 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Czechress London UK. The Triumphs of Eugene Valmont by Robert Barr Chapter 6 The Ghost with the Club Foot Celebrated critics have written with scorn of what they call the long arm of coincidence in fiction. Coincidence is supposed to be the device of a novelist who does not possess ingenuity enough to construct a book without it. In France, our incomparable writers pay no attention to this because they are gifted with a keener insight into real life than is the case with the British. The superb Charles Dickens, possibly as well known in France as he is wherever the English language is read, and who loved French soil and the French people, probably probed deeper into the intricacies of human character than any other novelist of modern times. And if you read his works, you will see that he continually makes use of coincidence. The experience that has come to me throughout my own strange and varied career convinces me that coincidence happens in real life with exceeding frequency. And this fact is especially borne in upon me when I set out to relate my conflict with the rantremely ghost, which wrought startling changes upon the lives of two people, one an objectionable domineering man, and the other a humble and crushed woman. Of course there was a third person, and the consequences that came to him were the most striking of all, as you will learn if you do me the honour to read this account of the episode. So far as coincidence is concerned, there was first the arrival of the newspaper clipping, then the coming of Sophia Brooks, and when that much injured woman left my flat I wrote down this sentence on a sheet of paper. Before the week is out, I predict that Lord Rantremely himself will call to see me. Next day my servant brought in the card of Lord Rantremely. I must begin with the visit of Sophia Brooks, for though that comes second, yet I had paid no attention in particular to the newspaper clipping until the lady told her story. My man brought me a typewritten sheet of paper, on which were inscribed the words, Sophia Brooks, typewriting and translating office, first floor, number 51 Beaumont Street, Strand, London, WC. I said to my servant, tell the lady as kindly as possible that I have no typewriting work to give out, and that in fact I keep a stenographer and typewriting machine on the premises. A few moments later my man returned, and said the lady wished to see me not about typewriting, but regarding a case in which she hoped to interest me. I was still in some hesitation about admitting her, for my transactions had now risen to a higher plane than when I was new to London. My expenses were naturally very heavy, and it was not possible for me, injustice to myself, to waste time in commissions from the poor, which even if they resulted successfully meant little money added to my banking account, and often nothing at all because the client was unable to pay. As I remarked before, I possess a heart the most tender, and therefore must greatly to my grief steal myself against the enlisting of my sympathy, which alas has frequently led to my financial loss. Still sometimes the apparently poor are involved in matters of extreme importance, and England is so eccentric a country that one may find himself at fault if he closes the door too harshly. Indeed, ever since my servant in the utmost good faith threw downstairs the persistent and tattered beggarman, who he learned later to his sorrow was actually his grace the Duke of Ventnor, I have always cautioned my subordinates not to judge too hastily from appearances. Show the lady in, I said, and there came to me, hesitating, backward, abashed, a middle-aged woman dressed with distressing plainness when one thinks of the charming costumes to be seen on a Parisian boulevard. Her subdued manner was that of one to whom the world had been cruel. I rose, bowed profoundly, and placed a chair at her disposal, with the air I should have used if my caller had been a royal princess. I claim no credit for this, it is of my nature. There you behold Eugene Valmont. My visitor was a woman. Voila! Madam, I said politely, in what may I have the pleasure of serving you? The poor woman seemed for the moment confused, and was I feared on the verge of tears, but at last she spoke, and said, Perhaps you have read in the newspapers of the tragedy at Ran Tremley Castle? The name, Madame, remains in my memory, associated illusively with some hint of seriousness. Will you pardon me a moment? And a vague thought that I had seen the castle mentioned either in a newspaper or a clipping from one caused me to pick up the latest bunch which had come from my agent. I am imbued with no vanity at all. Still it is amusing to note what the newspapers say of one, and therefore I have subscribed to a clipping agency. In fact, I indulge in two subscriptions, a one personal, the other calling for any pronouncement pertaining to the differences between England and France, for it is my determination yet to write a book on the comparative characteristics of the two people. I hold a theory that the English people are utterly incomprehensible to the rest of humanity, and this will be duly set out in my forthcoming volume. I speedily found the clipping I was in search of. It proved to be a letter to the Times, and was headed, Proposed Destruction of Ran Tremley Castle. The letter went on to say that this edifice was one of the most noted examples of Norman architecture in the north of England, that Charles II had hidden there for some days after his disastrous defeat at Worcester. Part of the castle had been battered down by Cromwell, and later it again proved the refuge of a steward when the pretender made it a temporary place of concealment. The new Lord Ran Tremley, it seemed, had determined to demolish this ancient stronghold, so interesting architecturally and historically, and to build with its stones a modern residence. Against this act of vandalism the writer strongly protested, and suggested that England should acquire the power which France constantly exerts in making an historical monument of an edifice so interwoven with the fortunes of the country. Well, madam, I said, all this extract alludes to is the coming demolition of Ran Tremley Castle. Is that the tragedy of which you speak? Who know, she exclaimed, I mean the death of the eleventh Lord Ran Tremley about six weeks ago. For ten years Lord Ran Tremley lived practically alone in the castle. Servants would not remain there because the place was haunted, and well it may be, for a terrible family the Ran Tremleys have been, and a cruel, as I shall be able to tell you. Up to a month and a half ago Lord Ran Tremley was weighted on by a butler older than himself, and if possible, more wicked. One morning this old butler came up the stairs from the kitchen with Lord Ran Tremley's breakfast on a silver tray, as was his custom. His lordship always partook of breakfast in his own room. It is not known how the accident happened, as the old servant was going up the stairs instead of coming down, but the steps are very smooth and slippery and without a carpet. At any rate he seems to have fallen from the top to the bottom, and lay there with a broken neck. Lord Ran Tremley, who was very deaf, seemingly did not hear the crash, and it is supposed that after ringing and ringing in vain, and doubtless working himself into a violent fit of temper, alas, too frequent an occurrence, the old nobleman got out of bed and walked barefooted down the stair, coming at last upon the body of his ancient servant. There the man who arrived every morning to light the fires found them, the servant dead, and Lord Ran Tremley helpless from an attack of paralysis. The physicians say that only his eyes seemed alive, and they were filled with a great fear, and indeed that is not to be wondered at after his wicked, wicked life. His right hand was but partially disabled, and with that he tried to scribble something which proved indecipherable. And so he died, and those who attended him at his last moments say that if ever a soul had a taste of future punishment before it left this earth, it was the soul of Lord Ran Tremley as it shone through those terror-stricken eyes. Here the woman stopped, with a catch in her breath as if the fear of that grim death-bed had communicated itself to her. I interjected calmness into an emotional situation by remarking in a commonplace tone, and it is the present Lord Ran Tremley who proposes to destroy the castle, I suppose. Yes. Is he the son of the late Lord? No. He is a distant relative. The branch of the family to which he belongs has been engaged in commerce, and I believe its members are very wealthy. Well, madam, no doubt this is all extremely interesting and rather gruesome. In what way are you concerned in these occurrences? Ten years ago I replied to an advertisement, there being required one who knew shorthand, who possessed a typewriting machine, and a knowledge of French, to act as secretary to a nobleman. I was at that time twenty-three years old, and for two years have been trying to earn my living in London through the typing of manuscript. But I was making a hard struggle of it, so I applied for this position and got it. There are in the library of Ran Tremley Castle many documents relating to the Stuart exile in France. His lordship wished these documents sorted and catalogued, as well as copies taken of each. Many of the letters were in the French language, and these I was required to translate and type. It was a somber place of residence, but the salary was good, and I saw before me work enough to keep me busy for years. Besides this, the task was extremely congenial, and I became absorbed in it, being young and romantically inclined. Here I seemed to live in the midst of these wonderful intrigues of long ago. Documents passed through my hands, whose very possession at one period meant capital danger, bringing up even now visions of block, axe, and masked headsman. It seemed strange to me that so sinister a man as Lord Ran Tremley, who I had heard cared for nothing but drink and gambling, should have desired to promote this historical research, and indeed I soon found he felt nothing but contempt for it. However, he had undertaken it at the instance of his only son, then a young man of my own age at Oxford University. Lord Ran Tremley at that time was sixty-five years old. His countenance was dark, harsh, and imperious, and his language brutal. He indulged in frightful outbursts of temper, but he paid so well for service that there was no lack of it, as there has been since the ghost appeared some years ago. He was very tall and of commanding appearance, but had a deformity in the shape of a club foot, and walked with the halting step of those so afflicted. There were at that time servants in plenty at the castle, for although a tradition existed that the ghost of the founder of the house trod certain rooms, this ghost, it was said, never demonstrated its presence when the living representative of the family was a man with a club foot. Tradition further affirmed that if this club-footed ghost allowed its halting footsteps to be heard while the reigning lord possessed a similar deformity, the conjunction foreshadowed the passing of title and estates to a stranger. The ghost haunted the castle only when it was occupied by a descendant whose two feet were normal. It seems that the founder of the house was a club-footed man, and this disagreeable peculiarity often missed one generation and sometimes two, while at other times both father and son had club feet, as was the case with the late Lord Ranchemley and the young man at Oxford. I am not a believer in the supernatural, of course, but nevertheless it is strange that within the past few years everyone residing in the castle has heard the club-footed ghost, and now title and estates descend to a family that were utter strangers to the Ranchemleys. Well, madam, this also sounds most alluring, and were my time not taken up with affairs more material than those to which you allude, I shall be content to listen all day, but as it is, I spread my hands and shrugged my shoulders. The woman with a deep sigh said, I am sorry to have taken so long, but I wished you to understand the situation, and now I will come direct to the heart of the case. I worked alone in the library, as I told you, much interested in what I was doing. The chaplain, a great friend of Lord Ranchemley's son, and indeed a former tutor of his, assisted me with the documents that were in Latin, and a friendship sprang up between us. He was an elderly man, and extremely unworldly. Lord Ranchemley never concealed his scorn of this clergyman, but did not interfere with him because of the son. My work went on very pleasantly, up to the time that Reginald, the heir of his lordship, came down from Oxford. Then began the happiest days of a life that has been otherwise full of hardships and distress. Reginald was as different as possible from his father. In one respect only did he bear any resemblance to that terrible old man, and this resemblance was the deformity of a clubfoot, a blemish which one soon forgot when one came to know the gentle and high-minded nature of the young man. As I have said, it was at his instance that Lord Ranchemley had engaged me to set in order those historical papers. Reginald became enthusiastic at the progress I had made, and thus the young nobleman, the chaplain, and myself, continued our work together with ever-increasing enthusiasm to cut short a recital which must be trying to your patience, but which is necessary if you are to understand the situation. I may say that our companionship resulted in a proposal of marriage to me, which I foolishly perhaps and selfishly it may be accepted. Reginald knew that his father would never consent, but we enlisted the sympathy of the chaplain, and he, mild, unworldly man, married us one day in the consecrated chapel of the castle. As I have told you, the house at that time contained many servants, and I think, without being sure, that the butler whom I feared even more than Lord Ranchemley himself got some inkling of what was going forward. But be that as it may, he and his lordship entered the chapel just as the ceremony was finished, and there followed an agonising scene. His lordship flung the ancient chaplain from his place, and when Reginald attempted to interfere, the maddened nobleman struck his son full in the face with his clenched fist, and my husband lay as one dead on the stone floor of the chapel. By this time the butler had locked the doors, and had rudely torn the vestments from the aged half-insensible clergyman, and with these tied him hand and foot. All this took place in a very few moments, and I stood there as one paralysed, unable either to speak or scream. Not that screaming would have done me any good in that horrible place of thick walls. The butler produced a key, and unlocked a small private door at the side of the chapel, which led from the apartments of his lordship to the family pew. Then taking my husband by feet and shoulders, Lord Ranchemley and the butler carried him out, locking the door, and leaving the clergyman and me, prisoners, in the chapel. The reverend old gentleman took no notice of me. He seemed to be dazed, and when at last I found my voice and addressed him, he merely murmured over and over texts of scripture pertaining to the marriage service. In a short time I heard the key turn again in the lock of the private door, and the butler entered alone. He unloosened the bands around the clergyman's knees, escorted him out and once more locked the door behind him. A third time that terrible servant came back, grasped me roughly by the wrist, and without a word dragged me with him along a narrow passage, up a stair, and finally to the main hall, and so to my lord's private study, which adjoined his bedroom. And there on a table I found my typewriting machine, brought up from the library. I have but the most confused recollection of what took place. I am not a courageous woman, and was immortal terror both of Lord Ranchemley and his attendant. His lordship was pacing up and down the room, and when I came in, used the most unseemly language to me, then ordered me to write at his dictation, swearing that if I did not do exactly as he told me, he would finish his son, as he put it. I sat down at the machine, and he dictated a letter to himself, demanding two thousand pounds to be paid to me, otherwise I should claim that I was the wife of his son secretly married. This, placing pen and ink before me, he compelled me to sign, and when I had done so, pleading to be allowed to see my husband if only for a moment, I thought he was going to strike me, for he shook his fist in my face and used words which were appalling to hear. That was the last I ever saw of Lord Ranchemley, my husband, the clergyman, or the butler. I was at once sent off to London with my belongings, the butler himself buying my ticket, and flinging a handful of sovereigns into my lap as the train moved out. Here the woman stopped, buried her face in her hands, and began to weep. Have you done nothing about this for the past ten years? She shook her head. What could I do? she gasped. I had little money, and no friends. Who would believe my story? Besides this, Lord Ranchemley retained possession of a letter signed by myself that would convict me of attempted blackmail, while the butler would swear to anything against me. You have no marriage certificate, of course. No. What has become of the clergyman? I do not know. And what of Lord Ranchemley's son? It was announced that he had gone on a voyage to Australia for his health in a sailing-ship which was wrecked on the African coast, and everyone on board lost. What is your own theory? All my husband was killed by the blow given him in the chapel. Madam, that does not seem credible. A blow from the fist seldom kills. But he fell backwards, and his head struck the sharp stone steps at the foot of the altar. I know my husband was dead when the butler and his father carried him out. You think the clergyman was also murdered? I'm sure of it. Both master and servant were capable of any crime or cruelty. You received no letters from the young man? No. You see, during our short friendship we were constantly together and there was no need of correspondence. Well, madam, what do you expect of me? I hoped you would investigate and find perhaps where Reginald and the clergyman are buried. I realized that I have no proof, but in that way my strange story will be corroborated. I leaned back in my chair and looked at her. Truth to tell, I only partially credited her story myself, and yet I was positive she believed every word of it. Ten years brooding on a fancied injustice by a woman living alone and doubtless often in dire poverty had mixed together the actual and the imaginary until now what had possibly been an aimless flirtation on the part of the young man, unexpectedly discovered by the father, had formed itself into the tragedy which she had told me. Would it not be well, I suggested, to lay the facts before the present, Lord Rantremely? I have done so, she answered simply. With what result? His lordship said my story was preposterous. In examining the late Lord's private papers he discovered the letter which I typed and signed. He said very coldly that the fact that I had waited until everyone who could corroborate or deny my story was dead, united with the improbability of the narrative itself, would very likely consign me to prison if I made public a statement so incredible. Well, you know, madam, I think his lordship is right. He offered me an annuity of fifty pounds which I refused. In that refusal, madam, I think you are wrong. If you take my advice you will accept the annuity. The woman rose slowly to her feet. It is not money I am after, she said, although God knows I have often been in so need of it, but I am the countess of Rantremely, and I wish my right to that name acknowledged. My character has been under an impalpable shadow for ten years. On several occasions mysterious hints have reached me that in some manner I left the castle under a cloud. If Lord Rantremely will destroy the letter which I was compelled to write under duress, and if he will give me written acknowledgement that there was nothing to be alleged against me during my stay in the castle, he may enjoy his money in peace for all of me. I want none of it. Have you asked him to do this? Yes. He refuses to give up or destroy the letter, although I told him in what circumstances it had been written. But desiring to be fair he said he would allow me a pound a week for life entirely through his own generosity. And this you refused. Yes, I refused. Madam, I regret to say that I cannot see my way to do anything with regard to what I admit is very unjust usage. We have absolutely nothing to go upon except your unsupported word. Lord Rantremely was perfectly right when he said no one would credit your story. I could not go down to Rantremely Castle and make investigations there. I should have no right upon the premises at all, and would get into instant trouble as an interfering trespasser. I beg you to heed my advice and accept the annuity. Sophia Brooks, with that mild obstinacy of which I had received indications during her recital, slowly shook her head. You have been very kind to listen for so long, she said, and then with a curt, good day, turned and left the room. On the sheet of paper underneath her address I wrote this prophecy. Before the week is out I predict that Lord Rantremely himself will call to see me. Next morning, at almost the same hour that Miss Brooks had arrived the day before, the Earl of Rantremely's card was brought in to me. His lordship proved to be an abrupt, ill-mannered dapper businessman. Purse-proud, I should call him, as there was every reason he should be, for he had earned his own fortune. He was doubtless, equally proud of his new title, which he was trying to live up to, assuming now and then a haughty, domineering attitude, and again relapsing into the keen, incisive manner of the man of affairs. Shrewd financial sense, waging a constant struggle with the glamour of an ancient name. I am sure he would have shone to better advantage either as a financier or as a nobleman, but the combination was too much for him. I formed an instinctive dislike to the man, which probably would not have happened had he been wearing the title for twenty years, or had I met him as a businessman with no thought of the aristocratic honour awaiting him. There seemed nothing in common between him and the former holder of the title. He had keen, ferrety eyes, a sharp financial nose, a thin-lipped line of mouth which indicated little of human kindness. He was short of stature, but he did not possess the club foot which was one advantage. He seated himself before I had time to offer him a chair, and kept on his hat in my presence which he would not have done if he had either been a genuine nobleman or a courteous businessman. I am Lord Ran Tremley, he announced pompously, which announcement was quite unnecessary because I held his card in my hand. Quite so, my lord, and you have come to learn whether or no I can lay the ghost in that old castle to the north which bears your name. Well, I'm blessed!" cried his lordship agape. How could you guess that? Oh, it is not a guess, but rather a choice of two objects, either of which might bring you to my rooms. I chose the first motive because I thought you might prefer to arrange the second problem with your solicitor, and he doubtless told you that Miss Sophia Brooks's claim was absurd, and that you were quite right in refusing to give up or destroy the typewritten letter she had signed ten years ago, and that it was weakness on your part without consulting him to offer her an annuity of fifty-two pounds a year. Long before this harangue was finished, which I uttered in an easy and nonchalant tone of voice as if reciting something that everybody knew, his lordship stood on his feet again staring at me like a man thunderstruck. This gave me the opportunity of exercising that politeness which his abrupt entrance and demeanor had forestalled. I rose and bowing said, I pray you to be seated, my lord. He dropped into the chair rather than sat down in it, and now I continued with the utmost suavity, stretching forth my hand. May I place your hat on this shelf out of the way where it will not incommode you during our discourse? Like a man in a dream, he took his hat from his head and passively handed it to me, and after placing it in safety I resumed my chair with the comfortable feeling that his lordship and I were much nearer a plane of equality than when he entered the room. Now about the ghost with the clubfoot, my lord," said I, genially, may I take it that in the city that sensible commercial portion of London no spirits are believed in except those sold over the bars? If you mean," began his lordship, struggling to reach his dignity once more, if you mean to ask if there is any man fool enough to place credit in the story of a ghost, I answer no. I'm a practical man, sir. I now possess in the north property representing in farming lands, in shooting rights and what not, a locked up capital of many a thousand pounds. As you seem to know everything, sir, perhaps you were aware that I proposed to build a modern mansion on the estate. Yes, I saw the letter in the Times. Very well, sir. It has come to a fine pass if, in this country of law and the rights of property, a man may not do what he pleases with his own. I think, my lord, cases may be cited where the decisions of your courts have shown a man may not do what he likes with his own. Nevertheless, I am quite certain that if you level Rantremle Castle with the ground and build a modern mansion in its place, the law will not hinder you. I should hope not, sir. I should hope not," said his lordship, gruffly. Nevertheless, I am not one who wishes to ride roughshod over public opinion. I'm chairman of several companies which depend more or less on popular favour for success. I deplore unnecessary antagonism. Technically, I might assert my right to destroy this ancient stronghold tomorrow if I wish to do so. And if that right were seriously disputed, I should, of course, stand firm. But it is not seriously disputed. The British nation, sir, is too sensible a people to object to the removal of an antiquated structure that has long outlived its usefulness, and the erection of a mansion replete with all modern improvements will be a distinct addition to the country, sir. A few impertinent busybodies protest against the demolition of Rantremle Castle. But that is all. Ah, then you do intend to destroy it, I rejoined. And it is possible that a touch of regret was manifest in my tones. Not just at present, not until this vulgar clamour has had time to subside. Nevertheless, as a businessman, I am forced to recognise that a large amount of unproductive capital is locked up in that property. And why is it locked up? Because of an absurd belief that the place is haunted. I could let it to-morrow at a good figure, if it were not for that rumour. But surely sensible men do not pay any attention to such a rumour? Sensible men may not, but sensible men are often married to silly women, and the women object. It is only the other day that I was in negotiation with Bates of Bates Sturgeon and Bates, a very wealthy man, quite able and willing to pay the price I demanded. He cared nothing about the alleged ghost, but his family absolutely refused to have anything to do with the place, and so the arrangement fell through. What is your theory regarding this ghost, my lord? He answered me with some impatience. How can a sane man hold a theory about a ghost? I can, however, advance a theory regarding the noises heard in the castle. For years that place has been the resort of questionable characters. I understand the Ramtremly family is a very old one, I commented innocently, but his lordship did not notice the innuendo. Yes, we are an old family, he went on with great complacency. The castle, as perhaps you were aware, is a huge ramshackle place, honeycombed underneath with cellars. I dare say in the old days some of these cellars and caves were the resort of smugglers, and the receptacle of their contraband wares, doubtless with the full knowledge of my ancestors, who, I regret to admit as a businessman, were not too particular in their respectful law. I make no doubt that the castle is now the refuge of a number of dangerous characters, who, knowing the legends of the place, frighten away fools by impersonating ghosts. You wish me to uncover their retreat, then? Precisely. Could I get accommodation in the castle itself? Lord bless you, no. Nor within two miles of it. You might secure a bed and board at the porter's lodge, perhaps, or in the village, which is three miles distant. I should prefer to live in the castle night and day, until the mystery is solved. Ah, you are a practical man. That is a very sensible resolution, for you can persuade no one in that neighbourhood to bear you company. You would need to take some person down with you from London, and the chances are that person will not stay long. Perhaps, my lord, if you used your influence, the chief of police in the village might allow a constable to bear me company. I do not mind roughing it in the least, but I should like someone to prepare my meals, and to be on hand in case of a struggle, should your surmise concerning the ghost prove correct. I regret to inform you, said his lordship, that the police in that barbarous district are as superstitious as the peasantry. I myself told the chief constable my theory, and for six weeks he has been trying to run down the miscreants, who I am sure are making a rendezvous of the castle. Would you believe it, sir, that the constabulary, after a few nights' experience in the castle, threatened to resign in a body if they were placed on duty at Rand Tremley. They said they heard groans and shrieks, and the measured beat of a club-foot on the oaken floors. Perfectly absurd, of course, but there you are. Why, I cannot even get a charwoman or labourer to clear up the evidences of the tragedy which took place there six weeks ago. The beds are untouched, the broken china and the silver tray lie today at the foot of the stairway, and everything remains just as it was when the inquest took place. Very well, my lord, the case presents many difficulties, and so speaking, as one businessman to another, you will understand that my compensation must be correspondingly great. All the assumed dignity which straightened up this man whenever I addressed him as my lord, instantly fell from him when I enunciated the word compensation. His eyes narrowed, and all the native shrewdness of an adept skin-flint appeared in his face. I shall do him the justice to say that he drove the very best bargain he could with me, and I, on my part, very deftly concealed from him the fact that I was so much interested in the affair that I should have gone down to Rand Tremley for nothing, rather than forego the privilege of ransacking Rand Tremley Castle. When the new Earl had taken his departure, walking to the door with the haughty air of a nobleman, then bowing to me with the affability of a businessman, I left my flat, took a cab, and speedily found myself climbing the stair to the first floor of 51 Beaumont Street, Strand. As I paused at the door on which were painted the words S. Brooks, stenography, typewriting, translation, I heard the rapid click-click of a machine inside. Knocking at the door, the writing ceased, and I was bidden to enter. The room was but meagrely furnished and showed scant signs of prosperity. On a small side-table, clean but uncovered, the breakfast-dishes, washed but not yet put away, stood, and the kettle on the hob by the dying fire led me to infer that the typewriting woman was her own cook. I suspected that the awkward-looking sofa which partly occupied one side of the room concealed a bed. By the lone front window stood the typewriting machine on a small stand, and in front of it sat the woman who had visited me the morning before. She was now gazing at me, probably hoping I was a customer for there was no recognition in her eyes. Good morning, Lady Ran Tremley, was my greeting, which caused her to spring immediately to her feet with a little exclamation of surprise. Oh, she said at last, you are Monsieur Valmont. Excuse me that I am so stupid. Will you take a chair? Thank you, madam. It is I who should ask to be excused for so unceremonious a morning call. I have come to ask you a question. Can you cook? The lady looked at me with some surprise, mingled perhaps with so much of indignation as such a mild person could assume. She did not reply, but glancing at the kettle and then turning towards the breakfast dishes on the table by the wall, a slow flush of colour suffused her one cheeks. My lady, I said at last, as the silence became embarrassing, you must pardon the impulse of a foreigner who finds himself constantly brought into conflict with prejudices which he fails to understand. You are perhaps offended at my question. The last person of whom I made that inquiry was the young and beautiful madame Lacontes de Valérie Mont-Borin, who enthusiastically clapped her hands with delight at the compliment, and replied impulsively, Oh, Monsieur Valmont, let me compose for you an omelet which will prove a dream. And she did. One should not forget that Louis the 18th himself cooked the truffe à la purée du tolan that caused the duke de scar who partook of the royal dish to die of an indigestion. Cooking is a noble, yes, a regal art. I am a Frenchman, my lady, and like all my countrymen, regard the occupation of a cuisineer as infinitely superior to the manipulation of that machine, which is your profession, or the science of investigation, which is mine. Sir, she said, quite unmolefied by my harangue, speaking with a lofty pride which somehow seemed much more natural than that so intermittently assumed by my recent visitor, Sir, have you come to offer me a situation as cook? Yes, madame, at Ranchemle Castle. You are going there? she demanded, almost breathlessly. Yes, madame, I leave on the ten o'clock train to-morrow morning. I am commissioned by Lord Ranchemle to investigate the supposed presence of the ghost in that mouldering dwelling. I am allowed to bring with me whatever assistance I require, and I am assured that no one in the neighbourhood can be retained who dares sleep in the castle. You know the place very well, having lived there, so I shall be glad of your assistance if you will come. If there is any person whom you can trust and who is not afraid of ghosts, I shall be delighted to escort you both to Ranchemle Castle to-morrow. There is an old woman, she said, who comes here to clear up my room and do whatever I wish done. She is so deaf that she will hear no ghosts, and besides, Monsieur, she can cook. I laughed in acknowledgement of this last sly hit at me, as the English say. That will do excellently, I replied, rising and placing a ten-pound note before her. I suggest, madame, that you purchase with this anything you may need. My man has instructions to send by passenger train a huge case of provisions which should arrive there before us. If you could make it convenient to meet me at Euston station about a quarter of an hour before the train leaves, we may be able to discover all you wish to know regarding the mystery of Ranchemle Castle. Sophia Brooks accepted the money without demure and thanked me. I could see that her thin hands were trembling with excitement as she put the crackling bank-note into her purse. Darkness was coming on next evening before we were installed in the grim building, which at first sight seemed more like a fortress than a residence. I had telegraphed from London to order a wagonette for us, and in this vehicle we drove to the police station where I presented the written order from Lord Ranchemle for the keys of the castle. The chief constable himself, a stolid, taciturn person, exhibited nevertheless some interest in my mission, and he was good enough to take the fourth seat in the wagonette and accompany us through the park to the castle, returning in that conveyance to the village as nightfall approached. And I could not but notice that this grave official betrayed some uneasiness to get off before dusk had completely set in. Silent as he was, I soon learned that he entirely disbelieved Lord Ranchemle's theory that the castle harboured dangerous characters, yet so great was his inherent respect for the nobility, that I could not induce him to dispute with any decisiveness his lordship's conjecture. It was plain to be seen, however, that the chief constable believed implicitly in the club-footed ghost. I asked him to return the next morning, as I should spend the night in investigation and might possibly have some questions to ask him, questions which none but the chief constable could answer. The good man promised, and left us rather hurriedly, the driver of the wagonette galloping his horse down the long somber avenue towards the village outside the gates. I found Sophia Brooks but a doleful companion and a very little assistance that evening. She seemed overcome by her remembrances. She had visited the library where her former work was done, doubtless the scene of her brief love episode, and she returned with red eyes and trembling chin, telling me haltingly that the great tome from which she was working ten years ago and which had been left open on the solid library table, was still there exactly as she had placed it before being forced to abandon her work. For a decade, apparently, no one had entered that library. I could not but sympathise with the poor lady, thus revisiting, almost herself like a ghost, the haunted arena of her short happiness. But though she proved so dismal a companion, the old woman who came with her was a treasure. Having lived all her life in some semi-slum near the Strand, and having rarely experienced more than a summer's day glimpse of the country, the long journey had delighted her, and now this rambling old castle in the midst of the forest seemed to realise all the dreams which a perusal of half-penny fiction had engendered in her imagination. She lit a fire and cooked for us a very creditable supper, bustling about the place, singing to herself in a high key. Shortly after supper, Sophia Brooks, exhausted as much by her emotions and memories as by her long journey of that day, retired to rest. After being left to myself, I smoked some cigarettes, and finished a bottle of superb claret which stood at my elbow. A few hours before I had undoubtedly fallen in the estimation of the stolid constable, when instead of asking him questions regarding the tragedy, I had inquired the position of the wine-seller and obtained possession of the key that opened its portal. The sight of bin after bin of dust laden cobwebbed bottles did more than anything else to reconcile me to my lonely vigil. There were some notable vintages represented in that dismal cabin. It was perhaps half past ten or eleven o'clock when I began my investigations. I had taken the precaution to provide myself with half a dozen so-called electric torches before I left London. These give illumination for twenty or thirty hours steadily, and much longer if the flash is used only now and then. The torch is a thick tube, perhaps a foot and a half long, with a bull's eye of glass at one end. By pressing a spring, the electric rays project like the illumination of an engine's headlight. A release of the spring causes instant darkness. I have found this invention useful in that it concentrates the light on any particular spot desired, leaving all the surroundings in gloom so that the mind is not distracted even unconsciously by the eye beholding more than is necessary at the moment. One pours a white light over any particular substance as water is poured from the nozzle of a hose. The great house was almost painfully silent. I took one of these torches and went to the foot of the grand staircase where the wicked butler had met his death. There, as his lordship had said, lay the silver tray, and nearby a silver jug, a pair of spoons, a knife and fork, and scattered all around the fragments of broken plates, cups and saucers. With an exclamation of surprise at the stupidity of the researchers who had preceded me, I ran up the stair two steps at a time, turned to the right and along the corridor, until I came to the room occupied by the late Earl. The coverings of the bed lay turned down just as they were when his lordship sprang to the floor, doubtless in spite of his deafness, having heard faintly the fatal crash at the foot of the stairs. A great oaken chest stood at the head of the bed, perhaps six inches from the wall. Leaning against this chest at the edge of the bed inclined a small round table, and the cover of the table had slipped from its sloping surface until it partially concealed the chest lid. I mounted on this carbon box of old black oak and directed the rays of electric light into the chasm between it and the wall. Then I laughed aloud, and was somewhat startled to hear another laugh directly behind me. I jumped down on the floor again and swung round my torch like a searchlight on a battleship at sea. There was no human presence in that chamber except myself. Of course, after my first moment of surprise, I realized that the laugh was but an echo of my own. The old walls of the old house were like sounding boards. The place resembled an ancient fiddle still tremulous with the music that had been played on it. It was easy to understand how a superstitious population came to believe in its being haunted. In fact, I found by experiment that if one trod quickly along the uncovered floor of the corridor and stopped suddenly, one seemed to hear the sound of steps still going on. I now returned to the stair-head and examined the bare polished boards with most gratifying results. Amazed at having learnt so much in such a short time, I took from my pocket the paper on which the dying nobleman had attempted to write with his half-paralyzed hand. The chief constable had given the document to me, and I sat on the stair-head, spread it out on the floor, and scrutinized it. It was all but meaningless. Apparently two words and the initial letter of a third had been attempted. Now, however grotesque a piece of writing may be, you can sometimes decipher it by holding it at various angles, as those puzzles are solved, which remain a mystery when gazed at direct. By partially closing the eyes, you frequently catch the intent, as in those pictures where a human figure is concealed among the outlines of trees and leaves. I held the paper at arm's length, and with the electric lighter gleaming upon it, examined it at all angles, with eyes wide open and eyes half closed. At last, inclining it away from me, I saw that the words were intended to mean the secret. The secret, of course, was what he was trying to impart, but he had evidently got no further than the title of it. Deeply absorbed in my investigation, I was never more startled in my life than to hear in the stillness down the corridor the gasped words, OH GOD! I swept round my light, and leaning against the wall in an almost fainting condition, Sophia Brooks, her eyes staring like those of a demented person and her face white as any ghost could have been. Wrapped round her was a dressing-gown. I sprang to my feet. What are you doing there? I cried. Oh! Is that you, Monsieur Valmont? Thank God! Thank God! I thought I was going insane. I saw a hand, a bodiless hand, holding a white sheet of paper. The hand was far from bodiless, madame, for it belonged to me. But why are you here? It must be near midnight. It IS midnight, answered the woman. I came here because I heard my husband call me three times distinctly. Sophia! Sophia! Sophia! Just like that. Nonsense, madame! I said. With an asperity I seldom use where the fair sex is concerned. But I began to see that this hysterical creature was going to be in the way during a research that called for coolness and calmness. I was sorry I had invited her to come. Nonsense, madame! You have been dreaming. Indeed, Monsieur Valmont, I have not. I have not even been asleep. And I heard the words quite plainly. You must not think I am either mad or superstitious. I thought she was both. The next moment she gave further evidence of it running suddenly forward and clutching me by the arm. Listen! Listen! she whispered. You hear nothing? Nonsense! I cried again. Almost roughly, for my patience was at an end, and I wished to go on with my inquiry undisturbed. Hist! Hist! she whispered. Listen! holding up her finger. We both stood like statues. And suddenly I felt that curious creeping of the scalp, which shows that even the most civilized among us have not yet eliminated superstitious fear. In the tense silence I heard someone slowly coming up the stair. I heard the halting step of a lame man. In the tension of the moment I had allowed the light to go out. Now, recovering myself, I pressed the spring and waved its rays backward and forward down the stairway. The space was entirely empty, yet the hesitating footsteps approached us up and up. I could almost have sworn on which step they last struck. At this interesting moment Sophia Brooks uttered a piercing shriek and collapsed into my arms, sending the electric torch rattling down the steps and leaving us in impenetrable darkness. Really, I profess myself to be a gallant man, but there are situations which have a tendency to cause annoyance. I carried the limp creature cautiously down the stairs, fearing the fate of the butler, and at last got her into the dining-room where I lit a candle, which gave a light less brilliant, perhaps, but more steady than my torch. I dashed some water in her face and brought her to her senses. Then, uncorking another bottle of wine, I bade her drink a glassful, which she did. What was it? she whispered. Madam, I do not know. Very possibly the club-footed ghost of Ran Tremly. Do you believe in ghosts, Monsieur Valmont? Last night I did not, but at this hour I believe in only one thing, which is that it is time every one was asleep. She rose to her feet at this, and with a tremulous little laugh apologised for her terror, but I assured her that for the moment there were two panic-stricken persons at the stair-head. Taking the candle and recovering my electric torch, which luckily was uninjured by its roll down the incline the butler had taken, I escorted the lady to the door of her room and bade her good-night, or rather, good-morning. The rising sun dissipated a slight veil of mist which hung over the park, and also dissolved, as far as I was concerned, the phantoms which my imagination had conjured up at midnight. It was about half past ten when the chief constable arrived. I flatter myself, I put some life into that unimaginative man before I was done with him. What made you think that the butler was mounting the stair when he fell? He was going up with my Lord's breakfast," replied the chief. Then it did not occur to you that if such were the case, the silver picture would not have been empty, and besides the broken dishes there would have been the rolls, butter, toast, and what not, strewn about the floor? The chief constable opened his eyes. There was no one else for him to bring breakfast to, he objected. That is where you are very much mistaken. Bring me the boots, the butler wore. He did not wear boots, sir, he wore a pair of cloth slippers. Do you know where they are? Yes, they're in the boot closet. Very well, bring them out, examine their soles, and sticking in one of them you will find a short sliver of pointed oak. The constable, looking slightly more stupefied than ever, brought the slippers and I heard him ejaculate, Well, I'm blowed," as he approached me. He handed me the slippers soles upward, and there, as I have stated, was the fragment of oak, which I pulled out. Now, if you take this piece of oak to the top of the stair, you will see that it fits exactly a slight interstice at the edge of one of the planks. It is as well to keep one's eyes open constable when investigating a case like this. Well, I'm blowed," he said again, as we walked up the stair together. I showed him that the sliver taken from the slipper fitted exactly the interstice I had indicated. Now, said I to him, the butler was not going up the stairs, but was coming down. When he fell headlong, he must have made a fearful clatter. Shuffling along with his burden, his slipper was impaled by this sliver, and the butler's hands being full he could not save himself, but went head foremost down the stair. The startling point, however, is the fact that he was not carrying my lord's breakfast to him, or taking it away from him, but that there is someone else in the castle for whom he was caterer. Who is that person? I'm blessed if I know," said the constable, but I think you're wrong there. He may not have been carrying up the breakfast, but he was certainly taking away the tray, as is shown by the empty dishes, which you have just a moment to go pointed out. No, constable. When his lordship heard the crash and sprang impulsively from his bed, he upset the little table on which had been placed his own tray. It shot over the oaken chest at the head of the bed, and if you look between it and the wall, you will find tray, dishes, and the remnants of a breakfast. Well, I'm blessed," exclaimed the chief constable once again. The main point of all this, I went on calmly, is not the disaster to the butler, nor even the shock to his lordship, but the fact that the tray the serving man carried brought food to a prisoner, who probably for six weeks has been without anything to eat. Then, said the constable, he's a dead man. I find it easier, said I, to believe in a living man than in a dead man's ghost. I think I heard his footsteps at midnight, and they seemed to me the footsteps of a person very nearly exhausted. Therefore, constable, I've awaited your arrival with some impatience. The words his late lordship endeavoured to write were the secret. I am sure that the hieroglyphics with which he ended his effort stood for the letter R, and if he finished his sentence it would have stood the secret room. Now, constable, it is a matter of legend that a secret room exists in this castle. Do you know where it is? No one knows where the secret room is, all the way to enter it, except the lords of Ran Tremly. Well, I can assure you that the lord of Ran Tremly who lives in London knows nothing about it. I have been up and about since daylight, taking some rough measurements by stepping off distances. I surmise that the secret room is to the left of this stairway. Probably a whole suite of rooms exists, for there is certainly a stair coinciding with this one, and up that stair at midnight I heard a club-footed man ascend. Either that, or the ghost that has frightened you all. And, as I have said, I believe in the man. Here the official made the first sensible remark I had yet heard him utter. If the walls are so thick that a prisoner's cry has not been heard, how could you hear his footsteps, which make much less noise? That is very well put, constable, and when the same thing occurred to me earlier this morning I began to study the architecture of this castle. In the first place, the entrance-hall is double as wide at the big doors, as it is near the stairway. If you stand with your back to the front door, you will at once wonder why the builders made this curious and unnecessary right angle, narrowing the further part of the hall to half its width. Then, as you gaze at the stair and see that marvellous carved oak-newell post standing like a monumental column, you guess, if you have any imagination, that the stairway, like the hall, was once double as wide as it is now. We are seeing only half of it, and doubtless we shall find a similar Newell post within the hidden room. You must remember, constable, that these secret apartments are no small added chambers. Twice they have sheltered a king. The constable's head bent low at the mention of royalty. I saw that his insular prejudice against me and my methods was vanishing, and that he had come to look upon me with greater respect than was shown at first. The walls need not be thick to be impenetrable to sound. Two courses of brick and a space between filled with deafening would do it. The secret apartment has been cut off from the rest of the house since the castle was built and was not designed by the original architect. The partition was probably built in a hurry to fulfil a pressing need, and it was constructed straight up at the middle of the stair, leaving the stout planks intact, each step passing thus, as it were, through the wall. Now, when a man walks up the secret stairway, his footsteps reverberate until one would swear that some unseen person was treading the visible boards on the outside. By Jove! said the constable, in an awed tone of voice. Now, officer, I have here a pickaxe and a crowbar. I propose that we settle the question at once. But to this proposal the constable demurred. He surely would not break the wall without permission from his lordship in London. Constable, I suspect there is no lord Rantremley in London, and that we will find a very emaciated but genuine lord Rantremley within ten feet of us. I need not tell you that if you are instrumental in his immediate rescue without the exercise of too much red tape, your interests will not suffer because you the more speedily brought food and drink to the lord paramount of your district. Right you are! cried the constable with an enthusiasm for which I was not prepared. Where shall we begin? Oh, anywhere! This wall is all false from the entrance hall to some point up here. Still, as the buckler was carrying the meal upstairs I think we shall save time if we begin on the landing. I found the constable's brawn much superior to his brain. He worked like a sans-corotte on a barricade. When we had torn down part of the old oak panelling which it seemed such a pity to mutilate with ax and crowbar, we came upon a brick wall that quickly gave way before the strength of the constable. Then we pulled out some substance like matting and found a second brick wall beyond which was a further shell of panelling. The hole we made revealed nothing but darkness inside and although we shouted there was no answer. At last when we had hewn it large enough for a man to enter, I took with me an electric torch and stepped inside the constable following with crowbar still in hand. I learned, as I had surmised, that we were in the upper hall of a staircase nearly as wide as the one on the outside. A flash of the light showed a door corresponding with the fireplace of the upper landing and this door not being locked we entered a large room rather dimly lighted by strongly barred windows that gave into a blind courtyard of which there had been no indication here to fore either outside or inside the castle. Broken glass crunched under our feet and I saw that the floor was strewn with wine-bottles whose necks had been snapped off to save the pulling of the cork. On a mattress at the farther end of the room lay a man with grey hair and shaggy, unkempt iron grey beard. He seemed either asleep or dead but when I turned my electric light full on his face he proved to be still alive for he rubbed his eyes languidly and groaned rather than spoke. Is that you, at last, you beast of a butler? Bring me something to eat in heaven's name! I shook him wider awake. He seemed to be drowsed with drink and was fearfully emaciated. When I got him on his feet I noticed then the deformity that characterised one of them. We assisted him through the aperture and down into the dining-room where he cried out continually for something to eat but when we placed food before him he could scarcely touch it. He became more like a human being when he had drunk two glasses of wine and I saw at once that he was not as old as his grey hair seemed to indicate. There was a haunted look in his eyes and he watched the door as if apprehensive. Where is that butler? he asked at last. Dead, I replied. Did I kill him? No, he fell down the stairway and broke his neck. The man laughed harshly. Where is my father? Who is your father? Lord Ran Tremly. He is dead also. How came he to die? He died from a stroke of paralysis on the morning the butler was killed. The rescued man made no comment on this but turned an et a little more of his food. Then he said to me, Do you know a girl named Sophia Brooks? Yes, for ten years she thought you dead. Ten years? Good God! Do you mean to say I've been in there only ten years? Why, I'm an old man. I must be sixty at least. No, you're not much over thirty. Is Sophia— He stopped and the haunted look came into his eyes again. No, she's all right. And she's here. Here! Somewhere in the grounds. I sent her and the servant out for a walk and told them not to return till luncheon time as the constable and I had something to do and did not wish to be interrupted. The man ran his hand through his long tangled beard. I should like to be trimmed up a bit before I see Sophia, he said. I can do that for you, my lord, cried the constable. My lord! echoed the man. Oh yes, I understand. You are a policeman, are you not? Yes, my lord, chief constable. Then I shall give myself up to you. I killed the butler. Oh, impossible, my lord! No, it isn't. The beast, as I called him, was getting old and one morning he forgot to close the door behind him. I followed him stealthily out and at the head of the stair planted my foot in the small of his back which sent him headlong. There was an infernal crash. I did not mean to kill the brute, but merely to escape and just as I was about to run down the stairway there was a pall to see my father looking like—looking like— well, I won't attempt to say what he looked like, but all my old fear of him returned. As he strode toward me along the corridor I was in such a terror that I jumped through the secret door and slammed it shut. Where is the secret door? I asked. The secret door is that fireplace. The whole fireplace moves inward if you push aside the carved ornament at the left-hand corner. Is it a dummy fireplace, then? No, you may build a fire in it and the smoke will escape up the chimney. But I killed the butler constable, though not intending it, I swear. And now the constable shone forth like the real rough diamond he was. My lord will say nothing about that. Legally you didn't do it. You see, there's been an inquest on the butler and the jury brought in the verdict death by accident through stumbling from the top of the stair. You can't go behind a coroner's inquest, my lord. Indeed, said his lordship, with the first laugh in which he had indulged for many a year, I don't want to go behind anything constable. I've been behind that accursed chimney too long to wish any further imprisonment. End of chapter 6 This is a LibriVox recording. Or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Czechris London UK. The triumphs of Eugene Valmont. By Robert Barr. Chapter 7 The Liberation of Wyoming Ed A man shall present the whole truth to his doctor, his lawyer, or his detective. If a doctor is to cure, he must be given the full confidence of the patient. If a lawyer is to win a case, he needs to know what tells against his client, as well as the points in his favour. If a secret agent is to solve a mystery, all the cards should be put on the table. Those who half-trust a professional man need not be disappointed when results prove unsatisfactory. A partial confidence reposed in me led to the liberation of a dangerous criminal, caused me to associate with a robber, much against my own inclination, and brought me within danger of the law. Of course I never pretend to possess that absolute confidence in the law, which seems to be the birthright of every Englishman. I have lived too intimately among the machinery of the law, and have seen too many of its ghastly mistakes to hold it in that blind esteem which appears to be prevalent in the British Isles. There is a doggerel couplet which typifies this spirit better than anything I can write, and it runs, No rogue ere felt the halter draw with a good opinion of the law. Those lines exemplify the trend of British thought in this direction. If you question a verdict of their courts you are a rogue, and that ends the matter. And yet, when an Englishman undertakes to circumvent the law, there is no other man on earth who will go to greater lengths. An amazing people, never understandable by the sane of other countries. It was entirely my own fault that I became involved in affairs which were almost indefensible and wholly illegal. My client first tried to bribe me into compliance with his wishes, which bribe I sternly refused. Then he partially broke down, and quite unconsciously as I take it, made an appeal to the heart, a strange thing for an Englishman to do. My kind heart has ever been my most vulnerable point. We French are sentimentalists. France has before now staked its very existence for an ideal while other countries fight for continents, cash or commerce. You cannot pierce me with a lance of gold but wave a wand of sympathy, and I am yours. There waited for me in my flat a man who gave his name as Douglas Sanderson, which may or may not have been his legitimate title. This was a question into which I never probed, and at the moment of writing I am as ignorant of his true cognomen, if that was not it, as on the morning he first met me. He was an elderly man of natural dignity and sobriety, slow in speech, almost somber in dress. His costume was not quite that of a professional man and not quite that of a gentleman. I at once recognized the order to which he belonged, and the most difficult class it is to deal with. He was the confidential servant or steward of some ancient and probably noble family, embodying in himself all the faults and virtues each a trifle accentuated of the line he served, and to which, in order to produce him and his like, his father, grandfather and great-grandfather had doubtless been attached. It is frequently the case that the honor of the house he serves is more dear to him than it is to the representative of that house. Such a man is almost always the repository of family secrets, a repository whose inviolability, gold cannot affect, threats sway, or cajolary influence. I knew when I looked at him that practically I was looking at his master, for I have known many cases where even the personal appearance of the two was almost identical, which may have given rise to the English phrase like master, like man. The servant was a little more haughty, a little less kind, a little more exclusive, a little less confidential, a little more condescending, a little less human, a little more Tory, and altogether a little less pleasant and easy person to deal with. Sir, he began when I had waved him to a seat, I am a very rich man and can afford to pay well for the commission I request you to undertake. To ask you to name your own terms may seem un-business-like, so I may say at the outset I am not a businessman. The service I shall ask will involve the utmost secrecy and for that I am willing to pay. It may expose you to risk of limb or liberty and for that I am willing to pay. It will probably necessitate the expenditure of a large sum of money. That sum is at your disposal. Here he paused. He had spoken slowly and impressively with a touch of arrogance in his tone which aroused to his prejudice the combativeness latent in my nature. However, at this juncture I merely bowed my head and replied in accents almost as supercilious as his own. The task must either be unworthy or unwelcome. In mentioning first the compensation you are inverting the natural order of things. You should state at the outset what you expect me to do, then if I accept the commission it is time to discuss the details of expenditure. Either he had not looked for such a reply or was loath to open his budget, for he remained a few moments with eyes bent upon the floor and lips compressed in silence. At last he went on without change of inflection without any diminution of that air of condescension which had so exasperated me in the beginning and which was preparing a downfall for himself that would rudely shake the cold dignity which encompassed him like a cloak. It is difficult for a father to confide in a complete stranger the vagaries of a beloved son and before doing so you must pledge your word that my communication will be regarded as strictly confidential." C'est la va-sondir. I do not understand French," said Mr. Sanderson severely as if the use of the phrase were an insult to him. I replied nonchalantly. It means, as a matter of course, that goes without saying. Whatever you care to tell me about your son will be mentioned to no one. Pray proceed without further circumlocution for my time is valuable. My son was always a little wild and impatient of control. Although everything he could wish was at his disposal here at home he chose to visit America where he fell into bad company. I assure you there is no real harm in the boy but he became implicated with others and has suffered severely for his recklessness. For five years he has been an inmate of a prison in the West. He was known and convicted under the name of Wyoming Ed. What was his crime? His alleged crime was the stopping and robbing of a railway train. For how long was he sentenced? He was sentenced for life. What do you wish me to do? Every appeal has been made to the Governor of the State in an endeavour to obtain a pardon. These appeals have failed. I am informed that if money enough is expended it may be possible to arrange my son's escape. In other words you wish me to bribe the officials of the jail? I assure you the lad is innocent. For the first time a quiver of human emotion came into the old man's voice. Then if you can prove that why not apply for a new trial? I am informed that if money enough is applied for a new trial. Unfortunately the circumstances of the case, of his arrest on the train itself, the number of witnesses against him give me no hope that a new trial would end in a different verdict, even if a new trial could be obtained which I am informed is not possible. Every legal means tending to his liberation has already been tried. I see. And now you are determined to adopt illegal means. I refuse to have anything to do with the malpractice you propose. You objected to a phrase in French, Mr. Sanderson. Perhaps one in Latin will please you better. It is veritas privalibit. Which means truth will prevail. I shall set your mind entirely at rest regarding your son. Your son at this moment occupies a humble if honourable position in the great house from which you came. And he hopes in time worthily to fill his father's shoes as you have filled the shoes of your father. You are not a rich man, but a servant. Your son never was in America and never will go there. It is your master's son the heir to great English estates who became the Wyoming Ed of the Western prison. Even from what you say I do not in the least doubt he was justly convicted and you may go back to your master and tell him so. You came here to conceal the shameful secret of a wealthy and noble house. You may return knowing that secret has been revealed and that the circumstances in which you so solemnly bound me to secrecy never existed. Sir, that is the penalty of lying. The old man's contempt for me had been something to be felt so palpable was it. The armour of icy reserve clearly I had expected to see him rise with undiminished hauteur and leave the room disdaining further parlay with one who had insulted him. Doubtless that is the way in which his master would have acted. But even in the underling I was unprepared for the instantaneous crumbling of this monument of pomp and pride. A few moments after I began to speak in terms as severe as his own his trembling hands grasped and his ever-widening eyes which came to regard me with something like superstitious dread as I went on showed me I had launched my random arrow straight at the bull's eye of fact. His face grew mottled and green rather than pale. When at last I accused him of lying he arose slowly shaking like a man with a palsy but unable to support himself erect sank helplessly back into his chair again. His head fell forward to the table before him and he sobbed aloud. God help me! he cried. It is not my own secret I am trying to guard. I sprang to the door and turned the key in the lock so that by no chance might we be interrupted. Then, going to the sideboard I poured him out a liqueur-glass full of the finest cognac ever imported from south of the Loire and tapping him on the shoulder said brusquely here drink this the case is no worse than it was half an hour ago I shall not betray the secret he tossed off the brandy and with some effort regained his self-control I have done my errand badly he wailed I don't know what I have said that has led you to so accurate a statement of the real situation but I have been a blundering fool God forgive me when so much depended on my making no mistake don't let that trouble you," I replied nothing you said gave me the slightest clue you called me a liar he continued and that is a hard word from one man to another but I would not lie for myself and when I do it for one I revere and respect my only regret is that I have done it without avail my dear sir, I assured him the fault is not with yourself at all you were simply attempting the impossible stripped and bare your proposal amounts to this I am to but take myself to the United States and there commit a crime or a series of crimes in bribing sworn officials to turn traitor to their duty and permit a convict to escape you put it very harshly sir you must admit that especially in new countries there is lawlessness within the law as well as outside of it the real criminals in the robbery train escaped my young master poor fellow was caught his father one of the proudest men in England has grown prematurely old under the burden of this terrible dishonour his broken hearted and a dying man yet he presents an impassive front to the world with all the ancient courage of his race my young master is an only son and failing his appearance should his father die title and estate will pass to strangers our helplessness in this situation adds to its horror we dare not make any public move my old master is one with such influence among the governing class of this country of which he has long been a member that the average Englishman if his name were mentioned would think his power limitless yet that power he dare not exert to save his own son from a felon's life and death however much he or another may suffer publicity must be avoided and this is a secret which cannot safely be shared with more than those who know it now how many know it? in this country three persons in an American prison one have you kept up communication with the young man? oh yes direct? no through a third person my young master has implored his father not to write to him direct this go-between as we may call him is the third person in the secret who is he? that I dare not tell you Mr. Sanderson it would be much better for your master and his son that you should be more open with me these half confidences are misleading has the son made any suggestion regarding his release? oh yes but not the suggestion I have put before you his latest letter was to the effect that within six months or so there is to be an election for governor he proposes that a large sum of money shall be used to influence this election so that a man pledged to pardon him may sit in the governor's chair I see and this sum of money is to be paid to the third person you referred to? yes may I take it that this third person is the one to whom various sums have been paid during the last five years in order to bribe the governor to pardon the young man? Sanderson hesitated a moment before answering in fact he appeared so torn between inclination and duty anxious to give me whatever information I deemed necessary yet hemmed in by the instructions with which his master had limited him that at last I waved my hand and said you need not reply Mr. Sanderson that third party is the crux of the situation I strongly suspect him of blackmail if you would but name him and allow me to lure him to these rooms I possess a little private prison of my own into which I could thrust him and I venture to say that before he had passed a week in darkness on bread and water we should have the truth about this business look you now the illogical nature of an Englishman poor old Sanderson who had come to me with a proposal to break the law of America seemed horror-stricken when I airily suggested the immuring of a man in a dungeon here in England he gazed at me in amazement then cast his eyes furtively about him as if afraid a trapdoor would drop beneath him and land him in my private oobliet do not be alarmed Mr. Sanderson you are perfectly safe you are beginning at the wrong end of this business and it seems to me five years of contributions to this third party without any result might have opened the eyes of even the most influential nobleman in England not to mention those of his faithful servant indeed sir said Sanderson I must confess to you that I have long had a suspicion of this third person but my master has clung to him as his only hope and if this third person were interfered with I may tell you that he has deposited in London at some place unknown to us a full history of the case and if it should happen that he disappears for more than a week at a time this record will be brought to light my dear Mr. Sanderson that device is as old as Noah and his Ark I should chance that let me lay this fellow by the heels and I will guarantee that no publicity follows Sanderson sadly shook his head everything might happen as you say sir but all that would put us no further forward the only point is the liberation of my young master it is possible that the person unmentioned whom we may call number three has been cheating us throughout but that is a matter of no consequence pardon me but I think it is suppose your young master here and at liberty this number three would continue to maintain the power over him which he seems to have held over his father for the last five years I think we can prevent that sir if my plan is carried out the scheme for bribing the American officials is yours then ah yes sir and I may say I am taking a great deal upon myself in coming to you I am in fact disobeying the implied commands of my master but I have seen him pay money and very large sums of money to this number three for the last five years and nothing has come of it my master is an unsuspicious man who has seen little of the real world and thinks everyone is honest as himself well that may be Mr. Sanderson but permit me to suggest that the one who proposes a scheme of bribery and to put it mildly an evasion of the law shows some knowledge of the lower levels of this world and is not quite in a position to plume himself on his own honesty I am coming to that Mr. Valmont my master knows nothing whatever of my plan he has given me the huge sum of money demanded by number three and he supposes that amount has been already paid over as a matter of fact it has not been paid over and will not be until my suggestion has been carried out and failed in fact I am about to use this money all of it if necessary if you will undertake the commission I have paid number three his usual monthly allowance and will continue to do so I have told him my master has his proposal under consideration that there are still six months to come and go upon and that my master is not one who decides in a hurry number three says there is an election in six months for governor what is the name of the state Sanderson informed me I walked to my book case and took down a current American yearbook consulted it and returned to the table there is no election in that state Mr. Sanderson for eighteen months number three is simply a blackmailer as I have suspected quite so sir replied Sanderson taking a newspaper from his pocket I read in this paper an account of a man immured in a Spanish dungeon his friends arranged it with the officials in this way the prisoner was certified to have died and his body was turned over to his relatives now if that could be done in America it would serve two purposes it would be the easiest way to get my young master out of the jail it would remain a matter of record that he had died therefore there could be no search for him that would be the case if he simply escaped if you were so good as to undertake this task you might perhaps see my young master in his cell and ask him to write to this number three with whom he is in constant communication telling him he was very ill then you could arrange with the prison doctor that this person was informed of my young master's death very well we can try that but a blackmailer is not so easily thrown off the scent once he has tasted blood he is a human man-eating tiger but still there is always my private dungeon in the background and if your plan for silencing him fails I guarantee that my more drastic and equally illegal method will be a success it will be seen that my scruples concerning the acceptance of this commission and my first dislike for the old man had both faded away during the conversation which I have set down in the preceding chapter I saw him under the stress of deep emotion and latterly began to realise the tremendous chances he was taking in contravening the will of his imperious master if the large sum of money was long withheld from the blackmailer Douglas Sanderson ran the risk of number three opening communication direct with his master investigation would show that the old servant had come perilously near laying himself open to a charge of breach of trust and even of defalcation with regard to the money and all this danger he was heroically incurring for the unselfish purpose of serving the interests of his employer during our long interview old Sanderson gradually became a hero in my eyes and entirely in opposition to the resolution I had made at the beginning I accepted his commission at the end of it nevertheless my American experiences are those of which I am least proud and all I care to say upon the subject is that my expedition proved completely successful the late convict was my companion on the Arontic the first steamship sailing for England after we reached New York from the west of course I knew that two or three years roughing it in mining camps and on ranches followed by five years in prison must have produced a radical effect not only on the character but also in the personal appearance of a man who had undergone these privations nevertheless making due allowance for all this I could not but fear that the ancient English family of which this young man was the hope and pride would be exceedingly disappointed with him in spite of the change which grooming and the wearing of a civilised costume made Wyoming Ed still looked much more the criminal than the gentleman I considered myself in honour bound not to make any inquiries of the young man regarding his parentage of course if I had wished to possess myself of the secret I had but to touch a button under the table when Sanderson left my rooms in the imperial flats which would have caused him to be shadowed and run to earth I may also add that the ex-prisoner volunteered no particulars about himself or his family only once on board ship did he attempt to obtain some information from me as we walked up and down the deck together you're acting for someone else I suppose he said yes for someone in England yes he put up the money did he yes there was a pause during which we took two or three turns in silence of course there's no secret about it he said at last I expected help from the other side but Colonel Jim has been so mighty long about it I was afraid he'd forgotten me who is Colonel Jim Colonel Jim Baxter wasn't it him gave you the money I never heard of the man before then who put up the coin Douglas Sanderson now replied looking at him sideways as I mentioned the name it had apparently no effect upon him he wrinkled his brow for a moment and then said well if you never heard of Baxter I never heard of Sanderson this led me to suspect that Douglas Sanderson did not give me his own name and doubtless the address with which he had furnished me was merely temporary I did not cable to him from America regarding the success of the expedition because I could not be certain it was a success until I was safely on English ground and not even then to tell the truth anyhow I wished to leave no trail behind me but the moment the erotic reached Liverpool I telegraph Sanderson to meet us that evening at my flat he was waiting for me when Wyoming Ed and I entered together the old man was quite evidently in a state of nervous tension he had been walking up and down the room with hands clenched behind his back and now stood at the end farthest from the door as he heard his approach with his hands still clasped behind his back and an expression of deep anxiety upon his rugged face all the electric lamps were turned on and the room was bright as day have you not brought him with you? he cried brought him with me? I echoed here is Wyoming Ed the old man glared at him for a moment or two stupefied and then moaned oh my god, my god, that is not the man I turned to my short-haired fellow traveller you told me you were Wyoming Ed he laughed uneasily well, in a manner of speaking so I have been for the last five years but I wasn't Wyoming Ed before that say, old man, are you acting for Colonel Jim Baxter? Sanderson, on whom a dozen years seemed to have fallen since we entered the room, appeared unable to speak and merely shook his head in a hopeless sort of way I say, boys, ejaculated the ex-convict with an uneasy laugh, half comic, half bewildered this is a sort of mix-up, isn't it? I wish Colonel Jim was here to explain I say, boss, he cried suddenly, turning sharp on me this here misfits not my fault I didn't change the children in the cradle you don't intend to send me back to that hellhole, do you? no, I said, not if you tell the truth sit down the late prisoner seated himself in a chair as close to the door as possible hitching a little nearer as he sat down his face had taken on a sharp, crafty aspect like that of a trapped rat you're perfectly safe, I assured him sit over here by the table even if you bolted through that door you couldn't get out of this flat Mr. Sanderson, take a chair the old man sank despondently into the one nearest at hand I pressed a button and when my servant entered, I said to him bring some cognac and scotch whiskey and glasses and two siphons of soda you haven't got any Kentucky or Canadian as the prisoner, moistening his lips the jail whiteness in his face was now accentuated by the pallor of fear and the haunted look of the escaped convict glimmered in his eyes in spite of the comfort I had attempted to bestow upon him he knew that he had been rescued in mistake for another and for the first time since he left prison realised he was among strangers and not among friends in his trouble he turned to the beverage of his native continent bring a bottle of Canadian whiskey I said to the servant who disappeared and shortly returned with what I had ordered I locked the door after him and put the key in my pocket what am I to call you and asked the ex-convict with a forced laugh he said you can call me Jack for short very well Jack help yourself and he poured out a very liberal glass of the Dominion liquor refusing to dilute it with soda Sanderson took scotch and I helped myself to a petit verre of brandy now Jack I began I may tell you plainly that if I wished to send you back to prison so without incriminating myself you are legally dead and you have now a chance to begin life anew an opportunity of which I hope you will take advantage if you were to apply three weeks from today at the prison doors they would not dare admit you you are dead does that console you well squire you can bet your bottom dollar I never thought I'd be pleased to hear I was dead but I'm glad if it's all fixed as you say and you can bet your last pair of boots I'm gonna keep out of the jug in future if I can that's right now I can promise that if you answer all my questions truthfully you shall be given money enough to afford you a new beginning in life good enough said Jack briefly you were known in prison as Wyoming Ed yes sir if that was not your name why did you use it because Colonel Jim on the train asked me to do that he said it would give him a pull in England to get me free did you know Wyoming Ed yes sir he was one of us three that held up the train what became of him he was shot dead by one of the passengers there was silence during which the old man groaned and bowed his head Jack was studying the floor then he looked up at me and said you don't expect me to give a pal away do you as that pal has given you away for the last five years it seems to me you need not show very much consideration for him I'm not so sure he did I am but never mind that point Colonel Jim Baxter shot Wyoming Ed and killed him why see here my friend you're going a little too fast I didn't say that he reached somewhat defiantly for the bottle from Canada pardon me I said rising quietly and taking possession of the bottle myself it grieves me more than I can say to restrict my hospitality I have never done such a thing in my life before but this is not a drinking bout it is a very serious conference the whiskey you have already taken has given you a bogus courage and a false view of things are you going to tell me the truth or are you not Jack pondered on this for a while and then he said well sir I'm perfectly willing to tell you the truth as far as it concerns myself but I don't want to rat on a friend as I have said he isn't your friend he told you to take the name of Wyoming Ed so that he might blackmail the father of Wyoming Ed he has done so for the last five years living in luxury here in London and not moving a finger to help you in fact nothing would appall him more than to learn that you are now in this country by this time he has probably received the news from the prison doctor that you are dead and so thinks himself safe forever if you can prove that to me said Jack I can and will I interrupted then turning to Sanderson I demanded when are you to meet this man next tonight at nine o'clock he answered his monthly payment is due and he is clamouring for the large sum I told you of where do you meet him in London yes at your master's townhouse yes will you take us there and places where we can see him and he can't see us yes I trust to your honor Mr. Valmont a closed carriage will call for me at eight and you can accompany me still after all Mr. Valmont we have no assurance that he is the same person this young man refers to I am certain he is he does not go under the name of Colonel Jim Baxter I suppose no the convict had been looking from one to the other of us during this colloquy suddenly he drew his chair up closer to the table look here he said you fellas are square I can see that and after all said and done you're the man that got me out of clink now I have suspicion you're right about Colonel Jim but anyhow I'll tell you exactly what happened Colonel Jim was a Britisher and I suppose that's why he and Wyoming Ed chummed together a good deal we called Jim Baxter Colonel but he never said he was a Colonel or anything else I was told he belonged to the British Army and that something happened in India so that he had to light out he never talked about himself but he was a mighty taking fellow when he laid out to please anybody we called him Colonel because he was so straight in the back and walked as if he were on parade when this young English tenderfoot came out he and the Colonel got to be as thick as thieves and the Colonel won a good deal of money from him at cards but that didn't make any difference in their friendship the Colonel almost always won when he played cards and perhaps that's what started the talk about why he left the British Army he was the luckiest beggar I ever knew in that line of business we all met in the rush to the new gold fields which didn't pan out worth a cent and one after another of the fellows quit and went somewhere else but Wyoming Ed he held on even after Colonel Jim wanted to quit as long as there were plenty of fellows there Colonel Jim never lacked money although he didn't dig it out of the ground but when the population thinned down to only a few of us then we all struck hard times now I knew Colonel Jim was going to hold up a train he asked me if I'd join him and I said I would if there wasn't too many in the gang I'd been into that business of four and I knew there was no greater danger than to have a whole mob of fellows three men can hold up a train better than three dozen everybody's scared except the express messenger and it's generally easy to settle him for he stands where the light is and we shoot from the dark well I thought at first Wyoming Ed was on to the scheme because when we were waiting in the cut to signal the train he talked about us going on with her to San Francisco but I thought he was only joking I guess that Colonel Jim imagined that when he came to the pinch Ed wouldn't back out and leave us in the lurch he knew Ed was as brave as a lion in the cut where the train would be on the upgrade the Colonel got his lantern ready lit it and wrapped a thin red silk handkerchief round it the express was time to pass up there about midnight but it was near one o'clock when a headlight came in sight we knew all the passengers were being bed in the sleepers and asleep in the smoking-car and the day-coach we didn't intend to meddle with them the Colonel had brought a sticker to a dynamite from the mines and was going to blow open the safe in the express-car and climb out with whatever was inside the train stopped to the signal all right and the Colonel fired a couple of shots just to let the engineer know we meant business the engineer and fireman at once threw up their hands and then the Colonel turns to Ed who was standing there like a man pole-axed and says to him mighty sharp just like as if he was speaking to a regiment of soldiers you keep these two men covered come on Jack, he says to me and then we steps up to the door of the express-car which the fellow inside had got locked and bolted the Colonel fires his revolver in through the lock then flung his shoulder again the door and it went in with a crash which was followed instantly by another crash for the little express-man was game right through he'd put out the lights and was blazing away at the open door the Colonel sprang for cover inside the car and wasn't touched but one of the shots took me just above the knee and broke my leg so I went down in a heap the minute the Colonel counted seven shots he was onto that express-messenger like a tiger and had him tied up in a hard knot before he could shake a stick then quick as a wink he struck a match and lit the lamp plucky as the express-messenger was he looked scared to death and now when Colonel Jim held a pistol to his head he gave up the keys and told him how to open the safe I had fallen back against the corner of the car inside and was groaning with pain Colonel Jim was scooping out the money from the shelves of the safe and stuffing it into a sack I heard Jackie cried yeah, my legs broke don't let that trouble you, we'll get you clear all right do you think you can ride your horse? I don't believe it, I said I guess I'm done for and I thought I was Colonel Jim never looked round but he went through that safe in a way that would make your hair curl throwing aside the bulky packages after tearing them open taking only cash which he thrust into a bag he had with him till he was loaded like a millionaire then suddenly he swore for the train began to move what's that fool Ed doing? he shouted rising to his feet at that minute Ed came in, pistol in each hand and his face ablaze here you cursed thief he cried I didn't come with you to rob a train get outside you fool wrought Colonel Jim get outside and stop this train Jack's got his leg broke don't come another step toward me or I'll kill you but Ed he walked right on Colonel Jim back in then there was a shot that rang like cannon fire in the closed car and Ed fell forward on his face Colonel Jim turned him over and I saw he'd been hit square in the middle of the forehead the train was now going at good speed and we were already miles away from where our horses were tied I never heard a man swear like Colonel Jim he went through the pockets of Ed and took a bundle of papers that was inside his coat and this he stuffed away in his own clothes then he turned to me and his voice was like a lamb Jack called man he said I can't help you they're gonna nab you but not for murder the expressman there will be your witness it isn't murder anyhow on my part but self-defense you saw he was coming at me when I warned him to keep away all this he said in a loud voice for the expressman here and then he bent over to me and whispered I'll get the best lawyer I can for you but I'm afraid they're bound to convict you and if they do I'll spend every penny of this money to get you free you call yourself Wyoming Ed at the trial I have taken all this man's papers so that he can't be identified and don't you worry if your sentence for remember I'll be working night and day for you and if money can get you out you'll be got out because these papers will help me to get the cash required Ed's folks are rich in England so they'll fork over to get you out if you pretend to be him with that he bade me goodbye and jumped off the train there gentlemen that's the whole story just as it happened and that's why I thought it was Colonel Jim had sent you to get me free there was not the slightest doubt in my mind that the convict had told the exact truth and that night at nine o'clock he identified Major Wren as the former Colonel Jim Baxter Sanderson placed us in a gallery where we could see but could not hear the old man seemed determined that we should not know where we were and took every precaution to keep us in the dark I suppose he put us out of earshot so that if the Major mentioned the name of the nobleman we should not be any the wiser we remained in the gallery for some time after the Major had left before Sanderson came to us again carrying with him a packet the carriage is waiting at the door, he said and with your permission, Monsieur Valmont I will accompany you to your flat I smiled at the old man's extreme caution but he continued very gravely it's not that, Monsieur Valmont I wish to consult with you and if you will accept it I have another commission to offer well, said I I hope it's not so unsavory as the last but to this the old man made no response there was silence in the carriage as we drove back to my flat Sanderson had taken the precaution of pulling down the blinds of the carriage which he need not have trouble to do for, as I have said it would have been the simplest matter in the world for me to have discovered who his employer was if I had desired to know as a matter of fact I do not know to this day whom he represented once more in my room with the electric light turned on I was shocked and astonished to see the expression on Sanderson's face it was the face of a man who would grimly commit murder and hang for it if ever the thirst for vengeance was portrayed on a human countenance it was on his that night he spoke very quietly laying down the packet before him on the table I think you will agree with me he said that no punishment on earth is too severe for that creature calling himself Major Wren I am willing to shoot and dead in the streets of London tomorrow said the convict if you give the word Sanderson went on implacably he not only murdered the son but for five years has kept the father in an agony of sorrow and apprehension bleeding him of money all the time which was the least of his crimes tomorrow I shall tell my master that his son has been dead these five years and heavy as that blow must prove it will be mitigated by the fact that his son died an honest and honourable man I thank you for offering to kill this vile criminal I intend that he shall die but not so quickly or so mercifully here he untied the packet and took from it a photograph which he handed to the convict do you recognise that oh yes that's why Oming Edd as he appeared at the mine as indeed he appeared when he was shot the photograph Sanderson then handed to me an article that I read about you in the paper Monsieur Valmont said you could impersonate anybody can you impersonate this young man there's no difficulty in that I replied then will you do this I wish you too to dress in that fashion I shall give you particulars of the haunts of Major Wren I want you to meet him together and separately as often as you can until you drive him mad or to suicide he believes you to be dead said Sanderson addressing Jack I am certain he has the news by his manor tonight he is extremely anxious to get the lump sum of money which I have been holding back from him you may address him for he will recognise your voice as well as your person but Monsieur Valmont had better not speak as then he might know it was not the voice of my poor young master I suggest that you meet him first together always at night the rest I leave in your hands Monsieur Valmont with that the old man rose and left us perhaps I should stop this narration here for I have often wondered if practically I am guilty of manslaughter we did not meet Major Wren together but arranged that he should encounter Jack under one lamp post and me under the next it was just after midnight and the streets were practically deserted the theatre crowds had gone and the traffic was represented by the last buses and a belated cab now and then Major Wren came down the steps of his club and under the first lamp post with the light shining full upon him Jack the convict stepped forth Colonel Jim he said Ed and I are waiting for you there were three in that robbery and one was a trader his dead comrades asked the trader to join them the Major staggered back against the lamp post drew his hand across his brow and muttered Jack told me afterwards I must stop drinking I must stop drinking then he pulled himself together and walked rapidly toward the next lamp post I stood out square in front of him but made no sound he looked at me with distended eyes while Jack shouted out in his boisterous voice that had no doubt often echoed over the plane come on Wyoming Ed and never mind him he must follow then he gave a war hoop the Major did not turn round but continued to stare at me breathing stutterously like a person with apoplexy I slowly pushed back my hat and on my brow he saw the red mark of a bullet hole he threw up his hands and fell with a crash to the pavement heart failure was the verdict of the coroner's jury End of chapter 7