 CHAPTER XI. THE SHOT. It was in the evening of this same day, at dinner, that the element of tragedy was first injected into the situation. In addition to Mrs. West and her daughter, May Thurston, and the four young men, there was present Hartley Masters. He had been invited frequently to dine at the cottage, and had for a time accepted every invitation. Laterally, however, the evidences of strained feeling between him and the other men had become so pronounced that he had usually offered some excuse for declining the kindly hospitality of Mrs. West. Another reason that influenced him in this was his own lack of confidence in his self-control since the incident at the Boathouse, which he had had some difficulty in explaining satisfactorily to May. Nevertheless, to-night, he had chosen to rely on his powers of self-restraint and had accepted at once when Mrs. West suggested his remaining for the evening meal. The construction of the cottage was such that the dining-room was at the back of the house. On the left, as one entered the hall, was the large music-room, which occupied the entire ground floor of the added wing. On the right, the first room was that which had served Abernethy as an office. Beyond this came the dining-room, with one window at the back and one on the north side. Mrs. West sat at the head of the table in such a position that she faced the window to the north. Margaret sat opposite her, while Sacks was placed at her right hand. Beyond him was May Thurston, and beyond her Roy. Billy Walker was beside the hostess on the left, and then David Swing, while Masters filled the place next to Margaret. The conversation at the table went pleasantly enough, despite the latent hostility between the engineer and the other men. The antipathy of Sacks and his friends was certainly not shared by either Margaret or her mother, unless they concealed their feeling with much skill, for the daughter addressed herself to Masters much of the time, and Mrs. West often included him in the conversation. By tacit agreement the subject of the Miser's gold was not touched on by anyone, and the desolatory talk ran the usual gamut of art, literature, the drama, and those innumerable topics that serve as the transient vehicles for individual wit and seriousness. It chanced that a decanter stood on the table, close to the edge, just by Billy Walker's right elbow. As he turned to address David on his left, his right arm was moved carelessly, and the decanter was jolted from its place. It poised for a second, balanced on its bottom edge, and fell over the side of the table toward the floor. But the time, brief as it was, had been sufficient for action on the part of Sacks. Naturally of exceeding rapidity of movement, although he held this under restraint ordinarily, so that he appeared rather lingward than otherwise, an instantaneous responsiveness of his body to any command of the will had been cultivated by the years of exercise at the piano. So now, on the instant when he perceived the touch of Billy's elbow to the decanter, he darted in a single step from his seat to a position behind Mrs. West's chair with arm outstretched, and in the same second his nimble fingers had closed on the neck of the falling decanter, to which they clung tenaciously. Before he could again straighten himself, there came a thud against the east wall of the dining-room, with it the sharp crack of a rifle, fired from close at hand. Sacks stood erect, stared dumbfounded at the others. They stared back at him, wordless for the moment, stupefied. Each looked at first one and then another, unable to surmise as to what had come upon them. It was masters who finally broke the oppressive silence. The engineer's face was of a dead white, and as he spoke he tugged nervously at the luxuriant mustache. Some hunters been mighty careless, he declared, and he smiled, rather feebly, on Margaret, who had looked up at the sound of his voice. He sure was some careless, agreed David, who, at times, relapsed into an early dialect. Shooed and promiscuous like. He goggled at the startled company through his thick lenses. Fourth with a babble broke forth a confusion of exclamations in which were voiced alarm, wonder, and anger. It was Sacks, still on his feet, who first bethought himself of the thud heard from the direction of the east wall. At once he went to the sideboard, which was against the wall on that side. Only a brief search was necessary to reveal the hole which the bullet had pierced in the top drawer of the sideboard. Sacks uttered an ejaculation that brought the others crowding about him. He exhibited the opening left by the bullet's passing, then pulled out the drawer, and found the missile itself embedded in the back. Roy and David, who had become familiar with deadly weapons on the frontier of the Northland, dug out the bullet, and immediately proceeded to learn discourse annant its character and the calibre of the rifle from which it had been sent. Billy Walker took no interest in this discussion, and, having stood on his feet for a longer time than was his custom, returned to his seat at the table, where he disposed himself with a sigh of relief. The ladies, too, went back to their places, but Sacks, David, and Roy, with masters, ran out of the cottage to search for the person who had fired the shot. From the place in which the bullet had lodged, it was evident that the rifle had been fired from some point on the ridge back of the cottage, and up this the four took their way, scattering as they went to cover a line of considerable length. They made a pretty thorough examination, but came on nothing to indicate who the culprit might have been. The underbrush was thick along the slope, yet the range of space shown by the direction of the bullet was so small that they were enabled to beat the coverts with completeness. In the end, it was the general agreement that some hunter had fired at a squirrel on the slope, probably in ignorance that a dwelling lay beyond the screen of foliage. Afterward, he had gone on his way, without any realization of possible peril from the shot. The dusk was falling ere they abandoned the hunt, and started on their return to the house. It was just before they reached the cottage that David, who was blessed with more humor than our most, threw back his head, and laughed long and heartily with the mellow peals that made those who hurt him usually laugh for sheer sympathy before inquiring the cause of his mirth. At the sound, Sax and Roy smiled expectantly, but Masters only looked on curiously. There's a bit of comedy in this near tragedy, David explained, after he had put a period to his merriment. When you get back to the house, Sax old man, he went on more seriously. It's up to you to get down on your marrow bones and say thank you to your indolent friend, Billy Walker. Why? Sax demanded an astonishment. For the simple reason that he came all fired close to saving your life. In fact, I haven't any doubt that he actually did save it. If not that, he saved you from a nasty wound. I don't understand yet, Sax said, perplexed. It's just this, David explained. From the location of the bullet in the sideboard, I'm strongly of the opinion that you were exactly in the line of it, so that, if you had been sitting in your place at the table, you would have had it cleaned through the chest. You jumped to catch the decanter Billy knocked off the table with his elbow. That movement on your part saved you. It was Billy's awkwardness that caused your action, so it's up to you to thank him for saving your life. And, as a matter of fact, though I laughed, it's not exactly a subject for mirth. Sax's expression had grown very grave as he listened. There comes always to the normal man a shock on realizing the immanence of death for himself. The fact that the peril is past alters the nature of the shock, but it hardly lessens it. So, in the present instance, the young man, whose great risk was thus suddenly brought home to him, felt the thrill of deep emotion in which thankfulness for the fate that had intervened in his behalf was strong. He said nothing for a few moments, nor did Roy, who, in his turn, was affected as he understood the danger that had menaced his friend. Masters uttered an ejaculation, which was indeterminate as to meaning. They found the others still in the dining room, and immediately learned that Billy Walker was quite willing to sacrifice his modesty on the altar of fact, for he greeted their return with a roaring statement. Sox, my boy, I saved your life, and I hope you'll do me credit. From a study of the range of the trajectory of the bullet I have learned that, had you been in your place at the table, the bullet would have penetrated your breast at a vital point. My clumsiness was the first cause of your escape, examine for yourself. He waved a hand toward the sideboard. Sox, his face still grave, nodded ascent. I appreciate it, Billy, he said, and I'll not forget it, you may be sure. Dave, too, thought of it. Poo! No thanks to me, Billy declared, embarrassed by the emotion in his friend's voice. It was only by accident that I interfered, not by volition. I know, Sox agreed. But the fact remains that you were the instrument of salvation, and that is what I shall always remember. He looked toward Margaret West as he spoke, and saw that her face was very pale. He wondered how much of that pallor, if indeed any of it, had been caused by his own peril. For a fleeting second the girl's limpid blue eyes met his. Then they were veiled by the thick lashes. He found himself unable to read the meaning that had laid in them. He went to his chair, seated himself, and afterward twisted about to mark the precise line in which the bullet had passed. There could be no manner of doubt. Its course had been such that he could have escaped only by a miracle, had he been in his place. There could have been only a slight variation in the direction of the bullet, dependent on the position of the marksman. That variation could by no means have been great enough to save him from a grave, probably a mortal wound. Saxe shuddered as the narrowness of his escape was again, and thus visibly, born in on his consciousness. He looked about the cheery room and into the faces of the others with a sort of wonder in the realization that he was still of the quick, not of the dead. The wine of life took on new flavor. His gaze went again to Margaret. All went into the music room presently, still talking of the event that had been so close to tragedy. All except May Thurston. Without attracting any attention, she quietly slipped away from the others into the out-of-doors. There are times when one finds it well nigh impossible to analyze the workings of the mind, and it was so with this girl tonight. Suspicion had come to her. Suspicion, sudden, terrible, irresistible. And she knew not whence it came. She fought against it in an effort of reason, but she fought in vain. She could not flee its clutch, strive as she would. In the end she made abject surrender, and fled forth into the night to learn whether Suspicion taught her truth or a lie. May Thurston was a girl of much more than average intelligence. Native shrewdness had been sharpened by years of association with men of ability, to whom her secretarial skill had made her valuable. She had drawn from them something besides her weakly stipend. She had assimilated a faculty for logical deductions made with lightning swiftness, which is not characteristic of women, and is rare among men. Often, in fact, its possessor confuses it with intuition, because the rapidity of such automatic reasoning is so great that its method readily escapes the attention of the one using it. In the present instance, the girl in her distress was totally unconscious of the fact that she had reasoned with exactness from a group of circumstances within her knowledge. Yet this was the case, and to such reasoning, doubtless, rather than to intuition, was the strength of her suspicion due. Intuitive perception she had to the full, and to it, it is likely, she owed some measure of the belief that now obsessed her, but its origin had been in the reasoning power alone, which she had exercised involuntarily, even unconsciously. The first fact on which she builded had been the expression of terror on Master's face when she chanced upon him in the wood at dawn. Now she could no longer believe that fancy had played a trick on her. On the contrary, she was sure of the emotion he had shown, and, too, sure of the sinister significance of it. It meant guilt. Master's was not a timid girl to be filled with fright at the unheralded coming of another in the forest. She believed, rather, that he possessed an abundance of physical courage, whatever his lack of the moral. Nevertheless, at her call he had shown abject fear. The signs of it had vanished in the twinkling of an eye, but they had been present for an appreciable length of time. Since there could have been nothing else to cause him alarm in that place, this must have been the fear of discovery, which only guilt could explain. What that guilt might be, it were easy to guess. If one took thought of the event that had so recently befallen, where death had been avoided by the merest hazard of fate, May did not formulate her reasoning in such wise, but this was the nature of it. From it she drew the conclusion that drove her forth alone into the night. As she went her way up the slope, intuition whispered that the hideous suspicion was truth. The moon was just thrusting its bulk of gold over the wooded ranges of the eastern shore, and its radiance flooded the ascent, up which she mounted with a step that was unfaltering, though the heart was sick within her. She could see very clearly, and guided her course without hesitation toward the point at which she had encountered the engineer. When she reached the bit of underbrush in which she had stopped short on first hearing masters, May peered through the purple dusk, and readily made out the outline of the sapling beneath which the engineer had stood when she accosted him. She at once made her way quickly to a position immediately below its canopy of branches. It was well foliageed, yet not so thickly as to prevent her from observing freely. If, at this moment, anyone had asked her what she expected to find there aloft, she would have been utterly unable to make a coherent explanation, and indeed it must have been instinct, rather than reason, that now guided her in the search, for, without understanding in the least why she did so, she stared up into the branches with fixed intensity, her heart beating like the sound of battle drums in her ears. Presently, then, her gaze fastened on a line of shadow, high among the branches, and on this she held her attention concentrated, though there seemed nothing in the appearance to justify an absorption so complete. It was, perhaps, instinct again that caused her to feel the importance of this variation from the green black of the foliage, whether that, or the leaping processes of reason, she was impelled to search out the meaning of the shadow aloft among the branches. She laid hold of the lower branches, and easily swung up into the tree. May mounted swiftly until the shadow was within reach of her hand, yet she could not distinguish it clearly on account of a branch, which held a screen of leaves between it and the moon. Putting out her hand, she bent the bow aside, so that the light shone on the thing that had drawn her to the spot. She saw a rifle. The weapon had been fastened to the trunk of the sapling, at a point where one of the larger branches made a fork. The stalk had been secured in a position that permitted easy adjustment by means of two ropes, which ran to other branches, so placed that tightening cords would vary the mark toward which the rifle was aimed. Masters, from his technical skill as an engineer, would have found little difficulty in making the arrangement to his satisfaction. May realized at a glance that there could be no doubt as to the actuality. Hartley Masters had deliberately attempted to murder Sax Temple. A wave of loathing swept over her as she grasped this final confirmation of the hideous thing she had suspected. In the flood of abhorrence for the crime, the last remnants of her love were overwhelmed. Only one thing baffled her in the understanding of the event. She saw clearly that, the position of the seats in the dining room being familiar to the engineer, it had been simplicity itself for him so to dispose the rifle in the tree as to have it trained on the spot occupied by Temple's breast as the unsuspecting victim sat at table. It was hardly likely, moreover, that any other would be exposed to peril, since the smallness of the room was such that there was not sufficient space between sideboard and chairs on that side of the table for Mrs. Dustin to pass in her service of the meals. The deliberate malignity of the plot was appealing to May, as she considered this naked revelation of it. She was pallid, shuttering, nauseated. The one thing that puzzled her for a time was the means by which the criminal had been able to secure the discharge of the rifle in his absence. It was plain that he had devised some method, so that he himself should be above suspicion in the possession of a perfect alibi. It would, of course, be observed for anyone to bring an accusation against him, when it was the common knowledge of all that had been seated at the very table with the one against whom the attempt had been made. Yet she failed to penetrate the method employed by him in firing the piece, and for a long time she puzzled over this in vain. Then, at last, her eyes were caught by a fragment of cord which hung from the trigger of the rifle. A brief examination showed her that the loose end was charred by fire, and immediately she guessed the nature of the device that had been employed. She knew that masters in his work had had much experience with explosives, and, in consequence, with fuses of various sorts. She understood on reflection that he had used in this instance a fuse of such length as to permit his lighting it a long time before the moment of firing. Afterward, he had been able to leave the rifle unattended, confident that at the instant designed by him it would be fired automatically by the burning of the fuse. But, a minute later, it occurred to her that the trigger required to be pulled backward in order to discharge the weapon. The parting of the string she had discovered could by no means affect this. She had let the obscuring branch swing back into place the while she meditated. Now she again thrust it out of the way, so that the light shone in brightly, as she bent to another scrutiny of the rifle. Her investigation was instantly rewarded, for she perceived a coil of spring which ran from the trigger to one of the branches. Its blackness had hidden it from her eyes hitherto. The discovery made all clear. The cord had held the trigger forward in its usual place, acting against the power of the spring. Then the burning of the string by the fuse had left the trigger unprotected against the pole of the spring, which, suddenly effective, had fired the rifle. The ingenuity of the scheme confounded the girl, as she sat staring at the evidences of treachery. Yet, in that moment of anguish, she was moved to murmur a prayer of thankfulness that the knowledge of her lover's character had come to her in time to save her life from misery and degradation as his wife. After a long time crouched there in the tree, maybe stirred herself slowly and clambered down, leaving the rifle as she had found it, with the bit of charred string hanging, and the spring holding the trigger pulled, as it had been at the moment of the shot. It did not occur to her that it might be wiser to carry away these proofs of attempted murder. Indeed, in that first understanding of the guilt of masters, she was too distraught to think clearly. She could only feel the vicarious shame that was hers by reason of him to whom she had accorded her love. Nor did she just then speculate much as to the exact motive that had actuated the engineer. She took it for granted that he had been influenced to his course by motives of greed, as was the fact in the main. She supposed that he had thought the murder of Saks Temple would cause a delay in the search, by which he might profit to the extent of finding the treacher himself. It did not occur to her that an older and more primitive passion than greed, even, one more savage, too, might have driven him on to the crime. In her horrified amazement over the deed itself, she quite forgot the jealousy that had sprung in her heart by reason of her lover's devotion to Margaret West. Yet, at that very moment, the man who had just driven in vain to redden his hands with the blood of a fellow creature, was with Margaret West in the bowered nook of the shore, pouring forth the story of his love in passionate phrases. May passed a sleepless night, wearying her brain in a futile endeavour to see her path clearly. She felt that, for the sake of what had been, she could not bring herself to accuse masters before the others, or even privately, to his face. Yet, her manifest duty lay in some step that should prevent another effort by him. She was convinced that he would dare no more, when aware of the fact that there was a witness to bear testimony as to his guilt, and in this she probably reasoned justly. In the end she decided to write him a note, informing him as to her knowledge, and warning him against further pursuit of his evil plans, or of herself. She would have the missive and readiness to hand to him on the occasion of his first appearance at the cottage. When she had thus determined it was time to dress, for the day was two hours old. As soon as she was clad with her accustomed nicety, she wrote the letter to the engineer, and then descended to breakfast, pale and won, with heavy shadows under her eyes. But vastly relieved that, at last, she had reached a decision as to her conduct of the affair. The letter thus prepared was not destined for delivery that day. Masters did not appear at the cottage. As a matter of fact, even his egotism was convinced of the sincerity and unchangeable-ness of Margaret West's rejection of his suit. He found to his despair and wrath that the girl was totally irresponsive to his most ardent pleadings. The disappointment to him was the keener because it was so wholly unexpected. The girl had shown pleasure in his society from the first, and he had anticipated an easy victory, despite his jealousy of sacks. Nevertheless, she repulsed him with the finality not to be denied. His failure was the more exasperating to him by reason of the fact that the cause baffled his every effort of understanding. The truth of the matter lay in a paradox concerning magnetism. Masters possessed in an unusual degree the magnetism of sex. At the outset, Margaret had felt this, without in the least apprehending the nature of the attraction exerted on her. She attributed it, rather to his handsome face and buoyant manner, allied with his undoubted cleverness. Later on, as the man's passion for her developed, this same force in him, which had charmed in its subtler manifestations, became offensive to her sensitiveness. Still without any suspicion of the cause, she felt herself repelled, where before she had been attracted, by so much the more as his desire waxed and was revealed, by so much the more he grew repulsive. In the end he became altogether detestable to her, and in dismissing him she made her feeling plain. So Masters did not come that day to the cottage, and the note that lay warm on May's bosom was undelivered. Yet his dual lack of success in love and in murder did not suffice to quench the spirit of the man. Greed and passion inflamed his hatred of the rival who threatened to destroy his hopes. As he went from Margaret at her bidding, his brain was already busy with new schemes by which to possess himself of the miser's gold and of the woman he loved. The first step towards such consummation must be the death of Sax Temple. He was furious against the fate that had saved his enemy at the first trial. He was determined that at the second there should be no escape. The night following that on which the shooting had occurred, Roy Morton passed through an experience that afforded him grounds for apprehension, although he kept the affair secret for a time, in the confident expectation of making further discoveries without assistance from his friends. It was about two o'clock in the morning when he suddenly awakened out of a sound sleep. He attributed this awakening to a subtle warning from his never sleeping sixth sense. Nevertheless, it is a fact that, in the course of an adventurous career, he had acquired the habit of sleeping very lightly, so that he might be aroused instantly by the slightest sound of an unwanted sort, and it is probable that, on this occasion, some noise disturbed him. Be that as it may, he abruptly found himself brought awake and listening intently. There was no sound anywhere within the cottage. Through the open window came the rhythmic chant of myriad insects, the rustling of leaves caressed by the night wind. Nothing more. Roy was inclined to believe that he had been aroused for no adequate cause. Yet he was disinclined to dismiss the warning of his precious sixth sense without further investigation. He got out of bed, threw a bathrobe over his pajamas, and set forth on a tour of investigation. There was still some moonlight shining through the windows of the hall, by which he was able to assure himself that nothing extraordinary was visible, nor did he hear any unusual sound. He descended into the lower hall, and there, too, his examination failed to show ought amiss. He moved with great caution in order to avoid giving warning of his presence to a possible intruder, and peered into the office and the dining-room. Everywhere he found all in order. He betook himself finally to the door of the music-room, which he found almost closed, but not quite. He pushed it open with much care, and, bending forward, looked into the room. On the instant, his eyes were attracted by a light that shone clearly against the east wall of the room. By this illumination he perceived a man who knelt holding a pocket torch in his left hand, while his right was thrust into an opening in the wall. Roy Morton stared in unqualified amazement. For the moment his interest was centered on the aperture in the wall of the room, rather than on the man who knelt on the floor before it, with his arm thrust into the recess up to the shoulder. In that instant Roy was seized with the conviction that he had stumbled upon the treasure of Abernethy by means of a munition from his sixth sense, and his heart was filled with gladness, both for the sake of his friend's fortune, thus at last secured, and for the sake of his own pride in being the active agent in that consummation. He had no doubt whatever that the man crouched on the floor was master's, though the face was unrecognizable in the shadow. He even suffered a little pang of jealousy that the fellow should have succeeded in discovering the golden treasury, while he and his friends had so signally failed. He comforted wounded vanity, however, with the trite reflection that all is well that ends well. It seemed, indeed, that the affair had now become simplicity itself, since there remained only to watch the operations of the thief, and ultimately to possess himself of the gold in his friend's behalf. It appeared to the observer that the position of the man on the floor left him subject to great disadvantage under attack, and that, therefore, it were wise not to delay action. Roy desired to capture the marauder single-handed for the sake of his own greater glory. He had no question as to his ability to overcome the engineer in a hand-to-hand contest, despite the fellow's excellent physique. With the idea of taking his enemy by surprise, he pushed the door farther ajar to make space for a leap forward. Notwithstanding his caution, the hinges creaked with a sudden, harsh noise, which crashed through the silence of the night. In the same second, Roy sprang. At the sound of the opening door, the torch had clicked into darkness. There was the slithering of rubber-shod feet across the floor. As Roy came upon emptiness where had been the man, he heard the rustling of the drawn shade of a window. He saw dimly against the outer light the silhouette of the thief in the opening. Before he could move, it had vanished. He was after it with all speed, but by the time he stood on the ground outside, he could neither see nor hear ought to give an idea as to the direction of the flight. He went forward blindly, moving here and there haphazard, pausing often to listen. There was no reward to his efforts, and after a few minutes, realizing the uselessness of longer search, he returned to the cottage where he entered the open window. It was just as he dropped to the floor that a cheering thought came to Roy, the man had carried away nothing in his flight. At the moment of the door's creaking, the hand had been withdrawn from the cavity within the wall, and it had been empty. Evidently, the depredator had been interrupted just when he had succeeded in coming on the secret place of the gold. As he realized this, Roy went forward quickly in the direction of the piano lamp, found matches, made a light, and turned eagerly toward the recess in the wall. As he knelt in the place so recently occupied by that other visitor, there was light enough to see clearly, and he beheld the safe set behind the wane scotting. The steel doors stood ajar. The first glance showed that the receptacle was empty. Amazement was Roy's dominant emotion for the first few moments. It gave place to Chagrin. He strove to disbelieve the evidence of his eyes, but disbelief was impossible. The safe was empty. He thrusts his hand within, and felt about carefully, even as the man had done, only to find nowhere so much as a scrap of paper that might have held a clue. The shock of the disappointment stunned him. For a long time he sat before the opening in the wall, squatting motionless on his haunches, nursing a swiftly rising rage. Roy stood up at last, with an ejaculation of disgust. Then curiosity laid hold on him, and he began a careful examination of the vault's mechanism. He pushed the inner doors of steel shut, but without turning the handle to shoot the bolt. Afterward he scrutinized the portion of the wane scotting that was swung outward to reveal the safe. He moved it to and fro, a little way slowly, finding that it was very delicately balanced, so that it responded to the lightest touch. He inspected the bolts with which it was fitted, and sought to understand exactly the method of their operation, but this persistently escaped him, notwithstanding his knowledge of mechanical appliances. It was while he was pulling at one of the bolts that the impetus of his effort sent the section of wane scotting into its usual place as a part of the wall. Roy tried to catch it in order to prevent its closing, but he was just too late. He tugged at a projection of the carving, only to find that the masked door resisted his strength. He realized that the bolts had bent thrust into their sockets by some device automatic in the act of closing. Greatly annoyed he began a hunt for the secret spring by which the operation of the bolts must be controlled. In this he failed. Try as he would. The wane scotting rested there before him in an immobility beyond measure, exasperating. He went over the entire surface with painstaking care, pressing or pulling at each hollow or projection, and always there was the same irritating lack of response. Roy, with his chin thrust forward belligerently, toiled on in countless futile experiments, only to confess defeat. He was worn with fatigue from the monotonous labour when at last a distant sound startled him, and he looked around to discover that day had come. Fearful lest he be discovered there, he fled to his room, disgusted by the fiasco. For the first time in his life he sneered at that delusive faculty the sixth sense. Chapter 13 The Clue To the astonishment of Roy Morton and May Thurston, this day also passed without the appearance of the engineer at the cottage. The girl, at first experiencing some alarm over this protracted absence, was afterward filled with relief, when it occurred to her that masters was keeping away because he had finally abandoned his evil intentions. She felt convinced that the failure of his attempt to murder Temple had brought him to realization of the highnessness of his conduct. The thought afforded her great satisfaction, since it relieved her of any necessity for action against him. The change in the situation so cheered her that she accepted with animation Roy's invitation to walk, and the two passed a particularly agreeable hour in strolling through the woods, finding each topic of conversation charming, and almost forgetting that such in one as the engineer encumbered the earth. There came another development in the evening, when the four friends were smoking and chatting, as was their custom after the ladies had retired for the night. They were in the music room with sacks at the piano, where he had been playing from time to time. Now, however, he had ceased and rested motionless, with his eyes fixed on the sheet of manuscript left by Abernethy, in a wearisome wandering as to the message that might lie concealed within that bear presentment of the song of gold, as he had come to call the composition. Billy Walker had steadfastly maintained his belief that the clue to the treasure was hidden there. In sacks was impressed by the idea, although his reason declared it folly. Presently, Billy aroused himself from the luxury of the Moorish chair, where he had been communing within especially black cigar, heaved himself erect with a groan, and crossed the room to the piano. He stood for a little while in silence, staring down at the written page on the rack. What's that? he demanded. He pointed to the three measures that stood alone at the head of the sheet. The phrase to which Billy Walker pointed was scrawled in a fashion that was rather slovenly as compared with the remainder of the manuscript. Hitherto, in spite of the many times he had studied the manuscript, sacks had given small heed to this fragment of writing, which preceded the song of gold. Now, however, at his friend's instigation, he examined it with scrupulous care before he spoke. Then he shook his head in discouragement as he struck the notes on the keyboard. It doesn't mean anything, Billy, he declared. But what's it there for if it doesn't mean anything? The other persisted. Why? sacks answered. I suppose it's simply that the old man had some sort of an idea, and jotted down a note concerning it. You see, it's at the top of the page. He did nothing more with it. Afterward, he used the same sheet to write the gold song on. He was a miser, you know. Yes, I know, Billy conceded. All the same. I think, in this instance, he would have been comparatively extravagant. I still believe that the bit there has some significance. Sacks shook his head emphatically. It can't mean anything, he repeated drearily. He was fast yielding to discouragement. For a long minute the two were silent, regarding the manuscript intently, with knit brows. Then, of a sudden, Billy's rough voice boomed forth a question. Aren't there letters on a staff of music? What are the letters there? Sacks smiled in some disdain. Much good may they do you, he said, and his tone was sarcastic. The letters are B, E, D, A, C. Might be a word in Magyar, for all I know. It isn't from any language more common, I fancy. Billy snorted indignantly. It's not altogether impossible that it should be a word from some language or other, he answered stoutly, but we'll investigate it more closely on an English basis first. No, what exactly? Does that Italian word mean? There over the music. And what's it doing there? Anyhow. Sacks laughed outright at the utter simplicity of the question from the musician's standpoint. It's a word to guide the player in his interpretation, he replied. It means that this particular phrase should be played with great slowness. Billy pondered this statement for a time, then vented a lusty sigh of disappointment. Presently, however, his expression took on animation again, for curiosity had hit on a new point of interest. What are those two vertical lines doing there in the middle? He asked eagerly. Sacks shrugged his shoulders resignedly. They too mean nothing, absolutely nothing, he exclaimed. They're in the same class as Bidak. According to my theory concerning this affair, Billy asserted with an air of dogmatism, you are wrong and thus dismissing, one after another, the possibilities of the situation. Now we have before us a manuscript, which is undoubtedly the work of the man who left this gold to you, if you could find it. He explicitly stated in his communication to you that the clue to the hiding place was clear enough. You might infer, since the money was left you in this fashion, that the clue would be of a musical sort. He was a musician. Music was his one specialty. It is also your own specialty. It is, then, the most natural thing in the world to suppose that, in one way or another, music would play a chief part in this matter. Following the sequence of facts, we come next to one that follows logically in the line of argument. For we come upon a piece of music, which is in manuscript. It is, actually, we are convinced, a piece composed by the late Mr. Abernethy. We have ascertained from his secretary that it is written in his own handwriting. Finally, we are sure that it is the only thing coming directly from him that there is in the house, which offers by its individuality a possibility of having a cryptic meaning of the sort required by us in the prosecution of the search. I repeat my firm belief that in this page of music lies the clue to the late Mr. Abernethy's secret. If I am right, then any single character on this sheet may be of vital importance. You sneer at Birak, which at first glance seems jibberish and nothing more. There remains the possibility, nevertheless, that it may have a meaning of prime importance to you. A fortune may depend on your learning the meaning of that word. Don't dismiss it after just one glance. Don't sneer at it. And those two vertical lines. You say they are void of purport. The fact is that they don't belong there. From your musical standpoint. Well, they're there. Notwithstanding, the late Mr. Abernethy put them there. Perhaps they stood for something to him, in spite of the fact that they don't to you. Anyhow, don't sneer at them yet. Wait, at least, until you've really studied them. As far as our present knowledge goes, this paper must hold the clue. I tell you, it's worth working on. Hard. The harsh, sonorous voice in this long harangue had soon cut short the disultery chat between Roy and David, who had listened almost from the beginning with attention, while smiling a little at the earnestness of the speaker in pursuing his argument. Well, Billy, David remarked, you're the one to work out the problem on logical lines. You've told the rest of us often enough that we can't reason. The other two nodded ascent, smiling cheerfully on the nonplussed oracle. I'm horribly handicapped by my ignorance of music, he confessed, Riley. Then his rough features settled into lines of resolve, and his voice fairly roared in the echoing room. But, by the Lord, I'll do it. I'll work that thing out, if I have to learn music first. There came a shout of laughter from the three. The vision of Billy Walker thus engaged was too ludicrous. Notwithstanding their merriment, there came no relaxation of the set purpose in the speaker's face. It was evident that he was wholly sincere in his announcement. Indeed, no sooner had the mirth exhausted itself than he craved a first lesson. Tell me about the letters that are on the staff. He besought sacks, who good-naturedly complied, with a smile still on his lips. Then that's all the letters there are in musical notation, Billy exclaimed, when the instructor paused. There was distinct disappointment in his voice. Only A, B, C, D, E, F, G. That's bad. Yet there are two vowels, A and E, and E is the most important vowel. He fell silent, standing move-less before the piano, with his gaze fixed on the manuscript in a brown study. Bedak, he muttered, after a little, and sacks, hearing, smiled again. And those vertical lines, he mused aloud. Sacks kindly volunteered some information as to the purpose served by bars to separate the measures. When he ceased, Billy propounded a question, which was an affirmation. Then there is a measure with nothing in it. Oh, in a way, sacks replied. Only, this isn't really a measure. It's merely a mistake the old man happened to make. That's all. Why isn't it a measure? came the crisp demand. Because, if it were really meant for a measure, it would contain something, either notes or rests, or both. You may think you're lucky stars I'm not a musician, Billy declared, and he snorted loudly in contempt. You're hide-bound, so to speak, by the technique of your art. Think, heaven, I have an open mind. Because the thing is different, you assert that it can't possibly have any meaning. For my part, on the contrary, the fact that it's different is just why I suspect it to be of importance. I give the late Mr. Abernethy credit for some cleverness. Also, I deem him to have been capable of a bit of originality. The manner of his will suggests that possibility, at least, if he amused himself by evolving a musical cipher. Oh, warrant that he didn't construct a meertonic so far, whatever that may be, which any piano-banger could sing at sight to this tune here. I've always thought that much knowledge of technique was deadening. Now I know it. The critic knows technique perfectly. The genius never does. Here, I'll take it. You'll do no good muddling over it. With this pronouncement, Billy Walker rudely leaned forward and snatched the sheet of music from the rack, and stalked away with it to the Morris chair, leaving Sacks well content with such ending of the Inquisition. It was a half hour later. Sacks had joined Roy and David, and the three were talking pleasantly of many things as they smoked. Throughout the whole time, Billy had remained huddled in the easy chair. His cigar, unlighted, clenched firmly between his teeth. His fierce, shaggy brows drawn down. His little, dull eyes set steadfastly on the sheet of music, which lay on his knees. Occasionally, there sounded an unintelligible mumbling from his lips, or a raucous grunt of dissatisfaction. Then, with disconcerting abruptness, the scholar lifted his head, ran his hands roughly through the bristling, unkempt thatch of hair, and exploded into gargantuan laughter. The three regarded him in perplexity, smiling a little under the contagion of his merriment. He gave no heed to their questions for a full minute, but continued his rollicking mirth. Well, I've made the first step toward the treasure, he announced, at last. The rolling volume of his voice was more thunderous even than its want. Came a chorus of ejaculations and questions from the others, as they sprang to their feet and crowded about him. Billy waved his hand imperiously for silence. But it's only the first step, remember? he warned. The first step. And, incidentally, it proves that I was right about the value of this document. He flourished the music aloft in a gesture of triumph. Tell us, tell us! was the cry. Billy regarded his friends quizzically. It's only the first step that I have taken, remember? he admonished. But, as St. Augustine said, it's the first step that counts. The miser's gold is somewhere at the bottom of the lake. There followed an interval of astounded silence. It was broken by Roy with an exclamation of bewilderment. But, he began, then he halted in confusion. He had been on the point of saying something concerning the secret vault in the music room, and had checked himself only just in time. The others, however, had given no attention to his utterance, and he sighed with relief. It had flashed on him that his own knowledge in a way corroborated the statement by Billy in as much as he found the vault empty. How? How? Sax was clamoring. David added his insistence. Billy Walker preened himself with all the pride of a great discoverer, as well he might. It was simplicity itself, he assured them. It was only necessary for me to learn music, and the matter soon became clear. Sax and the others fairly gaped at the naive assumption on the part of their friend that, in five minutes, he had mastered the art. But they did not care to question his complacency just then. Being unhampered by over-much technique, the oracle continued, with buoyant self-satisfaction. I was able to investigate with an open mind, examining all the facts. He paused to grin exultantly on the expectant trio, and then resumed his explanation. I had before me two determined facts which gave no information in themselves, but required perhaps only the addition of other facts to become significant. Now, observe this lone bit of music at the head of the page. He held up the sheet, so that the others could note the phrase at the top. The first fact of which I was possessed, Billy went on. Thanks to the tuition in music afforded me by Sax, was this, that the letters of the fragment are B E D A C, in such order. At the outset of my logical examination, I attempted variations in this order as offering the simplest solution of the puzzle. After some experimenting, I became convinced that the secret was not concealed in a changed sequence of the letters. Next then, I set myself to a consideration of the second fact. This consisted in the knowledge that the bit of music contained a measure that was not a measure, that is to say, there was the marking of a measure by two vertical lines, but nothing in that measure neither notes nor rests. This impressed me as of importance in all probability. The same fact that led Sax to disregard it led me to scrutinize it with particularity. Again Billy paused to allow his hearers a moment in which to meditate on the shrewdness of his reasoning. When he went on speaking, his voice carried a note of increased contentment. Above this measure that is no measure, this measure that is empty. I perceived a pointer of a size sufficient even to have attracted the notice of my friend here, hide bound in technique as he is, but it did not. The pointer directed attention straight to a letter. A letter placed exactly over the measure that isn't a measure because it's empty. That letter thus pointed out is L. It fitted very well into the blank place with the other letters, so where before we had only B E D A C, we now have B E D L A C. Billy ceased speaking and surveyed the others happily. Well, why don't you go on? David demanded impatiently. Billy regarded the questioner in genuine astonishment, tinged with contempt, his gaze darted to the other two, and, unrealizing that as well, were still uncomprehending, he groaned. Non-rationalizing nincompoops was his candid mutter of reprobation. Oh, well, I shall explain if it be possible to your understanding, he said gently, with an assumption of infinite patience. As you musical sharps are aware, the musical notation comprises only seven letters, namely, Oh, never mind that, sacks cried, we know. Pardon me, was the retort? You only know it as a matter of technical knowledge, not as a fact from which to reason. The point is that there's no K in the musical scale. Well, the monosyllable snapped from Roy. His face was set intently, the chin a little forward, the eyes hard. The thing is simply this, Billy answered, beaming. The late Mr. Abernethy, on account of the lack of the letter K in the musical notation, was compelled to resort to an expedient. He could not indicate the word Lake on his cipher, since he was without either L or K. He evaded the difficulty by employing the initial letter from a word of direction, Largo, which provided the necessary L, and he got around the lack of the letter K by using the French word for Lake, Locke. This fragment at the head of the sheet spells for us Bedlock. He pointed to the phrase again, as he concluded. So we have only to do a bit of translating from the French Locke into the English Lake, and then to amplify by supplying the obvious preposition and article, and the writing declares clearly the Bed of the Lake. It now remains for us to study this page, until we learn just where under the water of the Lake out there the gold is lying, somewhere, somehow this music tells. CHAPTER XIV THE EPISODE OF THE LAUNCH The clue discovered by Billy Walker was accepted without hesitation. No secret was made of the information thus obtained as the first progress in the search for the gold, and an air of excitement prevailed in and about the cottage. Jake, especially, was all agog with interest in the new development, and took an active part in the subsequent operations, since the four friends now spent much of their time on the water, hoping by some fortunate chance to come on a suggestion for further guidance. They went cruising out of sheer desperation, having no precise idea to follow until more should be learned from the manuscript. All pinned their faith to the music left by the miser. Each spent hours in study of the scrawled notes in the quest of added discovery, but all efforts were futile. Even the redoubtable Billy himself admitted humiliating defeat. Yet he was in no wise cast down by the failure of the movement. He was sure of ultimate victory for the orderly processes of reason. Roy, on the other hand, retained his confidence in the final revelation that had been foretold by his industrious sixth sense, and David shared this optimistic trust in the occult, as for Sacks, one day after day passed without a hint of new knowledge concerning the gold. He might easily have become hopeless, had it not been for the diversion of interest offered by his love affair. For now the manner of Margaret West toward him was such that sometimes he dared believe it possible to win her. May Thurston was assured by the continued absence of masters that he had abandoned further vicious effort. In this view, the girl did the indefatigable scoundrel less than justice. As a matter of fact, the engineer was very busy indeed. He had kept away from the cottage because he feared that May might have guessed his agency in the attack directed against Sacks, although he had taken the precaution to remove the rifle and its accessories from the sapling on the day after the shooting. He suspected, too, that May would learn from Margaret the truth concerning his treachery in love, in which suspicion he was quite wrong, and he deemed himself safer out of the injured girl's sight. So he kept himself hidden from the household of the cottage, while still devoting himself to malevolent schemes. Hope developed in him that he might yet win Margaret West if only Sacks were out of the path. In addition, the removal of this rival would allow him another chance, even if brief, to search for the treasure. He was determined that Sacks should die straightway. To that consummation he set himself with cold blooded ingenuity. It was on a splendid morning a week later that the four friends were taking another trip in the motorboat to examine the extreme northern end of the lake. Jake was at the steering wheel, as always, for the abundant sunken rocks and shoals forbade a stranger as pilot in these waters. Roy sat beside the boatman, as his custom was, while Sacks and David were in chairs behind, and Billy, puffing his black cigar, lounged contentedly in the stern. Sacks shook his head impatiently as the smell of gasoline, instead of the balsamic fragrance of the shore, afflicted his nostrils. He spoke of the annoyance to David, who agreed that the scent was unusually strong in the boat that day. Must be a bit of a leak somewhere, David vouchsafed. He called a question to Roy, who merely shook his head by way of answer. They wouldn't get the smell up there, anyhow. David continued to Sacks. You see, it's floating round in the builds right under us, so that we get the worst of it. Sacks had just time to wonder, without much real concern, whether or not it were quite prudent of Billy to be smoking where so large a quantity of gasoline was loose. Then the catastrophe came, came with lightning swiftness, a huge burst of flame enveloped them. In that first second of horror, common instinct driving, the five men plunged into the lake. The motorboat sped on, the engines still throbbing. Sacks, as he rose from the leap, and tossed his head to clear the water from his eyes, chanced to be facing in its direction, and could see only a swirling mass of flames darting onward toward the shore. Then a cry startled him to concern over his companions. He turned quickly, and, to his relief, saw four heads appearing above the water. In the same instant relief yielded to fear, for one of them vanished below the surface. It was David. Sacks, who was a practised swimmer, shot forward to the rescue in a powerful racing stroke. As he raised his head from the water a moment later, horror gripped him anew. Now only two heads were showing. Billy had disappeared. But his emotion changed to delight as he covered the short distance between him and the place where David had sunk, for suddenly two heads rose above the water. He saw David supported in the arms of Billy, who was treading water in a lazy fashion of his own. That was the end of the actual peril. Sacks aided David on the side opposite Billy, and the two had no difficulty, since David, though unable to swim, retained his coolness, leaving himself limp to the control of his rescuers. The land was less than a hundred yards away, and thither the five wrecked men went, and clambered out upon the shore, bedraggled, dripping, scorched, half angry, half dazed by the suddenness of it all, but wholly thankful for their escape from the dual dangers of fire and flood. The chief mourner was Jake, who lamented with tears over the loss of the boat he had learned to love. Presently the others began to rally Billy Walker on his unsuspected skill in the water. When in the world did you ever learn to swim? Roy demanded. You didn't know how when you were in the university? No such thing. Billy retorted, huffily. I could swim before I was seven years old. But you never did swim during all the time I've known you, sacks exclaimed, astounded by the revelation. Certainly not, was the crisp reply. Why should I? Each person has just so much energy to draw on for his use, for all purposes whatever. I don't fritter my energy away on trifles, like swimming for mere amusement. I prefer to employ my vital forces in intellectual pursuits. He paused to grin maliciously at the others. That's where I differ from you, chaps. Yes, but when the occasion arises, why, then I swim. Roy and Jake made a trip to the runes of the motorboat, which had beached itself on the north shore, a quarter of a mile to the east of the point reached by the men. Meantime the three others started at a leisurely pace to the west, skirting the shore until they rounded the lake, and turned to the south on their way to the cottage. The rate of progress was so slow that within a half hour Roy and Jake rejoined them, and with this completion of their number the speed was quickened. It was a full five miles to the cottage, but the sun and the breeze soon dried their clothing. The paths by which Jake led them wound through charming forest stretches, they were happy anew over the gracious gift of life. So they swung forward with free footsteps through the miles. Even Billy Walker, who ordinarily would groan if required to stroll the distance from the cottage to the boathouse, seemed for once to have put off lethargy, for he marched at the head of the procession with Jake and set the pace smartly. The full significance of the disaster was not revealed until the afternoon of the next day, when Jake returned from a second inspection of the wreck. His round, wisened face displayed evidences of excitement, and his tiny eyes were snapping as he rushed into the presence of the four friends who were taking their ease on the landing stage of the boathouse. I found out something, he announced. There was a note of savageness in his voice that puzzled the heroes. I've been up to see the shirt so, and I've found out something. He stared with gloomy eyes at Roy. I found out what caused that large leak of gas. The feed pipe was cut. You mean, Roy questioned tensely. The feed pipe was cut. Jake repeated. There was rage in his voice now. And somebody done it a purpose. Cussum. End of Chapter 14. Chapter 15 of The Lake Mystery by Marvin Dana. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 15. The Chart. It was the belief of Sax and his friends that the person guilty of the outrage against them was none other than Hartley Masters. Now, at last, Roy confided to his associates the adventure in the night when he had discovered the presence of the safe hidden within the wall. The others flouted him as he had anticipated over his failure to capture the intruder, and his subsequent inability to learn the secret of the spring in the wainscotting. They accepted without hesitation his assurance that the night prowler had been Masters, and their wrath flamed hot against the engineer, who in his later effort had not scrupled to attempt the murder of five men. They determined to take active measures against the fellow for the sake of their own safety. Roy volunteered to wage a campaign against the enemy, to seek out his whereabouts, to trail him, to get evidence against him, and finally to make him prisoner. The others, meantime, would continue their quest for further clues to the treasure. First of all, they busied themselves with hunting for the concealed safe, after its exact situation had been indicated by Roy, and three days passed in fruitless experimenting on the intricacies of the carved wainscotting. Roy visited the hamlet at the foot of the lake, where was situated the hotel in which the engineer had been a guest. He learned, to his disappointment, that Masters had taken his departure a week before. He assured himself that this departure had been a real one by inquiries at the station. Further questioning of residence elicited the information that the engineer had thereafter been seen by none. Nevertheless, Roy was far from being convinced by this information that the engineer had actually taken himself off. He was, on the contrary, almost, if not quite, certain that Masters had merely made use of the train for an ostensible departure, in order to avoid the possibility of his presence in the neighbourhood appearing as evidence against him in the event of any suspicion that might arise. Afterward, as Roy imagined, he had returned to some out-of-the-way place in the forest, where he could eat and sleep unmolested, and then spy out the land for the execution of his villainous projects. Doubtless in his employment as an engineer, he had often lived roughly, and the season of the year would make life in the open no hardship. Roy therefore set himself to a search of the countryside, hoping somewhere to chance on a trace of the enemy's camp. In this he was unsuccessful. After two days of weary tramping, it occurred to him that he could serve his purpose equally well by strolling in pleasant paths with May Thurston at his side. This improved method was adopted. Roy told the girl nothing as to his desire of finding Masters, but he told her other things aplenty, and the two of them grew daily more content. It was Margaret West who finally hit on the spring that moved the Wayne Scotting, for Sacks had let her know the story told by Roy, and she had amused herself by seeking to master the mystery. Actually, beyond her satisfaction in having succeeded where the others had failed, nothing was accomplished since the vault was empty, and no hint as to the disposal of the gold could be gleaned from its bareness, yet new knowledge of the secret was soon to come. Billy Walker's pride of intellect had been aroused to the utmost by the difficulty of the task that confronted him. Hour after hour, day after day, he poured over the manuscript, of which the cryptic significance ever escaped all efforts of his ingenuity. It seemed to him that he had, in fact, scrutinized every possible aspect in which the writing might be viewed, and still the veil lay impenetrable over the mystery. He would have been in despair had he been of a humbler mind, but his intellectual egotism would not suffer him to confess defeat, even to himself. So he persisted in the struggle to solve this baffling problem, did indeed but strive the harder as the days passed. The others admitted that the difficulties were too great for their overcoming. Billy replied to their lamentations with braggart boasting that he would yet conquer. Nevertheless, at the last he owed the hint he needed to sacks. The four men were lounging on the porch of a morning. The linger of summer had grown within a few days, and the four were taking their ease. Billy Walker was crouched in the deeps of a huge chair. David sprawled on a heap of cushions. Roy stretched lazily in a hammock, reminiscent of long siestas in the Southland. Sacks alone showed any evidence of alertness. He sat erect at the head of the steps, with the manuscript of the gold song lying on his knees. Ostensibly his attention was fixed on the music. From time to time he jabbed the score impatiently with a pencil-point. But often he shot glances of longing toward the stairway, by which, sooner or later, Margaret West must descend. Silence had fallen on the group. A sense of discouragement was in the air. The only sounds were the gossiping of the English sparrows about the eaves, the faint rustling of leaves when the breeze stirred them, the distressful grunt that accompanied any change of position by Billy Walker, the wish of a match as someone lighted a fresh cigarette. The real activity was on the part of Billy, whose mind, while his body lulled, was nimbly busy over the miser's manuscript, which his imagination held visible before him. Then, presently, he craved the stimulus of a sight of the actual. He hoisted his cumbersome bulk out of the chair, and went stiffly across the veranda to where sacks sat with the music. There he stood for a minute, looking down at the notes. His beatling brows were lowering. A low rumble of displeasure came from his heavy lips. He thrust a hand vehemently through the rough shock of hair. His small eyes, with the whites tainted by jaundice, fairly glared down at the elusive script wherein lay knowledge of Abernethy's gold. Of a sudden, wonder grew on his face. Doubt, fear, hope, joy followed. He bent awkwardly, but swiftly, snatched the paper, and immediately stalked off into the cottage and up the stairs to his bedroom, without a word of explanation or apology. Sacks shrugged his shoulders, and smiled whimsically. The others paid no attention whatsoever. It was a half hour later when Billy returned to the porch. His manner was wholly changed. He was radiant with a supreme triumph of pride. The others did not look up, as he again seated himself in the easy chair. But the man was so surcharged with exultation that his mood sent its challenges vibrant to their souls. Presently one turned to stare at him, and then another, and then the third. He met their gaze with eyes that were aglow, and a smile of delight bent the coarse lips. He nodded slowly, as in answer to their mute questioning, and spoke, Well, my dilatory friends. He began genially. Your confidence in me, which has enabled you to retain your calm while yourself's accomplishing nothing, was not misplaced. After a considerable period of unremitting toil over the manuscript left for our guidance by the ingenious deceased, by the way, Sax, that song of gold, as you call it, is perfectly good music, isn't it? The three were gazing on Billy Walker with wide eyes. Their astonishment was so great that, for the moment, they did not question the leisurely manner of the sage's introduction. Instead, Sax answered the seemingly irrevolent interrogation obediently. It's perfectly good music, in the sense you mean. Yes. Then, Billy declared, I take off my hat to the late Mr. Abernethy. The reason for this burst of enthusiasm on my part lies in the fact that out of a perfectly good piece of music he has made also a perfectly good chart for our guidance to the treasurer. As to the chart, I myself speak as an authority since I have found it. Billy regarded his friends with an expression of intense self-satisfaction. Roy was sitting up in the hammock now, with his jaw thrust forward a little, and his eyes hard in the excitement of the minute. David was gobbling, with his mouth open in amazement over the unexpected announcement. Sax betrayed his emotion by the tenseness of his features, the rigidity of his pose, the sparkle in his keen gray eyes. It was evident that the successful investigator was hugely enjoying the sensation he had created. He delighted in the importance of his accomplishment, gloried in the stunning effect of it on his companions. He smiled broadly, chuckled in a rumbling fashion of his own, and finally lighted one of his black cigars with irritating slowness. He rather hoped that someone might exclaim with impatience against this wanton delay, but none did. They endured the suspense in apparent calm, moveless, expectant. So, at last, Billy deigned to proceed with the account of his achievement in solving the mystery contrived by the miser. I owe the final suggestion by which I won out to Sax. He declared frankly, with inappreciative nod in his friend's direction. He, however, really deserves no credit, since what he did was merely by chance, without any intention, and would never have amounted to anything, if it hadn't been for the fact that I happened to see what he had done, and to take advantage of it in an orderly and logical way. Only I wish it understood that he served as the unconscious instrument of destiny in the matter, and as such unconscious instrument he should be recognized. Probably I should have arrived at the fact in time without his aid, but to it I owe success on this present occasion. What in the world did I do? Sax demanded an amazement. I'll explain in a minute, Billy replied. I have in mind first to exhibit this to you. He held up a sheet of paper, which he had drawn from his pocket. It was of about the size of that on which Aberneth's composition had been written. It showed two irregular lines running across it, drawn by pencil. We'll answer this, if you please. He directed. The others did so, but their bewildered expression showed that they were still unenlightened as to the bearing of the stamped diagram on the revelation concerning the hidden gold. Billy chuckled again in contemplation of their failure to comprehend. Then he brought forth a second sheet, and held it also for their inspection. In this instance the paper was turned with its greater length horizontal, and the two lines of the other sheet had been joined, so that the one irregular tracing extended over the full page. David slapped his thigh with violence. By the Lord Harry, it's a map! he cried in glee. A regular map, Billy, my boy! His eyes bulged forth until they threatened to jump from their sockets. Roy's jaw shot out a bit farther. Yes, it's a map, he agreed, and his voice was strangely gentle, as it usually was in his moments of greatest excitement. It's a map, bully for Billy! His face lighted with a charming smile, and his eyes grew soft as he turned them to the rough hewn face of the discoverer, who appeared highly gratified. Sax took the sheet of paper out of his friend's hand, and studied it with eager eyes. For the first time in days, hope leaped in his breast. Yes, it's a map, he declared, echoing the others. But I don't understand. Tell us, Billy. Billy actually preened himself, in an ungainly manner peculiarly his own, and assumed a most pedantic air, as he went forward with the explanation. Sax was sitting here, with his eyes fixed on the old man's manuscript, but with his mind elsewhere. I was here in my chair, with all the power of my brain concentrated on that same manuscript, trying to get some suggestion for working out the tingle. Was it merely restlessness under repeated failure, or was it an instinct that moved me, or just chance? Anyhow, I got up and crossed over to Sax, and stood looking down at the music, although I had every line of it clear in memory, as clear as the written page itself. But, this time, in spite of the perfect recollection I had of it, I saw something new. That's how the thing started. It was Sax's doing. Oh, do get on with the explanation, Temple urged. What was it I did? I haven't the shadow of an idea. It's simple enough, Billy said. Just absentmindedly, you sat there with a pencil in your hand, and made ticks over certain notes. As I looked down at the sheet, my attention was especially caught by these, for the excellent reason that they had not been there before. Without any volition on my part, I stood there considering the pencil marks. Within a half-minute the great idea hit me. In the first rush, I was sure it was the right one, but I wanted to be alone to work it out. So I just swooped down on the manuscript and carried it off to my room. Now, to present the case in orderly sequence, here is what we may term exhibit A. Billy took from his pocket a third sheet, which he gave to Sax. This proved to be the original manuscript of the music with the pencil markings made by Sax. The air of Abernethy examined the page closely, but his expression of bewilderment did not pass. Roy and David left their places to look over the other's shoulder. For nearly a minute, the three held their gaze curiously on the sheet. Then, of one accord, they looked up to meet the amused glance of Billy Walker. Well, they demanded, in a single voice, you have observed the pencil marks, came the question, and the three nodded assent. This is the manner in which the manuscript had been affected by the absent-minded action of Sax. In pursuance of the idea that had come to me, Billy continued, I next made a tracing. I took a piece of tissue paper and laid it over this manuscript. I could then see quite clearly that it was easy to make the outline I wished. I started at the beginning, with the notes checked by Sax, from which I had received the hint as to what to do. I started my pencil at the first top note in the first line of the composition. Then I drew the pencil straight to the second top note, then on to the third, and so forth in order. Thus I drew an irregular line with the pencil, from one note to another, always using the highest notes. In this manner, I drew the line indicated by the first half of the music, and I liked that so well that I kept right on, and made the second irregular line, as indicated by the second half of the music. By the time this was accomplished, I was sure that I had finally got the right idea, and that our victory over the old man's cunning would be won. It was, of course, obvious that the two irregular lines I had secured should be joined in one. You have seen the result. Consider Exhibit B. Billy spread out the two papers showing the outlines he had drawn, and pointed to that containing two lines. It had this appearance. Billy completed his account of the matter with no diminution in his air of elation. Here, then, he said, waving a loft exhibit C to emphasize his meaning, I present to you the chart which the late Mr. Abernethy left us, as a guide to this spot where the treasure lies secreted. It is plain enough for even your eyes to read, I fancy. The pencil outline is to serve us as a map which we are to follow to the gold. It represents, roughly I take it, the skyline of the country roundabout, as I had only just completed the drawing before I came back to you. I've had no time to compare it with the hills hereabouts, but I'm certain nonetheless. It's a matter of inference. There remains now only the task of finding out what marks the precise point of the hiding place on this line. It seems to me that some one of you with knowledge of music ought to work out that trifling detail. If not, of course I can do it, in time. End of Chapter 15