 7. We send him back again. The detective came. He was an inoffensive young man, and he set to work to unravel the mystery of the hand, with visible delight at the unusual nature of the job. Radner received him in a spirit of almost anxious hospitality. A horse was given him to ride. Guns and fishing tackle were placed at his disposal. A box of the Colonel's best cigars stood on the table of his room, and Solomon and his elbow presented a succession of ever-freshly-mixed mid-julips. I think that he was dazed and a trifle suspicious at these unexpected attentions. He was not used to the largeness of southern hospitality. However, he set to work with an admirable feel. He interviewed the servants and farmhands, and the information he received in regard to things in supernatural would have filled three volumes. He was staggered by the amount of evidence at hand rather than the scarcity. He examined the safe and the library window with a microscope. Crawled about the laurel walk on his hands and knees, sent off telegrams and gossiped with the loungers at Miller's Place. He interviewed the Colonel and Radner, cross-examined me, and wrote down always copious notes. The young man's manner was premiumly professional. Finally, one evening, it was four days after his arrival, he joined me as I was strolling in the garden, smoking an after-dinner pipe. May I have just a word with you, Mr Crosby? He asked. I am at your service, Mr Clancy, said I. His manner was gravely portentious, and prepared me for the statement that was coming. I have spotted my man, he said. I know who stole the securities, but I am afraid that the information will not be welcome. Under the circumstances, it seemed wisest to make my report to you rather than to Colonel Gaylord, and we can decide between us what is best to do. What do you mean? I demanded. In spite of my effort at composure, there was anxiety in my tone. The thief is Radner Gaylord. I laughed. That is absolutely untenable. Rad is incapable of such an act in the first place, and in the second, he was not in the house when the robbery occurred. Ah, then you know that. And where was he, pray? That, I said, is his own affair. If he did not tell you, it is because it is not connected with the case. So, it is just because it is connected with the case that he did not tell me. I will tell you, however, where he spent the night. He drove to Kennersburg, a larger town than Lambert Corners, where an unusual letter would create no comment, and mailed the bonds to a Washington firm of brokers, with whom he has had some dealings. He took the bag of corn and several unimportant papers in order to deflect suspicion, and his opening the safe the night before for the hundred dollars was merely a ruse to allow him to forget and leave it open, so that the bonds could appear to be stolen by someone else. Just what led him to commit the act, I won't say. He has been in a tight place for several months back in regard to money. Last January he turned a $2,000 mortgage that his father had given him on his 21st birthday into cash, and what he did with the cash I haven't been able to discover. In any case, his father knows nothing of the transaction. He thinks that Radner still holds the mortgage. This spring the young man was hard up again, and no more mortgages left to sell. He probably did not regard the appropriation of the bonds as stealing, since everything by his father's will was to come to him ultimately. As to all this hocus-pocus about the hand, that is easily explained. He needed a scapegoat on whom to turn the blame when the bonds should disappear, so he and this cat I mose between them invented a ghost. The Negro is a half-crazy fellow who, from the first, has been young Gaylord's tool. I don't think he knew what he was doing sufficiently to be blamed. As for Gaylord himself, I fancy there was a third person somewhere in the background who was pressing him for money and who couldn't be shaken off till the money was forthcoming. But whatever his motive for taking the bonds, there is no doubt about the fact, and I have come to you with the story, rather than to his father. It is absolutely impossible, I return. Radner, whatever his faults, is an honourable man in regard to money matters. I have his word that he knows no more about the robbery of these bonds than I do. The detective lark. There is just one kind of evidence that doesn't count for much in my profession, and that is a man's word. We look for something a little more tangible, such as this, for example. He drew from his pocket an envelope, took from it a letter, and handed it to me. It was a typewritten communication from a firm of brokers in Washington. Radner F. Gaylord, Esquire, Four Pills Plantation, Lambert Corners, VA. Dear Mr. Gaylord, we are in receipt of your favour of April 29th in regard to the sale of the bonds. The market is rather slow at present, and we shall have to sell at 98 and a quarter. If you care to hold on to them a few months longer, there is every chance of the market picking up, and we feel sure that in the end you will find them a good investment. Awaiting your further orders and thanking you for past favours. We are, very truly yours, joker be hate and code. Where did you get hold of that? I asked. It strikes me. It's a private letter. Very private. The young man agreed. I had trouble enough in getting hold of it. I had to do some fishing with a hook and pole over the transom at Mr. Gaylord's door. He had very kindly put the tackle at my disposal. You weren't called down here to open family's private letters, I said hotly. I was called down here to find out who stole Colonel Gaylord's bonds, and I've done it. I was silent for a moment. This letter from the brokers staggered me. April 29 was the date of the robbery, and I could think of no explanation. Clancy, noticing my silence, elaborated this theory with the growing air of triumph. This mose was left behind the night of the robbery with orders to rouse the house while Radner was away. Mose is a good actor, and he feel due. The obvious suspicion was that the ghost had stolen the bonds, and you set out to find him. Somewhat difficult task, as he existed, only in Mose's imagination. I think when you reflect upon the evidence, you will see that my explanation is convincing. It isn't in the least convincing, I retorted. Mose was not acting. He saw something that frightened him half out of his senses, and that something was not Radner masquerading as a ghost. For Radner was out of the house when the robbery took place. Not necessarily. The robbery took place early in the evening before all this rumpus occurred. Even if Mose did see a ghost, the ghost had nothing to do with it. You have absolutely no proof of that. It is nothing but some eyes. Clancy smiled with an air of patient tolerance. How about the letter he inquired? How do you explain that? I don't explain it. It is none of my business. But I dare say Radner will do so readily enough. There he is, going toward the stables. We will call him over. No, hold on. I haven't finished what I want to say. I was employed by Colonel Gaylord to find out who stole the bonds, and I have done so. But the Colonel did not suspect the direction my investigations would take, or he never would have engaged me. Now I am wondering if it would not be kinder not to let him know. He's had trouble enough with the elder son. Radner is all he has left. The young man seems to me like a really decent fellow. I dare say he'll straighten up and amount to something yet. Probably he considered the money as practically his already. Anyway, he's been decent to me, and I should like to do him a service. Now say we three talk it over together and settle it out of court as it were. I've put in my time down here, and I've got to have my pay. But perhaps it would be better all around if I took it from the young man, rather than his father. This struck me as the best way out of the muddle, and a very fair proposition, considering Clancy's point of view. I myself did not for an instant credit his suspicions, but I thought the wisest thing to do was to tell Rad just how the matter stood and let him explain in regard to the letter. I left Clancy waiting in the summer house while I went in search for Rad. I wished to be the one to do the explaining, as I knew he was not likely to take any such accusation calmly. I found him in the stables, and putting my hand on his shoulder marched him back toward the garden. Rad, I said, Clancy has formed his conclusions as to how the bonds left the safe, and I want you to convince him that he is mistaken. Well, let's hear his conclusions. He thinks that you took them when you took the money. You mean that I stole them. That's what he thinks. He does, does he? Well, he can prove it. Radner broke away from me and strode toward the summer house. The detective received his onslaught placidly. His manner suggested that he was used to dealing with excitable young men. Sit down, Mr Gaylord, and let's discuss this matter quietly. If you listen to reason, I assure you it will go no further. Do you mean to say that you accuse me of stealing those bonds? Radner shouted. Clancy held up a warning hand. Don't talk so loud. Someone will hear you. Sit down. He nodded toward a seat on the other side of the little rustic table. I will explain the matter as I see it, and if you can disprove any of my statements, I shall be more than glad to have you. Radner subsided and listened scowlingly while the detective outlined his theory in a perfectly non-personal way, and ended by producing the letter. Where did you get that? Rad demanded. Out of your coat pocket, which I hooked over the transom of the door. He made the statement impertibly. It was evidently a matter of everyday routine. So you enter gentlemen's houses as their guest, and spend your time sneaking about reading their private correspondence. An angry gleam appeared in Clancy's eye, and he rose to his feet. I did not come to your house as your guest. I came on business for Colonel Gaylord. Now that my business is completed, I will make my report to him and go. Radner rose also. It's a lie, and you'll have an a word of proof to show. Clancy significantly tapped the pocket that held the letter. That, said Radner, contemptuously, refers to two bonds which I bought last winter with some money I got from selling a mortgage. I preferred to have the investment in bonds, because they are more readily negotiable. I left them at the brokers as collateral for another investment I was making. Last week I needed some ready money and wrote to them to sell. My statement can easily be substantiated. No reputable detective would ever base any such observed charge on the contents of a letter he did not understand. Of course, said the detective, we have tried to get at the matter from the other end, but Jacobi Hote and Company refused to discuss the affairs of their clients. I did not press the point as I did not want to stir up comment. However, he smiled, I must confess, Mr Gaylord, that I think your explanation a trifle fishy. Perhaps you will answer one question. Did you mail your letter to them in Kennesburg the night of the robbery with a special delivery stamp? It happens that I did, but it was merely a coincidence and has nothing to do with the robbery. Will you be kind enough to explain why you drove to Kennesburg in the night and why you needed the money so suddenly? No, I will not. That is a matter which concerns me alone. Very well. As it happens, I do not base my charge on the letter. I had already formed my opinion before I knew with its existence. Do you deny that you yourself have encouraged the belief in the Ghost among the Negroes, that on more than one occasion you or your accomplice, Cat Imos, have masqueraded as the Ghost, that while you were pretending to Colonel Gaylord to be as much puzzled by the matter as he, you were in truth at the bottom of the whole business. Radner glanced uneasily at me and hesitated before replying. No, he said at length. I don't deny that, but I do affirm that it has nothing to do with the robbery. The detective laughed. You must excuse me, Mr Gaylord, if I stick to the opinion that I have solved the puzzle. He turned with emotion toward the house and Radner barred the entrance. Do you think I lie when I say I know nothing of those bonds? Yes, Mr Gaylord, I do. For a moment I thought that Radner was going to strike him, but I pulled him back and turned to Clancy. He knows nothing about the bonds, said I, but nevertheless you must not take any such story to Colonel Gaylord. He is an old man, and while he would not believe his son guilty of theft, still it would worry him. There is something else that happened that night, entirely uncriminal, but which we do not wish him to hear about. Therefore I am not going to let you go to him with this nonsensical tale that you have cooked up. This was a trial shot on my part, but it hit the bull's eye. Radner stared, but said nothing, and the detective visibly wavered. Now, I added, taking out my checkbook, suppose I pay you what you would have received had you discovered the bonds and dispensed with your further services. That's just as you say. I feel that I have done the job and am entitled to the money. If you wish to pay it, all right, otherwise I will get it from Colonel Gaylord. I received a retaining fee and was to have two hundred dollars more when I located the bonds. In order not to stir up any bad feeling, I am willing to take that two hundred dollars from you and drop the matter. It's blackmail, said Radner. Keep still, Rad, I said. It's very accommodating of Mr Clancy to see it this way. I wrote out a check and tossed it to the detective. Now, go to Colonel Gaylord, I said, telling that you have been unsuccessful in finding any clue, that the bonds will almost certainly be marketed in the city, and that your only hope of tracing them is to work from the other end. Then pack your bag and go. A carriage will be ready to take you to the junction in half an hour. Just wait a moment, Mr Clancy. Rad called after him as he turned away. He drew a notebook from his pocket and ripping out a page, scrawled across the face. Jaker be hate and company. Gentlemen, you will oblige me by answering any questions, which the bearer of this note may ask concerning my power's transactions with you. Radner F. Gaylord. There, said Rad, thrusting it toward him, kindly make use of that when you get to Washington, and in the future I should advise you to base your charges on something a little more substantial. His manner was insultingly contemptuous, but Clancy swallowed it with smile and good nature. I shall be interested in continuing the investigation, he observed, as he pocketed the paper and withdrew. End of Chapter 7 Chapter 8 So we got rid of the detective, but matters did not readily settle down again into their old relations. The colonel was irritable, and Rad was moody and sullen. He showed no tendency to confide in me as to the truth about the hand, and I did not probe the matter further. In a day or so he brought me three hundred dollars to cover the amount I had loaned him, together with the blackmail, as he insisted upon calling it. The money he informed me was from the proceeds of the bonds he had sold. He showed me at the same time several letters from his brokers, establishing beyond a doubt that the story he had told was true. As to the stolen bonds, their whereabouts was as much a mystery as ever, and Rad appeared to take not the slightest interest in the matter. Since the detective had been summoned, he had washed his hands of all responsibility. I think it was the morning after Clancy's departure that Solomon handed me a pale blue envelope, bearing in the upper left-hand corner the device of the poster's batch. I laughed as I ripped it open. I had almost forgotten Terry's existence. It contained a characteristic pencil scroll slanting across a sheet of yellow paper. Arnold Crosby Esquire Turnips Farm Pumpkin Corners VA Dear sir, in close please find clipping. Are the facts straight and have the missing bonds turned up? If not, don't you want me to run down and find them for you? Should like to meet an authenticated ghost? Wouldn't be a bad Sunday feature article. Give it my love. Is it a man or lady? Things are also moving nicely in New York. Two murders and a child abducted in one week. How are crops? Yours truly, TP. Wire me if you want me. The clipping was headed. Spook crack safe and was a fairly accurate account of the hand and the robbery. It ended with the remark that the mystery was as yet unsolved, but that the best detective talent in the country had been engaged on the case. I tossed the letter to Radner with a laugh. He had already heard of Terry's connection with the Patterson Pratt affair. Perhaps we couldn't do better than to get him down. I suggested. He's most abnormally keen at ferreting out a mystery that promises any news. If anyone can learn the truth about those bonds, he can. I don't want to know the truth. Radner growled. I'm sick of the very name of bonds. And this had been his attitude from the moment the detective left. My own insistence that it was our duty to track down the thief met with nothing but a shrug. Another person might have suspected that this epate only proved his own culpability in the theft, but such a suspicion never for a moment crossed my mind. He was, as he said, sick of the very name of bonds, and with a person of his temperament that ended the matter. Though I did not comprehend his attitude, still I took him at his word. There was something about Rad's straightforward way of looking, one in the eye, that impelled belief. As I had heard the colonel boast, a gay lord could not tell a lie. The things a gay lord could and could not do were, I acknowledge, to a northern ethical sense, a trifle mystifying. A gay lord might drink and gamble and fail to pay his debts, not his gambling debts, his tailor, and his grocer. He might be the hero of many doubtful affairs with women. He might, in a sudden fit of passion, commit a murder. There was more than one killing in the family annals, but under no circumstances would his honour permit him to tell a lie. The reservation struck me somewhat humorously as an anti-climax, but nevertheless I believed it. When Rad said he knew nothing of the stolen bonds, I dismissed the possibility from my mind. Though I was relieved to feel that he was not guilty, still I was worried and nervous over the matter. I felt that it was criminal not to do something, and yet my hands were tied. I could scarcely undertake an investigation myself, but every clue led across the trail of the hand, and that, Rad made it clear, was forbidden ground. The colonel, meanwhile, was comparatively quiet, as he supposed the detective was still working on the case. I accordingly did nothing, but I kept my eyes open, hoping that something would turn up. Rad's temper was absolutely unbearable for the first week after the detective left. The reason had nothing to do with the stolen bonds, but was concerned entirely with Polymather's behaviour. She barely noticed Rad's existence, so occupied with she with the ecstatic young sheriff. What the trouble was, I did not know, but I suspected that it was the whispered conjectures in regard to the hand. I remember one evening, in particular, that she snubbed him in the face of the entire neighbourhood. We had arrived at a party, a triple late to find Poly, as usual, the centre of a laughing group of young men, all clamouring for dances. They widened their circle to admit Rad in a way which tacitly acknowledged his prior claim. He inquired, with his most differential bow, what dances she had saved for him. Poly replied, in an offhanded manner, that she was sorry that her card was already full. Rad shrugged nonchalantly, and, sauntering toward the door, disappeared for the rest of the night. When he turned up at four pools early in the morning, his horse, Uncle Jake, informed me, looked as if it had been ridden by the devil himself. With Radna in this state, and the Colonel growing daily more irritable over the continued mystery of the bonds, it is not strange that matters between them were at a high state of tension. As I saw more of the Colonel's treatment of Rad, I came to realise that there was considerable excuse for Jefferson's wildness. While he was a kind man at heart, still he had an ungovernable temper, and an absolutely tyrannical desire to rule everyone about him. His was the only free will allowed on the place. He attempted to treat Rad at twenty-two, much as he had done at twelve. A few months before my arrival, I heard this later. He had even struck him, whereupon Radna had turned on his heel and walked out of the house, and had only consented to come back two weeks later when he heard that the old man was ill. If two men ever needed a woman to manage them, these were the two. I think that if my aunt had lived, most of the trouble would have been avoided. Rad was not the only one, however, who felt the Colonel's irritation over the robbery. His treatment of the servants was harsh and even cruel. Everybody on the place went about in a half-cowed fashion. He treated Moes like a dog. Why the fellow stood it, I don't know. The Colonel seemed never to have learned that the old slave days were over, and that he no longer owned the Negro's body and soul. His government of the plantation was in the manner of a despot. Everybody, from his own son to the Mayor's Picconini, was at the mercy of his Caprice. When he was in good humour, he was kindness itself to the darkies. When he was in bad humour, he vented his anger on whoever happened to be nearest. I shall never forget the feeling of indignation with which I first saw him strike a man. A strange Negro was caught one morning in the neighbourhood of the chicken coop, and was brought up to the house by two of the stable men. My uncle, who was standing on the portico steps waiting for his horse, was in a particular savage mood, as he had just come from an altercation with Radner. The man said that he was hungry and asked for work, but the Colonel, almost without waiting to hear him speak, fell upon him in a fit of blind rage, slashing him half a dozen times over the head and shoulders with his heavy riding crop. The Negro, who was a powerful built fellow, instead of standing up and defending himself like a man, crouched on the ground with his arms over his head. Please, Colonel Gaylord, he vented. Let me go, I ain't done nothing. I ain't still no chickens. For God's sake, don't whip me. I sprung forward with an angry exclamation and grasped my uncle's arm. The fellow was on his feet instantly and off down the lane without once glancing back. The Colonel stood a moment looking from my indignant face to the man disappearing in the distance, and burst out laughing. I reckon I won't be troubled with him any more, he remarked, as he mounted and rode away. His good humour apparently quite restored. I confessed that it took me some time to get over that scene, but the worst of it was that he treated his own servants in the same summery fashion. The thing that puzzled me most was the way in which they received it, Moes, being always at hand, was cuffed about more than any Negro on the place, but as far as I could make out, it only seemed to increase his love and veneration for the Colonel. I don't believe the situation could ever be intelligible to a Northern man. So Matt has stood when I had been a month at four pools. My vacation had lasted long enough, but I was supremely comfortable and very loathe to go. The first few weeks of May had been, to my starved city eyes, a dazzling pageant of beauty. The landscape glowed with yellow daffodils, pink peach blossoms, and the bright green of new wheat. The fields were alive with the frisky joyousness of spring lambs and colts, turned out to pasture. It was with a keen feeling of reluctance that I faced the prospect of New York's brick and stone and asphalt. My work was calling, but I lazily postponed my departure from day to day. Things that the plantation seemed to have settled into their old routine. The whereabouts of the bonds was still a mystery, but the had had returned to his grave at least. In so far as many manifestations affected the house. I believe that the spirit of the spring hole had been seen rising once or twice from a cloud of sulfurous smoke, but the excitement was confined strictly to the negro quarters. No man on the place who valued a whole skin would have dared mention the word hand, in Colonel Gaylord's presence. Relations between Radd and his father were rather less strained, and matters on the whole were going pleasantly enough, when they suddenly fell from a clear sky, the strange and terrible series of events, which changed everything at four pools. End of Chapter 8 Chapter 9 of the Four Pools Mystery This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Four Pools Mystery by Jean Webster Chapter 9 The Expedition to Luray Toward eleven o'clock one morning, the Colonel, Raddner and I were established in lounging chairs in the shade of a big karelpa tree on the lawn. It was a warm day, and Radd and I were just back from a tramp to the upper pasture, a full mile from the house. We were addressing ourselves with considerable zest to the frosted glasses that Solomon had just placed on the table, when we became aware of the sound of galloping hoofs, and a moment later Polly Mathers and her Surreal mare, Tiger Lily, appeared at the end of the sun-plect lane. An Irish setter romped at her side, and the three of them made a picture. The horses' shining coat, the dog's silky hair, and Polly's own red-gold curls were almost of a colour. I believe the little witch had chosen the two on purpose. In her dark habit and mannish hat, with sparkling cheeks and larking eyes, she was as pretty an apparition as ever enhanced a main morning. She waved her crop gaily and rode toward us across the lawn. Howdy, she called, in a droll imitation of the mountain dialect. Ain't you ain't gonna ask me to light a while, and set a bit and talk a spell? Radner's face had flushed quickly as he perceived who the rider was, that he held himself stiffly in the background while the colonel and I did the honours. It was the first time I know that Polly and Rad had met since the night she refused to dance with him, and her appearance could only be interpreted as a desire to make amends. She sprung lightly to the ground, turned tigerly loose to graze about the lawn, and eerily perched herself on the arm of a chair. There was nothing in her manner, at least, to suggest that her relations with any one of us were strained. After a few moments of naively gossip with the colonel and me, Rad was monosyllabic and remote. She arrived at her errand. Some friends from Savannah were stopping at the hall on their way to Virginia Hot Springs, and, as is usual, when strangers visit the valley, they were planning an expedition to Lou Ray Cave. The cave was on the other side of the mountains, about 10 miles from four pools. Since I had not yet visited it, that was at least the reason she gave. She had come to ask the three of us to join the party on the following day. Rad was sulky at first, and rather curtly declined on the ground that he had to attend some business. But Polly scouted his excuse, and added significantly that Jim Madison had not been asked. He accepted this mark of repentance with a pleased flush, and before she rode away he had become his former cheerful self again. The colonel also demuted on the ground that he was getting too old for such diversions. But Polly laid her hands upon his shoulders, and coaxed him into acquisitions. Even a mummy must have unbent before such persuasion. As a matter of fact, though, the colonel was only too pleased with his invitation. It flattered him to be included with the young people, and he was immensely fond of Polly. It struck me suddenly as I watched her, how like she was to that other girl, of 18 years before. There danced, in Polly's eyes, the same eagerness of life that vitalised the face of the portrait over the mantelpiece upstairs. The resemblance for a moment was almost startling. I believed the same thought had come to Colonel Gaylord. The old man's eyes dwelt upon her with a sadly wistful air, and I liked to feel that it was of nanny he was thinking. Radner and I had been invited to a dance that same evening at a neighbouring country house. But when the time came, I begged off on the plea of wishing to rest for the ride the next morning. The real reason, I fancy, was that I too was suffering from a touch of Radner's trouble, and since I had no chance of winning her, it was the part of wisdom to keep out of hearing of Polly's laugh. In any case, I went to bed and to sleep. While Rad went to the party, and I have never known exactly what happened that night, I rose early the next morning, and as I went downstairs, I saw Solomon crawling around on his hands and knees on the parlour floor, collecting the remnants of a French clock which had stood on the mantelpiece. How did that clock come to be broken? I asked a trifle sharply, thinking I had caught him in a bad piece of carelessness. Can't say sir, Solomon returned, rising on his knees and looking at me mournfully. I specced old Master been chastising young Master again. It's powerful, destructive, on to break your break. I went on out of doors, wondering sadly if Radner could have been drinking, and accusing myself for not having gone to the party and kept him straight. It was evident at breakfast that something serious had happened between him and his father. The colonel appeared unusually grave, and Rad, after a gruff, good morning, sat staring at his plate in a dogged silence. Throughout the meal he scarcely so much as exchanged a glance with his father. I tried to talk as if I noticed nothing, and in the course of the somewhat one-sided conversation happened to mention our proposed trip to Loure. Rad returned that he had visited the cave a good many times, and did not care about going. I was puzzled at this, for I knew that the cave was not the chief attraction, but I discreetly dropped the subject, and shortly after we rose from the table. As I left the room I saw the colonel walk over and lay his hand on Radner's arm. You will change your mind and go, my boy, he said. But Rad shook the hand off roughly and turned away. As I went on out to the stables to give orders about the horses, I felt in anything but the proper spirits for a day of merry-making. However much the colonel may have been to blame in the quarrel of the night before, and the French clock told its own story, still I could not help but feel that Rad should have borne with him more patiently. The scene I had just witnessed in the dining room made me miserable. The colonel was a proud man, and apology came hard for him. His son might at least have met him half way. Going upstairs to my room a few minutes later, I caught a glimpse through the open door of someone standing before the mantelpiece. Thinking it was Radner waiting to consult me, I hurried forward and reached the threshold before I realised that it was the colonel. He was standing with folded arms before the picture. His eyes, gleaming from underbeetling brows, were devouring it hungrily, line by line. His face was set rigidly with a look, whether of sorrow or loneliness or remorse. I do not know, but I do know that it was the saddest expression I have ever seen on any human face. It was as if, in a single illuminating flash, he had looked into his own soul, and seen the ruin that his ungoverned pride and passion had wrought against those he loved the most. So absorbed had he been with his thoughts, that he had not heard my step. I turned and stole away, realising suddenly that he was an old man, broken, infirm, that his life with its influence for good or evil was already at an end. He could never change his character now, no matter how keenly he might realise his defects. Poor little nanny's willfulness was at last forgiven, but the forgiveness was fifteen years too late. Why could not that moment of insight have come earlier to Colonel Gaylord, have come in time to save him from his mistakes? I passed out adorbs again, pondering somewhat bitterly the exigencies of human life. The bright spring morning with its promise of youth and joy seemed burrowingly out of tune. The beauty was but surface-deep. I told myself pessimistically, underneath it was a cruel world. Before me in the garden path, a jubilant robin was pulling an unhappy ankle worm from the ground, and a little farther on, under a blossoming apple tree, the kitchen cat was breakfasting on a baby robin. The double spectacle struck me as significant of life. I was casting about for some philosophical truths to fit it, when my reverie was interrupted by a shout from Radner. I turned to find the horses, three of them, waiting at the portico steps. Rad was going then after all. He and his father had evidently patched up some sort of truce, but I soon saw that it was only a truce. The two avoided crossing eyes, and as we rode along, they talked to me instead of to each other. The party met at Mathers Hall. The plan was for us to ride to Luray that morning, spending most of the afternoon there, and then return to the hall for a supper and dance in the evening. The older ladies took the carriage, while the rest of us went on horseback, a couple of servants following in the buckboard with the luncheon. Moe's bare feet, Lindsay Woolsey and all, was brought along to act as guide, and he was fairly purring with contentment at the importance it gave him over the other Negroes. It seems that he had been in the habit of finding his way around in the cave ever since he was a little shaver, and he knew the route. Radner told me better than the professional guides. He knew it so well, in fact, that the entire neighborhood was in the habit of burrowing him whenever expeditions were being planned to Luray. We left our horses at the Village Hotel, and after eating a picnic lunch in the woods, set out to make the usual round at the cave. Luray was since been lighted with electricity and laid out in cement walks, but the time of which I am writing was before its exploitation by the railroad, and the cabin was still in its natural state. Each of us carried either candles or a torch, and the guides were supplied with calcium lights, which they touched off at intervals, whenever there was any special object of interest. This was the first cabin of any size that I had ever visited, and I was so taken up with examining the rock formations and keeping my torch from burning my hands that I did not pay much attention to the disposal at the rest of the party. It took over two hours to make the round, and we must have walked about five miles. What with the heavy damp air and the slippery path, I for one was glad to get out into the sunshine again. I joined the group about polymethers and casually asked if she knew where Radna had gone. I haven't seen him for some time. I think he must have come out before us, she replied, and unless I am mistaken, Colonel Gaylord, she added, turning to my uncle, he left my coat on that broken column above Crystal Lake. I am afraid that he is in a very good cavalier. The Colonel, I imagine, had been a very good cavalier in his own youth, and I do not think that he had entirely outgrown it. I will repair his fault, Miss Polly. The old man returned, with the curtly bow, and proved to you that the boy does not take after his father in lack of gallantry. No, indeed, Colonel Gaylord, Polly exclaimed. I was only joking. I shouldn't think of letting you go back after it. One of the servants can get it. I shortly after ran across Moes and sent him back for the coat, and the incident was forgotten. We straggled back to the hotel in twos and threes. The horses were brought out, and we got off amidst general confusion. I rode beside the carriage for a couple of miles, exchanging courtesies with Mrs Mathers, and then galloped ahead to join the other riders. I was surprised to see neither my uncle nor Radner anywhere inside, and inquired as to their whereabouts. I thought they were riding with you, said Polly, wheeling to my side. You don't suppose, she asked quickly, that the Colonel was foolish enough to go back for my coat, and we've left him behind. One of the men laughed. He has a horse, Miss Polly, and he knows how to use it. I daresay, even if we did leave him behind, that he can find his way home. I sent Moes back for the coat, I remarked. The Colonel probably feels that he has had enough frivolity for one day, and has preferred to ride straight on to four pills. It occurred to me that Rad and his father had ridden home together to make up their quarrel, and the reflection added considerably to my peace of mind. I had felt vaguely uncomfortable over the matter all day, for I knew that the old man was always miserable after a misunderstanding with his son, and I strongly suspected that Radner himself was far from happy. When we arrived at Martha's Hall Polly slipped from her saddle and came running up to me as I was about to dismount. She laid her hand on the bridle and asked, in the sweetest way possible, if I would mind riding back to the plantation to see if the Colonel were really there, as she could not help feeling anxious about him. I noticed with a smile that she made no comment on the younger man's defection, though I strongly suspected that she was no less interested in that. I turned about and galloped off again, willing enough to do her bidding, though I could not help reflecting that it would have been just as easy for her, and considerably easier for me, had she developed her anxiety a few miles back. When I reached the four corners where the road to the four pools branches off from the Valley Turnpike, I saw the wagon coming with the two Malthus negros in it. But without any sign of Moes, I drew up and waited for them. Hello boys, I called. What's become of Moes? Dad's Moe, and I can say, Mr Arnold, one of the men returned. We waited for him a powerful time, but it appears like he's evaporated. I reckon he's took to the woods and he's going to walk home. Dad cat-eye Moes, his monstrous pond of walking. I do not know why this incident should have aroused my own anxiety, but I pushed on to the plantation with a growing feeling of uneasiness. Nothing had been seen of either the Colonel or Moes, Solomon inform me, but he added with an excited rolling of his eyes. Ma's Rad, he come back nearly an hour ago, and stomped round, like he most crazy, and then went out to the garden. I followed him and found him sitting in the summer house with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. What's the matter, Rad? I cried in alarm. Has anything happened to your father? He looked up with a start at the sound of my voice, and I saw that his face was pale. My father, he asked in a day's way. I left him in the cave. Why do you ask? He didn't come back with the rest of us, and Polly asked me to find him. He's old enough to take care of himself, said Radner, without looking up. I hesitated a moment, uncertain what to do, and then turned back to the stables to order a fresh horse. To my astonishment, I found the stableman gathered in a group about Rad's mare, Jenny Lou. She was dashed with foam and trembling, and appeared to be about used up. The men fell back and eyed me silently as I approached. What's happened to the horse? I cried. Did she run away? One of the men reckoned that Ma's breath had been whipping her. Whipping her, I exclaimed in dismay. It was unbelievable, for no one, as a real, was kinder to animals than Radner. And as for his own Jenny Lou, he couldn't have cared more for her if she had been a human being. There was no mistaking it, however. She was crossed and recrossed with thick welts about the withers. It was evident that the poor beast had been disgracefully handled. Uncle Jake, volunteered that Rad had galloped straight into the stable, had dropped the bridle and walked off without a word, and he added the opinion that a devil had been conduit him. I was inclined to agree. There seemed to be something in the air that I did not understand, and my anxiety for the colonel suddenly rushed back fourfold. I wheeled about and ordered a horse in an unnecessarily sharp tone, and the men jumped to a baming. It was just sunset as I mounted again and galloped down the lane. For the second time that day I set out along the lonely mountain road leading to Loure, but this time with a vague fear gripping at my heart. Why had Radner acted so strangely? I asked myself again and again, could it be connected with last night's quarrel, and where was the colonel, and where was Moe's? End of Chapter 9 Chapter 10 At the Four Pools Mystery This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org The Four Pools Mystery by Jean Webster Chapter 10 The Tragedy of the Cave It was almost dark by the time I reached the village of Loure. I galloped up to the hotel where we had left our horses that morning, and without dismounting, called out to the loafers on the veranda to ask if anyone had seen Colonel Gaylord. Two or three of them, glad of diversion, got up and sauntered out to the stepping stone where I waited to discuss the situation. What was the matter, they inquired, hadn't the colonel gone home with the rest of the party? No, he had not. I returned impatiently, and I wanted to know if any of them had seen him. They consulted together and finally decided that no one had seen him, and at this the stable boy vouched safe the information that red pepper was still in the barn. I thought maybe the colonel was intending to make me a present of that horse, the landlord observed with a grin, as he joined the group. A chuckle ran across the circle at this sally. It was evident that the colonel did not have a reputation in the country for making presents. I impatiently gathered up my reins, and one of the men remarked. I reckon young Gaylord got home in good time. He was in an almighty hurry when he started. He didn't stop for no farewells. With numerous interruptions and humorous interpolations, they finally managed to tell me, in their exasperatingly slow drawl, that Rad had come back to the hotel that afternoon, before the rest of the party, had drunk two glasses of brandy, called for his horse, and galloped off without speaking a word to anyone except to square at the stable boy. The speaker finished with the assertion that in his opinion, Rad Gaylord and Jeff Gaylord were cut out of the same block. I shifted my seat uneasily. This information did not tend to throw any light on the question of the colonel's whereabouts, and I was in no mood just then to listen to any more gossip about Rad. I'm not looking for young Gaylord, I said shortly. I know where he is. It's the colonel I'm after. Neither he nor Cat Imo's have come back, and I'm afraid they're lost in the cave. The men laughed at this. People didn't get lost in the cave, they said. All anyone had to do was to follow the path, and besides, if the colonel was with Moes, he couldn't get lost if he tried. Moes knew the cave so well that he could find his way around it in the dark. Colonel Gaylord had probably met some friends in the village and driven home with them. But I would not be satisfied with an explanation of that sort. The colonel I knew was not in the habit of abandoning horses in any such casual manner, and even supposing he had gone home with some friends, he would scarcely have taken Moes along. I dismounted, turned my horse over to the stable boy, and announced that the cave must be searched. This request was received with some amusement. The idea of getting out a search party for Cat Imo's struck them as peculiarly ludicrous. But I insisted, and finally one of the men who was in the habit of acting as guide took his feet down from the veranda railing with a grunt of disapproval, and shambled into the house after some candles and a lantern. Two or three of the others joined the expedition after a good deal of chafing at my expense. We set out for the mouth of the cave by a shortcut that led across the fields. It was quite dark by this time, and as there was no moon our one lantern did not go far toward lighting the path. We stumbled along over plowed ground and through swampy pastures to the music of croaking frogs and with poor wheels. At first the way was enlivened by humorous suggestions on the part of my companions as to what had come of Colonel Gaylord. But as I did not respond very freely to their bantering they finally fell silent with only an occasional implication as someone stubbed his toe or caught his clothing on a briar. After a half an hour or so of plotting we came to a clear path through the woods and in a few minutes reached the mouth of the cave. A rough little shanty was built over the entrance. It was closed by a ramshackle door which a child could have opened without any difficulty. There was at least no danger of the kernels having been locked inside. Lighting our candles we descended the rough stone staircase into the first great vault which forms a sort of vestibule to the caverns. With our hands to our mouths we hallowed several times and then hailed our breath while we waited for an answer. The only sound which came out at the stillness was the occasional drip of water or the flap of a bat's wing. Had the kernel been lost in any of the winding passages he must have heard us and replied, For the slightest sound is audible in such a cabin echoing and re-echoing as it does through countless vaulted galleries. The silence however, instead of assuring me that he was not there, only increased my uneasiness. What if he had slipped on the wet clay and having injured himself was lying unconscious in the darkness. The men wished to turn back but I insisted that we go as far as the broken column which lies in a little gallery above Crystal Lake. That was the place where the coat had been left and we could at least find out if either the kernel or mose had returned for it. We set out in single file along the damp clay path, the light from our few candles only serving to intensify the blackness around us. The huge white forms of the stalactites seemed to fire us like ghosts in the gloom. Every now and then a bat flapped past our faces and I wondered with a shiver how anyone could get up courage to go alone into such a hole as that. Crystal Lake is a shallow pool lying in a sort of bowl. On the farther side the path runs up seven or eight feet above the water along the broken edge of the cliff. A few steps beyond the pool the path diverges sharply to the left and opens in to the little gallery at the broken column. Just as we were about to ascend the two or three stone steps leading to the incline, the guide in front stopped short and clutching me by the arm pointed a shaking forefinger toward the pool. What's that? he gasped. I strung my eyes into the darkness that could see nothing. There that black thing under the bank he said raising the candle and throwing the light over the water. We all saw it now and recognized it with a thrill of horror. It was the body of Colonel Gaylord. He was lying on his face at the bottom of the pool and with outstretched arms was clutching the mud in his hands. The still water above him was as clear as crystal but was tinged with red. It's my uncle. I cried springing forward. He's fallen over the bank. He may not be dead. But they held me back. He's as dead as he ever will be. The guide said grimly. And what's more Colonel Gaylord weren't the man to drown in three foot of water without making a struggle. This ain't no accident. It's murder. We must go back and get the coroner. It's again the law to touch the body until he comes. It went to my heart to leave the old man lying there at the bottom of that pool. But I could not prevail on one of them to help me move him. The coroner must be brought. They stubbornly insisted and they restrained me forcibly when I would have waded into the water. We turned back with shaking knees and hurried toward the mouth of the cave slipping and sliding in the wet clay as we ran. I, the one, felt as though a dozen assassins were following our footsteps in the dark. And all the time I had a sickening feeling that my uncle's death only foreshadowed a more terrible tragedy. The guides, this ain't no accident. It's murder. Kept running in my head. And much as I tried to drive the thought from me, a horrible suspicion came creeping to my mind that I knew who the murderer must be. End of Chapter 10 Chapter 11 of The Four Pools' Mystery This is a Librebox recording. All Librebox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librebox.org. The Four Pools' Mystery by Jean Webster Chapter 11 The Sheriff visits Four Pools We found the coroner and told our story. He sent word to Kennedsburg, the county seat, for the sheriff to come. And then having called a doctor and three or four other witnesses, we set out again for the cave. The news of the tragedy had spread like wildfire and half the town of Luray would have accompanied us had the coroner not forcibly prevented it. He stationed two men at the entrance of the cave to keep the crowd from pushing in. I myself should have been more than willing to wait outside, but I felt that it was my duty by Radner to be present. If any discoveries were made, I wished to be the first to know it. It was sad business and I will not dwell upon it. One side of the old man's head had been fractured by a heavy blow. He had been dead several hours when we found him, but the doctor could not be certain whether drowning or the injury he had sustained had been the immediate cause of death. Dangling from a jagged piece of rock halfway down the cliff, we found Polly Mesa's coat torn and drabled with mud. The clay path above the pool was trampled in every direction, way out to the brink of the precipice. It was evident, even to the most untrained observer, that a fierce struggle of some sort had taken place. I was the first one to examine the marks, and as I knelt down and held the light to the ground, I saw with the thrill of mingled horror and hope that one pair of feet had been there. Moes had taken part in the struggle, and dreadful as was the assurance, it was infinitely better than that of a suspicion. It was Moes who committed the murder. I cried to the coroner as I pointed to the footprints in the clay. He bent over beside me and examined the marks. Ah, Moes was present, he said slowly, but so was someone else. See, here is the print of the colonel's boot, and there beside it is the print of another boot. It is fully an inch broader. But it was difficult to make out anything clearly, so trampled was the path. Our whole party had passed over the very spot, not an hour before the tragedy. Whatever the others could see, I myself was blind to everything, but the indisputable fact that Moes had been there. As we were making ready to start back to the mouth of the cave, a cry from one of the men called our attention again to the scene of the struggle. He held up in his hand a small gleaming object which he had found trodden into the path. It was a silver matchbox covered with dents and mud, and marked R-F-G. I recognised it instantly. I had seen Radner take it from his pocket a hundred times. As I looked at it now, my hopes seemed to vanish, and that same sickening suspicion rushed over me again. The men eyed each other silently, and I did not have to ask what they were thinking of. We turned without comments and started on our journey back to the village. The body was carried to the hotel to await the coroner's permission to take it home to four pools. There was nothing more for me to do, and with a heavy heart I mounted again to return to the plantation. Scarcely had I left the stable yard when I heard hoofs pounding along behind me in the darkness, and Jim Madison galloped up with two of his men. If you are going to four pools we will ride with you, he said, falling into pace beside me while the officers dropped behind. I might as well tell you, he added, that it looks black for Radner. I'm sorry, but it's my duty to keep him under arrest until some pretty strong counter-evidence turns up. Where's Cat Eye Moes? I cried. Why don't you arrest him? The sheriff made a gesture of disdain. That's nonsense. Everyone in the county knows. Cat Eye Moes. He wouldn't hurt a fly. If he was present at the time of the crime, it was to help his master. And the man who killed Colonel Gaylord killed him too. I've known him all my life, and I can swear he's innocent. You've known Radner all your life. I returned bitterly. Yes, he said, I have. And Jefferson Gaylord too. I rode on in silence, and I do not think I ever hated anyone as, for the moment, I hated the man beside me. I knew that he was thinking of Polymatis, and I imagined that I could detect an undertone of triumph in his voice. It's well known, he went on, half to himself and half to me, that Radner sometimes had high words with his father. And today, they told me at the hotel, he came back alone without waiting for the others. And while his horse was being saddled, he drunk off two glasses of brandy, as if they had been water. All the men on the brander marked how white his face was, and how he cursed the stable boy for being slow. It was evident that something had happened in the cave, and what we've found in his matchbox at the scene of the crime, circumstantial evidence is pretty strong against him. I was too miserable to think of any answer, and the fellow finally, having the decency to keep quiet, we galloped the rest of the way in silence. Though it must have been long after midnight, when we reached the house, lights were still burning in the downstairs rooms. We rode up to the portico with considerable climber, and dismounted. One of the men held the horses, while Madison and the other followed me into the house. Rad himself, hearing the noise of our arrival, came to the door to meet us. He was quite composed again, and spoke in his usual manner. Hello, Arnold. Did you find him, and is the party over? He stopped uncertainly as he caught sight of the others. They stepped into the hall and stood watching him a moment, without saying anything. I tried to tell him, but the words seemed to stick in my throat. A terrible thing has happened, Rad. I stammered out. What's the matter, he asked, a sudden look of anxiety springing to his face. I am sorry, Rad, Madison replied, but it is my duty to arrest you. To arrest me, for what, he asked, with a half laugh. For the murder of your father. Radner put out his hand against the wall to steady himself, and his lips showed white in the lamp light. At the sight of his face, I could have sworn that he was not acting, and that the news came with as much of a shock to him as it had to me. My father murdered, he gasped. What do you mean? His dead body was found in the cave, and circumstantial evidence points to you. He seemed two days to grasp the words, and Madison said it twice before he comprehended. Do you mean he's dead? Rad repeated. And I quarreled with him last night, and wouldn't make it up, and now it's too late. I must warn you, the sheriff returned, that whatever you say will be used against you. I am innocent, said Radner, brokenly, and without another word he prepared to go. Madison drew some handcuffs from his pocket, and Radner looked at them with a dark flush. You need be afraid, I'm not going to run away, he said. Madison dropped them back again with a muttered apology. I went out to the stable, with one of the men, and helped to saddle Jenny Lou. I felt all the time as though I had hold of the rope that was going to hang him. When we came back he and the sheriff were standing on the portico, waiting. Rad appeared to be more composed than any of us, but as I wrung his hand I noticed that it was icy cold. I'll attend to everything, I said, and don't worry, my boy, we'll get you off. Don't worry, he laughed shortly as he leaped into the saddle. It's not myself I'm worrying over. I am innocent. And he suddenly leaned forward and scanned my face in the light from the open door. You believe me, he asked quickly. Yes, I cried. I do. And what's more, I'll prove you're innocent. End of Chapter 11, Chapter 12 of the Four Pills Mystery. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Four Pills Mystery by Jean Webster. Chapter 12. I make a promise to Polly. The next few days were a nightmare to me. Even now I cannot think of that horrible period of suspense and doubt without a shutter. The coroner set to work immediately upon his preliminary investigation, and every bit of evidence that turned up only seemed to make the proof stronger against Redna. It is strange how ready public opinion is to believe the worst of a man when he is down. No one appeared to doubt Rad's guilt and feeling ran high against him. Colonel Gaylord was a well-known character in the countryside, and in spite of his quick temper and rather imperious bearing, he had been a general favourite. At the news of his death, a wave of horror and nindignation swept through the valley. Among the ruffs in the village, I heard not infrequent hints of lynching, and even among the more conservative element. The general opinion seemed to be that lawful hanging was too honourable a death for the perpetrator of such brutal a crime. I have never been able to understand the quick and general belief in the boy's guilt, but I have always suspected that the sheriff did not do all in his power to quiet the feeling. It was to a large extent, however, the past reasserting itself, though Redna's record was not so black as it was painted, still it was not so white as it should have been. People shook their heads and repeated stories of how wild he had been as a boy, and how they had always foreseen some such end as this. Reports of the quarrels with his father were told and retold until they were magnified beyond all recognition. The old scandals about Jett were revived again, and the general opinion seemed to be that the gay lord boys were degenerates through and through. Redd's personal friends stood by him staunchly, but they formed a pitifully small minority compared to the general sensation seeking public. I visited Reddna in the Kennesburg jail on the morning of my uncle's funeral, and found him quite broken in spirit. He had had time to think over the past, and with his father lying dead at four pools, it had not been pleasant thinking. Now that it was too late, he seemed filled with remorse over his conduct toward the old man, and he dwelt continually on the fact of his having been unwilling to make up the quarrel of the night before the murder. In this mood of contrition he mercilessly accused himself of things I am sure he had never done. I knew that the jailer was listening to every word outside, and I became unspeakably nervous for fear he would say something which could be twisted into an incriminating confession. He did not seem to comprehend in the least the danger of his own position. He was entirely taken up with the horror of his father's death. As I was leaving, however, he suddenly grasped my hand with tears in his eyes. Tell me, Arnold, do people really believe me guilty? I knew by people he meant polymatis, but I had not had an opportunity to speak with her alone since the day of the tragedy. I haven't talked to anyone but the sheriff. I returned. Madison would be glad enough to prove it, Radness said bitterly, and he turned his back and stood staring through the iron bars of the window while I went out and the jailer closed the door and locked it. All through the funeral that afternoon I could scarcely keep my eyes from polymatis face. She appeared so changed since the day of the picnic that I should scarcely have known her for the same person. It seemed incredible that three days could make such a difference in a bright, healthy, vigorous girl. All her youthful vivacity was gone. She was pale and spiritless, with deep rings beneath her eyes, and the lid spread with crying. After the services were over, I approached her a moment as she stood in her black dress, a loop from the others at the edge of the little family burying ground. She greeted me with a tremulous smile, and then, as her glance wandered back to the pile of earth, the two men were already shoveling into the grave, her eyes quickly filled with tears. I loved him as much as if he were my own father. She cried, and it's my fault that he's dead. I made him go. No, Polly, it is not your fault, I said decisively. It was a thing which no one could foresee, and no one could help. She waited a moment trying to steady her voice. Then she looked up pleadingly in my face. Radner is innocent. Tell me you believe it. I am sure he is innocent, I replied. Then you can clear him. You're a lawyer. I know you can clear him. You may trust me to do my best, Polly. I hope you medicine, she exclaimed, with the flash of her old file. He swears that Rad is guilty, and that he will prove him so. Rad may have done some bad things, but he's a good man, better than Jim Madison ever thought of being. Polly, I said, with a touch of bitterness. I wish you might have realised that truth earlier. Rad is at heart as blended a chap as ever lived, and his friends ought never to have allowed him to go astray. She looked away without answering, and then in a moment turned back to me and held out her hand. Goodbye. When you see him again, please tell him, what I said. As she turned away, I looked after her, puzzled. I was sure at last that she was in love with Radner, and I was equally sure that he did not know it. For in spite of his sorrow at his father's death, and of the suspicion that rested on him, I knew that he would not have been so completely crushed had he felt that she was with him. Why must this come to him now, too late to do him any good, when he had needed it so much before? I felt momentarily enraged at Polly. It seemed somehow as if the trouble might have been avoided had she been more straightforward. Then at the memory of her pale face and pleading eyes, I relented. However thoughtless she had been before, she was changed now. This tragedy had somehow made a woman of her overnight. When Radner came at last to claim her, they would each perhaps be worthier of the other. I returned to the empty house that night, and sat down to look the facts squealing in the face. I had hitherto been so occupied with the necessary preparations for the funeral, and with instituting a search for Cat Imo's, that I had scarcely had time to think, let alone map out any logical plan of action. Radner was so stunned by the blow that he could barely talk coherently, and as yet I had had no satisfactory interview with him. Immediately after the colonel's death, I had very hastily run over his private papers, that had found little to suggest a clue. Among some old letters were several from Nanny's husband, written at the time of their sickness and death. Their tone was bitter. Could the man have accomplished a tardy revenge for past insults? I asked myself. But investigation showed this theory to be most untenable. He was still living in the little Kansas village where she had died, had married again, and become a peaceful plotting citizen. It required all his present energy to support his wife and children. I dare say the brief episode of his first marriage had almost faded from his mind. There was not the slightest chance that he could be implicated. I sifted the papers again, thoroughly and painstakingly, but found nothing that would throw any light upon the mystery. While I was still engaged with this task, a message came from the coroner, saying that the formal inquest would begin at ten o'clock the next morning in the Kennersburg courthouse. This gave me no chance to plan any sort of campaign, and I could do little more than let matters take their course. I hoped however that in the progress at the inquest some clue would be brought to light, which would render Radner s being remanded for trial impossible. So far I had to acknowledge the evidence against him appeared overwhelming. A motive was supplied in the fact that the Colonel s death would leave him his own master and a rich man. The well-known fact of their frequent quarrels coupled with Radner s fierce temper and somewhat revengeful disposition was a very strong point in his disfavour. Added to this the suspicion s circumstances of the day of the tragedy, the fact that he was not with the rest of the party when the crime must have been committed, the alleged print of his boots, and the finding of the matchbox, his subsequent perturbed condition, everything pointed to him as the author of the crime. It was the most convincing chain of circumstantial evidence. Considering the data that had come to light, there seemed to be only one alternative, and that was that Kat I Moe s had committed the murder. I clung tenaciously to this belief, but I found in the absence of any further proof or any conceivable motive that few people shared it with me. The marks of his bare feet proved conclusively that he had been, in whatever capacity, an active participator in the struggle. He was there to aid his master, the sheriff affirmed, and being a witness to the crime it was necessary to put him out of the way. Why hide the body of one and not the other, I asked, to throw suspicion on Moe s. This was the universal opinion. No one from the beginning would listen to a word against Moe s. In his case, as well as in Radner s, the past was speaking. Through all his life, they said, he had faithfully loved and served the colonel, and if necessity required, he would willingly have died for him. But for myself, I continued to believe, in the face of all opposition, that Moe s was guilty. It was more a matter of feeling with me than a reasoning. I had always been suspicious of the fellow, a man with eyes like that was capable of anything. The objection, which the sheriff raised, the colonel Gaylord was both larger and stronger than Moe s, and could easily have overcome him, proved nothing to my mind. Moe s was a small man, but he was long armed and wiring, doubtless, far stronger than he looked. Besides, he had been armed, and the nature of his weapon was clear. The floor of the cave was drawn, with scores of broken stalactites. Nothing could have made a more formidable weapon than one of these long pieces of jagged stone used as a club. As to the motive for the crime, who could tell what went on in the slow workings of his mind? The colonel had struck him more than once, unjustly. I did not doubt, and though he seemed at the moment to take it meekly, might he not have been merely biding his time? His final revenge may have been the outcome of many hoarded grievances that no one knew existed. The fellow was more than half insane. What more likely than that he had attacked his master in a fit of animal passion, and then, terrified at the result, escaped to the woods. That seemed to me the only plausible explanation. No facts had come out concerning the hand or the robbery, and I do not think that either was connected in the public mind with the murder. But to my mind the depth of Colonel Gaylord was but the climax of the long series of events which commenced on the night of my arrival, with the slight and ludicrous episode of the Stolen Roast Chicken. I had been convinced at the time that Moe's was at the bottom of it, and I was convinced now that he was also at the bottom of the robbery and the murder. Hal Radner had got drawn into the muddle at the hand. I could not fathom, but I suspected that Moe's had hoodwigged him, as he had the rest of us. Assuming that my theory was right, then Moe's was hiding, and all my energies from the beginning had been bent toward his discovery. The low range of mountains which lay between Fourpeales Plantation and the Lure Valley was covered thickly with woods and very spesely settled. Moe's knew every foot of the ground. He had wandered over these mountains for days at a time, and must have been familiar with many hiding places. It was in this region that I hoped to find him. Immediately after the Colonel's death, I had offered a large reward, either for Moe's capture, or for any information regarding his whereabouts. His description had been telegraphed all up and down the valley, and every farmer was on the alert. Bands of men had been formed, and the woods scoured for him, but as yet without result. I was hourly expecting, however, that some clue would come to light. The sheriff, on the other hand, in persuasions of this theory that Moe's had been murdered, had been no less indefatigable in his search for the body. The river had been dragged. The cave and surrounding woods searched, but nothing had been found. Moe's had simply vanished from the earth and left no trace. To my disappointment, the morning still brought no news. I had hoped to have something definite before the inquest opened. I rode into Kennesburg early in order to hold a conference with Radner, and get from him the facts in regard to his own and Moe's connection with the hand. My former pacifity in the mat has struck me now as almost criminal. Perhaps that I insisted in probing it to the bottom. My uncle might have been living still. I entered Radner's cell determined not to leave it until I knew the truth, but I met with an unexpected obstacle. He refused absolutely to discuss the question. Radner, I cried at last. Are you trying to shield anyone? Do you know who killed your father? I know no more about who killed my father than you do. Do you know about the hank? Yes, he said desperately. I do, but it is not connected with either the robbery or the murder, and I cannot talk about it. I argued and pleaded, but to no effect. He sat on his cot, his head in his hands, staring at the floor. Stubbornly, refusing to open his lips, I gave over pleading and stormed. It's no use, Arnold. He said, finally. I won't tell you anything about the hank. It doesn't enter into the case. I sat down again and patiently outlined my theory in regard to Moe's. It is impossible, he declared. I have known Moe's all my life, and I have never yet known him to betray a trust. He loved my father as much as I did, and if my life defended on it, I should swear that he was faithful. Rad, I beseeched. I am not only your attorney. I am your friend. Whatever you say to me is as if it had never been said. I must know the truth. He shook his head. I have nothing to say. You have got to have something to say. I cried. You have got to go on the stand and make an absolutely open and straightforward statement of everything bearing on the case. You have got to appear anxious to find and punish the man who murdered your father. You have got to gain public sympathy, and before you go on the stand, you owe it to yourself and me to leave nothing unexplained between us. He raised his eyes miserably to mine. Must I go on? He asked. Can't I refuse to testify? I don't see that they can punish me for contempt of court. I'm already in prison. They can hang you, said I bluntly. He buried his face in his hands with a groan. Arnold, he pleaded. Don't make me face all those people. You can see what a state my nerves are in. I haven't slept for three nights. He held out his hand to show me how it trembled. I can't talk. I don't know what I'm saying. You don't know what you're urging me to do. My anger and his stubbornness vanished in a sudden spasm of pity. The poor fellow was scarcely more than a boy, though I was completely in the dark as to what he was holding back and why he was doing it. Yet I felt instinctively that his motives were honourable. Rad, I said, it would help your cause to be open with me, and if you were remanded for trial before the grand jury, you must, in the end, tell me everything. But now I will not insist. Probably nothing will come up about the hand. I can, of course, refuse to let you speak on the ground of incriminating evidence, but that is the last stand I wish to take. We must gain public opinion on our side, and to that end you must testify yourself. You must force every person present to believe that you are incapable of telling a falsehood. I believe that already, and so does Polly Mathis. Radner's face flushed, and a quick light sprung into his eyes. What do you mean? I repeated what Polly had said, and I added my own interpretation. The effect was electrical. He straightened his shoulders with an air of trying to throw up his despondency. I'll do my best, he promised. Heaven knows, I'd like to know the truth as well as you. This doubt is simply hell. A knock sounded on the door, and the sheriff's officer informed us that the hearing was about to begin. You haven't explained your actions on the day of the murder, I said hurriedly. I must have a reason. That's all right, it will come out. If you just keep them off the hand, I'll clear everything else. If you do that, said I, immeasurably relieved, there'll be no danger of your being held for trial. I rose and held out my hand. Courage, my boy. Remember that you are going to prove your innocence, not only for your own, but for Polly's sake. End of Chapter 12 Chapter 13 of the Four Pools Mystery. This is a LibraVox recording. All LibraVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibraVox.org. The Four Pools Mystery by Jean Webster. Chapter 13 The Inquest The coroner's court was packed, and Mo here and there I caught a face that I knew to be friendly to Redner. The crowd was made up for the most part of morbid sensation seekers, eager to hear and believe the worst. The district attorney was present. Indeed, he and the coroner and Jim Madison were holding a whispered consultation when I entered the room. And I did not doubt that the three had been working up the case together. The thought was not reassuring, a coroner, with every appearance of fairness, may still bias a jury by the form his questions take. And I myself was guessingly in a position to turn the trend of the inquiry. I doubt if a lawyer ever went to an inquisition with less command of the facts than I had. The first witness called was the doctor who made the autopsy. After his testimony had been dwelt upon with what seemed to be needless detail, the facts relating to the finding of the body were brought forward. From this the investigation veered to the subject of Redner's strange behavior on the afternoon of the murder. The landlord, stable boy and several hangers on at the Lure Hotel were called to the stand. Their testimony was practically identical, and I did not attempt to question its truth. What time did Redner Gaylord come back to the hotel? The coroner asked of old man Tompkins, the landlord. I reckon it must have been long three in the afternoon. Please describe exactly what occurred. Well, we were sitting on the veranda talking about one thing and another when we saw young Gaylord coming across the lock. His head down and his hands in his pockets walking fast. He yelled to Jake, who was washing off a buggy at the pump, to saddle his horse and be quick about it. Then he come up the steps and into the bar room and called for brandy. He drunk two glasses straight off without blinking. Had he ordered anything to drink in the morning when they left their horses, the coroner interrupted at this point. No, he didn't go into the bar room, and it wasn't usually his custom to slide our cyber. A titta ran around the room and the coroner wrapped through order. This is not the place for any cheap witticisms. You will kindly confine yourself to answering my questions. Did Mr Gaylord appear to have been drinking when he returned from the cave? The landlord closed his right eye speculatively. No, I can't say as he exactly appeared like he'd been drinking. He said with the air of a connoisseur, but he did seem to be considerably upset about something. He looked mad enough to bite. His face was pale and his hand trembled when he raised his glass. Three or four noticed it and wondered. Very well interrupted the coroner. What did he do next? He went out to the stable yard and swore at the boy for being slow, and he tightened the second girl himself with such a jerk that the mare plunged and he struck her. He is usually pretty cranky about the way horses is treated, and we wondered. He was stopped again and invited to go on without wondering. Well, let me see, said the witness impertably. He jumped into the saddle and slashing the mare across the flanks, started off in a cloud of dust, without so much as looking back. We was all surprised at this, because he's usually pretty friendly, and we talked about it after, but we didn't think nothing particular till the news of the murder came that evening, when we naturally commenced to put two and two together. At this point I protested, and the landlord was excused. Jake Henley, the stable boy, was called. His testimony practically covered the same ground and corroborated what the landlord had said. You say he swore at you for being slow, the coroner asked. Jake nodded with a grin. I don't remember just the words. I get swore at so much that it don't make the impression it might, but it was good straight cussing all right. And he struck you as being agitated. Jake screamed broadened. I think you might say agitated. He admitted guardedly. He was mad enough to begin with, and now the brandy was getting to work. Besides, he was in all fired hurry to leave before the rest of the party come back, and while I was bringing out the horse, he heard him laughing. They wasn't in sight yet, but they was making a lot of noise. One of the girls had stepped on a snake and was squealing loud enough to hear a two miles off. And Gaylord left before any of them saw him. The boy nodded. He got off all right. You forgot to pay for your horse. I yelled after him, and he threw me fifty cents, and it landed in the watering trough. This ended his testimony. Several members at the picnic party were next called upon, and nothing very damaging to Radner was produced. He seemed to be in his usual spirits before entering the cave, and no one had transpired. Had seen him after, he came out, though this was not noted at the time. Also no one had noticed him in conversation with his father. The coroner dwelt upon this point, but elicited no information one way or the other. Poling Matheus was not present. She had been subpoenaed, but had become too ill and nervous to stand the strain, and the doctor had forbidden her attendance. The coroner, however, had taken her testimony at the house, and his clerk read it aloud to the jury. It dealt merely with the matter of the coat and where she had last seen Radner. Question. Did you notice anything peculiar in the behaviour of Radner Gaylord on the day of his father's death? Answer. Nothing especially peculiar? No. Question. Did you see any circumstance which led you to suspect that he and his father were not on good terms? Answer. No, they both appeared as usual. Question. Did you speak to Radner in the cave? Answer. Yes, we strolled about together for a time, and he was carrying my coat. He laid it down on the broken column and forgot it. I forgot it, too, and didn't think of it again until we were out of the cave. Then I happened to mention it in Colonel Gaylord's presence, and I suppose he went back for it. Question. You didn't see Radner Gaylord after he left the cave? Answer. No, I didn't see him after we left the gallery at the broken column. The guide struck off a calcium light to show us the formation of the ceiling. We spent about five minutes examining the room, and after that we all went on in a group. Radner had not waited to see the room, but had gone on ahead in the direction of the entrance. So much for Polly's testimony, which added nothing. Solomon, frightened almost out of his wits, was called on next, and his testimony brought out the matter of the quarrel between Colonel Gaylord and Radner. Solomon told of finding the French clock and a great many things besides, which I am sure he made up. I wish to have his testimony ruled out, but the coroner seemed to feel that it was suggested, as it undoubtedly was, and he allowed it to remain. Radner himself was next called to the stand, as he took his place a murmur of excitement swept over the room, and there was a general straining forward. He was composed and quiet, and very very sober. Every bit of animation had left his face. The coroner commenced immediately with the subject of the quarrel with his father on the night before the murder, and Radner answered all the questions frankly and openly. He made no attempt to gloss over any of the details. What put the matter in a peculiar bad life was the fact that the cause of the quarrel had been over a question of money. Rad had requested his father to settle a definite amount on him, so that he would be independent in the future, and his father had refused. They had lost their tempers and had gone further than usual. In telling the story, Radner openly took the blame upon himself, where, in several instances, I strongly suspected that it should have been laid at the door of the colonel, but in spite of the fact that the story revealed a pitiful state of affairs as between father and son, his frankness in assuming the responsibility won for him more sympathy than had been shown since the murder. How did the clock get broken? the coroner asked. My father knocked it off the mantelpiece onto the floor. He did not throw it at you as Solomon surmised. Radner raised his head with a glint of anger. It fell on the floor and broke. Have you often had quarrels with your father? Occasionally, he had a quick temper and always wished his own way, and I was not so patient with him as I should have been. What did you quarrel about? Different things. What, for instance? Sometimes because he thought I spent too much money, sometimes over a question of managing the estate, occasionally because he had heard gossip about me. What do you mean by gossip? Stories that I'd been gambling or drinking too much. Were the stories true? They were always exaggerated. And this quarrel, the night before his death, was more serious than usual. Possibly, yes. You did not speak to each other at the breakfast table? No. Radner's face was set in strained lines. It was evident that this was a very painful subject. Did you have any conversation later? Only a few words. Please repeat what was said. Radner appeared to hesitate and then replied a trifle virally that he did not remember the exact words, that it was merely a recapitalation of what had been said the night before. Upon being urged to give the gist of the conversation, he replied that his father had wished to make up their quarrel. But on the old basis, and he had refused, the colonel had repeated that he was still too young a man to give over his affairs in the hands of another, that he had a good many years before him in which he intended to be his own master. Radner had replied that he was too old a man to be treated any longer as a boy, and that he would go away and work where he would be paid for what he did. And may I ask the coroner inquired placently whether you had any particular work in mind when you made that statement, or was it merely a figure of rhetoric calculated to bring Colonel Gaylord to terms? Rad scowled and said nothing, and the rest of his answers were terseness itself. Did you and your father have any further conversation on the ride over or in the course of the day? No. You purposely avoided meeting each other. I suppose so. Then those words after breakfast when you threatened to leave home were absolutely the last words you ever spoke to your father. It was the subject Radner did not like to think about. His lips trembled slightly, and he answered with a visible effort. Yes. A slight murmur ran around the room, partly as sympathy, partly of doubt. The coroner put the same question again, and Radner repeated his answer, this time with a flush of anger. The coroner paused the moment and then continued without comment. You entered the cave with the rest of the party. Yes. But you left the others before they had made the complete round. Yes. Why was that? I was not particularly interested. I had seen the cave many times before. Where did you leave the party? I believe in the gallery at the Broken Column. You left the cave immediately. Yes. Did you enter it again? No. You forgot Miss Mather's coat and left it in the gallery at the Broken Column. So it would seem. Did you not think of that later and go back for it? Radner snapped out his answer. I didn't think anything about the coat. Are you in the habit of leaving young lady's coats about in that offhand way? A titter ran about the room, and Rad did not deign to notice this question. I was indignant that the boy should be made to face such an ordeal. This was not a regular trial, and the coroner had no right to be more obnoxious than his calling required. There was a glint of anger in Radner's eyes, and I was uneasily aware that he no longer cared what impression he made. His answers to the rest of the questions were as short as the English language permitted. What did you do after leaving the cave? Went home. Please go into more detail. What did you do immediately after leaving the cave? Strolled through the woods. For how long? I don't know. How long do you think? Possibly half an hour. Then what did you do? Returned to the hotel, ordered my horse, and rode home. Why did you not wait for the rest of the party? Didn't feel like it. The question was repeated in several ways that Radner stubbornly refused to discuss the matter. He had promised me the last thing before coming to the hearing that he would clear up the suspicious points in regard to his conduct on the day of the crime. I took him in hand myself, but I could get nothing more from him than the coroner had elicited. For some reason he had veered completely, and his manner warned me not to push the matter. I took my seat, and the questioning continued. Mr Gaylord said the coroner severely. You have heard the evidence respecting your peculiar behaviour when you returned to the hotel. Three witnesses have stated that you were in an unnaturally perturbed condition. Is this true? Radner supposed it must be true. He did not wish to question the gentleman's veracity. He did not remember himself what he had done, but there seemed to be plenty of witnesses who did remember. Can you give any reasons for your strange conduct? I have told you several times already that I cannot. I did not feel well, and that is all there was to it. A low murmur of incredulity ran around the room. It was evident to everybody that he was holding something back, and I could see that he was fast losing the sympathy he had gained in the beginning. I myself was at a loss to account for his behaviour, as I was absolutely in the dark. However, I could do nothing but let matters take their course. Radner was excused with this, and the next half hour was spent in a consideration of the footprints that were found in the clave path at the scene of the murder. The marks of Cat Eye Moes were admitted immediately, but the other's occasion-considerable discussion, fax mills of the prints were produced and compared with the riding boots, which the Colonel and Radner had worn at the time. The Colonel's print was unmistakable, but I myself did not think that the alleged print was Radner's boot, tallyed very perfectly with the boot itself. The jury seemed satisfied, however, and Radner was called upon for an explanation. His only conjecture was that it was the print he had left when he passed over the path on his way to the entrance. The print was not in the path, he was informed, and was in the wet clay on the edge of the press pass. Radner shrugged. In that case it could not be the print of his boot. He had kept to the path. In regard to the matchbox, he was equally unsatisfactory. He acknowledged that it was his, but could no more account for its presence in the path than the coroner himself. When do you remember having seen at last the coroner inquired? Radner pondered. I remember lending it to Mrs. Mathers when she was building a fire in the woods to make the coffee. After that I don't remember anything about it. How do you account for its presence at the scene of the murder? I can only conjecture that it must have dropped from my pocket without my noticing it on my way out of the cave. The coroner observed that it was an unfortunate coincidence that he had dropped it in just that particular spot. This effectively stopped Radner's testimony. Not another word could be elicited from him on the subject, and he was finally dismissed, and Mrs. Mathers called to the stand. She remembered borrowing the matchbox, but then someone had called her away, and she could not remember what she had done with it. She thought she must have returned it because she always did return things, but she was not at all sure. Very possibly she had kept it, and dropped it herself on her way out of the cave. It was evident that she did not wish to say anything which would incriminate Radner, and she was really too perturbed to remember what she had done. Several other people were questioned, but no further light could be thrown on the subject of the matchbox. And so it remained in the end, as it had been in the beginning, merely a very nasty piece of circumstantial evidence. This ended the hearing for the day, and the inquest was postponed until ten o'clock the following morning. So far no word had been dropped touching the hand, that I was filled with apprehension as to what the next day would bring forth. I knew that if the subject came up, it would end once for all for Radner's chances of escaping trial before the grand jury. And that would mean, at the best, two months more of prison, what it would mean at the worst I did not like to consider. End of chapter 13