 Section 1 of Library of the World's Best Mystery and Detective Stories, Volume 3. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to balance here, please visit LibriVox.org. Library of the World's Best Mystery and Detective Stories, Volume 3 by Gillian Hawthorne Editor. Section 1. The Golden Inget by Fitz James O'Brien I had just retired to rest, with my eyes almost blind with the study of a new work on physiology by M. Brown-Sicard, when the night bell was pulled violently. It was winter and I confess I grumbled as I rose and went downstairs to open the door. Twice that week I had been aroused long after midnight for the most trivial causes. Once to attend upon the son and heir of a wealthy family, who had cut his thumb with a penknife, which it seems he insisted on taking to bed with him, and once to restore a young gentleman to consciousness, who had been found by his horrified parent, stretched insensible on the staircase. Diakylion in the one case and Ammonia in the other were all that my patients required, and I had a faint suspicion that the present summons was perhaps occasioned by no case more necessitous than those I have quoted. I was too young in my profession, however, to neglect opportunities. It is only when a physician rises to a very large practice that he can afford to be inconsiderate. I was on the first step of the ladder, so I humbly opened my door. A woman was standing ankle deep in the snow that lay upon the stoop. I caught but a dim glimpse of her form, for the night was cloudy, but I could hear her teeth rattling like castanets, and as the sharp wind blew her clothes close to her form I could discern from the sharpness of the outline that she was very scantily supplied with rain-ment. Come in, come in, my good woman, I said hastily, for the wind seemed to catch eagerly at the opportunity of making itself at home in my hall, and was rapidly forcing an entrance through the half-open door. Come in, you can tell me all you have to communicate inside. She slipped in like a ghost, and I closed the door. While I was striking a light in my office I could hear her teeth still clicking, out in the dark hall, till it seemed as if some skeleton was chattering. As soon as I obtained a light I begged her to enter the room, and without occupying myself particularly about her appearance, asked her abruptly what her business was. My father has met with a severe accident, she said, and requires instant surgical aid. I entreat you to come to him immediately. The freshness and the melody of her voice startled me. Such voices rarely, if ever, issue from any but beautiful forms. I looked at her attentively, but, owing to a nondescript species of shawl in which her head was wrapped, I could discern nothing beyond what seemed to be a pale-thin face and large eyes. Her dress was lamentable, an old silk, of a color now unrecognizable, clung to her figure in those limp folds which are so eloquent of misery. Horses where it had been folded were worn nearly through, and the edges of the skirt had decayed into a species of irregular fringe, which was clotted and discolored with mud. Her shoes which were but half concealed by this scanty garment were shapeless and soft with moisture. Her hands were hidden under the ends of the shawl which covered her head and hung down over a bust, the outlines of which, although angular, seemed to possess grace. Poverty, when partially shrouded, seldom fails to interest. Witness the statue of the veiled beggar by Monty. In what manner was your father hurt, I asked in a tone considerably softened from the one in which I put my first question. He blew himself up, sir, and is terribly wounded. Ah, he is in some factory, then. No, sir, he is a chemist. A chemist? Why, he is a brother professional. Wait an instant, and I will slip on my coat and go with you. Do you live far from here? In the Seventh Avenue, not more than two blocks from the end of the street. So much the better. We will be with him in a few minutes. Did you leave any one in attendance on him? No, sir. He will allow no one but myself to enter his laboratory. And, injured as he is, I could not induce him to quit it. Indeed, he is engaged in some great research, perhaps. I have known such cases. We were passing under a lamppost, and the woman suddenly turned and glared at me with a look of such wild terror that for an instant I involuntarily glanced round me, under the impression that some terrible peril, unseen by me, was menacing us both. Don't, don't ask any questions, she said breathlessly. He will tell you all, but do, oh, do, hasten! Good God, he may be dead by this time! I made no reply, but allowed her to grasp my hand, which she did with a bony, nervous clutch, and endeavored with some difficulty to keep pace with the long strides. I might well call them bounds, for they seemed the springs of a wild animal, rather than the paces of a young girl, with which she covered the ground. Not a word more was uttered until we stopped before a shabby, old-fashioned tenement house in the Seventh Avenue, and not far above 23rd Street. She pushed open the door with a convulsive pressure, and, still retaining hold of my hand, literally dragged me upstairs to what seemed to be a back offshoot from the main building, as high, perhaps, as the fourth story. In a moment more I found myself in a moderate-sized chamber, lit by a single lamp. In one corner, stretched motionless on a wretched pallet-bed, I beheld what I supposed to be the figure of my patient. He is there, so the girl, go to him, see if he is dead, I dare not look. I made my way, as well as I could, through the numberless, dilapidated chemical instruments with which the room was littered. A French chafing-dish, supported on an iron tripod, had been overturned, and was lying across the floor, while the charcoal, still warm, was scattered around in various directions. Crucibles, alembics, and retorts were confusedly piled in various corners, and on a small table I saw distributed in separate bottles a number of mineral and metallic substances, which I recognized as antimony, mercury, plumbego, arsenic, borax, et cetera. It was veritably the apartments of a poor chemist. All the apparatus had the air of being secondhand. There was no luster of exquisitely annealed glasses and high-polished metals, such as Dassel's one in the laboratory of the prosperous analyst. The makeshifts of poverty were everywhere visible. The crucibles were broken, or galapods were used instead of crucibles. The colored tests were not in the usual transparent vials, but were placed in ordinary black bottles. There is nothing more melancholy than to behold science or art in distress. A threadbare scholar, a tattered book, or a battered violin, it's a mute appeal to our sympathy. I approached the wretched pallid bed on which the victim of chemistry was lying. He breathed heavily, and had his head turned toward the wall. I lifted his arm gently to arouse his attention. How goes it, my poor friend? I asked him. Where are you hurt? In a moment, as if startled by the sound of my voice, he sprang up in his bed and cowered against the wall like a wild animal driven to bay. Who are you? I don't know you. Who brought you here? You are a stranger. How dare you come into my private rooms to spy upon me? And as he uttered this with a frightful nervous energy, I behelds a pale distorted face, draped with long gray hair, glaring it to me with a mingled expression of fury and terror. I am no spy, I answered mildly. I heard that you had met with an accident and have come to cure you. I am Dr. Luxor, and here is my card. The old man took the card and scanned it eagerly. You are a physician, he inquired distrustfully. And surgeon also. You are bound by oath not to reveal the secrets of your patients. Undoubtedly. I am afraid that I am hurt, he continued faintly, half-sinking back in the bed. I seized the opportunity to make a brief examination of his body. I found that the arms, a part of the chest, and a part of the face were terribly scorched. But it seemed to me that there was nothing to be apprehended but pain. You will not reveal anything that you may learn here?" said the old man, feebly fixing his eyes on my face, while I was applying a soothing ointment to the burns. You will promise me. I nodded ascent. Then I will trust you. Cure me. I will pay you well. I could scarce help smiling. If Lorenzo di Medici, conscious of millions of ducats in his coffers, had been addressing some leech of the period, he could not have spoken with a loftier air than this inhabitant of the fourth story of a tenement house in the Seventh Avenue. You must keep quiet, I answered. Let nothing irritate you. I will leave a composing draught with your daughter, which she will give you immediately. I will see you in the morning. You will be well in a week. Thank God! came in a murmur from a desk corner near the door. I turned and beheld the dim outline of the girl, standing with clasped hands in the gloom of the dim chamber. My daughter! screamed the old man, once more leaping up in the bed with renewed vitality. You have seen her, then. When? Where? Oh, may a thousand cur- Father! Father! Anything! Anything but that! Don't! Don't curse me! And the poor girl, rushing in, flung herself sobbing on her knees beside his palette. Ah, Brigand! You are there, are you? Sir! said he, turning to me. I am the most unhappy man in the world. Talk of the syphus rolling the ever recoiling stone of Prometheus, gnawed by the vulture since the birth of time. The fables yet live. There is my rock, forever crushing me back. There is my eternal vulture, feeding upon my heart. There! There! There! Ends, with an awful gesture of malediction and hatred, he pointed with his wounded hand, swathed and shapeless with bandages, at the cow-ring, sobbing, wordless woman by his side. I was too much horror-stricken to attempt even to soothe him. The anger of blood against blood has an electric power which paralyzes bystanders. Listen to me, sir, he continued. Well, I skin this painted viper. I have your oath. You will not reveal. I am an alchemist, sir. Since I was twenty-two years old I have pursued the wonderful and subtle secrets. Yes, to unfold the mysterious rose guarded with such terrible thorns, to decipher the wondrous table of emerald, to accomplish the mystic nuptials of the red king and the white king, to marry them soul to soul and body to body, for ever and ever, in the exact proportions of land and water, such has been my sublime aim, such has been a splendid feat that I have accomplished. I recognized at a glance, in this incomprehensible farago, the Argo of the true alchemist. Ripley, Flamel, and others have supplied the world in their books with a melancholy spectacle of a scientific bedlam. Two years since, continued the poor man, growing more and more excited with every word that he uttered, two years since I succeeded in solving the great problem in transmuting the baser metals into gold. None but myself, that girl. And God knows the privations I have suffered up to that time. Food, clothing, air, exercise, everything but shelter, was sacrificed toward the one great end. Success at last crowned my labors. That which Nicholas Flamel did in thirteen eighty-two. That which George Ripley did at Rhodes in fourteen sixty. That which Alexander Sethan and Michael Scudovacchus did in the seventeenth century. I did in eighteen fifty-six. I made goals, I said to myself, I will astonish New York more than Flamel did Paris. He was a poor copyist, and suddenly launched into magnificence. I had scarce a rag to my back. I would rival the Medici's. I made gold every day. I toiled night and morning. For I must tell you that I never was able to make more than a certain quantity at a time, and that by a process almost entirely dissimilar to those hinted at in those books of alchemy I had hitherto consulted. But I had no doubt that facility would come with experience, and that ere long I should be able to eclipse in wealth the richest sovereigns of the earth. So I toiled on. Day after day I gave to this girl here what gold I succeeded in fabricating, telling her to store it away after supplying our necessities. I was astonished to perceive that we lived as poorly as ever. I reflected, however, that it was perhaps a commendable piece of prudence on the part of my daughter. A doubtless I said, she argues that the less we spend the sooner we shall accumulate a capital, wherewith to live at ease. So thinking her course a wise one, I did not reproach her with her niggardliness, but toiled on, amid want, with closed lips. The gold which I fabricated was, as I said before, of an invariable size, namely a little ingot, worth perhaps thirty or forty-five dollars. In two years I calculated that I had made five hundred of these ingots, which, rated at an average of thirty dollars apiece, would amount to the gross sum of fifteen thousand dollars. After deducting our slight expenses for two years, we ought to have had nearly fourteen thousand dollars left. It was time, I thought, to indemnify myself for my years of suffering, and surround my child and myself with such moderate comforts as our means allowed. I went to my daughter and explained to her that I desired to make an encroachment upon our little hoard. To my utter amazement she burst into tears, and told me that she had not got a dollar, that all our wealth had been stolen from her. Almost overwhelmed by this new misfortune, I in vain endeavored to discover from her in what manner our savings had been plundered. She could afford me no expression, beyond what I might gather from an abundance of psalms, and a copious flow of tears. It was a bitter blow, doctor, but nil-desperandum was my motto, so I went to work at my crucible again, with redumpled energy, and made an ingot nearly every second day. I determined this time to put them in some secure place myself. But the very first day I set my apparatus in order for the projection, the girl Marion, that is my daughter's name, came weeping to me and implored me to allow her to take care of our treasure. I refused decisively, saying that, having found her already incapable of filling the trust, I could place no faith in her again. But she insisted, clung to my neck, threatened to abandon me, in short, used so many of the bad but irresistible arguments known to women that I had not the heart to refuse her. She has since that time continued to take the ingots. Yet you behold, continued the old alchemist, casting an inexpressibly mournful glance around the wretched apartment, the way we live. Our food is insufficient, and of bad quality, we never buy clothes. The rent of this whole is a mere nothing. What am I to think of the wretched girl who plunges me into this misery? Is she a miser, think you, or a female gamester? Or, or does she squander it riotously in places I know not of? Oh, doctor, doctor, do not blame me if I heap implications on her head, for I have suffered bitterly. The poor man here closed his eyes, and sank back groaning on his bed. This singular narrative excited in me the strangest emotions. I glanced at the girl Marion, who had been a patient listener to these horrible accusations of cupidity, and never did I behold a more angelic air of resignation than beamed over her countenance. It was impossible that anyone with those pure, limpid eyes, that calm broad forehead, that childlike mouth, could be such a monster of avarice, or deceit, as the man represented. The truth was plain enough. The alchemist was mad. What alchemist was there, ever who was not? And his insanity had taken this terrible shape. I felt an inexpressible pity move my heart for this poor girl, whose youth was burdened with such an awful sorrow. What is your name? I asked the old man, ticking his tremulous, fevered hand in mine. William Blakelock, he answered, I come of an old Saxon stock, sir, that bred true men and women in former days. God, how did it ever come to pass that such a one as that girl ever sprung from our line? The glance of loathing and contempt that he cast at her made me shudder. May you not be mistaken in your daughter, I said very mildly. Solutions with regard to alchemy are, or have been, very common. What, sir? cried the old man, bounding in his bed. What, do you doubt that gold can be made? Do you know, sir, that M. C. Theodore Tiffrew made gold at Paris in the year 1854, in the presence of M. Leval, the assayer of the Imperial Mint, and the result of the experiments was read before the Academy of Sciences on the 16th of October of the same year. But stay, you shall have better proof yet. I will pay you with one of my ingots, and you shall attend me until I am well. Get me an ingot. This last command was addressed to Marion, who was still kneeling close to her father's bedside. I observed her with some curiosity as this mandate was issued. She became very pale, clasped her hands convulsively, but neither moved nor made any reply. Get me an ingot, I say, reiterated the alchemist passionately. She fixed her large eyes imploringly upon him. Her lips quivered, and two huge tears rolled slowly down her white cheeks. O, bae me, wretched girl, cried the old man in an agitated voice, or I swear by all that I reverence in heaven and earth that I will lay my curse upon you for ever. I felt for an instant that I ought perhaps to interfere, and spare the girl the anguish that she was so evidently suffering. But a powerful curiosity to see how this strange scene would terminate withheld me. The last threat of her father, uttered as it was with a terrible vehemence, seemed to appall Marion. She rose with such a sudden leap as if a serpent had stunk her, and, rushing into an inner apartment, returned with a small object which she placed in my hand, and then flung herself in a chair in a distant corner of the room, weeping bitterly. You see, you see, said the old man sarcastically, how reluctantly she parts with it. Take it, sir, it is yours. It was a small bar of metal. I examined it carefully, poised it in my hands. The color, weight, everything, announced that it really was gold. You doubt its genuineness, perhaps, continued the alchemist. There are acids on yonder-table, test it. I confess that I did doubt its genuineness, but after I had acted upon the old man's suggestion, all further suspicion was rendered impossible. It was gold of the highest purity. I was astounded. Was then, after all, this man's tale a truth? Was his daughter that fair and jelly-looking creature a demon of avarice, or a slave to worse passions? I felt bewildered. I had never met with anything so incomprehensible. I looked from father to daughter in the blankest amazement. I supposed that my countenance betrayed my astonishment, for the old man said, I perceive that you are surprised. Well, that is natural. You had a right to think me mad until I proved myself sane. But, Mr. Blakelock, I said, I really cannot take this gold. I have no right to it. I cannot, in justice, charge so large a fee. Take it, take it, he answered impatiently. Your fee will amount to that before I am well. Besides, he added mysteriously, I wish to secure your friendship. I wish that you should protect me from her. And he pointed his poor bandage tan at Marion. My eyes followed his gesture, and I caught the glance that replied. A glance of horror, distrust, despair. The beautiful face was distorted into positive ugliness. It's all true, I thought. She is the demon that her father represents her. I now rose to go. This domestic tragedy sickened me. This treachery of blood against blood was too horrible to witness. I wrote a prescription for the old man, left directions as to the renewal of the dressings upon his burns, and, bidding him good night, hastened toward the door. While I was fumbling on in the dark, crazy landing for the staircase, I felt a hand laid on my arm. Dr. whispered a voice that I recognized as Marion Blakelocks. Dr., have you any compassion in your heart? I hope so, I answered shortly, shaking off her hand. Her touch filled me with loathing. Hush, don't talk so loud. If you have any pity in your nature, give me back, I entreat of you, that gold ingot which my father gave you this evening. Great heavens, had I. Can it be possible that so fair a woman can be such a mercenary, shameless wretch? Ah, you know not, I cannot tell you. Do not judge me harshly. I call God to witness that I am not what you deem me. Someday or other you will know. But, she added, interrupting herself. The ingot, where is it, I must have it. My life depends on your giving it to me. Take it, imposter. I cried, placing it in her hand. That closed on it with a horrible eagerness. I never intended to keep it. Gold made under the same roof that covers such as you must be accursed. So saying, heiless of the nervous effort she made to detain me, I stumbled down the stairs and walked hastily home. The next morning, while I was in my office, smoking my metudinal cigar, and speculating over the singular character of my acquaintances of last night, the door opened, and Marian Blacklock entered. She had the same look of terror that I had observed the evening before, and she panted as if she had been running fast. Father has gone out of bed, she gasped out, and insists on going on with his alchemy. Will it kill him? Not exactly. I answered coldly. It were better that he kept quiet so as to avoid the chance of inflammation. However, you need not be alarmed. His burns are not at all dangerous, although painful. Thank God, thank God! She cried in the most impassioned accents, and before I was aware of what she was doing, she seized my hand and kissed it. There, that will do, I said, withdrawing my hand. You are under no obligations to me. You had better go back to your father. I can't go, she answered. You despise me. Is it not so? I made no reply. You think me a monster, a criminal. When you went home last night, you were wonderstruck that so vile a creature as I should have so fair a face. You embarrass me, madam, I said in a most chilling tone. Pray relieve me from this unpleasant position. Wait! I cannot bear that you should think ill of me. You are good and kind, and I desire to possess your esteem. You little know how I love my father. I could not restrain a bitter smile. You do not believe that? Well, I will convince you. I have had a hard struggle all last night with myself, but am now resolved. This life of deceit must continue no longer. Will you hear my vindication? I assented. The wonderful melody of her voice and the purity of her features were charming me once more. I have believed in her innocence already. My father has told you a portion of his history, but he did not tell you that his continued failures in his search for the secret of metallic transmutation nearly killed him. Two years ago he was on the verge of the grave, working every day at his mad pursuit, and every day growing weaker and more emaciated. I saw that if his mind was not relieved in some way he would die. The thought was madness to me, for I loved him. I loved him still, as a daughter never loved a father before. During all these years of poverty I had supported the house with my needle. It was hard work, but I did it. I do it still. What, I cried startled, does not— Patience, hear me out. My father was dying of disappointment. I must save him. By incredible exertions working night and day I saved about thirty-five dollars in notes. These I exchanged for gold, and one day when my father was not looking I cast them into the crucible in which he was making one of his main attempts at transmutation. God I am sure will pardon the deception. I never anticipated the misery it would lead to. I never beheld anything like the joy of my poor father when after emptying his crucible he found a deposit of pure gold at the bottom. He wept and danced and sang and built such castles in the air that my brain was dizzy to hear him. He gave me the inket to keep and went to work at his alchemy with renewed vigor. The same thing occurred. He always found the same quantity of gold in his crucible. I alone knew the secret. He was happy, poor man, for nearly two years in the belief that he was amassing a fortune. I, although while, plied my needle for our daily bread. When he asked me for the savings, the first stroke fell upon me. Then it was that I recognized the folly of my conduct. I could give him no money. I never had any, while he believed that I had fourteen thousand dollars. My heart was nearly broken when I found that he had conceived the most injurious suspicions against me. Yet I could not blame him. He would give no account of the treasure I had permitted him to believe was in my possession. I must suffer the penalty of my fault. For to undeceive him would be, I felt, to kill him. I remained silent then, and suffered. You know the rest. You now know why it was that I was reluctant to give you that inket. Why it was that I degraded myself so far as to ask it back. It was the only means I had of continuing a deception on which I believed my father's life depended. But that delusion has been dispelled. I can live this life of hypocrisy no longer. I cannot exist and hear my father, whom I love so, wither me daily with his curses. I will undeceive him this very day. Will you come with me? For I fear the effect on his enfeebled frame. Willingly, I answered, taking her by the hand. And I think that no absolute danger need be apprehended. Now, Marion, I added, let me ask forgiveness for having even for a moment wounded so noble a heart. You are truly as great a modder as any of those who's suffering the church perpetuates in altar pieces. I knew you would do me justice when you knew all. She sobbed, pressing my hands. But come, I am on fire. Let us hasten to my father and break this terror to him. When we reached the old alchemist's room, we found him busily engaged over a crucible, which was placed on a small furnace, and in which some indescribable mixture was boiling. He looked up as we entered. No fear of me, doctor, he said with a ghastly smile. No fear, I must not allow a little physical pain to interrupt my great work, you know. By the way, you are just in time. In a few moments the marriage of the red king and the white king will be accomplished, as George Ripley calls the great act, in his book entitled The Twelve Gates. Yes, doctor, in less than ten minutes you will see me make pure, red, shining gold. And the poor old man smiled triumphantly and stirred his foolish mixture with a long rod, which he held with difficulty in his bandaged hands. It was a grievous sight for a man of any feeling to witness. Father, said Marion, in a low, broken voice, advancing a little toward the poor old dupe. I want your forgiveness. Ah, hypocrite, for what? Are you going to give me back my gold? No, father, but for the deception that I have been practicing on you for two years. I knew it, I knew it, shouted the old man with a radiant countenance. She has concealed my fourteen thousand dollars all this time, and now comes to restore them. I will forgive her. Where are they, Marion? Father, it must come out. You never made any gold. It was I who saved up thirty-five dollars, and I used to slip them into your crucible when your back was turned. And I did it only because I saw you were dying of disappointment. It was wrong, I know. But, father, I meant well. You'll forgive me, won't you? And the poor girl advanced a step toward the alchemist. He grew deathly pale, and staggered as if about to fall. The next instant, though, he recovered himself and burst into a horrible sardonic laugh. Then he said, in tones full of the bitterest irony. A conspiracy, is it? Well done, doctor. You think to reconcile me with this wretched girl by trumping up this story that I have been for two years a dupe of her filial piety. It's clumsy, doctor, and it's a total failure. Try again. But I assure you, Mr. Blakelock, I said as earnestly as I could, I believe your daughter's statement to be perfectly true. You will find it to be so, as she has got the ingot in her possession, which so often deceived you into the belief that you made gold, and you will certainly find that no transmutation has taken place in your crucible. Doctor, said the old man, in tones of the most settled conviction, You are a fool. The girl has weedled you. In less than a minute I will turn you out a piece of gold pure than any of the earth produces. Will that convince you? That will convince me. I answered. By a gesture I imposed silence on Marion, who was about to speak. I thought it better to allow the old man to be his own deceiver, and we awaited the coming crisis. The old man, still smiling with anticipated triumph, kept bending eagerly over his crucible, stirring the mixture with his rod, and muttering to himself all the time. Now, I heard him say, it changes. There, there's the scum, and now the green and bronze shades flit across it. Oh, the beautiful green, the precursor of the golden red hue that comes of the end attains. Oh, now the golden red is coming. Slowly, slowly, it deepens, it shines, it is dazzling. Ah, I have it. So saying, he caught up his crucible in a chemist's tongs, and bore it slowly towards the table on which stood a brass vessel. Now, incredulous doctor, he cried, come and be convinced, and immediately began carefully pouring the contents of the crucible into the brass vessel. When the crucible was quite empty, he turned it up and called me again. Come, doctor, come and be convinced, see for yourself. See first if there is any golden or crucible, I answered without moving. He left, shook his head derisively, and looked into the crucible. In a moment he grew pale as death. Nothing, he cried. Oh, a jest, a jest. There must be gold somewhere. Marion! The gold is here, father, said Marion, drawing the ingot from her pocket. It is all we ever had. Ah, shrieked the poor old man, as he let the empty crucible fall, and staggered toward the ingot which Marion held out to him. He made three steps, and then fell on his face. Marion rushed toward him, and tried to lift him, but could not. I put her aside gently, and placed my hand on his heart. Marion, said I, It is perhaps better as it is. He is dead. End of section 1. Recording by Katie Riley. May, 2010. Library of the World's Best Mystery and Detective Stories, Volume 3 by Julian Hawthorne. Editor, section number 2. The Bohemian by Fitz James O'Brien. I was launched into the world when I reached 21, at which epoch I found myself in possession of health, strength, physical beauty, and boundless ambition. I was poor. My father had been an unsuccessful operator in Wall Street, had passed through the various vicissitudes of fortune common to his profession, and ended by being left a widower with barely enough to live upon and to give me a collegiate education. As I was aware of the strenuous exertions he had made to accomplish this last, how he had pinched himself in a thousand ways to endow me with intellectual capital, I immediately felt, on leaving college, the necessity of burdening him no longer. The desire for riches entirely possessed me. I had no dream but wealth, like those poor wretches so lately starving on the Darien Isthmus, who used to beguile their hunger with imaginary banquets, I consoled my pangs of present poverty with visions of boundless treasure. A friend of mine, who was paying teller in one of our New York banks, once took me into the vaults when he was engaged in depositing his speci, and as I beheld the golden coins falling in yellow streams from his hands, a strange madness seemed to possess me. I became from that moment a prey to a morbid disorder, which, if we had a psychological pathology, might be classed as the mania arabalis. I literally saw gold, nothing but gold. Walking in the country, my eyes involuntarily sought the ground, as if hoping to pierce the sod and discover some hidden treasure. Coming home late at night, through the silent New York streets, every stray piece of mud or loose fragment of paper that lay upon the sidewalk was carefully scanned, for in spite of my better reason, I cherished the vague hope that some time or other I should light upon a splendid treasure, which, for want of a better claimant, would remain mine. It seemed, in short, as if one of those gold gnomes of the heart's mountains had taken possession of me and ruled me like a master. I dreamed such dreams as would cast Sinbad's Valley of Diamonds into the shade, the very sunlight itself never shone upon me, but the wish crossed my brain that I could solidify its splendid beams and coin them into eagles. I was, by profession, a lawyer. Like the rest of my fraternity, I had my little office, a small room on the fourth storey in Nassau Street, with a magnificent painted tin labels announcing my rank and title all the way up the stairs. Despite the fact that I had many of these labels fixed to the walls and in every available corner my legal threshold was virgin. No client gladdened my sight. Many and many a time my heart beat as I heard heavy footsteps. Ascending the stairs, but the half-darning hope of employment was speedily crushed. They always stopped on the floor below, where a disgusting conveyance with a large practice had put up his shingle. So I passed day after day alone with my code and blockstone and my chitty, writing articles for the magazines on legal looking paper, so that in case a client entered he might imagine I was engaged in my profession, by which I earned a scanty and precarious substance. I was, of course, at this period in love, that a young man should be very ambitious, very poor, and very unhappy and not in love would be too glaring a contradiction of the usual course of worldly destinies. I was, therefore, entirely and hopelessly in love. My life was divided between two passions, the desire of becoming wealthy and my love for Annie Dean. Annie was an author's daughter, need I add after this statement that she was as poor as myself? This was the only point in my theory of the conquest of wealth on which I contradicted myself. To be consistent, I should have devoted myself to some of those young ladies about whom it is whispered before we are introduced that she will have a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. But though I had made up my mind to devote my life to the acquisition of wealth and though I barely believe I might have potted with my soul for the same end, I had yet too much of the natural man in my composition to sacrifice my heart. Annie Dean was, however, such a girl as to make this infraction of my theory of life less remarkable. She was indeed marvelously beautiful, not of that insipid style of beauty which one sees in Greek statues and London annuals. Her nose did not form a grand line with her forehead. Her mouth would scarcely have been claimed by Cupid as his bow. But then her upper lip was so short, and the teeth within so pearly, the brow was so white and full, and the throat so round slender and pliant, and when above all this a pair of wondrous dark grey eyes reigned in supreme and tender beauty, I felt that a portion of the wealth of my life had already been acquired in gaining the love of Annie Dean. Our love affair ran as smoothly as if the old adage never existed, probably for the reason that there was no gold in sight, for we were altogether too poor to dream of marriage as yet, and there did not seem very much probability of my achieving the success necessary to the fulfilment of our schemes. Annie's constitutional delicacy, however, was a source of some uneasiness to me. She evidently possessed a very highly strong, nervous organisation, and was to the extremist degree what might be termed impressionable. The slightest change in the weather strangely certain atmospheres appeared to possess an influence over her for better or for worse. But it was in connection with social instincts, so to speak, that the peculiarities of her organism were so strikingly developed. These instincts, for I cannot call them anything else, guided her altogether in her choice of acquaintance. She was accustomed to declare that by merely touching a person's hand, she became conscious of liking or aversion. Upon the entrance of certain persons into her room, where she was, even if she had never seen them before, her frame would shrink and shiver like a dying flower, and she would not recover until they had left the apartment. For these strange affections she could not herself account, but they, on more than one occasion, were the source of very bitter annoyances to herself and her parents. Well, things were in this state, and one day, in the early part of June, I was sitting alone in my little office. The beginning of a story, which I was writing, lay upon the table. The title was elaborately at the top of the page, but it seemed as if I had stuck in the middle of the second paragraph. In the first, for it was an historical tale, after the most approved model, I had described the month, time of day, and the setting sun. In the second, I introduced my three horsemen, who were riding slowly down a hill. The nose of the first and elder horseman, however, upset me. I could not, for the life of me, determine whether it was to be Acolyne or Roman. While I was debating this important point, and swaying between a multitude of suggestions, there came a sharp, decisive knock at my door. I think, if the knock had come upon the nose about which I was thinking, or on my own, I should scarcely have been more surprised. The client! I cried to myself. Who's there? The gods have sent. At last, laid on a pipe from Bactolus, for my especial benefit. In reality, between ourselves, I did not say anything half as good, but the exclamation, as I have written it, will convey some idea of the vague exultation that filled my soul when I heard that knock. Come in! I cried when I had reached down a chitty and concealed my story under a second-hand brief which I had borrowed from a friend in the profession. Come in! And I arranged myself in a studious and absorbed attitude. The door opened and my visitor entered. I had a sort of instinct that he was no client from the first moment. Rich men, and who but a rich man goes to law, may sometimes be seedy in their attire, but it is always a peculiar and respectable seediness. The air of wealth is visible. I know not by what magic beneath the most threadbare coat. You see, at a glance, that the man who wears it might, if he chose, be clad in fine linen. The seediness of the poor man is, on the other hand, equally unmistakable. You seem to discern instantly that his coat is poor from necessity. My visitor, it was easy to perceive, was of this latter class. My hopes of profit sank at the sight of his pale, unshaven face, his old shapeless boots, his shabby, cosseth hat, his overcoat shining with long wear, which, though buttoned, I could see no longer merited its name. For it was plain that no other coat lurked beneath it. With all, this man had an air of conscious power as he entered. You could see that he had nothing in his pockets, but then he looked as if he had much in his brain. He saluted me with a sort of careless respect as he entered. I bowed in return and offered him the other chair. I had but two. Can I do anything for you, sir? I inquired blandly, still clinging to the hope of clientage. Yes, said he shortly. I never make purposeless visits. Hem, if you would be so kind to as to state your case. For his rudeness rather shook my faith in his poverty. I will give it my best attention. I have no doubt of that, Mr. Cranstone, he replied. For you are as much interested in it as I am. Oh, indeed, I exclaimed, not without some surprise and much interest at this sudden disclosure. Oh, to whom have I the honour of speaking, then? My name is Philip Bran. Bran? Bran? A resident of this city? No, I am by birth an Englishman, but I never reside anywhere. Oh, you are a commercial agent, then, perhaps. I am a bohemian. A what? A bohemian, he replied, coolly removing the papers with which I had concealed my magazine story and glancing over the commencement. You see, my habits are easy. Oh, I see it perfectly, sir, I answered. When I say that I am a bohemian, I do not wish you to understand that I am a zingaro. I don't steal chickens, tell fortunes, or live in a camp. I am a social bohemian and fly at higher game. But what has all this got to do with me? I asked sharply, for I was not a little provoked at the disappointment I experienced in the fellows not having turned out to be a client. Much. It is necessary that you should know something about me before you do that which you will do. Oh, I am to do something, then. Certainly. Have you read Henry Merger's Scenes de la Vie de Bohem? Ah, yes. Well, then you can comprehend my life. I am clever, learned, witty, and tolerably good-looking. I can write brilliant magazine articles. Here is I rested contemptuously on my historical tale. I can paint pictures, and what is more, sell the pictures I paint. I can compose songs, make comedies, and captivate women. On my word, sir, you have a choice of professions. I said, sarcastically, for the scorn with which the bohemian had eyed my story offended me. That's it, he answered. I don't want a profession. I can make plenty of money if I chose to work. But I don't choose to work. I will never work. I have a contempt for labour. Probably you despise money equally, I replied with a sneer. No, I don't. To acquire money without trouble is the great object of my life, as to acquire it in any way is the great object of yours. And pray, sir, how do you know that I have any such object? I asked in a haughty tone. Oh, I know it. You dream only of wealth. You intend to try and obtain it by industry. You will never succeed. Your prophecy, sir, are more dogmatical than pleasant. Don't be angry, he replied, smiling at my frowns. You shall be wealthy. We will follow it together. Sublime assurance of this man astounded me. His glance, penetrating and vivid, seemed to pierce into my very heart a strange and uncontrollable interest in him and his plans filled my heart. I burned to no more. What is your proposal? I asked severely, for a thought at the moment flashed across me that some unlawful scheme might be the aim of this singular being. You need not be alarmed, he answered as if reading my thoughts. The road I wish to lead you is an honest one. I am too wise a man ever to become a criminal. Well then, Mr. Philip Ban, if you will explain your plans, I shall feel more assured on that point. Well, in the first place, he began crossing his legs and taking a cigar out of a bundle that lay in one of the pigeonholes of my desk. In the first place, you must introduce me to the young lady engaged Miss Annie Dean. Sir, I exclaimed, starting to my feet in quivering with indignation at such a proposal. What do you mean? Do you think it likely that I would introduce to a young lady in whom I am interested a man whom I never saw before today and who has voluntarily confessed to being a vagabond? Sir, in spite of your universal acquirements, I would not have forgotten to endow you with sense. I'll trouble you for one of those matches. Thank you. So you refused to introduce me. I knew you would. But I also know that ten minutes from this time you will be very glad to do it. Look at my eyes. The oddity of this request and the calm assurance with which it was made weren't too much for me. In spite of my anger, I burst into a fit of loud laughter. He waited patiently until my mirth had subsided. You need not laugh, he resumed. I am perfectly serious. Look at my eyes attentively and tell me if you see anything strange in them. At such a proposition from any other man I should have taken for granted that he was mocking me and kicked him downstairs. This Bohemian, however, had an earnestness of manner that staggered me. I became serious and I did look at his eyes. They were certainly very singular eyes. The most singular eyes I had ever beheld. They were long, grey, and have a very deep hue. Their steadiness was wonderful. They never moved. One might fancy that they were gazing into the depths of one of those Italian lakes on an evening when the waters are so calm as to seem solid. But it was the interior of these organs, if I may so speak, that was so marvellous. As I gazed I seemed to behold strange things passing in the deep grey distance which seemed to stretch infinitely away. I could have sworn that I saw figures moving and landscapes wonderfully real. My gaze seemed to be fastened to his by some inscrutable power and the outer world gradually passing off like a cloud left me literally living in that phantom region which I beheld in those mysterious eyes. I was aroused from this curious lethargy by the Bohemian's voice. It seemed to me at first as if muffled by distance and sounded drowsily in my ear. It made a powerful effort and recalled my senses which seemed to be wandering in some far-off place. You're more easily affected than I imagined, remarked Bran as I stared heavily at him with a half-stupified air. What have you done? What is this lethargy that I feel upon me? I stammered out. Ah, you believe now, replied Bran coldly. I thought you would. Did you observe nothing strange in my eyes? Yes, I saw landscapes and figures and many strange things. I almost thought I could distinguish Miss... Miss Dean. Well, it is not improbable. People can behold whatever they wish in my eyes. But will you not explain? I no longer doubt the fact that you are possessed of extraordinary powers, but I must know more of you. Why do you wish to be introduced to Miss Dean? Listen to me, crancedown, answered the Bohemian, placing his hand on my shoulder. I do not wish you to enter into any blindfold compact. I will explain all my views to you. For, though I have learned to trust no man, I know you cannot avail yourself of any information I may give you without my assistance. So much the better, said I. For then, you would not suspect me. As you have seen, continued the Bohemian, I possess some remarkable powers, the origin, the causes. Of these endowments, I do not care to investigate the scientific men France and Germany have wearied themselves in reducing the physiological phenomena I am a practical illustration to a system. They have failed an arbitrary nomenclature and a few interesting and suggestive experiments made by Reichenbach are all the results of years of the intellectual toil of our greatest minds. As you will have guessed by this time, I am what is vulgarly called a mesmerist. I can throw people into trances dead in the nervous susceptibilities and do a thousand things by which, if I chose to turn exhibitor, I could realize a fortune. But, while possessing those qualities which exhibit a commonplace superiority of psychical force and which are generally to be found in men of a highly sympathetic organization, I yet can boast of unique powers such as I have never known to be granted to another being besides myself. What these powers are, I have now no need to inform you. You will very soon behold them practically illustrated. Now, to come to my object. Like you, I am ambitious. But I have, unlike you, a constitutional objection to labour. It's sacrilege to expect men with minds and minds to work. Why should we? Who are expressly and evidently created by nature to enjoy? Why should we, with our delicatates, our refined susceptibilities, our highly wrought organizations spend our lives in ministering to the enjoyment of others? In short, my friend, I do not wish to row the boat in the great voyage of life. I prefer sitting at the stern with purple awnings and ivory couches around me and my hand upon the golden helm. I wish to achieve fortune at a single stroke. With your assistance I can do it. You will join me. Well, under certain conditions. I was not yet entirely carried away by the earnest eloquence of this strange being. I will grant what conditions you like, he continued fervently. Above all, I will set your mind at rest by swearing to you, whatever may be my power, never in any way to interfere between you and the young girl whom you love. I will respect her as I would a sister. This last promise cleared away many of my doubts. The history which this man gave of himself and the calm manner with which he asserted his wondrous power over women, I confess, rendered me somewhat cautious about introducing him to Annie. His heir was, however, now so frankly and manly, he seemed to be so entirely absorbed by this one idea of wealth that I had no hesitation in declaring to him that I accepted his strange proposals. Good, he exclaimed, you are, I see, a man of resolution. We shall succeed. I will now let you into my plans. Your fiancée, Miss Annie Dean, is a clairvoyant of the First Water. I saw her the other day at the Academy of Design. I stood near her as she examined a picture and my fizzy, ignomical and psychological knowledge enabled me to ascertain beyond a doubt that her organization was the most nervous and sympathetic I had ever met. It is to her pure and piercing instincts that we shall owe our success. Without regarding my gestures of astonishment and alarm, he continued, you must know that this so-called science of mesmerism is in its infancy. Its professors are, for the most part, incapable. Its pupils credulous fools. As a proof of this endeavor to recall, if you can, any authentic instance in which this science has been put to any practical use. Have these mesmeric professors and their instruments ever been able to predict or foresee the rise of stocks the course of political events, the approaches of disaster? Never, my friend, save in the novels of Alexandre Dumont and Sir Edward Bollwer-Lytton. The reason of this is very simple. The professors were limited in their power and the somnambules limited in their susceptibilities when two such people as Miss Dean and myself labour together everything is possible. Oh, I see. You propose to operate in the stocks. My dear sir, you are mad. Where is the money? Bah, who said anything about operating in stocks that involves labour and office? I can afford neither. No, Cranstown. We will take a shorter road to wealth so that a few hours' exertion is all we need to make us millionaires. For heaven's sake, explain. I'm worried with curiosity deferred. It is thus this island and its vicinity abound in concealed treasure much was deposited by the early Dutch settlers during their wars with the Indians. The Dutch coloniers have made numerous cases containing their splendid spoils which a violent death prevented their ever reclaiming. Poor Poe, who was a bohemian like myself made a story on the tradition but poor fellow he only dug up his treasure on paper. There was also a considerable quantity of plate, jewels and coin in New York and the neighborhood during the war with England. You may wonder at my asserting this so confidently that it suffice for you that I know it to be so. It is my intention to discover some of this treasure. This is LibriVox Recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Thomas Kuzgsmarty Library of the World's Best Mystery and Detective Stories, Volume 3 by Julian Hawthorne Editor. Section Number 3 The Bohemian by Fitz James O'Brien. Having calmly made this announcement, he folded his arms and gazed at me with the air of a guard prepared to receive the ovations of his worshippers. How was this to be accomplished? I inquired honestly. For I had begun to put implicit faith in this man who seemed equally gifted and audacious. There are two ways by which we can arrive at our desires. The first is by the command of that power common to some Namnubles who, having their faculties concentrated on a certain object during the magnetic trance, become possessed of the power of inwardly beholding and verbally describing it, as well as the locality where it is situated. The other is peculiar to myself and as you have seen consists in rendering my eyes a species of camera obscura to the clairvoyant in which she vividly perceives all that we would desire. This mode I have greater faith in than in any other and I believe that our success will be found there. Well, how does that? I inquired. That you have not before put this wonder's power to a like use. Why did you not enrich yourself long since through this means? Because I have never been able to find a some Namnuble sufficiently impressionable to be reliable in her evidence. I have tried many, but they have all deceived me. You confess to having beheld certain shadowy forms in my eyes what you could not define them distinctly. The reason is simply that your magnetic organization is not perfect. This faculty of mine which has so much astonished you is nothing new. It is employed by the Egyptians who use a small glass mirror where I use my eyes. M. Leon LeBord who practice the art himself, Lord Prithot and a host of other witnesses have recorded their experience of the truth of the science which I preach. However, I need discourse no further on it. I will prove to you its verity. Now that you have questioned me sufficiently, will you introduce me to your lady love, Mr Henry Cranstown? And will you promise me, Mr Philip Bran, on your honor as a man that you will respect my relations with that lady? I promise upon my honor. Then I yield. When shall it be? Tonight. I hate delays. What is evening then? I will meet you at the Astor House, and we will go together to Mr Dean's house. That night, accompanied by my new friend, the Bohemian, I knocked at the door of Mr Dean's house in Amity Place, a modest neighborhood fit for a man who earned his living by writing novels for cheap publishers and correspondence for Sunday newspapers. And he was, as usual, in his sitting room on the first floor, and the lamps had not yet been lighted, so that the apartment seemed filled with a dull gloom as we entered. Any deer said I as she ran to meet me? Let me present to you my particular friend, Mr Philip Bran, whom I have brought with me for special purpose, which I will presently explain. She did not reply. Peaked by this strange silence and feeling distressed about the Bohemian who stood calmly upright with a faint smile on his lips, I repeated my introduction rather sharply. Any, I reiterated, you could not have heard me. I'm anxious to introduce to you my friend, Mr Bran. I heard you? In a low voice, catching at my coat as if to support herself, but I feel real. Good heavens, what's the matter, darling? Let me get a glass of wine or water. Do not be alarmed, said the Bohemian, arresting my meditated rush to the door. I understand Miss Deans in disposition thoroughly. If you permit me, I will relieve her at once. A low murmur of a sense seemed to break involuntarily from Andy's lips. Bohemian led her calmly to an armchair near the window, held her hands in his for a few moments and spoke a few words to her in a low tone. In less than a minute she declared herself quite recovered. It was you who caused my illness, she said to him, in a tone whose vivacity contrasted strangely with her previous linger, I felt her presence in the room with terrible electric shock. And I have cured what I caused, answered the Bohemian, you are very sensitive to magnetic impressions, so much the better. Why so much the better? she asked anxiously. Mr. Cronstone will explain, replied brand carelessly, and with a slight bow he moved to another part of the dusky room, leaving Annie and myself together. Who is this Mr. Brann Henry? asked Annie, as soon as the Bohemian was out of earshot, his presence affects me strangely. Oh, he is a strange person who possesses wonderful powers, I answered, he is going to be of great service to us, Annie. Indeed, how so? I then related to her what had passed between the Bohemian and myself at my office, and explained his object in coming hither this evening. I painted in glowing colours the magnificent future that opened for her and myself if this scheme should prove successful, and ended by entreating her for my sake, to afford the Bohemian every facility for arriving at the goal of his desires. As I finished, I discovered that Annie was trembling violently. I caught her hand in mine. It was icy cold and quivered with a sort of agitated and intermittent tremor. Well, Henry, she exclaimed, I feel a singular presentment that seems to warn me against this thing and its rust content in our poverty, have a true heart and learn to labour and to wait. It will be rich in time, and then we will live happily together, secure in the consciousness that our means have been acquired by honest industry. I fear those secret treasure-seekings. What's nonsense? I cried. Those are timid girls' fears. It would be folly to pine patiently for years in poverty when we can achieve wealth at a stroke. The sooner we are rich, the sooner we shall be united, and to postpone that moment would be to make me almost doubt your love. Let us try this man's power. There will be nothing lost if he fails. Do as you will, Henry, she answered, I will bear you in all things, only I cannot help feeling a vague terror that seems to forbode misfortune. I laughed and bade her be of good cheer and rang for lights in order that the experiment might be commenced at once. We three were alone. Mrs. Dean was on a visit at Philadelphia. Mr. Dean was occupied with his literary labours in another room, so that we had everything necessary to ensure the quiet which the bohemian insisted should reign during his experiments. The bohemian did not magnetize in the common way with passes and manipulations. He sat a little in the shade with his back to the strong glare of the chandeliers. While Annie sat opposite to him, looking full in his face, I sat at a little distance at a small table with a pencil and notebook with which I was preparing to register such revelations as our clairvoyant should make. The bohemian commenced operations by engaging Mrs. Dean in a light and desultory conversation. He seemed conversant with all the topics of the town and talked of the opera and the annual exhibition at the Academy of Design as glibly as if he had never done anything but cultivate small talk. Imperceptibly but rapidly, however, he gradually led the conversation to money matters. From these, he glided into a dissertation on the advantages of wealth, touched on the topic of celebrated misers, then slid smoothly into a discourse on concealed treasures about which he spoke in so eloquent and impressive a manner as to completely fascinate both his hearers. Then it was that I observed a singular change take place in Annie Dean's countenance. Hitherto pale and somewhat listless as if suffering from mental depression she certainly became illumined as if by an inward fire. A rosy flush mounted to her white cheeks. Her lips eagerly parted as if drinking in some intoxicating atmosphere were ruddy with a supernatural health and her eyes dilated as they gazed upon the bohemian with a piercing intensity. The latter ceased to speak and after a moment's silence he said gently, Ms. Dean, do you see? I see, she murmured without altering the fixity of her gaze for an instant. Mark well that you observe, continued the bohemian. Describe it with all possible accuracy. Man turning to me he said rapidly take care and note everything. I see, pursued Annie speaking in a measured monotone and gazing into the bohemian's eyes while she waved her hand gently as if keeping time to the rhythm of her words. I see a sad and mournful island on which the ocean beats forever. The sandy bridges are crowned with mains of bitter grass that wave and wave sorrowfully in the wind. No trees or shrubs are rooted in that salt and sterile soil. The burning breath of the Atlantic has seared the surface and made it always transparent. The surf that whitens on the shore drifts like a shower of snow across its bleak and storm-blown plains. It is the home of the seagull and the crane. It is called Coney Island. The bohemian half inquired, half asserted. It is the name pursued this seeress but in so even a tone that one would just imagine she had heard the question. She then continued to speak as before still keeping up that gentle oscillation of her hand which in spite of my reason seemed to me to have something terrible in its monotony. I see the spot she continued where what you love lies buried my gaze pierces through the shifting soil until it finds the gold that burns in the gloom and there are jewels too of regal size and priceless value hidden so deeply in the barren sand. No sunlight has reached them for many years but they burn for me as if they were set in the glory of an eternal day. Describe this spot accurately cried the bohemian in a commanding tone making for the first time an imperative gesture. There is a spot upon that lonely island the seeress continued in the unimpassioned monotone that seemed more awful than the thunder of an army where three huge saturday ridges meet at the junction of these three ridges a stake of locust wood is driven deeply down when by the sun it is six o'clock a shadow falls westward on the sand where this shadow ends the treasure lies. Can you draw? asked the bohemian she cannot I answered hastily the bohemian raised his hand to enjoy silence I can draw now the seeress replied firmly never for an instant removing her eyes from the bohemians will will you draw the locality you describe if I give you the materials pursued the magnetizer I will brand drew a sheet of Bristol board and a pencil from his pocket and presented them to her in silence she took them and still keeping her eyes immovably fixed on those of the magnetizer began sketching rapidly I was thunderstruck Annie, I knew, had never made even the rudest sketch before it is done she said after a few minutes silence handing the Bristol board back to the bohemian moved by an expressible curiosity I rose and looked over his shoulder it was wonderful there was a masterly sketch of such a locality as she described executed on the paper its desolation, its evident truth were so singularly given that I could scarcely believe my senses I could almost hear the storms of the Atlantic howling over the barren sands there is something wanting yet said the bohemian handing the sketch back to her and smiling at my amazement I know it she remarked calmly then giving a few rapid strokes with her pencil she handed it to him once more the points of the compass had been added in the upper right hand corner of the drawing nothing more was needed to establish the perfect accuracy of the sketch this is truly wonderful I could not help exclaiming it is finished cried the bohemian exultingly and dashing his handkerchief two or three times across Annie's face under this new influence her countenance underwent a rapid change her eyes a moment before dilated to their utmost capabilities now suddenly became dull and the eyelids dropped heavily over them her form that during the previous scene had been rigidly erect and strung to its highest point of tension seemed to collapse like one of those strips of gold leaf that electricians experiment with when the subtle fluid has ceased to course through its pores without uttering a word and before the bohemian or myself could stir she sank like a corpse on the floor wretch I cried rushing forward what have you done secure the object of our joint ambition replied the fellow with that imperturbable calmness that so distinguished him do not be alarmed that this fainting fit my friend exhaustion is always the consequence of such violent psychological phenomena Miss Dean will be perfectly recovered by tomorrow evening and by that time we shall have returned millionaires I will not leave her until she is recovered I answered suddenly while I tried to restore the dear girl to consciousness yes but you will be fighting his cigar as coolly as if nothing very particular had happened by dawn tomorrow you and I will have embarked for Coney Island you cold-blooded savage I cried passionately will you assist me to restore your victim to consciousness if you do not by heaven I will blow your brains out with what the fire shovel he answered with a laugh then carelessly approaching he took Annie's hands in his and blew with his mouth gently upon her forehead the effect was almost instantaneous her eyes gradually unclosed and she made a feeble effort to sustain herself call the housekeeper said the Bohemian have Miss Dean conducted the bed and by tomorrow evening all will be tranquil I obeyed his directions almost mechanically little dreaming bitterly his words would be realized yes truly all would be tranquil by tomorrow evening I sat up all night with Bran I did not leave Mr. Deans until a late hour when I saw Annie apparently wrapped in a peaceful slumber and we took myself to a low tavern that remained open all night where the Bohemian awaited me there we arranged our plan we were to take a boat at the battery at the earliest glimpse of dawn then provided with a spade and shovel a pocket compass and a release in which to transport our treasure we were to row down to our destination I was feverish and troubled the strange scene I had witnessed and the singular adventure that awaited us seemed in combination to have set my brain on fire my temples throbbed the cold perspiration stood upon my forehead and it was in vain that I allowed myself to join the Bohemian in the huge droughts of brandy which he continually gulped down and which seemed to produce little or no effect on his iron frame how madly how terribly I longed for the dawn at last the hour came we took our implements in a carriage down to the battery hired a boat and in a short time we were out in the stream pulling lustily down the foggy harbour the exercise of rowing seemed to afford me some relief I pulled madly at my oar until the sweat rolled in huge drops from my brow and hung in trembling beads on the curls of my hair after I longed and wear some pull we landed on the island at the most occluded spot we could find taking particular care that it was completely sheltered from the view of the solitary hotel where doubtless inquisitive idlers would be found after beaching our boat carefully we struck toward the centre of the island brand seeming to possess some wonderful instinct for the discovery of localities for almost without any trouble he walked nearly straight to the spot we were in search of this is the place said he dropping the which he carried here are the three ridges and the locus stake lying exactly due north let us see what the true time is so saying he unlocked the blades and drew forth a small sextant with which he proceeded to take an observation I could not help admiring the genius of this man who seemed to think and foresee everything after a few moments of patience on the back of a letter he informed me that exactly 21 minutes would have left before the shadow of the locus stake would fall on the precise spot indicated by the cirrus just time enough said he to enjoy a cigar never did 21 minutes appear so long to a human being as these did to me there was nothing in the landscape to arrest my attention all was a wild waste of sand on which a few patches of salt grass waved mournfully my heart beat until I could hear its pulsations a thousand times I thought that my strength must give way beneath the weight of my emotions and that death would overtake me there I realized my dreams I was obliged at length to dip my handkerchief in a marshy pool that was near me and bind it about my burning temples at length the shadow from the locus log fell upon the enchanted spot Bran and myself seized the spades wildly and dug with the fury of ghouls who were rooting up their loathsome repast the light sand flew in heaps on all sides the sweat rolled from our bodies the hole grew deeper and deeper at last, oh heavens a metallic sound my spade struck some hollow sonorous substance it shook as I flung myself into the pit and scraped the sand away with my nails I laughed like a madman and burrowed like a mole the bohemian always calm with a few strokes of his shovel laid bare an old iron pot with a loose lid in an instant this was smashed with a frantic blow of my fist and my hands were buried with a drop of shining gold red glittering coins bracelets that seemed to glow like the stars in heaven goblets, rings, jewels in countless profusion flashed before my eyes for an instant like the sparkles of an aurora then came a sudden darkness and I remember no more how long I lay in this unconscious state I know not it seemed to me that I was aroused by a sensation similar to that of having water poured upon me and it was some moments before I could summon up sufficient strength to raise myself on one elbow I looked bewilderingly around I was alone I then strove to remember something that I seem to have forgotten when my eye fell on the hole in the sand on the edge of which I found I was lying a dull red gleam as a gold seemed to glimmer from out the bottom this talismanic sight restored to me everything my memory and my strength I sprang to my feet, I gazed around Bohemian was nowhere visible and he fled with the treasure my heart failed for a moment and I thought, but no there lay the treasure gleaming still in the depths of the hole with a dull red light I looked at the sun he had sunk low in the horizon and the dews already falling had with the damp sea air chilled me to the bone while I was brushing the moisture from my coat wondering at the strange conduct of the Bohemian my eye caught sight of a slip of paper pinned upon my sleeve I threw it off eagerly, it contained these words I leave you I am honest though I am selfish I am divided with you the treasure which you have helped me to gain you are now rich but it may be that you will not be happy return to the city but return in doubt the Bohemian what terrible enigma was this the last sentence of this note enshrouded what veiled mystery was it that rose before my inward vision in shapeless horror I knew not I could not guess but a foreboding of some unknown and overwhelming disaster rushed instantly upon me and seemed to crush my soul was it Annie or was it my father one thing was certain there was no time to be lost in penetrating the riddle I seized the valise which the Bohemian had charitable left me how he bore away his own share of the treasure I know not and poured the gold and jewels into it with trembling hands then scarce able to travel with the weight of the treasure I staggered toward the beach where he had left the boat she was gone without wasting an instant I made my way as rapidly as I could to the distant pier where a thin stream of white smoke informed me that the steamer for New York was waiting for the bathers I reached her just as she was about to start and staggering to an obscure corner sorrowfully sat down upon my treasure with what different feelings from those which I anticipated was I returning to the city my dreams of wealth had been realized beyond my wildest hopes all that I had thought necessary to yield me the pure happiness was mine and yet there was not a more miserable wretch in existence those fatal words return to the city but return in doubt were ever before me oh how I counted every stroke of the engine that impelled me to the city there was a poor, blind, humpbacked fiddler on board who played all along the way he played exorbitantly and his music made my flesh creep as we neared the city he came round with his hat soliciting alms in my recklessness I tumbled all the money I had in my pockets into his hands I never shall forget look of joy that flashed over his poor old seared and sightless face at the touch of these few dollars good heavens I groaned here I am sitting on the wealth of a kingdom while this old wretch has extracted from five dollars enough happiness to make a saint envious then my thoughts wandered back to any and the bohemian and there always floated before me in the air the agonizing words return to the city but return in doubt the instant I reached the pier I dashed through the crowd with my valise and jumped into the first carriage I met promised a liberal bounty to the driver if he would drive me to amity place in the shortest possible space of time stimulated by this we flew through the streets and in a few moments I was standing at Mr. Dean's door even then it seemed to me as if a dark cloud hung over that house above all others in the city I rang but my hand had scarcely left the bell handle when the door opened and Dr. Lott, the family physician appeared on the threshold he looked grave and sad we were expecting you Mr. Cranstown he said very mournfully has anything happened? I stammered catching at the railings for support hush come in and the kind doctor took me by the arm and led me like a child into the parlor Dr. Frevenzig tell me what is the matter oh I know something has happened is daddy dead? oh my brain will burst unless you end the suspense no not dead but tell me Mr. Cranstown has Ms. Dean experienced any pain lately? yes yes last night I groaned wildly she was mesmerized by a wretch oh fool that I was to suffer it ah that explains all and to the doctor then he took my hand gently in his prepare yourself Mr. Cranstown he continued with deep pity in his voice prepare yourself for a terrible shock oh she is dead then is she not? she is she died this morning of over excitement of the cause of which I was ignorant until now calm yourself my dear sir she died blessing you I tore myself from his grasp and rushed upstairs the door of her room was open and in spite of myself my agitated tramp my foot fall as I entered there were two figures in the room one was an old man who knelt by the bedside of my lost love sobbing bitterly it was her father the other lay upon the bed with marble face crossed hands and sealed eyelids all was tranquil and serene in the chamber of death even the sobbing of the father though bitter were muffled and subdued and she lay on the couch with closed eyes the calmest of all oh the cirrus now saw more than earthly science could show her I felt as I knelt by her father and kissed her cold hand in the agony of my heart that I was justly punished below stairs in the valleys lay the treasure I had gained here in her grave clothes lay the treasure I had lost End of section 3 Recording by John Thomas Kuzmarski J.T.K. Section number 4 of Library of the World's Best Mystery and Detective Stories, volume 3 This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by John Thomas Kuzmarski J.C.K. Library of the World's Best Mystery and Detective Stories, volume 3 by Julian Hawthorne Editor, section number 4 A terrible night by Fitz James O'Brien But you Dick, I'm nearly done up So am I Did anyone ever see such a confounding forest Charlie I'm not alone weak but hungry all for a steak of mousse with a bottle of old red wine to wash it down Charlie beware Take care how you conjure up such visions in my mind I'm already nearly starving and if you increase my appetite much more it will go hard with me if I don't dine off of you You are young and Bertha says you're tender Hearted she meant Well so I am If loving Bertha be any proof of it Do you know Dick, I have often wondered that you have your sister so passionately were not jealous of her attachment to me So I was my dear fellow at first furiously jealous, but then reflected that Bertha must one day or the other marry and I must lose my sister So I thought it better that she should marry my old college chum and early friend Charlie Coaster than anyone else So you see there was a little selfishness in my calculations Charlie Dick we were friends at school and friends at college and I thought at both those places that nothing could shorten the link that bound us together But I was mistaken since my love for and engagement to your sister I feel as if you were 50 times the friend that you were before Dick we three will never part So he married the king's daughter and they all lived together as happy as the days are long shouted Dick with a laugh and quoting from some nursery tale The foregoing is a slice out of the conversation with which Dick Linton and myself endeavored to be giled the way as we tramped through one of the forests of northern New York Dick was an artist and I was a sportsman so when one fine autumn day he announced his intention of going into the woods for a week to study nature it seemed to me an excellent opportunity to exercise my legs and my trigger finger at the same time Dick had some backwoods friends who lived in a log hut on the shores of Eckford Lake and there we determined to take up our quarters Dick who said he knew the forest thoroughly was to be our guide and we accordingly with our guns on our shoulders started on foot from a river known to tourists and situated on the boundaries of Essex and Warren Counties it was a desperate walk but as we started by daybreak and had great faith in our pedestrian qualities we expected to reach the nearest of the Eckford Lakes by nightfall the forest through which we travelled was of the densest description overhead the branches of spruce and pine shut out the day while beneath our feet frightful soil composed principally of jagged shingle cunningly concealed by an almost impenetrable brush as the day wore on our hopes of reaching our destination grew fainter and fainter and I could almost fancy from the anxious glances that Dick cast around him that in spite of his boasted knowledge of the woods he had lost his way it was not however until night actually fell and we were both sinking from hunger and exhaustion that I could get him to acknowledge it word and I spickle master dick said I rather crossly for an empty stomach does much to destroy a man's natural amiability confound your assurance that led you to set up as a guide of all men painters are the most conceited come charlie answered dick good humoredly there's no use in growling so loudly you'll bring the bears and panthers on us if you do we must make the best of our job and sleep in a tree oh it's easy to talk my good fellow I'm not a partridge and don't know how to roost on a bow well you'll have to learn then for if you sleep on the ground the chances are 10 to 1 but you will have the wolves nibbling at your toes before daylight I'm hanged if I'll do either said I desperately I'm going to walk all night and I'll drop before I lie down come come charlie don't be a fool I was a fool only when I consented to let you assume the role of guide well charlie if you are determined to go on let it be so we'll go together after all it's only an adventure I say dick don't you see a light by jove so there is come you see providence intervenes between us and wolves and hunger that must be some squatter's hut the light to which I had so suddenly called Dick's attention was very faint and seemed to be about a half a mile distant it glimmered through the dark branches of the hemlock and spruce trees and weak as the light was I hailed it as a mariner without a compass hails the star by which he steers we instantly set out in the direction of our beacon in a moment it seemed as if all fatigue had vanished and we walked as if our muscles were as tense as iron and our joints oily as a piston shaft we soon arrived at what in the dusk seemed to be a clearing of about five acres but it may have been larger for the tall forest rising up around it must have diminished its apparent size giving it the appearance of a square pit rather than a farm toward one corner of the clearing we discerned the dusky outline of a log hut through whose single end window a faint light was streaming with a sigh of relief we hastened to the door and knocked it was opened immediately and a man appeared on the threshold we explained our condition and were instantly invited to walk in and make ourselves at home all our host said he could offer us was some cold Indian corncakes and a slice of dry deer's flesh to all of which we were heartily welcome these vians in our starving condition were luxuries to us and we literally reveled in anticipation of a full meal the hut into which we had so unceremoniously entered was of the most poverty-stricken order consisted of but one room with a rude brick fireplace at one end some deer skins and old blankets were stretched out by way of a bed at the other extremity of the apartment and the only seats visible were two sections of a large pine trunk that stood close to the fireplace there was no vestige of the table and the rest of the furniture was embodied in a long Tennessee rifle that hung close to the rough wall but was remarkable its proprietor was still more so he was I think the most villainous looking man I ever beheld about six feet two inches in height proportionally broad across the shoulders and with a hand large enough to pick up a 56 pound shot he seemed to be a combination of extraordinary strength and agility his head was narrow and oblong in shape his straight Indian like hair fell smoothly over his low forehead as if it had been plastered with soap and his black bead like eyes were set obliquely and slanted downward toward his nose giving him a mingle expression of ferocity and cunning as I examined his features attentively in which I could trace almost every bad passion I confess I experienced a certain feeling of apprehension and distrust that I could not shake off while he was getting us the promised food we tried by questioning him to draw him into conversation he seemed very taciturn and reserved he said he lived entirely alone and had cleared the spot he occupied with his own hands he said his name was Joel but when he hinted that he must have some other name he pretended not to hear us though I saw his brows knit and his small black eyes flash angrily my suspicions of this man were further aroused by observing a pair of shoes lying in the center of the hut these shoes were at least three sizes smaller than those that are gigantic host war and yet he had distinctly replied that he lived entirely alone if those shoes were not his whose were they the more I reflected on this circumstance the more uneasy I felt apprehensions were still further aroused when Joel as he called himself took both our fouling pieces and in order to have them out of the way as he said hung them on crooks from the wall at a height that's neither dick nor I could reach without getting on a stool I smiled inwardly however as I felt the smooth barrel of my revolver that was slung out of the hollow of my back by its leather and belt and thought to myself if this fellow has any bad designs the more unprotected he thinks us the more incautious he will be so I made no effort to retain our guns dick also had a revolver and was one of those men who I knew would use it well when the time came my suspicions of our host grew that I determined to communicate them to dick nothing would be easier than for this villainous half-breed for I felt convinced he had Indian blood in him nothing would be easier than with the aid of an accomplice to cut our throats or shoot us while we were asleep and so get our guns, waters and whatever money we carried who in those lonely words would hear the shot or our cries for help what emissary of law however sharp could point out our graves in those wild woods and bring the murder home to those who committed it Linton at first laughed then grew serious and gradually became a convert to my apprehensions we hurriedly agreed that while one slept the other should watch so take it in turns through the night Joel had surrendered to us his couch of deer skin and his blankets he himself said he could sleep quite as well on the floor near the fire as dick and I were both very tired we were anxious to get our rest as soon as possible so after a hearty meal of deer steak and tough cakes washed down by a good draught from our brandy flask my being the youngest got the first hour's sleep and flung myself on the couch of skins as my eyes gradually closed I saw a dim picture of dick seated sternly watching by the fire and the long shape of the half-breed stretching out like a huge shadow upon the floor after what I could have sworn to be only a three minute dose dick woke me and informed me that my hour was out and turning me out of my warm nest lay down without any ceremony and in a few seconds was heavily snoring I wrote my eyes I felt for my revolver and seating myself on one of the pine stumps commenced my watch the half-breed appeared to be buried in a profound slumber and in the half weird light cast by the wood embers figure seemed almost titanic in its proportions I confess I felt that in a struggle for life he was more than a match for dick and myself I then looked at the fire and began a favorite amusement of mine shaping forms in the embers all sorts of figures defined themselves before me battles, tempests at sea familiar faces and above all shown ever returning the dear features of Bertha my affianced bride she seemed to smile at me through a burning haze and I could almost fancy I heard her say well you are watching in the lonely forest I am thinking of you and praying for your safety a slight movement on the part of the slumbering half-breed here recalled me from those sweet dreams he turned on his side lifted himself slowly on his elbow and gazed attentively at me I did not stir still retaining my stupid attitude I half closed my eyes and remained motionless doubtless he thought I was asleep for in a moment or two he rose noiselessly and creeping with a stealthy step across the floor passed out of the hut I listened oh how eagerly it seemed to me that through the imperfectly joined crevices of the long walls I could plainly hear voices whispering I would have given worlds to have crept nearer to listen but I was fearful of disturbing the fancied security of our host who I now felt certain had sinister designs upon us so I remained perfectly still the whispering suddenly ceased the half-breed re-entered the hut in the same stealthy way in which he had quitted it and after giving a scrutinizing glance at me once more stretched himself upon and reflected to sleep in a few moments I pretended to wake yawned looked at my watch and finding that my hour had more than expired proceeded to wake Dick as I turned him out of bed I whispered in his ear don't take your eyes off that fellow Dick he has accomplices outside be careful Dick gave a meaning glance carelessly touched his revolver as much as to say he has something to fear with his little arrangements on the pine stump in such a position as to command a view of the sleeping half-breed and the doorway at the same time this time though horribly tired I could not sleep a horrible load seemed pressing on my chest and every five minutes I would start up to see if Dick was keeping his watch faithfully my nerves were strong to a frightful pitch of intensity my heart beat at every sound and my head to a throb until I thought my temples would burst the more I reflected on the conduct of the half-breed the more sure I was that he intended murder full of this idea I took my revolver from its sling and held it in my hand ready to shoot him down at the first movement that appeared at all dangerous a haze seemed now to pass across my eyes fatigued with long watching and excitement I passed into that semi-conscious state I seemed perfectly aware of everything that passed although objects were dim and dull in outline and did not appear so sharply defined as in one's waking moments I was apparently roused from this state by a slight crackling sound I started and raised myself on my elbow my heart almost ceased to beat at what I saw the half-breed had lit some species of dried herb which sent out a strong aromatic odor as it burned this herb he was holding directly under Dick's nostrils who I now perceived to my horror was wrapped in profound slumber the smoke of this mysterious herb appeared to deprive him of all consciousness for he rolled gently off the pine log and lay stretched upon the floor the half-breed now stole to the door and opened it gently three sinister heads peered in out of the gloom I saw the long barrels of rifles and the huge brawny hands that clasped them the half-breed pointed significantly to where I lay with his long bony finger then drawing a large thirsty looking knife from his breast moved toward me the time was come my blood stopped my heart ceased to beat the half-breed was within a foot of my bed the knife was raised another instant and it would have buried in my heart when with a hand as cold as ice I lifted my revolver took a deadly aim and fired a stunning report I dull grown a huge cloud of smoke curling around me I found myself standing upright with a dark mass lying at my feet great god what have you done sir cried the half-breed rushing toward me you have killed him he was just about to wake you the frightful truth burst upon me in a flash I had shot Dick Linton well under the influence of a nightmare then everything seemed to fade away and I remember no more there was a trial I believe the lawyers were learned and proved by physicians that it was a case of what is called somnolentia or sleep drunkenness but of the proceedings I took no heed one form haunted me lying black and heavy on the hot floor and one pale face was ever present a face I saw once after the terrible catastrophe and never saw him again the wild despairing face of Bertha Linton my promised bride End of section 4 recording by JTK