysterious cause of their sudden flight? What had Gertrude left in the billiardroom? What was the significance of the cufflink, and where was it? VI In the East Corridor When the detective left he enjoined absolute secrecy on everybody in the household. The Greenwood Club promised the same thing, and as there are no Sunday afternoon papers, the murder was not publicly known until Monday. The coroner himself notified the Armstrong family lawyer, and early in the afternoon he came out. I had not seen Mr. Jamieson since morning, but I knew he had been interrogating the servants. Gertrude was locked in her room with a headache, and I had luncheon alone. Mr. Harton, the lawyer, was a little, thin man, and he looked as if he did not relish his business that day. This is very unfortunate, Miss Innes, he said, after we had shaken hands. Most unfortunateand mysterious. With the father and mother in the west, I find everything devolves on me; and, as you can understand, it is an unpleasant duty. No doubt, I said absently. Mr. Harton, I am going to ask you some questions, and I hope you will answer them. I feel that I am entitled to some knowledge, because I and my family are just now in a most ambiguous position. I dont know whether he understood me or not he took off his glasses and wiped them. I shall be very happy, he said with oldfashioned courtesy. Thank you. Mr. Harton, did Mr. Arnold Armstrong know that Sunnyside had been rented? I thinkyes, he did. In fact, I myself told him about it. And he knew who the tenants were? Yes. He had not been living with the family for some years, I believe? No. Unfortunately, there had been trouble between Arnold and his father. For two years he had lived in town. Then it would be unlikely that he came here last night to get possession of anything belonging to him? I should think it hardly possible, he admitted. To be perfectly frank, Miss Innes, I can not think of any reason whatever for his coming here as he did. He had been staying at the clubhouse across the valley for the last week, Jarvis tells me, but that only explains how he came here, not why. It is a most unfortunate family. He shook his head despondently, and I felt that this driedup little man was the repository of much that he had not told me. I gave up trying to elicit any information from him, and we went together to view the body before it was taken to the city. It had been lifted on to the billiardtable and a sheet thrown over it; otherwise nothing had been touched. A soft hat lay beside it, and the collar of the dinnercoat was still turned up. The handsome, dissipated face of Arnold Armstrong, purged of its ugly lines, was now only pathetic. As we went in Mrs. Watson appeared at the cardroom door. Come in, Mrs. Watson, the lawyer said. But she shook her head and withdrew she was the only one in the house who seemed to regret the dead man, and even she seemed rather shocked than sorry. I went to the door at the foot of the circular staircase and opened it. If I could only have seen Halsey coming at his usual harebrained clip up the drive, if I could have heard the throb of the motor, I would have felt that my troubles were over. But there was nothing to be seen. The countryside lay sunny and quiet in its peaceful Sunday afternoon calm, and far down the drive Mr. Jamieson was walking slowly, stooping now and then, as if to examine the road. When I went back, Mr. Harton was furtively wiping his eyes. The prodigal has come home, Miss Innes, he said. How often the sins of the fathers are visited on the children! Which left me pondering. Before Mr. Harton left, he told me something of the Armstrong family. Paul Armstrong, the father, had been married twice. Arnold was a son by the first marriage. The second Mrs. Armstrong had been a widow, with a child, a little girl. This child, now perhaps twenty, was Louise Armstrong, having taken her stepfathers name, and was at present in California with the family. They will probably return at once, he concluded, and part of my errand here today is to see if you will relinquish your lease here in their favor. We would better wait and see if they wish to come, I said. It seems unlikely, and my town house is being remodeled. At that he let the matter drop, but it came up unpleasantly enough, later. At six oclock the body was taken away, and at seventhirty, after an early dinner, Mr. Harton went. Gertrude had not come down, and there was no news of Halsey. Mr. Jamieson had taken a lodging in the village, and I had not seen him since midafternoon. It was about nine oclock, I think, when the bell rang and he was ushered into the livingroom. Sit down, I said grimly. Have you found a clue that will incriminate me, Mr. Jamieson? He had the grace to look uncomfortable. No, he said. If you had killed Mr. Armstrong, you would have left no clues. You would have had too much intelligence. After that we got along better. He was fishing in his pocket, and after a minute he brought out two scraps of paper. I have been to the clubhouse, he said, and among Mr. Armstrongs effects, I found these. One is curious; the other is puzzling. The first was a sheet of club notepaper, on which was written, over and over, the name Halsey B. Innes. It was Halseys flowing signature to a dot, but it lacked Halseys ease. The ones toward the bottom of the sheet were much better than the top ones. Mr. Jamieson smiled at my face. His old tricks, he said. That one is merely curious; this one, as I said before, is puzzling. The second scrap, folded and refolded into a compass so tiny that the writing had been partly obliterated, was part of a letterthe lower half of a sheet, not typed, but written in a cramped hand.  by altering the plans for  rooms, may be possible. The best way, in my opinion, would be to  the plan for  in one of the  rooms  chimney. That was all. Well? I said, looking up. There is nothing in that, is there? A man ought to be able to change the plan of his house without becoming an object of suspicion. There is little in the paper itself, he admitted; but why should Arnold Armstrong carry that around, unless it meant something? He never built a house, you may be sure of that. If it is this house, it may mean anything, from a secret room To an extra bathroom, I said scornfully. Havent you a thumbprint, too? I have, he said with a smile, and the print of a foot in a tulip bed, and a number of other things. The oddest part is, Miss Innes, that the thumbmark is probably yours and the footprint certainly. His audacity was the only thing that saved me his amused smile put me on my mettle, and I ripped out a perfectly good scallop before I answered. Why did I step into the tulip bed? I asked with interest. You picked up something, he said goodhumoredly, which you are going to tell me about later. Am I, indeed? I was politely curious. With this remarkable insight of yours, I wish you would tell me where I shall find my fourthousanddollar motorcar. I was just coming to that, he said. You will find it about thirty miles away, at Andrews Station, in a blacksmith shop, where it is being repaired. I laid down my knitting then and looked at him. And Halsey? I managed to say. We are going to exchange information, he said. I am going to tell you that, when you tell me what you picked up in the tulip bed. We looked steadily at each other it was not an unfriendly stare; we were only measuring weapons. Then he smiled a little and got up. With your permission, he said, I am going to examine the cardroom and the staircase again. You might think over my offer in the meantime. He went on through the drawingroom, and I listened to his footsteps growing gradually fainter. I dropped my pretense at knitting and, leaning back, I thought over the last fortyeight hours. Here was I, Rachel Innes, spinster, a granddaughter of old John Innes of Revolutionary days, a D.A.R., a Colonial Dame, mixed up with a vulgar and revolting crime, and even attempting to hoodwink the law! Certainly I had left the straight and narrow way. I was roused by hearing Mr. Jamieson coming rapidly back through the drawingroom. He stopped at the door. Miss Innes, he said quickly, will you come with me and light the east corridor? I have fastened somebody in the small room at the head of the cardroom stairs. I jumped up at once. You meanthe murderer? I gasped. Possibly, he said quietly, as we hurried together up the stairs. Someone was lurking on the staircase when I went back. I spoke; instead of an answer, whoever it was turned and ran up. I followedit was darkbut as I turned the corner at the top a figure darted through this door and closed it. The bolt was on my side, and I pushed it forward. It is a closet, I think. We were in the upper hall now. If you will show me the electric switch, Miss Innes, you would better wait in your own room. Trembling as I was, I was determined to see that door opened. I hardly knew what I feared, but so many terrible and inexplicable things had happened that suspense was worse than certainty. I am perfectly cool, I said, and I am going to remain here. The lights flashed up along that end of the corridor, throwing the doors into relief. At the intersection of the small hallway with the larger, the circular staircase wound its way up, as if it had been an afterthought of the architect. And just around the corner, in the small corridor, was the door Mr. Jamieson had indicated. I was still unfamiliar with the house, and I did not remember the door. My heart was thumping wildly in my ears, but I nodded to him to go ahead. I was perhaps eight or ten feet awayand then he threw the bolt back. Come out, he said quietly. There was no response. Comeout, he repeated. ThenI think he had a revolver, but I am not surehe stepped aside and threw the door open. From where I stood I could not see beyond the door, but I saw Mr. Jamiesons face change and heard him mutter something, then he bolted down the stairs, three at a time.