 INTRODUCTION TO THE PARALS OF PALLEEN This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. THE PARALS OF PALLEEN by Charles Goddard CAST PALLEEN MARVEN or HEROIN CHAPTERS 1-7 read by Ankila and CHAPTERS 8-24 voiced by Karen Cummins Harry Marvin, would be fiancé read by Don Bart Raymond Owen, shifty trustee of the estate and Farrell read by Tom Powers Montgomery Mug Hicks rough character and villain read by Peek Stanford Marvin beloved father and guardian Nelson Cromwell Boyd, pirate Hal Haynes, Montana rancher diplomat, part of aspiring Burgess, peace officer Eddie Cabuff, Garcia auctioneer Richard Gorman and taxi cab manager read by Tommy Hursant Senor Bascinelli, a.k.a. Major Pequot Bassett Kurt Sykes Rupert Wallace Blount, peace officer and counterfeiter Tom Clifton Mary Haynes, Montana woman Mademoiselle DeLaJean, a spy Louis Rents Carrie, farmer Mr. Wilmer Dean Mrs. Crotellio Chinese priest, nurse and old man read by Trisha G Chief Red Snake Miguel Mario, a.k.a. Baltazar Dr. Stevens Jane Mann poker player 2 and henchman 1 read by Greg Vestal Ben Summers read by Mark Smith Lucille Hamlin, Pauline's best friend read by Anna Roberts Catten, Sheriff Hill Simon Michael Caliban and oldest henchman read by Rick F Gentkins, the great Pagood Harvey Scheffelin, Stoker on Ship James, Owens's driver and telegraph operator read by David Lawrence Gardner read by Matt L. Spear Junk Shop owner read by William Hazeltine Margaret, Pauline's maid Sophie McGallan and Woman on Train read by Rissa Byrne Man at Party Stella, Man in the Crowd and Boatman read by Jody Bly newspaper editor read by Patricia Fromm poker player 1 mechanic, second officer and porter read by Miriam Esther Goldman Tom Patton Chauncey Hamlin and Shipman Grimes read by Algy Pug Bill Cabot Cowboy read by Tom Crawford Big Smoke, Bemis and Rocco read by Phil Cheneverem Indian interpreter Observer 1 Chief Officer Taxi Driver Circus Man 1 and Circus Man 2 read by Ken Felt Doctor read by Ncat Observer 2 John P. Matt Hotel Clerk narration one thru 19 Recording by Carolיnesday and trapter 20-24 read by Lynette Gauizal pollution The perils of Pauline Chapter I by Charles Goddard this is a Libor vox recording All Libor vox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. CHAPTER I. THE BREATH OF DEAD CENTURIES In one of the stateliest mansions on the lower Hudson, near New York, old Stanford Marvin, president of the Marvin Motors Company, dozed over his papers while Owen, his confidential secretary, eyed him across the mahogany flat top desk. A soft purring sound floated in the open window and half roused the aged manufacturer. It came from one of his own cars, six cylinders chanting in unison, a litany of power to the great modern god of gasoline. These things had been in his mind since the motor industry started. He had lived with them, wrestled with them during his meals, and taken them to his dreams at night. Now they formed a rhythm, and he heard them in his brain just before the fainting spells, which had come so frequently of late. He glanced at the secretary, and noted Owen's gaze with something of a start. What are you thinking about, Raymond? He queried, with his customary directness. Your health, sir? Replied Owen, who, like all intelligent rascals, never lied when the truth would do equally well. As a matter of fact, Owen had wondered whether his employer would last a year or a month. He much preferred a month, for there was reason to believe that the Marvin will would contain a handsome bequest to my faithful secretary. Oh, boy! said the old man. You and Dr. Stevens would make a mummy of me before I'm dead. That reminds me, sir, said Owen smoothly, that the International Express Company has delivered a large crate addressed to you from Cairo, Egypt. I presume it is the mummy you bought on your last trip. Where shall I place it? Mr. Marvin's eye coursed around the walls of the handsome library, which had been his office since the doctor had forbidden him to visit his automobile works and steel-stamping mills. Take out that bust of Palace of Thane, he ordered, and stand the mummy up in its place. Owen nodded, poised his pencil, and prompted, You were just dictating about the new piston rings. Mr. Marvin drew his hand across his eyes and looked out the window. Within the range of his vision was one of the most charming sights in the world, a handsome youth and a pretty girl, arrayed in white flannels playing tennis. Never mind the letters. Tell Harry and Pauline. I wish to see them. Alone the old man opened a drawer and took a dose of medicine. Then he unfolded Dr. Stephen's letter and read its final paragraph, which prescribed a change of climate, together with complete and permanent rest, or There was little doubt that no primer mover in a great industry was better able to leave its home than Stanford Marvin. His lieutenants were able, efficient, and contented. The factories would go of their own momentum for a year or two at least. Then his son, Harry, just out of college, should be able perhaps to help. His lieutenants had proved Marvin's unerring instinct in judging character. Not one single case came to the old employer's mind of a man who had failed to turn out exactly as he expected. Yet the most trusted man of all, Raymond Owen, the secretary, was disloyal and dishonest. This one exception was easily enough explained. When Owen came to Marvin's attention fifteen years before, he was a fine, honest, faithful man. It was born and bred in him to be straight. During the first five or six years in the Marvin household, the older man took pains to keep watch on this quiet, tactful youth, until he knew all his ways and even his habits of thought. There was no doubt that Owen was as upright and clean as the old man himself. At the age of forty, the devil entered into Owen. It came in the form of insomnia. Loss of sleep will make any man irritable and unreasonable, but hardly dishonest. With the sleeplessness, however, came the temptation to take drugs. Owen shifted from one narcotic to another, finally settling down upon morphine. Five years of the opiate had made him its slave. Every physician knows that morphine fiends become dishonest. The secretary had speculated with his modest savings and lost them. He had borrowed and lost again, and now, for some time, had been betting on horse races. This last had made him acquainted with a certain Montgomery Hicks, who lived well without visible source of income. Through Hicks, Owen had betrayed one of his employers guarded secrets. Hicks, armed with this secret, promptly changed from a friendly creditor to a black mailer. Owen, on his way to summon Pauline and Harry, descended to the basement, where the butler, gardener, and a colored man were uncrating the Egyptian mummy. He told them to stand it in place of the bust of Paula Sathina in the library, and then went out, crossing the splendid lawns and graveled roads to the tennis court. There was no design in Owen's mind against the two players, but of late the instinct of both the hunter and the hunted were showing in him, and it prompted him to approach quietly and under cover. So he passed along the edge of a hedge and stood a moment within earshot. Pauline was about to serve, but paused to look down at the loosened laces of her small white shoe. She heard Harry's racket drop and saw him hurtle the net. In another instant, he was at her feet, tying the tiny bow. You needn't have done that, Harry. She said. Oh, no. Harry affirmed, as he vainly tried to make his bow as trim as its mate. I suppose not. I don't suppose I need to think about you all the time, either, or follow you around till that new cock or spaniel of yours thinks I'm part of your shadow. Perhaps I don't need to love you. Harry, get up. Someone will see you and think you're proposing to me. Think? They ought to know I'm proposing. But, Pauline, talking about need, there isn't any need of your being so pretty. Your eyes are bigger and bluer than they really need to be. You could see just as well if you didn't have such long, curly lashes, and there isn't any real necessity for the way they group together in that starry effect, like Nell Brinkley's girls. Is there any need of fifteen different beautiful shades of light where the sun strikes your hair just back of your ear? Harry, stop this. The score is forty-fifteen. Yes. All these things are entirely unnecessary. I'm going to have old mother nature indicted by the grand jury for willful, wasteful, wanton extravagance, unless, unless you promise. Harry paused. Now, Harry, don't use up your whole vocabulary. Promise what? Promise to marry me at once. No. Harry, I can't do that. That is, right away. I must have time. Why time? Pauline, don't you love me? Yes. I think I do love you, Harry. And you know there's nobody else in the world. Then what do you want time for? Why, to see life, and to know what life really is. All right. Marry me, and I'll show you life. I'll lead you any kind of life you want. No. That won't do. As an old, settled-down married woman, I couldn't really do what I want. I must see life in all its great moments. I must have thrills, adventures, see people, do daring things, watch battles. It might be best for me even to see someone killed if that were possible, as I was telling Harley St. John last night. Harley St. John? Well, if I catch that fop taking you motoring again, you'll get your wish and see a real nice aristocratic murder. He ought to be put out of his misery anyway. But where did you get all these sudden notions about wild and strenuous life? Pauline did not answer. They both heard a discreet cough, and Owen rounded the corner of the hedge. He delivered his message, and the three walked slowly toward the house. Advancing to meet them came a dashy checked suit. Above it was a large Panama hat with a gaudy ribbon. A red necktie was also visible, even at a considerable distance. Between the hat and the necktie a face several degrees darker in color than the tie came into view, as the distance lessened. It was Mr. Montgomery Hicks, whose first name was usually pronounced mugumry, and then degenerated into mug. Mugs inflamed and scowling face and bulging eyes usually conveyed the general impression that he was about to burst into profanity, a conjecture which frequently proved correct. In this case he merely remarked in a sort of news boy voice. Mr. Raymond Owen, I believe. The secretary's sallow face flushed a little as he stepped aside and let Harry and Pauline pass out of earshot. See here, mug. Complained Owen. I haven't a cent for you. You will get me discharged if you come around here like this. Well, I'll get you fired right now. Growled mug. If you don't come across with the money. And he started toward the front steps. Owen led him out of sight of the house and finally got rid of him. For a blackmailer knows he can strike but once, and having struck, he loses all power over his victim. So Hicks withheld the blow, collected a paltry thirty dollars, and consented to wait a little while for Marvin to die. Harry and Pauline passed on into the house. He had the straight backbone and well-poised head of the west pointer, but without the unnatural stiffness of the soldier's carriage. The shoulders of the half-back and the lean hips of a runner were his. And he had earned them in four years on his varsity football and track teams. The girl beside him, half a head shorter, tripped along with the easy action of a thoroughbred. Both bore the name of Marvin, yet there was no relationship. Harry's mother, long dead, had adopted this girl on Mr. Marvin's first trip to Egypt. Pauline was the daughter of an English father and a native mother. Mrs. Marvin first saw her as a blue-eyed baby, too young to understand that its parents had just been drowned in the Nile. As brother and sister they grew up together until college separated the two. After four years Pauline's dainty prettiness struck Harry with a distinct shock, the delightful sort of shock known as love at first sight. It was really Harry's first sight of her as a woman. Every sense and instinct in him shouted, Get that girl! and nothing in him answered no. Mr. Marvin looked unusually pale as those two very vital young persons stepped into the library. He read their thoughts and said quietly, Harry, I've been placed in the hands of a receiver. Receiver? Echoed Harry, with amazement, for he knew that Marvin's enterprises were financed magnificently. Yes, Dr. Stevens is the receiver. He says I've exhausted my entire stock of nervous capital that my account at the bank of physical endurance is overdrawn. Nature has called her loans, and you might say that I am a nervous bankrupt. So all you need is rest, cried Pauline, and you'll be as strong as ever. Well, before I rest, I want to assure myself about you children. Harry, you love Pauline, don't you? You bet I do, father. Pauline, you love Harry, don't you? Yes, answered Pauline slowly. And you will marry right away? This very minute, if she would have me, said Harry. And you, Pauline? queried the old man. Yes, father, for she loved him and felt toward him as if she were indeed his daughter. Perhaps some time I'll marry Harry, but not for a year or two. I couldn't marry him now. It wouldn't be right. Wouldn't be right? Well, I'd like to know why not. Pauline was silent a moment. She hated to oppose this fine old man, but her will was as firm as his, and well he knew it. Harry spoke for her. Oh, she wants to see life before she settles down. Wildlife, sin and iniquity, battle, murder, and sudden death, and all that sort of stuff. I don't know what's gotten into women these days anyway. Then Pauline, prettily, daintily, as she did all things, and with charming little blushes and hesitations, confessed her secret. In short, it was her ambition to be a writer, a writer of something worthwhile, a great writer. To be a great writer one must know life, and to know life one must see it, see the world. She ended by asking the two men if this were not so. They looked at each other and coughed with evident relief at the comparative harmlessness of her whim. Yes, Pauline. Said old man Marvin. A great writer ought to see life in order to know what he is writing about. But what makes you suspect that you have the ability to be even an ordinary writer? Marvin Sire winked at Marvin's son, and Marvin's son winked back. For new man is too old or too young to enjoy teasing a pretty and serious girl. Pauline saw the wink, and her foot ceased tracing a pattern in the carpet and stamped on it instead. I'll show you what reason I have to think I can write. My first story has just been published in the biggest magazine in the country. I have had a copy of it lying around here for days with my story in it, and nobody has even looked at it. Out she flashed, and Terry after her, almost upsetting the butler and gardener, who appeared in the library doorway. These two worthies advanced upon the statue of Paulus, without noticing the master of the house sitting behind his big desk. The butler did notice that a large hound from the stable had followed the gardener into the room. That's what one gets for letting outdoor servants into the house. Muddered the butler, as he hustled the big dog to the front door and ejected him. Is he addressing himself to me or to the pup, I wonder? Asked the gardener, a fat, good-natured Irishman, as he placed himself in front of the statue. He read the name Paulus, forced his rusty derby hat down over his ears in imitation of the statue's helmet, and mimicked the pose. Together they staggered out with their burden. A moment later they returned, carrying, with the help of two other men, the mummy in its big case. Owen also entered, and Marvin, with the joy of an Egyptologist, grasped a magnifying glass and examined the case. The old man's hobby had been Egypt. His liberal checks had assisted in many an excavation, and his knowledge of her relics was remarkable. Inserting a steel paper cutter in a crack, he deftly pried open the upper half of the mummy's front. Beneath lay the mass of wrappings in which, thousands of years ago, the priests of the Nile had swapped some lady of wealth and rank. It was a woman, Marvin was sure, from the inscriptions on her tomb, and he believed her to be a princess. The secretary excused himself and went to his room, where his precious morphing pills were hidden. The old man, left alone, deftly opened the many layers of cloth which bound the ancient form. A faint scent that was almost like a presence came forth from the unwrapped folds. Long lost balms they were, ancient spices, forgotten antiseptics of a great race, that blossomed and fell, thousands of years before its time. I smell the dead centuries. I can almost feel their weight. The world was young when this woman breathed. Perhaps she was pretty and foolish like my Polly. Yes, and maybe a stubborn two. But I thought, says they had a good deal to say in those days. Ah, now we shall see her face. He had uncovered a bit of the mummy's forehead when out of the bandages fell a tiny vial. Marvin quickly picked it up. The vial was carved from some sort of green crystal in the shape of a two-headed Egyptian bird-god. Without effort the stopper came out and Marvin held this small bottle to his nostrils, only to drop it at the mummy's feet. It exhaled the odor of the mummy, which the reek of the centuries intensified a thousand times. It was too much for the old man. He had overtaxed his feeble vitality and felt his senses leaving him. With the entire force of his will he was able to get to a chair into which he sank. The odor of the vial was still in his nostrils. His eyes were fixed and stared straight ahead, but he could see in a faint unnatural yellow light that bathed the room. From the vial lying at the mummy's feet a vapor appeared to rise. It floated toward the swath figure, enveloped it, and seemed to be absorbed by it. Perhaps this is death? thought Marvin, for I cannot move or speak. But something else moved. There was a flutter among the bandages of the mummy. The commotion increased. Something was moving inside. The bandages were becoming loosened. They fell away from the face, and then was Marvin amazed indeed. Instead of the tight brown parchment-like skin one always finds in these ancient relics, appeared a smooth, olive-tinted complexion. It was the face of a young and beautiful woman. The features were serene as if in death, but there was no sunken nose or mummy's hollow eyes. A strand of black hair fell down, and the movement beneath the bandages increased. Out of the folds came an arm, a woman's arm, slender, yet rounded, an arm with light bones and fine sinews, clearly an arm in hand that had never known work. Marvin was well aware that a mummy's arm is invariably a black skeleton claw. At this point the old man made a mental note that he was not dead, for he could feel his own breathing. The arm rapidly and gracefully loosened and removed wrappings from the neck and breast. On the wrist flashed a bracelet made of linked scarabs. The arm now cast away the last covering of the bosom, neck, and shoulders. She freed her left hand, lifted out the bottom half of the case, and slid the wrappings from her limbs. Barefooted and bare-ankled, clothed only in a shimmering white gown that scarcely covered bare knees and a white headdress with a green serpent head in front, she stepped somewhat stiffly into the room. Slowly she made several movements of limbs and body like the first steps of a dance. She rose on her toes, looked down at herself, and swayed her lithe hips. It occurred to Marvin that all this was by way of a graceful little stretch after a few thousand years of sleep. Marvin now observed that she was Pauline's height and age, as well as general size and form. Slightly shorter she might have been, but then she lacked Pauline's high heels. The general resemblance was striking, except in the color of the eyes and hair. Pauline's tresses were a light golden yellow, while this girl's hair was black as the hollow of the sphinx. Pauline's eyes were blue, but she who stood before him gazed through eyes too dark to guess their color. The Egyptian had found a little mirror. She patted her hair, adjusted the headdress, but Marvin waited in vain for the powder puff. From the mirror the girl's eyes wandered to a painting hanging above the desk. It was an excellent likeness of Pauline. The resemblance between the two was obvious, not only to Marvin, but evidently to the black-haired girl. She turned to the old man and addressed him in a strange language. Not one word did he recognize, yet the syllables were so clearly and carefully pronounced that he felt he was listening to an educated woman. Some of the tones were like Pauline's, some were not, but all were soft, sweet, modulated. The meaning was clear enough. She wished Marvin to see the resemblance, and she frowned slightly because the rigid, staring figure did not respond. Why should she be impatient, this woman of the pharaohs, who had lain stiff and unresponsive while Babylon and Greece and Rome and Spain had risen and fallen? Soon she resorted to pantomime, pointed to herself and the picture, touched her eyes and nose and mouth, and then the corresponding painted features. She felt her own jet hair, shook her head, and looked questioningly at the light cofier of Pauline. She turned to the old man, evidently asking if the painting were true in this respect. Then she smiled a smile like Pauline's. Perhaps she was asking if Pauline had changed the color of her hair. Now she became interested in a book on the corner of the desk. With little musical exclamations of delight, she turned the printed pages and appreciated that the shelves contained hundreds more of these treasures. The type written letters lying about excited her admiration, and then the pen and ink. She quickly guessed the use of the pen and ran eagerly to the mummy case. A moment's search brought forth a long roll of papyrus. Before Marvin's eyes she unrolled a scroll covered with Egyptian hieroglyphics. There were footsteps in the hall, and the Egyptian looked toward the door. Owen entered, looked at Marvin searchingly, placed him in a more comfortable position in the chair, spoke his name, and walked out. What seemed most surprising to the sick man was his secretary's oversight of the girl. He passed in front of her, almost brushing her white robe, and yet it was clear that he did not see her. But the Egyptian had seen him, and the sight had excited her. She seemed desperately anxious to say something to Marvin, something about Pauline. The mummy had a secret to reveal. She tore the bracelet from her right wrist, and tried to force it into Marvin's nervous grasp. Try as she would, his muscles did not respond. There were voices in the hallway. Harry and Pauline were running downstairs. The princess gave one last imploring glance at the paralyzed figure, passed her hand gently over his forehead, then she stepped quickly back to the case. Harry and Pauline rushed in, followed less hastily by Owen. They grasped the old man's hands and Harry, seizing the telephone, called Dr. Stevens. But to the surprise of everybody Marvin suddenly shook off the paralysis, spoke, moved, and seemed none the worse for his seizure. End of Chapter 1 The Breath of Dead Centuries The Perils of Pauline Chapter 2 by Charles Goddard This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Chapter 2 The Will Old Mr. Marvin's faculties returned with a snap. There was the library just as it had been before his peculiar seizure. His son Harry was summoning on the telephone Dr. Stevens, the heart specialist, and Pauline, his adopted daughter, was on her knees chafing his hands and anxiously watching his face, while Owen, the secretary, was pouring out a dose of his medicine. But the peculiar yellow light had gone. And what about the mummy? It stood just as he had left it. The lower half of the case was in place, the upper half was out, revealing the loosened bandages and just a glimpse of the forehead. One strand of jet-black hair hung down. All was just as it was when the little vile had fallen out. I'm all right. I'm all right. Protested Mr. Marvin, somewhat testily, as he twisted about in his chair to get a good view of the mummy. Look out, Harry. Don't step on that little bottle. Harry looked down and picked up the tiny vile which had fallen from the bandages wrapped about the ancient form. Smell of it. His father ordered. Harry sniffed it and remarked that it smelled musty and passed it to Pauline. The girl carried it to her nostrils again and again. She looked perplexed. Well, what do you think it is? Asked the old man. Why, I can't remember. But I ought to know. I'm sure I do know. The devil you do. Muddered her foster father. What makes you think you ought to know? Why, it is so familiar. I'm certain I've smelled it often before. Haven't I? Well, if you have, Pauline, you're a lot older than I am. Older than anything in this country. As old as the pyramids. That bottle fell out of the mummy. And I can assure you it's been there some three or four thousand years. When I smelled of that bottle it had a queer effect on me. I felt as if I were going to have one of my fainting spells, and was glad to get back to the chair. It's funny about that mummy. I thought she came out and talked to me. Why, father, what a horrible thing! Sympathised, Pauline. Not horrible at all. She was a beauty. And a princess. She was interested in your picture, Polly. And she looked like you, too. Except, let's see. Yes, her hair was black. Jet black. Like that one lock you see hanging down. Oh, interrupted, Pauline. I wish my hair were black. And I often dream that it is. And that I'm walking around in a pretty white pleated dress and my feeder-bear. And a bracelet on your wrist? Your right wrist? Questioned Marvin eagerly. I don't remember. Pauline replied thoughtfully. Well, we'll see if you had one. And also whether I was dreaming or not. Announced the old man with a half-ashamed look, as he rose somewhat unsteadily to his feet. Harry and Pauline tried to keep him quiet. He brushed their warnings aside, and walked unsteadily to the mummy. Let's see its face. Suggested Harry carelessly. No! said his father. I have an idea that this old but young lady would not care to have us look at her. But there is one thing I must find out. I want to know if she wears a bracelet of linked scarabs on her right wrist or not. All of this was rather a bore to Harry, who lived intensely in the present, had no interest in Egypt, except that Pauline was born and adopted as an orphan baby there, and asked nothing of the future except that it allowed him to marry this obstinate but fascinating little creature at the earliest possible moment. The question had been brought up half an hour before, and he wanted it settled at once. Harry wished they would decide about the marriage instead of fussing around with an old mummy. My son, I venture to say that you would have been interested in this young woman, had you met her? Possibly. The youth admitted with a slight yawn. Yes. continued his father, busily searching for the mummy's right wrist. She was probably what you would call a peach. She may have been a peach in her day, thought Harry, but today she's a dried apricot. The elder Marvin's searching fingers encountered a hard object. It proved to be a scarab, or sacred Egyptian beetle, carved in black stone. Did you ever dream about that? asked Harry, chafing. Yes, I have, replied Pauline. Both men looked at her to see if she were serious. I dreamed that I was very sick and going to die, and an old man with a long thin beard came in. He gave me a stone beetle like that. Then it seems to me they put it right on my chest, and they said, let's see, what did they do that for? I think it was to cure me of something to matter with my heart. Pauline said, Mr. Marvin, I never knew you had dreams like this. But are you sure they said it would cure your heart? Wasn't it for some other reason? Pauline thought a moment, while Harry lit a cigarette and his father worked his fingers down toward the mummy's right wrist. No, said Pauline. I remember now. It wasn't a cure at all. It was to make it keep quiet. Laughed Harry. I never knew of anyone making it flutter much. I guess that was no dream. Harry's father silenced him with an inpatient gesture, and turned to Pauline, who was watching the wind make cats paws on the polished surface of the Hudson River. Go on, girl. Go on. This is remarkable. I've read of this custom in the Egyptian Book of the Dead. Why did they want to keep your heart quiet? They said, continued Pauline dreamily, that after I died my spirit was to be called before somebody, a god, I guess, who would judge whether I was good enough for heaven or not? That stone beetle was placed on my heart to make it keep silent, and not tell anything wicked I might have done in life. Aren't dreams crazy things? Say, Harry, there goes a hydroplane. The two young people hung out the open window. The old man was absorbed, too. He had, at last, worked his fingers along the entire length of the mummy's right wrist. It was dry and hard as any mummy he had ever seen. But it bore neither bracelet nor any ornament whatever. Well— He said reluctantly, It was all a dream. Interesting, but not important. Like Pauline's dream, it was just the echo of something I've read or seen. What are dreams, anyway? Muddered Harry, with impatience. Dreams, said Pauline, authoritatively. Dreams are the bubbles which rise to the surface of the mind when it cools down in sleep. Now— Observed Harry quietly. When you and Father were through talking about mummies and dreams, I wish you'd consider something that I'm interested in. I'd like to know how soon you're going to marry me. Where did you get that definition of dreams, Pauline? Asked the old man. From my story. Said Pauline proudly. Both men at once remembered that she had gone to find the magazine and show them her first story. They eagerly demanded to see it. Pauline picked up the cosmopolitan from the floor. She had dropped it in her agitation at finding her foster father had fainted. Sure enough, there it was. Fire on an Ocean Liner By Pauline Marvin It was not the biggest feature by any means, but it was quite a little story, and there were several large, stirring illustrations. Both men begged her to read it to them, but she modestly declined. Mr. Marvin adjusted his spectacles and read it through from start to finish, frequently looking up to compliment the authoress, on some point that pleased him. Harry looked over his father's shoulder, and there could be no doubt they were both held and even thrilled by the story. Mr. Marvin clapped his hands and stated in a loud voice that he was proud of her. Harry expressed his appreciation by a bear-like hug and a kiss, all of which she accepted with blushes and protests. And did they actually pay you something for this? Asked the old gentleman. Oh yes, Pauline assured him. They sent me a check at once. It paid for that frock you told me was too extravagant. A hundred dollars? Ventured Harry from the depths of his ignorance of things feminine. Both Pauline and his father cast pitying glances at him. Look here, young man, said the elder Marvin. Whoever led you to believe that you could buy dresses for a girl like Polly at a hundred dollars. If you contemplate matrimony on any such diluted basis as that, you had better back out now, before it's too late. Isn't that so, Polly? Why, Father? Protested the youth. What do I care what addresses cost? Polly knows everything I have or ever make is hers, and I can't think of a more satisfactory way of spending it than on her. That's fine, Harry. Laughed the father. You have just the ideal frame of mind and the proper sentiments for a modern husband. You will find, too, that women are very reasonable. If a man gives his wife all he makes, plus the vote, and lets her do just as she pleases, she'll usually let him live in the same house with her, and even get up early enough to see him at breakfast once in a while. I agree to everything. Declared Harry, with the reckless abandon of youth in love. But I want to know how soon Polly is going to marry me. Pauline, who had said nothing in answer to the preliminary skirmishes, now recognized the main attack and opened up in reply. I told you I would marry Harry some time, but not for a year or two. You admitted that a writer ought to see life in order to write well, so there you are. I must have a year or two of adventure. There are a thousand things I want to do and see before I settle down as Mrs. Harry Marvin. Suppose we say two years. Harry staggered back as if from a blow. Two years? How preposterous! He couldn't live that long without Pauline. In vain he hurled his protests and objections. She stood, sweet, unruffled, sympathetic, but as firm as the Rocky Mountains. The old man listened to the debate for some time without comment. Then he pressed a button on his desk. In answer came Raymond Owen, the secretary. He had shown the good taste to retire from the library as soon as the conversation became personal. From the vantage point of a room across the hall he had been quietly listening and decided it a rather unfruitful piece of eavesdropping. He appeared the faithful, deference employee in every line as he entered. Come here, Raymond. Directed the old man as sharply as a commanding officer. And you, Harry, and you, Pauline. They obeyed and quickly lined up before his chair with rather surprised faces. For Mr. Marvin only called them Pauline and Harry when he was very serious. Raymond, this is the situation. My son loves Pauline and wants to marry her at once. I have no objection. In fact, I would like to see them united at once. But Pauline demures. She loves Harry, but feels she ought to have two years to see life before settling down. Two years is too much. I should see so. Growled Harry. But, as my old grandfather, who's been gone these 40 years now, used to say, when a woman will, she will. And when she won't, she won't. And there's an end, won't. I don't blame her for wanting to have her own way. It's the only plan I've found to get along in this world. But you can't have all your own way. You have to compromise. So Pauline is going to have one year. That's enough. During that year, Raymond, I'm going to put her in your care. You're older and more prudent than either Pauline or Harry. And we'll see that she comes to no harm. Take her anywhere she wants to go, around the world if she likes, to do anything with any reason. Do you agree? Mr. Marvin looked at Owen, who accepted the duty as calmly as if it were in order to post a letter. Pauline also consented after a moment's hesitation. Harry alone protested and argued. It was a hopeless case, and he yielded to overwhelming odds. This matter settled. Mr. Marvin's mind returned to the mummy, and his curious delusion that it had come to life. While Owen perused Pauline's story, and that willful young woman herself tried to cheer up her disconsolate lover, the old man returned to the mummy. He had searched for the bracelet on the right wrist, but, after all, perhaps the Egyptian might have slipped it on to her left wrist in her hurry to get back. There it is! He shouted suddenly. There it is! The bracelet! She wore it on her wrist, and he told her to give it to Pauline. Mr. Marvin held in his hand a bracelet of scarabs linked together. It looked to him to the very one the reincarnated mummy had worn. Harry and Pauline in wonder came to him, and it was well they did. The excitement and exertion had again overstrained his failing energies. He tottered, and they were just in time to save him from a fall. It was another of his fainting spells, and they lowered him gently into his chair. But the old man was not unconscious yet. Feebly he repeated to Pauline. Where this bracelet? Where it always? Promise! Pauline promised and slipped it on her wrist without more than glancing at it. The old man's eyes closed, and it was clear that this faint was more serious than his others. Harry, about to telephone for Dr. Stevens again, was greatly relieved to see the physician stride into the room. There was hardly need of the stethoscope to tell him the end was near. Even before the old man was undressed and in bed, Dr. Stevens had prepared and administered a hypodermic. The patient's eyelids fluttered, and Dr. Stevens listened to the faintly moving lips. The wheel! Called the doctor. What about the wheel? He glanced at everyone, but nobody knew. A shadow of anxiety passed over the features of the dying millionaire. Dr. Stevens could see that something of serious importance was on the old man's mind. Something of importance about his vast property. Once more he listened, and then hastily drawing out his prescription pad and fountain pen, he wrote a few sentences at the dying man's dictation, while the patient rallied and opened his eyes. The physician held the blank before his patient, who read it through and nodded. Dr. Stevens then placed the pen in the trembling fingers and guided his signature. A moment more, and the physician had signed it as a witness, and the butler had done the same. The old manufacturer died as he had lived. The wheel, written on Dr. Stevens's prescription pad, was given to Owen. He went to his room and examined it. It read, I bequeath half by state to my son Harry, the remainder to my adopted daughter Pauline, to be held in trust until her marriage by my secretary Raymond Owen. Then followed the signature of the deceased, and that of the two witnesses. In vain Owen looked for the handsome bequest to the faithful secretary. This was a bitter disappointment, and he considered for a moment the advisability of destroying the will. This would make valid one of the earlier wills in which he knew he had not been forgotten. The folly of such a course became evident after a few moments thought. Dr. Stevens, the butler, and several others knew the contents of the document. It was so simple that its meaning could hardly be confused or forgotten, and everyone knew it was in his keeping. It occurred to Owen that quite likely such a hasty deathbed will written by a doctor unskilled in law might not be accepted by the courts. Early the next morning Owen suspended his work of answering telegrams of condolence long enough to make a hurried trip to Lower Manhattan where the late Stanford Marvin's lawyers had offices. In vain the great lawyer cuddled his brains for some flaw. The will ought to be wrong, but it wasn't. The meaning was so clear that even a court couldn't misunderstand it, and the fortune was left to his natural beneficiaries. The lawyer heaved a sigh and said plaintively, Too bad, too bad, why didn't they call me? Then this will is not valid, asked Owen. Oh no, it will hold. But what a pity that such a great man's last will in Testament should be such an—well, so—well, this instrument is not worthy of conveying such a great estate. He contemptuously slipped the simple document into an envelope and placed it in his safe. Owen picked up his hat, but hesitated at the door. A question was forming in his mind, and with it a hope. Mr. Wilmeding, he asked finally, In case Miss Marvin does not marry, who would have charged the estate? I should say, replied the lawyer, In reply to your question that the estate would be held in trust by you. Returning to the house and entering the library, Owen was confronted by the unwelcome spectacle of Montgomery Hicks, generally known as Mug. Hicks, with his gaudy attire and ugly face, was always in a front to the eye, but to Owen he was a terror, for he held the power of blackmail over the secretary. Owen shrank at the sight of his enemy, but immediately took courage. Though Marvin's death had left the secretary no legacy, it had also robbed the blackmailer of his power. Hicks advanced with what he intended to be a winning smile and extended a hot, fat hand. I see the old man is croaked, and I was just dropping in to talk business. Hicks newsboy voice growled out. Hicks Said Owen, keeping his hand in his pocket. If you came here to get your money out of the legacy, old man Marvin was to lead me. Well, you won't get it, and you never will get it. Marvin didn't leave me a cent, so there is nothing for you to get. He did leave me a job in his will, a job that will last for a year, and neither you nor anyone else can force me out of that job. You can't blackmail me anymore. At the end of the year, what becomes of you? Asked Hicks. Then I could position somewhere else, but that's not of your business. You don't want a position, Owen. A position calls for work. You don't like hard work any more than I do. You can't stand work much longer either. Look at your eyes and your skin. How many grains do you take a day anyway? I haven't touched a grain of morphine in six months. Lie, Owen. I'll get out of my way. You can't get anything out of me, and you can't blackmail me. If you come to this house again, I'll have you thrown out. Just a minute. Said Hicks, as pleasantly as he could, straining his course features into an uncustomed position of a smile. I didn't come to get money out of you. I know all about the will. What I came for was to help you and give you a tip. You and I can make a lot of easy money together. You've got the opportunity, and I've got the brains. Now, to show you I'm your friend, look at this. Hicks handed him a paper which Owen read with surprise. It was a receipt in full for all Owen owed. Owen put it in his pocket. That's right. Keep it. You and I are going to be so rich before long that a matter of a thousand or two wouldn't be worth talking about between friends. Owen had been under the thumb of this man, had feared and hated him, and hoped for the day when he might sneer in his face and defy him. This was the time, and yet he felt Hicks had something to offer. He was in temporary charge of millions. There should be, there must be, some way to make this control permanent, or else delve into these millions while they were in his care. As Hicks hinted, this was an opportunity, and he needed not brains, but rather experience and advice. Owen had been a rascal on a short time. Why not take a partner like this man, Hicks? He would prevent mistakes, and mistakes are all a criminal need fear. Owen fingered uneasily the paper Hicks had put in his hand. He drew it out of his pocket. Yes, it was a receipt in full for all that Owen owed the scoundrel. What could be Hicks's scheme? Owen turned a puzzled and worried gaze upon his companion. Hicks observed him closely, read the misgivings in Owen's mind, and, drawing close, whispered something in the latter's ear. But Owen's drug-saturated nerves trembled at the thought. He pushed Hicks aside, and walked rapidly out of the room, calling over his shoulder. I won't have anything to do with you. I don't want you to come near me or speak to me again. I'm done with you. When you want me, you know where to find me. Was Hicks parting answer. All right, I'll do it. Growled Harry Marvin, with the air of a martyr going to the stake. I'll do it for your sake, Polly. Well, you'd better begin to get ready. Said Pauline, blithly. I'll climb into a frock coat and endure an hour or two of this afternoon tea-chatter. Promised Harry. But first you must talk sense with me for a few minutes. Oh, Harry. Spoke Pauline, softly. I know what talking sense means. You want to argue about my year of adventure. Now, let's not argue. Let's just be happy. You know I love you, and I know you love me. That ought to be enough. This year will be gone before you know it. I'm going to begin it right away just to please you. The sooner it starts, the sooner it will be over. Begin it. Said Harry. Why, a month of it is gone now. But it's all nonsense. Polly, if you love me, you're going to give up this crazy idea. A maid, bringing the card of Miss Lucille Hamlin, interrupted Harry. She was the first of the afternoon tea party. Polly hurried Harry off to dress. And of course, he had no further chance to talk sense until the door had closed on the last guest. Then he pounced upon her. But Pauline, sweetly stubborn, cheerfully unyielding, insisted on carrying out her father's promise to the letter. Raymond Owen, the secretary of the late Mr. Marvin, have thought it important to overhear this argument, and finally to walk into the library where the debate was going on. If the adventures were to start, he had an idea for a beginning. The words of Hicks, the blackmailer, had been in his mind for some thirty days and were beginning to bear fruit. He had soon reached the point of hoping, almost praying, something would happen to Pauline that he might be left in control of her estate. During the last few days Owen had progressed from merely hoping to readiness to help his wish to come true. Harry instantly appealed to the secretary to dissuade Pauline. There was no doubt that Owen had some influence over the girl. In the years gone by, before Owen had taken to the drug, Pauline had sought him out in many a time of perplexity and learned to rely on his tactful, well-considered advice. To the surprise of the young master of the house, Owen made no attempt to dissuade. Very unobtrusively, he pointed out that for many years he had been accustomed to carry out the wishes of Harry's father, and that he was bound to fulfill his last wish in the same way. Let's think of something thrilling to do right off. Have you any idea? No, I... Lied, Owen. I hadn't given the matter any thought. We might look at a newspaper and see what's happening. Owen had a paper with him, and the three examined it together. Owen pretended to discover that an aviation meet was about to be held. His idea, for which Harry promptly hated him, was to induce some aviator to take Pauline as a passenger. Many of the races called for carrying a passenger. Harry made a few objections, but the speed with which they were overruled showed that he had no standing in this court. So Harry subsided, but he thought very hard. Several things were becoming evident to Harry. One was that this year to see life and have adventures was actually going to take place, and no opposition on his part would stop it. It was also clear that if he hoped to control Pauline's adventures in any way, it would be by the use of his wits, matching them against Pauline and the Secretary. When Pauline and Owen decided upon the aeroplane ride, Harry contented himself with remarking that he would have to see about it. Both chuckled when he said it. Pauline outwardly, and Owen inwardly. Then they had dinner under the round, glassy eye of Aunt Cornelia. Aunt Cornelia was an elderly maiden relative of Harry, who had arrived with others for the funeral, and made the brilliant discovery that since Mr. Marvin's death, the social situation, as she termed it, at the Marvin House had become impossible. It seemed, according to Aunt Cornelia, that a young man and a young woman of impressionable age living in the same house, unchaperoned, constituted an impossible social situation. Either Pauline or Harry must move out, or someone must be installed as chaperone. Of course, the chaperone was the least of the three evils, and Aunt Cornelia, being the discoverer of the job, was elected to fill it. Harry ordered a bottle of wine with his dinner. Though he actually drank very little, this unusual event created no little consternation. Harry, I didn't know you drank, said Pauline. I'm just beginning. You see, now that I must take over father's affairs and mix with men of the world, I ought to get a little experience in things. See life and know what's what. After dinner, Harry casually asked if Pauline thought her adventures would lead her to Paris. Pauline thought it likely. We're at Harry remarked that he might see her over there. I haven't been to Paris since I was a kid, and I really ought to see it, don't you think? Yes. Agreed Pauline, without enthusiasm. But wait until we are married and we'll do Paris together. No, Pauline, that won't do. I'm sorry, but as you say, you can't see life after you're married and settle down, so I'll have to do Paris alone. Harry, are you sure you love me? Pauline whispered. Pauline, I know it, and everybody else knows it, except you. Get on, he's in outer republic, and I'll take an oath before him that you have been the only girl in all the world. Are now and ever will be, world without end, amen. And I love you, Harry. Said Pauline, lowering her eyes until he saw only the silky lashes. Why, Pauline, that's the first time you've ever volunteered that information. Yes, Harry, I love you too much to let you go to Paris. Paris can't hurt me unless I let it hurt me. Harry, you won't be quite the same sort of boy when you come back from Paris. Will you promise not to go until we are married? Will you promise not to go on this trip of adventure? Why should I? Demanded, Pauline. Because you won't ever be quite the same sort of girl when you come back. After breakfast the next morning, when the big touring car rolled up to the front door to get Pauline and Owen, Harry was hurt that he had not been consulted. Pauline's belated invitation to go with them to the aviation field in the automobile was declined. Away went the big car to the fine stretch of roads, where it made short work of the distance to the aviation grounds. Owen made a complete canvas of the hangers, and soon accounted for every machine entered in the race for the next day. From all but one of the aviators he obtained a flat refusal. Not for money or any other consideration would they take a strange woman as a passenger. The only exception was a Frenchman, whose hesitation in declining led Owen to further argument. At the last moment Pauline, impatient at the suspense, entered the Frenchman's hangar and added her blandishments to Owen's financial inducements. The gallant foreigner succumbed, and a bargain was struck. He exhibited his tame bird of steel and wood and cloth with the utter pride of a mother showing off her only child. The aviators' fingers touched one of the wires, and the easy smile left his face. He turned to his mechanics and sharp words followed. A moment later one of his assistants was at work tightening the wire. Owen's eyes scarcely left the wire, and when the opportunity arose he questioned the mechanic as to what would happen if that particular steel strand should fail during flight. The foreigner explained frankly that the aeroplane would capsize and plunge to the earth, but he assured Owen that no such thing would happen, as he had just tightened the wire in question and would make another inspection after the practice flight that afternoon. All the way home Owen's thoughts were of that wire and what it would mean to him. In the meanwhile Harry, after watching the car depart toward Hempstead, concluded to follow. He went to the picturesque private garage behind the Marvin mansion, and soon was following in the tracks of the bigger car. Arrived on the field, he recognized Pauline's car and awaited patiently until he saw it drive away. Then he interviewed the aviator and learned of the proposed trip on the morrow. Harry's French was nothing to boast of, nor was the Frenchman's English. But they managed to have a long and in the end a heated argument. The birdman said he had given his word to a beautiful lady and that settled it. Besides, there was no danger in his wonderful machine. Had he not flown upside down and done all the things the great Peugeot himself had done? As you Americans say, let's see, what is your idiom? One of his mechanics prompted him. Ah, yes. He said with a smile. I believe the proper expression is, I should worry. Harry threw up his hands and went home. As he buzzed his horn outside the garage the door was opened by the Marvin chauffeur with a telegram in his hand. The chauffeur's wife was sick and he wanted a couple of days leave of absence. Harry granted it instantly. That evening he made no mention of either the chauffeur's absence or his trip to the field. Pauline thought she was teasing Harry by saying nothing of her plans. She was sure he was eaten up with curiosity to know the result of her visit and admired his ability, as she thought, to conceal it. Owen spent a nervous evening. He walked out soon after dinner and from a drugstore telephone booth called up a friend in the insurance business. To the secretary's surprise and disappointment, he learned that the percentage of accidents to aviators had become comparatively small. Passengers were particularly fortunate. The friend even agreed to obtain accident insurance for anyone at a reasonable premium. If aeroplanes had become reasonably safe, the chance of Pauline's being killed during the flight on the following day was insignificant. He must give up all hope of wealth from the permanent control of her estate. As the evening wore on, Owen began to feel how he had unconsciously relied on this hope. He doubled his evening dose of morphine, but it neither soothed his disappointment nor brought him sleep. Hour after hour during the night, his sleepless eyes seemed to see that loose wire which the mechanic had explained to be so vitally important. He could see in imagination the machine flying off into the clouds with Pauline in it. He could see it suddenly waver, dip, and plunge to the earth. In his mind's eye he saw himself rushing to the wreck, lifting out the girl's crushed form, wildly calling for a doctor, and exulting all the time that she was beyond human aid. About two o'clock Owen fell into a dose, and in that dose came one of his vivid opium dreams. He beheld Hicks enter his bedroom. It was not Hicks, the blackmailer, but Hicks, the counselor, who had told Owen how he might become rich. Hicks was speaking to him in a sort of noiseless voice, very different from his usual tones. He spoke in a sort of shells or husks of words. The consonants were there, but the vowels were lacking. Yet he heard as plainly as if the red-faced man had shouted. Hicks advised him to be a man, to show courage for once, to risk something, and then reap the reward for ever after. But Owen lacked the nerve. He feared that he would be seen sneaking onto the field at night or at daybreak. Hicks replied that the field was deserted at this hour. Owen then insisted that the aeroplane would be guarded, and even if it were not locked in its hangar, the first rasp of a file on the wire would call the attention of someone on guard. No, it was too much. Owen could not do it. Instead he made a counter suggestion that Hicks should undertake the task, since he was so certain of its success. For his part the Secretary agreed to divide all that the estate might be made to yield him. Owen, like everybody else, had seen many strange things in dreams, but never had he known of any character in a dream admitting, or even suggesting, that he was a dream. Yet this was just what Hicks did. How did you know about that wire, and that she is going to fly tomorrow? I don't know that. Said the Phantom Hicks, frankly, in his empty voice. How do you know? Owen asked. He knows. Because he has transferred the effects of your morphine from your astral body to his. That's how he knows. You ought to know, too, because you have taken almost enough of the drug to kill you tonight, and yet this is the first time you have even closed your eyes. You'd better let him help us and file that wire, as he advises. I'm going now. You will wake up in a moment. This priest man told me after I had given you the message to drop this out of my hand, and the dream would end. So here goes. Goodbye. He heard a sharp snap, and saw something black and shiny on the table. For a moment, the secretary sat quietly in his chair, staring at the table and making sure that he was no longer dreaming. Then he examined the black object. It was the scarab, which old Mr. Marvin had removed from the folds of the mummy. An image of the beetle, which Egypt held sacred, carved in black stone. Owen had not noticed the scarab before his short nap, and he could not account for its presence in his room anyway. A little later he donned his motorcycling suit, tiptoe downstairs noiselessly, went out by the back door, and was soon trundling his big two-cylinder motorcycle from the garage. He was careful to push it out of the Marvin premises onto the highway before lighting his lamp and starting. Arriving at the field, just at dawn, Owen found it as deserted as the spectral hicks had promised. From the toolkit of his motorcycle, he took two files of different shapes and a pair of pliers, and walked briskly and fearlessly over the uneven ground to the hangers. All were closed except one, and that one contained the French machine in which Pauline was to ascend. The secretary knew that this hangar would be open. He knew in advance that he would find a mechanic on guard and sound asleep. Whether real or unreal, awake or sleep, the business of the moment was the filing of that wire. Owen recognized it readily and found it not to be a single wire, as he supposed, but a slender cable composed of many strands. These strands resisted his file and even the clipper attached to his pliers. After what seemed in ours work, he had weakened or broken enough of the metal threads so that the cable stretch perceptibly at that point to do more might cause the cable to break at once and betray what had been done. Owen hurriedly returned to his machine, had dashed back through the beautiful morning air to the Marvin home. Servants were stirring in their rooms, and the gardener was engaged in shaking some sort of powder from a can onto a bare spot on the front lawn. He glanced up at Owen without surprise, for these early rides were known to be an old habit of the secretary. Owen took the machine to the garage, satisfied that there was nothing guilty in his appearance or the gardener would have noted it. Stepping out of the garage he met Harry and could not help starting perceptibly. Harry looked him in the eye, and there was nothing for Owen to do but stare steadily back. You're up very early, Owen. Said Harry, looking at the dust on the motor. Yes, I've been for a long ride. I think the morning air does me good. You don't look well, Owen. Why don't you go to bed today? I'll take Pauline to the meet. No thanks. I wouldn't miss seeing Miss Pauline fly. Said Owen firmly. End of chapter three. Pauline takes the first trick. The Perils of Pauline. Chapter four by Charles Goddard. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Chapter four. Owen wins the first game. Harry Marvin entered the little private garage back of the Marvin mansion, locked the door, and drew the shades of the small windows. There were only two automobiles in the garage. One was the big six-cylinder touring car in which Pauline and Owen had made their trip the day before to the aviation field. The other was the two-seated runabout that Harry had driven over the same ground just behind them. Having made sure that nobody was about, Harry lifted the hood of the touring car, and without the slightest provocation, attacked it with a wrench. He removed the carburetor, took it to pieces, lifted out the hollow metal float, and deliberately made two punctures in it. Then he tossed the dismembered parts upon a workbench, and was about to operate on the runabout when he heard voices outside. He was barely in time to unlock the door, and be found busily working on the car when Pauline entered. She had just learned of the chauffeur's absence. Harry volunteered the additional bad news that the big car was out of order. Like every disappointed woman, she insisted on knowing exactly what was wrong. Harry told her, with many long, technical details, and not knowing at all what he was talking about, she had to be satisfied. Could he fix it in time to get her to the aviation field before the race? Well, that depended partly on whether she would go away and not bother him until breakfast. Pauline could, and she certainly would, refrain from bothering him. Never before had Harry found her a bother, nor, for that matter, had any other man in her recollection. Out she went, and with more color than usual in her pink cheeks, and the light of battle in her eyes. By George I've got to play my cards carefully. Thought Harry, as he contemplated the runabout? It was evident that he had designs on the health of the two-seater also. But he felt the necessity of subtlety in this case. He could not assassinate it boldly by tearing out a vital organ, as he had done to the bigger car. This runabout must die a slow, lingering death. How was he to do it? His first idea was to weaken the tires and invite blowouts on the road. But this could not be done with certainty, and some kind friend might supply him with new tires. A more promising idea was to drain the engine of its oil, knowing that sooner or later the pistons would run dry and stick. Such a proceeding would ruin the engine, and Harry was too good a mechanic to spoil a first-rate engine, especially one built by his father. He would as soon think of hamstringing a faithful horse. A better plan soon came to him and put him into action. It soon had him flat on his back, under the car, boring a hole in the bottom of the gasoline tank. When the live blood of the car began to trickle out in a stream, he stopped the hole with a small wooden peg. The young man now frowned at the only remaining vehicle which had not received his attention—Owen's motorcycle. Harry went to the hose used for washing down the cars, and collected a little water in the palm of his hand. With the other hand he removed the cap from the motorcycle's tank and allowed two or three drops of water to mingle with the gasoline. This done, Harry let down his sleeves, washed his hands, and sauntered into breakfast with the unwelcome announcement that the big car was, for the day at least, beyond human aid. There was a flicker of suspicion in Owen's sallow face at the news. He wondered if Harry had disabled the touring car that he might ride alone with Pauline. I'm afraid that you'll have to ride in the runabout with me, Paulie. Said Harry quietly. It's rather hard on Raymond, but I guess he'll have to go by motorcycle or by train. Oh, I think you wrecked it on purpose. Said Pauline, without the slightest suspicion that she was stating the truth. Owen, worried by vague misgivings about Harry, looked into the tank of the runabout to make sure that it was full, and then scurried away on his two-wheeled mount. He considered waiting until the runabout was ready to start and keeping the machine in sight, but it seemed wiser to be on the field where he could make sure the Frenchman would not forget his bargain, nor start before Pauline arrived. Pauline was ready with such record-breaking suddenness that it gave her the novel experience of waiting for Harry. She had not forgotten that her lover had asked her not to bother him while he worked on the car. After that slight to her pride, the young lady would rather die than go near the garage while he was in it. During the next five minutes, unpleasant doubts entered her mind. What could this indifference and neglect mean? She had looked upon Harry ever since his return from college as a personal possession. Of course, technically, he wasn't hers until she married him. But if he were not her property, at least she had an option on the handsome youth until such time as she saw fit to either take his name or relinquish him to someone else. In that case, she wondered to whom she would like to turn him over. There was her schoolmate and chum, Miss Hamlin. How lucky any man would be to get her. And Harry, how would he feel about it? Then, like a cold draught in her brain, came the recollection that Lucille and Harry had corresponded all the four years he was at college. Could it be that she, Pauline, had been too willful and headstrong with Harry? If so, was it possible that the keen edge of his adoration was wearing dull? Pauline had just succeeded in stamping these unpleasant questions deep down into the subconscious parts of her mind when the young man whisked up in the runabout. Pauline's wrath melted rapidly. Harry drove, as he did everything out in the open air, magnificently. His judgment of distances and openings was precise, and his skill in weaving his way through heavy traffic was startling. A good-looking young man is seldom seen to better advantage, especially by a girl, than when driving a powerful car. Pauline loved to drive with Harry. Besides his spectacular tricks, he had a guileless manner of getting the better of arguments with crossing policemen. Harry was not driving as fast as usual. This fact was impressed on her by shouts and waves of hands from a car which passed them from behind. That's Lucille! cried Pauline, waving. Yes, and Khan found it that's Billy Madison taking her to the races. Well, why shouldn't he? asked Pauline. Isn't it all right? Yes, but it seems to me he's paying a great deal of attention to Lucille and, say, Pauline, you don't suppose she'd be silly enough to care for him, do you? That sensation of a cold wave in the back of her brain came again. I'm sure I don't know. She replied a little coldly. Why, does it matter very much to you? Harry hesitated, even stammered a little in denying that it did. He stammered, as Pauline well understood, because he was not telling her his true thoughts. It did matter, and she knew it. In reality, it mattered, because Harry knew too much about young Madison to want him to win the affection of any friend of his. But Harry did not wish to explain. So Harry does care for Lucille, and always has cared, thought Pauline. The sense of possession of the youth beside her faded, and he seemed far away. If a man fears he is losing his grip on a girl, he redoubles his attentions, and racks his brains to be more interesting and attractive to her. A girl in the same situation reverses the tactics. Just as Harry felt the absolute zero which scientists talk about settling upon him, he remembered a very important duty. Seems to me we don't drift the way we ought to, said Harry, pressing on his clutch pedal and trying to look concerned. I think we have been a long time getting to the aviation field, was Pauline's chilly answer. Harry stopped the car, went back, and pulled out the little wooden plug in the gasoline tank. Then away they went, leaving a little wet line in the dust of the road. Pauline stared straight ahead. Harry's attempts at conversation fell on the stony ground of silence, or at best brought forth only the briefest and most colorless answers. Soon Harry's practice here caught the preliminary warning of waning gasoline, and a moment later, halfway up a gentle hill, with a sob from all its six cylinders, the car gave up the ghost. A few miles ahead, Owen also was in difficulties. He had been sailing along merrily until he stopped at a little roadhouse for a drink. The machine had been all right when he got off, and he knew nobody had touched it. Yet now it acted as if possessed by the evil one. With great difficulty he was able to start it, and once started it coughed, bucked, and showed all the symptoms of bronchitis and pneumonia. By dint of strenuous peddling, Owen helped the asthmatic motor to the top of the next hill. It ran as smoothly as a watch all the way down the other side, and then imitated a bunch of cannon-crackers on the following rise. Owen was a good motorcycle rider, but a very poor mechanic. His machine had been adjusted, cleaned, and kept in repair by the Marvin chauffeur, and the secretary had seldom caused to investigate it on the road. He had always used the carefully filtered gasoline from the garage, so that he neither understood the present alarming symptoms, nor knew their cure. His motor was protesting at a drop of water which had entered the needle valve of his carburetor, and, being heavier than gasoline, had lodged there and stopped its flow. It would have been an easy matter to drain the carburetor, but instead, Owen, with nervous fingers, adjusted everything he could get his hands on, and after two hours' work, trundled it into a farmhouse and hired the farmer to drive him the short remaining distance to the aviation field. Several machines were in the air, but not the Frenchmen's, when the farmer drove up. The roads and the edges of the field were alive with cars and spectators as the secretary hastened to the hangers. The French aviator welcomed Owen and inquired for the Mamoiselle. This confirmed Owen's fears that something had happened to her on the way. It had troubled him a little that the runabout had not passed him on the road, but Harry might have made a detour to avoid some section of bad road. Owen lost another hour in watching and worrying before he made up his mind to go to the rescue. There were plenty of idle cars, but it was not easy to hire one, as they were mostly guarded by chauffeurs with no right to rent or lend them. At last a man was found who was willing to pick up ten dollars and take a chance that his master would not know about it. The rescue car found them just where they had stopped, halfway up the hill. Pauline had run the scale of feminine annoyance from silence to sarcasm to tears. The tears produced almost the same effect on Harry's determination to keep Pauline from flying that the drops of water had in Owen's carburetor. The spectacle of the girl he loved weeping had almost broken up his resolve when Owen dashed by, shouted, turned around, and drew up alongside. Harry asked for help, and the chauffeur, who had never had the pleasure of tinkering with a Marvin 6, was inclined to dismount and aid at least in diagnosing the car's ailment. While he was thinking about it and surveying the parts which Harry had taken out and strewn about the running board in his pretended trouble hunt, Pauline had dashed away her tears and transferred her pretty self to the new car. Pauline and Owen both knew there was barely time to reach the field before the Frenchman's assent, so with scanty farewells Harry was left to reassemble his car. When he had set up the last nut he replaced the little plug in the tank, produced a can of gasoline from the locker behind the seats, emptied it into his tank, and drove at reckless speed for the aviation grounds. He was just in time to see a tiny speck on the edge of the horizon. This he learned was the Frenchman's machine. He was told that it carried a passenger. The speck grew rapidly in size, developed the insect shape of a biplane, and soon seemed to be over the other end of the aviation field. The young man's joy at seeing the aeroplane returning in safety was dampened by a little feeling of shame that by such devious means he had almost spoiled Pauline's pleasure. I act like an old woman worrying Pauline this way. He decided. No wonder she's crossed with me lately. She must think I would be a tyrant of— Harry's last words were choked by a spasm of the throat. There were shouts and gestures from the spectators. A light gust of wind had struck the aeroplane on the right wing. It wavered an instant, like a dragonfly about to a light, and then, instead of responding to the aviator's levers, turned on its left side and plunged to the ground. A cloud of dust arose, half hiding the wreck, and then the crash of impact came to his ears. There was a second of silence, broken by a groan. Harry heard the groan and didn't even know it came from his own throat. He was in motion now, forcing people to the right and left and running down the field. It seemed miles to the other end, and he was gratefully conscious that others nearer were hurrying to the rescue, if rescue it might be called. The aeroplane had dropped like a stone from a height that forbade hope of escape. Would she be conscious? And would he be in time to give and receive a last message of love before her splendid young life was quenched in the black blot of death? Besides grief, there was fury in the runner's heart, wrath against Owen for encouraging this foolish and dangerous caprice, against the unfortunate driver who had failed to preserve his precious freight, and against nature who condemns every living thing by one means or another to that same final failure and wreck death. Gasping for breath from his exertions, he was at last within a hundred feet of the ruin, and saw people lifting up the engine and removing a limp figure. Just then, two people stepped in his way. He did not turn out, but rushed straight at them, rather glad to have something to burl aside in his blind anger. Nor did he notice that one was a woman. Harry's plunge carried him between them and knocked both down, just as he had often bowled over the interference in his football games. On his lurch, wondering vaguely at hearing his name called, he heard it again, and it sounded like Pauline's voice. He turned, and it was Pauline. After all Pauline had arrived too late, had missed that fatal adventure. Owen watched Harry lift Pauline up and wrapped her in his arms with a squeeze that hurt, but it was a hurt she loved, and though she sobbed as if her heart would break, they were sobs of relief and happiness. Owen watched a moment and then slunk away. His schemes had been for nothing. Pauline was alive and happy in her lover's arms, and the Secretary was no nearer his goal of permanent control of her estate than before. He walked to the entrance of the tent and tried to learn from the nurses and doctors who were hurrying in and out whether the French aviator would live or die. Nobody would stop to give him a satisfactory answer. There was a flap in the back of the tent, and through this, Owen cautiously peered. He saw a nurse with something that looked like wet, absorbent cotton dabbing at a round black object. Presently he saw that the round object was the head of a man blackened by fire. Just then the nurse looked up, saw Owen's guilty face, and gave a little exclamation of dismay. At the same instant, Owen felt a hand grasp his elbow. Withdrawing his head from the tent, he turned quickly and was confronted by the red face of Hicks, the blackmailer, counselor, and dream messenger. The Secretary backed away from Hicks with a face of terror. Don't be scared, said Hicks in a hoarse whisper. I feel as if I were in this thing as deep as you are. In what thing, asked Owen. Don't bluff, old man, said Hicks. Didn't you dream about me last night? Well, what do my dreams have to do with you? Stop bluffing, replied Hicks. Didn't you see me in a dream last night, and didn't I leave a black shining stone on the table when I left? Owen did not deny these questions, and the red visaged man went on. I see you took my advice, that is, his advice, whoever he is, and you fixed the wire. Look here, Hicks, in heaven's name, tell me what this means. I did dream about you. You told me to do the thing. And at your fault, you admit you are in it. Now, what is it? Owen said Hicks. You and I are a couple of pikers in a big game, bigger than we understand. We hold the cards, but somebody else is playing the hand for us. He is an old guy and a wise one. Four thousand years old, he tells me, and though it scares me out of my boots to think who I am trailing along with, I am going to stick, and you'd better stick too, and let him play out our hand to the end. Who is it? Asked Owen, wondering if the morphine had gotten the better of him again, or if Hicks were playing some uncanny deceit on him. I don't know. Replied Hicks. He's somebody who has been dead four thousand years, and he wants to have this girl Pauline killed so he can get her back. I suppose he's some kind of ghostly white slaver. It isn't our business what he is, as long as he takes care of us. If we'll help him, he'll help us. Well, he didn't manage very well today. Objected, Owen. He planned all right. Rejoined Hicks. The machine fell, and if she'd been in it, she'd have been killed. But the other side played a card. I don't know what the card was, but it took the trick, and she didn't go up in the machine, that's all. But don't worry, we'll have better luck some other time. Owen shook his head. He could make nothing of this battle of unseen forces. It was clear to him that he had grasped at the one big chance to get Pauline's estate, and had missed it. He told Hicks so frankly. That's where you're wrong again. Insisted Hicks. If that girl had been killed today, it would have been a big blunder. A blunder? queried Owen. Didn't you say that Pauline must be put out of the way before we can get hold of her fortune? Listen, said Hicks, glancing cautiously about. Come over here away from these people. What do you mean by saying that it would have been a big blunder if Pauline had been killed in that flying machine? Demanded Owen. Yes, an almighty big blunder. That's what I said, and I can tell you why. We were pretty stupid not to think of it before. Now here's what's got to happen to Miss Pauline. Hicks placed his mouth close to Owen's ear, and whispered. End of chapter four. Owen wins the first game.