 The Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend Shuller Combs was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet primeness of dress, he was nonetheless in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow lodger to distraction. Not that I am in the least conventional in that respect myself. The rough and tumble work in Afghanistan, coming on the top of natural behemianism of disposition, has made me rather more lax than befits a medical man. But with me there is a limit, and when I find a man who keeps his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe-end of a Persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jackknife into the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin to give myself a virtuous heirs. I have always held to that pistol practice should be distinctly an open air pastime. And when Holmes, in one of his queer humours, would sit in an armed chair with his hair-trigger and a hundred boxer cartridges, and proceeded to adorn the opposite wall with a patriotic V.R. done in bullet-box, I felt strongly that neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was improved by it. Our chambers were always full of chemicals and of criminal relics which had a way of wandering into unlikely positions, and of turning up in the butter-dish, or in even less desirable places. But his papers were my great crux. He had a horror of destroying documents, especially those which were connected with his past cases, and yet it was only once in every year or two that he would muster energy to dock it and arrange them. For, as I have mentioned somewhere in these incoherent memoirs, the outbursts of passionate energy when he performed of the remarkable feats with which his name is associated were followed by reactions of lethargy, during which he would lie about with his violin and his books, hardly moving, save from the sofa to the table. Thus, month after month, his papers accumulated until every corner of the room was stacked with bundles of manuscript, which were on no account to be burned, and which could not be put away, saved by their owner. On winter's night, as we sat together by the fire, I ventured to suggest to him that, as he had finished pasting extracts into his commonplace book, he might employ the next two hours in making our room a little more habitable. He could not deny the justice of my request, so with a rather rueful face he went off to his bedroom, for which he returned presently pulling a large tin box behind him. This he placed in the middle of the floor, and squatting down upon a stool in front of it, he threw back the lid. I could see that it was already a third full of bundles of paper tied up with red tape into separate packages. "'There are cases enough here, Watson,' said he, looking at me with mischievous eyes. "'I think that if you knew all that I had in this box you would ask me to pull some out instead of putting others in.' "'These are the records of our early work, then,' I asked. "'I have often wished that I had notes of those cases.' "'Yes, my boy, these were all done prematurely before my biographer had come to glorify me.' He lifted bundle after bundle, in a tender caressing sort of way. "'They are not all successes, Watson,' said he, but there are some pretty little problems among them. He has the record of the Tarleton murders, and the case of Vambury, the wine-merchant, and the adventure of the old Russian women, and the singular affair of the aluminium crutch, as well as a full account of rickoletti of the club foot and his abominable wife, and here—and now this really is something a little reassure-shae.' He dived his arm down to the bottom of the chest, and brought up a small wooden box, with a sliding lid such as children's toys are kept in. From within he produced a crumpled piece of paper, an old-fashioned brass key, a peg of wood with a ball of string attached to it, and three rusty old discs of metal. "'Well, my boy, what do you make of this lot?' he asked, smiley at my expression. "'It is a curious collection. Very curious, and the story that hangs round it will strike you as being more curious still. These relics have a history, then? So much so that they are history. What do you mean by that?' Sherlock Holmes picked them up one by one, and laid them along the edge of the table. Then he receded himself in his chair, and looked them over with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. "'These,' said he, "'all that I have left to remind me of the adventure of the Musgrave Ritchell. I had heard him mention the case more than once, though I had never been able to gather the details. I should be so glad, said I, if you would give me an account of it.' "'And leave the letter as it is,' he cried mischievously. "'Your tightness will bear much strain, after all, Watson, but I should be glad that you should add this case to your annals, for there are points in it which make it quite unique in the criminal records of this, or I believe of any other country. A collection of my trifling achievements would certainly be incomplete which contained no account of this very singular business. You may remember how the affair of the glorious Scott, and my conversation with the unhappy man whose fate I told you of, first turned to my attention in the direction of the profession which has become my life's work. You see me now when my name has become known far and wide, and when I am generally recognized both by the public and by the official force as being a final court of appeal in doubtful cases. Even when you knew me first, at the time of the affair which you have commemorated, a study in Scarlet, I had already established a considerable, though not a very lucrative, connection. You can hardly have realized then how difficult I find it at first, and how long I had to wait before I succeeded in making any headway. When I first came up to London I had rooms in Montague Street just round the corner from the British Museum, and there I waited filling in my two abundant leisure-time by studying all those branches of science which might make me more efficient. And now and again cases came in my way, principally through the introduction of old fellow students, for during my last years at the university there was a good deal of talk there about myself and my methods. The third of these cases was that of the Musgrave Ritual, and it is to the interest which was aroused by that singular chain of events and the large issues which proved to be at stake that I traced my first strides towards the position which I now hold. Reginald Musgrave had been in the same college as myself, and I had some slight acquaintance with him. He was not generally popular among the undergraduates, though it always seemed to me that what which was set down as pride was really an attempt to cover extreme natural diffidence. In appearance he was a man of an exceedingly aristocratic type, thin, high-nosed, and large-eyed, with languid and yet corkly manners. He was indeed a sire of one of the very oldest families in the kingdom, though his branch was a cadet one which had separated from the northern Musgraves at some time in the 16th century, and had established itself in western Sussex, where the manor house of Hurlston is perhaps the oldest inhabited building in the county. Something of his birthplace seemed to cling to the man, and I never looked at his pale, keen face or the poise of his head without associating him with gray archways and mullioned windows and all the venerable wreckage of a feudal keep. Once or twice we drifted into talk, and I can remember that more than once he expressed a keen interest in my methods of observation and inference. For four years I'd seen nothing of him, until one morning he walked into my room in Montague Street. He changed little, was dressed like a young man of fashion, he was always a bit of a dandy, and preserved the same quiet suave manner which had formally distinguished him. How has all gone with you, Musgrave? I asked after we had courtily shaken hands. You probably heard of my poor father's death, said he. He was carried off about two years ago. Since then I have, of course, had the Hurlston estate to manage, and as I am a member of my district as well, my life has been a busy one. But I understand, Holmes, that you are turning to practical ends those paths with which you used to amaze us. Yes, said I, I have taken delivery by my wits. I am delighted to hear it, for your advice at present would be exceedingly valuable to me. We've had some very strange doings at Hurlston, and the police have been able to throw no light upon the matter. It is really the most extraordinary and inexplicable business. You can imagine with what eagerness I listened to him Watson for the very chance for which I had been panting during those months of inaction seemed to have come within my reach. In my inmost heart I believed that I could succeed where others failed, and now I had the opportunity to test myself. Pray let me have the details! I cried. Rachel Musgrove sat down opposite to me and lit the cigarette which I had pushed towards him. You must know, said he, that though I am a bachelor I have to keep up a considerable staff of servants at Hurlston, for it is a rambly old place, and takes a good deal of looking after. I preserve, too, and in the present months I usually have a house party so that it would not do to be short-handed. All together there are eight maids, the cook, the butler, two-footman, and a boy. The garden and the stables, of course, have a separate staff. These servants, the one who has been longest in our service, was Brunton, the butler. He was a young schoolmaster out of place when he was first taken up by my father, but he was a man of great energy and character, and he soon became quite invaluable in the household. He was a well-grown, handsome man with a splendid forehead, and though he has been with us for twenty years, he cannot be more than forty now. With his personal advantages and his extraordinary gifts, where he can speak several languages and play nearly every musical instrument, it is wonderful that he should have been satisfied so long in such a position. But I suppose that he was comfortable and lacked energy to make any change. The butler of Hurlston is always a thing that is remembered by all who visit us. But this paragon had one fault. He is a bit of a Don Juan, and you can imagine that for a man like him it is not a very difficult part to play in a quiet country district. When he was married it was all right, but since he has been a widower, we have had no end of trouble with him. A few months ago we were in hopes that he was about to settle down again, for he became engaged to Rachel Howells, our second housemaid. But he has thrown her over since then, and taken up with Janet Trugellis, the daughter of the head gamekeeper. Rachel, who is a very good girl, but of an excitable welch temperament, had a sharp touch of brain-fever, and goes about the house now, or did until yesterday, like a black-eyed shadow of her former self. That was our first drama at Hurlston. But a second one came to drive it from our minds, and it was prefaced by the disgrace and dismissal of Butler Brunton. This is how it came about. I have said that the man was intelligent, and this very intelligence has caused his ruin, for it seemed to have led to an insatiable curiosity about things which did not in the least concern him. I had no idea of the links to which this would carry him until the merriest accident opened my eyes to it. I have said that the house is a rambling one. One day last week, on Thursday night, to be more exact, I found that I could not sleep having foolishly taken a cup of strong café noir after my dinner. After struggling against it until two in the morning, I felt that it was quite hopeless. So I rose and lit the candle with the intention of continuing a novel which I was reading. The book, however, had been left in the billiard-room. So I pulled on my dressing-gown, and started off to get it. In order to reach the billiard-room, I had to descend a flight of stairs, and then to cross the head of a passage which led to the library and the gun-room. You can imagine my surprise when as I looked down this corridor, I saw a glimmer of light coming from the open door of the library. I had myself extinguished the lamp and closed the door before coming to bed. Naturally my first thought was of burglars. The corridors at Hulston have their walls largely decorated with trophies of old colours. From one of these I picked a battle-axe, and then leaving my candle behind me, I crept on tip-toe down the passage and peeped in at the open door. Brunton, the butler, was in the library. He was sitting fully dressed in an easy chair, with a slip of paper which looked like a map upon his knee, and his forehead sunk forward upon his hand in deep thought. I stood dumb with astonishment watching him from the darkness. A small taper on the edge of the table shed a feeble light which sufficed to show me that he was fully dressed. Suddenly, as I looked, he rose from his chair and walking over to a bureau of the society. He unlocked it and drew out one of the drawers. From this he took a paper, and returning to his seat, he flattened it out beside the taper on the edge of the table, and began to study it with my new attention. My indignation of this calm examination of our family documents overcame me so far that I took a step forward, and Brunton, looking up, saw me standing in the doorway. He sprang to his feet, his face turned livid with fear, and he thrust into his breast the chart-like paper which he had been originally studying. So said I, this is how you repay the trust which we have reposed in you. You will leave my service to-morrow. He bowed with the look of a man who is utterly crushed and slunk past me without a word. The taper was still on the table, and by its light I had glanced to see what the paper was which Brunton had taken from the bureau. To my surprise it was nothing of any importance at all, but simply a copy of the questions and answers in the singular old observance called the Musgrave Ritual. It is a sort of ceremony peculiar to our family which each Musgrave for centuries past has gone through on his coming of age, a thing of private interest, and perhaps of some little importance to the archaeologist, like our own blazenings and charges, but of no practical use whatsoever. We had better come back to the paper afterwards, said I. If you think it really necessary, he answered, with some hesitation, to continue my statement, however. I relotted the bureau using the key which Brunton had left, and had turned to go when I was surprised to find that the butler had returned and was standing before me. Mr. Musgrave, sir, he cried in a voice which was hoarse with emotion. I can't bear this grace, sir. I have always been proud about my station in life, and this grace would kill me. My blood would be on your head, sir. It will indeed if you drive me to despair. If you cannot keep me after what has passed, then for God's sake let me give you notice and leave in a month, as my own free will. I would stand that, Mr. Musgrave, but not to be cast out before all the folk that I know so well. You don't deserve much consideration, Brunton," I answered. Your conduct has been most infamous. However, as you have been a long time in the family, I have no wish to bring public disgrace upon you. A month, however, is too long. Take yourself away in a week, and give what reason you like for going. Only a week, sir," he cried in a despairing voice. A fortnight said, least a fortnight. A week, I repeated, and you may consider yourself to have been very leniently dealt with. He crept away, his face sunk upon his breasts, like a broken man. Well, I put out the light and returned to my room. For two days after this, Brunton was most assiduous in his attention to his duties. I made no allusion to what had passed, and waited for some curiosity to see how he would cover his disgrace. On the third morning, however, he did not appear, as was his custom after breakfast, to receive my instructions for the day. As I left the dining-room, I happened to meet Rachel Hulls, the maid. I have told you that she had only recently recovered from an illness that was looking so wretchedly pale and wan that I remonstrated with her for being at work. You should be in bed! I said, come back to your duties when you are stronger. She looked at me with so strange an expression that I began to suspect that her brain was affected. I'm strong enough, Mr. Musgrave, said she. We will see what the doctor says. I answered, you must stop work now, and when you go down to the stairs, just say that I wish to see Brunton. The battler is gone, said she. Gone? Gone where? He's gone. No one's seen him. He's not in his room. Oh yes, he's gone! She fell back against the wall with shriek after shriek of laughter, while I, horrified at this sudden hysterical attack, rushed to the bell to summon help. The girl was taken to her room, still screaming and sobbing, while I made inquiries about Brunton. There was no doubt about it that he had disappeared. His bed had not been slept in. He had not been seen by any one since he had retired to his room the night before, and it was difficult to see how he could have left the house, as both windows and doors were found to be fastened in the morning. His clothes, his watch, and even his money were in his room, but the black suit which he usually wore was missing. His slippers, too, were gone, but his boots were left behind. Where then could Butler Brunton have gone in the night, and what could have become of him now? Of course, we searched the house from cellar to garage, but there was no trace of him. It is, as I have said, a labyrinth of an old house, especially the original wing, which is now practically uninhabited, but we ransacked every room and cellar without discovering the least sign of the missing man. It was incredible to me that he could have gone away leaving all his property behind him, and yet where could he be? I called in the local police, but without success. Rain had fallen on the night before, and we examined the lawn and the path all round the house, but in vain. Matters were in this state when a new development quite drew our attention away from the original mystery. For two days Rachel Howells had been so ill, sometimes delirious, sometimes hysterical, that a nurse had been employed to sit up with her at night. On the third night, after Brunton's disappearance, the nurse, finding her patient sleeping nicely, had dropped into a nap in the arm chair when she woke in the early morning to find the bed empty, the window open, and no signs of the invalid. I was instantly arised, and with the two footmen, started off at once in search of the missing girl. It was not difficult to tell the direction which she had taken for, starting from under her window, we could follow her footmarks easily across the lawn and to the edge of the mirror where they vanished, close to the gravel path which leads out of the grounds. The lake there is eight feet deep, and you can imagine our feelings when we saw that the trail of the poor demented girl came to an end at the edge of it. Of course, we had the drags at once and sets to work to recover the remains, but no trace of her body could be found. On the other hand, we brought to the surface an object of a most unexpected kind. It was our linen bag, which contained within it a mass of old, rusted and discoloured metal, and several dull colour pieces of pebble or glass. This strange find was all that we could get from the mirror, and although we made every possible search and inquiry yesterday, we know nothing of the fate either of Rachel Howells or of Richard Brunton. The kind of pleaser of their wit's end, and have come to you as a last resource. You can imagine what some with what eagerness I listened to this extraordinary sequence of events, and it devoured to piece them together, and to devise some common thread upon which they might all hang. The butler was gone, the maid was gone. The maid had loved the butler, but afterwards had caused to hate him. She was of Welsh blood, fiery and passionate. She had been terribly excited immediately after his appearance. She had flung into the lake a bag containing some curious contents. These were all factors which had to be taken into consideration, and yet none of them got quite to the heart of the matter. What was the starting point of this chain of events? There lay the end of this tangled line. I must see that paper, Musgrave, said I, which this butler of yours thought it worth his while to consult, even at the risk of the loss of his place. It is rather an absurd business, this ritual of ours, he exaspered, but it has at least the saving grace of antiquity to excuse it. I have a copy of the questions and answers here, if you care to run your eye over them. He handed me the very paper which I have here, Watson, and this is the strange catechism to which each Musgrave had to submit when he came to man's estate. I will read you the questions and answers as they stand. Who's was it? Is who is gone? Who shall have it? He who will come? What was the month? The sixth from the first. Where was the sun? Over the oak. Where was the shadow? Under the elm. How was it stepped? North by ten and by ten, east by five and by five, south by two and by two, west by one and by one, and so under. What shall we give for it? All that is ours. Why should we give it? For the sake of the trust. The original has no date, but it is the spelling of the middle of the seventeenth century, remarked Musgrave. I am afraid, however, that it can be of little help to you in solving this mystery. At least, said I, it gives us another mystery and one which is even more interesting than the first. It may be that the solution of the one may prove to be the solution of the other. You would excuse me, Musgrave, if I say that your butler appears to me to have been a very clever man, and to have had a clearer insight than ten generations of his masters. I hardly follow you, said Musgrave, that the paper seems to me to be of no practical importance. But to me it seems immensely practical, and I fancy that Brunton took the same view. He had probably seen it before that night on which you caught him. It's very possible we took no pains to hide it. He simply wished, I should imagine, to refresh his memory upon that last occasion. He had, as I understand, some sort of map or chart which he was comparing with the manuscript, and which he thrust into his pocket when you appeared. That is true, but what could he have to do with this old family customer's vase, and what does this rigmarole mean? I don't think that we should have much difficulty in determining that, said I. With your permission we will take the first train down to Sussex and go a little more deeply into the matter upon the spot. The same afternoon saw us both at Halston. Possibly you have seen pictures and read descriptions of the famous old building, so I will confine my account of it to saying that it is built in the shape of an L, the long arm being the more modern portion, and the shorter the ancient nucleus from which the other has developed. Over the low heavy dintle door in the centre of this old part is chiseled the date, 1607, but experts are agreed that the beams and stonework are really much older than this. The enormously thick walls and tiny windows of this part had in the last century driven the family into buildings of the new wing, and the new old one was used now as a storehouse and a cellar when it was used at all. A splendid park with fine old timbers around the house and the lake to which my client had referred laid close to the avenue about 200 yards from the building. I was already firmly convinced Watson that there were not three separate mysteries here, but one only, and that if I could read the Musgrave ritual aright, I should hold in my hand the clue which would lead me to the truth concerning both the butler Brunton and the maid Howells. To that then I turned on my energies. Why should this servant be so anxious to master this old formula? Evidently because he saw something in it which had escaped all those generations of country squires, and from which he expected some personal advantage. What was it then, and how had it affected his fate? It was perfectly obvious to me on reading the ritual that the measurements must refer to some spot to which the rest of the document eluded, and that if we could find that spot which would be in a fair way towards finding what the secret was which the old Musgraves had thought it necessary to embalm in so curious a fashion. There were two guides given to us to start with, an oak and an elm. As to the oak there could be no question at all. Right in front of the house upon the left-hand side of the drive there stood a patriarch among oaks, one of the most magnificent strees that I have ever seen. Ah, that was there when your ritual was drawn up, said I as we drove past it. Him as there at the Norman conquest and all probability, he answered, it has a girth of twenty-three feet. Here was one of the fixed points secured. Have you any old elms? I asked. Ah, there used to be a very old one over beyond, but it was struck by lightning ten years ago, and we cut down the stump. You can see where it used to be? Oh, yes. There are no other elms. No old ones, but plenty of beaches. I should like to see where it grew. We'd driven up in a dog-car to my clant led me away at once, without our entering the house, to the scar on the lawn where the elm had stood. It was nearly midway between the oak and the house. My investigation seemed to be progressing. I suppose it is impossible to find out how high the elm was, I asked. Oh, I can give you it at once. It was sixty-four feet. How do you come to know it? I asked in surprise. Ah, when my old tutor used to give me an exercise in trigonometry it always took the shape of measuring heights. When I was allowed I worked at every tree in building in the estate. This was an unexpected piece of luck. My data were coming more quickly than I could have reasonably hoped. Tell me, I asked, did your butler ever ask you such a question? Reginald Masgrave looked at me in astonishment. And now that you called it to my mind, he answered, Brunton did ask me about the height of the tree some months back, oh, in connection with some little argument with the groom. This was excellent news, Watson, for it showed me that I was on the right road. I looked up at the sun. It was low in the heavens, and I calculated that in less than an hour it would lie just above the topmost branches of the old oak. One condition mentioned in the ritual would then be fulfilled. And the shadow of the elm must mean the farther end of the shadow, otherwise the trunk would have been chosen as the guide. I had then to find where the far end of the shadow would fall when the sun was just clear of the oak. That must have been difficult, Holmes, when the elm was no longer there. But at least I knew that if Brunton could do it, I could also. Besides, there was no real difficulty. I went with Masgrave to his study and whittled myself this peg to which I tied this long string with a knot at each yard. Then I took two legs of a fishing rod, which came to just six feet, and I went back with my clans to where the elm had been. The sun was just grazing the top of the oak. I fastened the rod on end, marked out the direction of the shadow, and measured it. It was nine feet in length. Of course the calculation now was a simple one. If a rod of six feet threw a shadow of nine, a tree of sixty-four feet would throw one of ninety-six, and the line of the one would of course be the line of the other. I measured out the distance, which brought me almost to the wall of the house, and I thrust a peg into the spot. You can imagine my exaltation bottom when within two inches of my peg I saw a conical depression in the ground. I knew that it was the mark made by Brunton in his measurements, and that I was still upon his trail. From this starting point I proceeded to step, having first taken the cardinal points by my pocket compass. Ten steps with each foot took me along parallel with the wall of the house, and again I marked my spot with a peg, and then I carefully paced off five to the east, and two to the south. It brought me to the very threshold of the old door. Two steps to the west meant now that I was to go two paces down the stowed flagged passage, and this was the place indicated by the ritual. Never have I held such a cold chill of disappointment, Watson. For a moment it seemed to me that there must be some radical mistake in my calculations. The setting sun shone full upon the passage floor, and I could see that the old foot-worn grey stones with which it was paved were firmly cemented together, and had certainly not been moved for many a long year. Brunton had not been a work here. I tapped upon the floor, but it sounded the same all over, and there was no sign of any crack or crevice. But fortunately Musgrave, who had begun to appreciate the meaning of my proceedings, and who is now as excited as myself, took out his manuscript to check my calculations. And under, he cried, you have omitted the and under. I had thought that it meant that we were to dig, but now, of course, I told her at once that I was wrong. There is a cellar under this, then. I cried. Yes, and as old as the house. Down here, through this door. We went down a winding stone stair, and my companion, striking a match, lit a very large lantern which stood on a barrel in the corner. In an instant it was obvious that we had at last come upon the true place, and they were not being the only people to visit the spot recently. It had been used for the storage of wood, but the billets, which had evidently been littered over the floor, were now piled to the sides, as to leave clear space in the middle. In this space lay a large and heavy flagstone with a rusted iron ring in the centre, to which a thick shepherd's check muffler was attached. By Jove, cried my client, that's Brunton's muffler. I've seen it on him, and could swear to it. What has the villain been doing here? And my suggestion, a couple of the county police were summoned to be present, and I then endeavoured to raise the stone by pulling on the cravat. I could only move it slightly, and it was with the aid of one of the constables that I succeeded at last in carrying it to one side. A black hole yawned beneath it, into which all peered, while Musgrave, in eating at the side, pushed down the lantern. A small chamber about seven feet deep and four feet square lay open to us. At one side of this was a squat brass-bound wooden box, the lid of which was hinged upward with this curious old-fashioned key projecting from the lock. It was furred outside by a thick layer of dust, and damp and worms had eaten through the wood so that a crop of livid fungi was growing on the inside of it. Several discs as metal—old coins apparently, such as I hold here—were scattered over the bottom of the box, but it contained nothing else. At the moment, however, we had no thought for the old chest, for our eyes were riveted upon that which crouched beside it. It was the figure of a man, clad in a suit of black, who squatted down upon his hands with his forehead sunk upon the edge of the box and his two arms thrown out on each side of it. The attitude had drawn all the stagnant blood to the face, and no man could have recognized that distorted liver-colored countenance, but his height, his dress, and his hair were all sufficient to show my client when we had drawn the body up, that it was indeed his missing butler. He had been dead some days, but there was no wound or bruise upon his person to show how he had met his dreadful end. When his body being carried from the cellar, we found ourselves still confronted with a problem which was almost as formidable as that which with which we had started. I confess that so far what, and I mean disappointed in my investigation, I had reckoned upon solving the matter when once I had found the place referred to in the ritual, but I was there and was apparently as far as ever from knowing what it was which the family concealed with such elaborate precautions. It is true that I had thrown a light upon the fate of Brunton, but now I had to ascertain how that fate had come upon him and what part had been played in the matter by the woman who had disappeared. I sat down upon a keg in the corner and thought the whole matter carefully over. You know my methods in such cases, Watson. I put myself in the man's place, and having first gauged his intelligence, I tried to imagine how I should myself have proceeded under the same circumstances. In this case the matter was simplified by Brunton's intelligence being quite first rate, so that it was unnecessary to make any allowance for the personal equation as the astronomers have dubbed it. He knew that something valuable was concealed. He had spotted the place, he found the stone that which carpeted was just too heavy for a man to move unaid. What would he do next? He could not get help from outside, even if he had someone whom he could trust, without the unbarring of doors and considerable risk of detention. It was better if he could to have his helpmate inside the house. But whom could he ask? This girl had been devoted to him. A man always finds it hard to realise that he may have finally lost a woman's love, however badly he may have treated her. He would try by a few attentions to make his peace with the girl, Harls, and then would engage her as his accomplice. Together they would come at night to the cellar and their united force would suffice to raise the stone, so far I could follow their actions as if I had actually seen them. But for two of them and one a woman it must have been very heavy work, the raising of that stone. A burly Sussex policeman and I had found it no light job. What would they do to assist them? Probably what I would have done myself. I rose and examined carefully the different billets of wood which were scattered round the floor, almost at once I came upon what I expected. One piece, about three feet in length, had a very marked indentation at one end, while several were flattened at the sides as if they were being compressed by some considerable weight. Evidently, as they had dragged the stone up, they had thrust the chunks of wood into the chink, and till at last when the opening was large enough to crawl through they would hold it open by a bidet placed lengthwise, which might very well become indented at the lower end since the whole weight of the stone would press it down onto the edge of this other slab. So far I was still on safe ground. And now how was I to proceed to reconstruct this midnight drama? Clearly only one could fit into the hole, and that one was Brunton. The girl must have waited a brav. Brunton then unlocked the box, handed up the contents, presumably, since they were not to be found, and then—and then what happened? What a smouldering fire of vengeance had suddenly sprung into flame in this passionate Celtic woman's soul when she saw the man who had wronged her. Wronged her perhaps far more than we suspected, in her power. Was it a chance that the wood had slipped and that the stone had shut Brunton into what had become his sepulchre? Had Joni been guilty of silences to his fate? Or had some sudden blow from her hand dashed the support away and sent the slab crashing down into its place? Be that as it might, I seemed to see that woman's figure still clutching at her treasure-trove, and flying wildly up the winding stair, with her ears ringing perhaps with the muffled screams from behind her, and with the drumming of frenzied hands against the slab of stone which was choking her faithless lover's life out. Here was the secret of her blanched face, her shaken nerves, her peels of hysterical laughter on the next morning. But what had been in the box? What had she done with that? Of course, it must have been the old metal and pebbles which my client had dragged from the mirror. She had thrown them in there at the first opportunity to remove the last trace of her crime. For twenty minutes I had sat motion as thinking the matter out. Musgrave still stood with a very pale face swinging his lantern, and peering down into the hole. These are coins of Charles I, said he, holding out the few which had been in the box. You see, we were right in fixing our date for the ritual. We may find something else of Charles I, I cried, as the probable meaning of the first two questions of the ritual broke suddenly upon me. Let me see the contents of the bag which you fished for the mirror. We ascended to his study, and he laid the debris before me. I could understand his regarding it as of small importance when I looked at it, for the metal was almost black, and the stones lustrous and dull. I rubbed one of them on my sleeve, however, and it glowed afterwards like a spark in the dark hollow of my hand. The metalwork was in the form of a double ring, but it had been bent and twisted out of its original shape. You must bear in mind, said I, that the royal party made head in England even after the death of the king, and that when they had last fled they probably left many of their most precious possessions buried behind them, with intention returning for them in more peaceful times. My ancestor, Sir Ralph Musgrave, was a prominent cavalier and the right-hand man of Charles II in his wanderings, said my friend. Ah, indeed, I answered. One I think that really should give us the last link that we wanted. I must congratulate you on coming into the possession, though in rather a tragic manner, of a relic which has of great intrinsic value, but of even greater importance as a historical curiosity. What is it then? He gasped in astonishment. It is nothing less than the ancient crown of the kings of England. The crown? Precisely. Consider what the ritual says. How does it run? Whose was it? His who is gone. That was after the execution of Charles. Then who shall have it? He who will come? That was Charles II, whose abvem was already foreseen. There can, I think, be no doubt that this battered and shapeless diadem once encircled the brows of the royal stewards. And how came it in the pond? That is a question that will take some time to answer. And with that I sketched out to him the whole long chain of some eyes and of proof which I had constructed. The twilight had closed in, and the moon was shining brightly in the sky before my narrative was finished. And how was it then that Charles did not get his crown when he returned? Asked Musgrave, pushing back the relic into its linen bag. Ah! There you lay up your finger upon the one point which we shall probably never be able to clear up. It is likely that the Musgrave who held the secret died in the interval, and by some oversight left his guide to his descent without explaining the meaning of it. From that day to this it has been handed down from father to son, until at last it came within reach of a man who tore its secret out of it, and lost his life in the venture. And that is the story of the Musgrave ritual, Watson. They had the crown down at Alston, though they had some legal bother and a considerable sum to pay before they were allowed to retain it. I am sure that if you mentioned my name they would be happy to show it to you. Of the woman nothing was ever heard, and the probability is that she got away out of England and carried herself and the memory of her crime to some land beyond the seas. End of the Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual The Body Snatcher by Robert Louis Stevenson Every night in the year four of us sat in the small baller of the George of Debenham, the undertaker and the landlord and Fetis and myself. Sometimes there'd be more, but blow high, blow low, come rain or snow or frost. We four would be each planted in his own particular armchair. Fetis was an old drunken Scotchman, a man of education obviously, and a man of some property since he lived in idleness. He'd come to Debenham years ago while still young and by a mere continuance of living had grown to be an adopted townsman. His blue camelot cloak was a local antiquity like the church's fire. His place in the parlor of the George, his absence from church, his old, crappulous, disreputable vices, were all things of course in Debenham. He had some vague radical opinions and some fleeting infidelities, which he would now and again set forth and emphasize with tottering slaps upon the table. He drank rum, five glasses regularly every evening, and for the greater portion of his nightly visit to the George sat with his glass in his right hand in a state of melancholy alcoholic saturation. We called him the doctor for he was supposed to have some special knowledge of medicine and had been known upon a pinch to set a fracture or reduce a dislocation, but beyond these slight particulars we had no knowledge of his character and antecedents. One dark winter night it had struck nine sometime before the landlord joined us. There was a sick man in the George, a great neighbouring proprietor, suddenly struck down with apoplexy on his way to Parliament, and the great man's still greater London doctor had been telegraphed to his bedside. It was the first time that such a thing had happened in Debenham, for the railway was but newly open and we were all proportionately moved by the occurrence. He's calm, said the landlord after he had filled in light at his pipe. He, said I, who? Not the doctor. Himself, replied our house. And what's his name? Dr. MacFarlane, said the landlord. Fetis was far through his third tumbler stupidly fuddled, now nodding over now staring measly around him, but at the last word he seemed to awaken and repeated the name MacFarlane twice, quietly enough the first time, but with certain emotion at the second. Yes, said the landlord, that's his name, Dr. Wolf MacFarlane. Fetis became instantly sober. His eyes awoke, his voice became clear and loud and steady, his language forcible and earnest. We were all startled by the transformation as if a man had risen from the dead. I beg your pardon, he said. I am afraid I have not been paying much attention to your talk. Who is this Wolf MacFarlane? And then when he had heard the landlord out, it cannot be, it cannot be, he added. Yeah, I would like well to see him face to face. Do you know him, doctor? asked the undertaker with a gasp. God forbid was the replying it. The name is a strange one. It was too much to fancy too. Tell me, landlord, is he old? Well, said the host, he's not a young man to be sure, and his hair is white, but he looks younger than you. He is older, though. Years older, but with a slap upon the table. It's the rum you see in me face, rum and sin. This man perhaps may have an easy conscience and a good digestion. Conscience, hear me speak. You would think I was some good old decent Christian, would you not? But no, not I. I never canted. Voltaire might have canted if he'd stood in my shoes, but though the brains with a rattling fill upon his bald head the brains were clear and active, and I saw and made no deductions. If you know this doctor, I ventured to remark, after a somewhat awful pause, I should gather that you do not share the landlord's good opinion. Fetis paid no regard to me. Yes, he said with sudden decision, I must see him face to face. There was another pause, and then a door was closed rather sharply on the first floor, and a step was heard upon the stair. That's the doctor, cried the landlord. Look sharp, and you can catch him. It was but two steps from the small parlor to the door of the old George Inn. The wide oak staircase landed almost in the street. There was room for a turkey rug and nothing more between the threshold and the last round of the descent, but this little space was every evening brilliantly lit up, not only by the light upon the stair, and the great signal lamp below the sign, but by the warm radiance of the bar room window. The George thus brightly advertised itself to passers by in the cold street. Fetis walked steadily to the spot, and we who were hanging behind beheld the two men meet, as one of them had phrased it face to face. Dr. McFarland was alert and vigorous, his white air set off his pale and placid although energetic countenance. He was richly dressed in the finest of broadcloth and the whitest of linen, with a great gold watch chain and studs and spectacles of the same precious material. He wore a broad-folded tie white and speckled with lilac, and he carried on his arm a comfortable driving coat of fur. There was no doubt but he became his years, breathing as he did of wealth and consideration, and it was a surprising contrast to see our parlour sought, bald, dirty, pimpled, and robed in his old camlet cloak, confront him at the bottom of the stairs. McFarland, he said somewhat loudly, more like a herald than a friend. The great doctor pulled up short on the fourth step as though the familiarity of the address surprised and somewhat shocked his dignity. Tade McFarland repeated Fetis. The London man almost staggered. He stared for the swiftest of seconds at the man before him, glanced behind him with a sort of scare, and then on a startled whispered, Fetis! He said, You! I said the other, me. Did you think I was dead too? We are not so easy shot of our acquaintance. Hush! Hush! explained the doctor. Hush! Hush! This meeting is so unexpected. I can see you are unmanned. I hardly knew you. I confess it first, but I am overjoyed, overjoyed to have this opportunity. For the present it must be how do you do and goodbye in one. For my fly is waiting and I must not fail the train. But you shall, let me see, yes, you shall give me your address and you can count on early news of me. We must do something for you, Fetis. I fear you are out at elbows, but we must see to that for old Langzine, as once we sang at supper's. Money, cried Fetis, money from you. The money that I had from you is lying where I cast it in the rain. Dr. McFarlane had talked himself into some measure of superiority and confidence, but the uncommon energy of this refusal cast him back into his first confusion. A horrible, ugly look came and went across this almost venerable countenance. Well, my dear fellow, he said, be it as you please, my last thought is to offend you. I would intrude on none. I will leave you my address, however. I do not wish it. I do not wish to know the roof that shelters you, interrupted the other. I heard your name. I feared it might be you. I wished to know if, after all, there were a God. I know now there is none. Be gone. He still stood in the midst of the rug between the stair and the doorway, and the great London physician in order to escape would be forced to step to one side. It was plain that he hesitated before the thought of this humiliation. White as he was, there was a dangerous glitter in his spectacles. But while he still paused uncertain, he became aware that the driver of his fly was peering in from the street at this unusual scene and caught a glimpse at the same time of our little body from the parlor, huddled by the corner of the barn. The presence of so many witnesses decided him at once to flee. He crouched together, brushing on the wainscot and made a dart like a serpent, striking for the door. But his tribulation was not yet entirely at an end for even as he was passing, Fetis clutched him by the arm, and these words came in a whisper in it, painfully distinct. Have you seen it again? The great rich London doctor cried out aloud with a sharp throttling cry. He dashed his questioner across the open space and with his hands over his head fled out the door like a detected thief. Before it had occurred to one of us to make a movement, the fly was already rattling toward the station. The scene was over like a dream, but the dream had left proofs and traces of its passage. The next day the servant found the fine gold spectacles broken on the threshold, and that very night we were all standing breathless by the bottom window and Fetis at our side, sober and pale and resolute and looked. God protect us, Mr. Fetis, said the landlord, coming first into possession of his customary senses. What in the universe is all this? These are strange things you have been saying. Fetis turned toward us. He looked us each in succession in the face. See if you can hold your tongue, said he. That man McFarlane is not saved across. Those that have done so already have repented it too late. And then, without so much as finishing his third glass, Far less waiting for the other two. He bade us goodbye and went forth under the lamp of the hotel into the black night. We three turned to our places in the parlor and the big red fire and four clear candles. And as we recapitulated what had passed, the first chill of our surprise soon changed into a glow of curiosity. We sat late. It was the latest session I have known in the old George. Each man before we parted had his theory that he was bound to prove. And none of us had any nearer business in this world than to track out the past of our condemned companion. And I suppose the secret that he shared with the great London Doctor. It's no great boast but I believe I was a better hand at warming out a story than either of my fellows at the George. And perhaps there is now no other man alive who could narrate it to you and tell you the following foul and unnatural events. In his young days Fettis studied medicine in the schools of Edinburgh. He had talent of a kind, the talent that picks up swiftly on what it hears and readily retails it for its own. He worked little at home but he was civil, attentive and intelligent in the presence of his masters. They soon picked him out as a lad who listened closely and remembered well. Now, strange as it seemed to me when I first heard it, he was in those days well-favored and pleased by his exterior. There was at that period a certain extramural teacher of anatomy whom I shall here designate by the letter K. His name was subsequently too well known, the man who bore its sculpt through the streets of Edinburgh in disguise, while the mob that applauded at the execution of Burke called loudly for the blood of his employer, but Mr. K. was then at the top of his beau-vogue. He enjoyed a popularity due partly to his own talent and address partly to the incapacity of his rival, the university professor. The students at least swore by his name and Fettis believed himself and was believed by others to have laid the foundations of success when he had acquired the favour of this mechiorically famous man. Mr. K. was a bon vivant as well as an accomplished teacher. He liked a sly illusion no less than a careful preparation. In both capacities Fettis enjoyed and deserved his notice and by the second year of his attendance he held the half-regular position of second demonstrator or sub-assistant in his class. In this capacity the charge of the theatre and lecture room devolved in particular upon his shoulders. He had to answer for the cleanliness of the premises and the conduct of the other students and it was a part of his duty to supply, receive and divide the various subjects. It was with a view to this last, at that time very delicate affair, that he was lodged by Mr. K. in the same wind and at last in the same building with the dissecting room. Here after a night of turbulent pleasures his hand still tottering, his sight still misty and confused, he would be called out of bed in the black hours before the winter dawn by the unclean and desperate interlopers who supplied the table. He would open the door to these men since infamous throughout the land. He would help them with their tragic burden, pay them their sorted price and remain alone when they were gone with the unfriendly relics of humanity. From such a scene would return to snatch another hour to a slumber to repair the abuses of the night and refresh himself for the labors of the day. Few labs could have been more insensible to the impressions of a life thus passed among the ensigns of mortality. His mind was closed against all general considerations. He was incapable of interest in the fate and fortunes of another, the slave of his own desires and low ambitions, cold, light, and selfish in the last resort. He had that modicum of prudence miscalled morality, which keeps a man from inconvenient drunkenness or punishable theft. He coveted besides a measure of consideration from his masters and his fellow pupils and he had no desire to fail conspicuously in the external parts of life. Thus he made it his pleasure to gain some distinction in his studies and day after day rendered unimpeachable eye service to his employer, Mr. Kay. For his day of work he indemnified himself by nights of roaring blackardly enjoyment and when that balance had been struck the organ that he called his conscience declared himself content. The supply of subjects was a continual trouble to him as well as to his master in that large and busy class, the raw material of the anatomists kept perpetually running out and the business thus rendered necessary was not only unpleasant in itself but threatened dangerous consequences to all who were concerned. It was the policy of Mr. Kay to ask no questions in his dealings with the trade. They bring the body and we pay the price he used to say dwelling on the alliteration. Quid pro quo and again somewhat profanely ask no questions he would tell his assistants for conscience sake. There was no understanding that the subjects were provided by the crime of murder and that idea had been broached to him in words he would have recoiled in horror but the likeness of his speech upon so grave a matter was in itself an offense against good manners and a temptation to the man with whom he dealt Fetis for instance had often remarked to himself upon the singular freshness of the bodies he had been struck again and again by the hang dog abominable looks of the roughians who came to him before the dawn and putting things together clearly in his private thoughts he perhaps attributed a meaning too immoral and too categorical to the unguarded councils of his master he understood his duty in short to have three branches to take what was brought to pay the price and to avert the eye from any evidence of crime. One November morning this policy of silence was put sharply to the test he had been awake all night with a racking toothache pacing his room like a caged beast or throwing himself infuri on his bed and had fallen at last into that profound uneasy slumber that so often follows on a night of pain when he was awakened by the third or fourth angry repetition of the concerted signal there was a thin bright moonshine it was bitter cold windy and frosty the town had not yet awakened but an indefinable stir already precluded the noise and business of the day the ghouls had come later than usual and they seemed more than usually eager to be gone Fetis sick with sleep lighted them upstairs he heard their grumbling Irish voices through a dream and as they stripped the sack from their sad merchandise he leaned dozing with his shoulder propped against the wall he had to shake himself to find the men their money as he did so his eyes lighted on the dead face he started he took two steps nearer with the candle raised God Almighty that is Jane Galbraith the men answered nothing but they shuffled nearer the door I I know where I tell you he continued she was alive and hearty yesterday it's impossible she can be dead it's it's impossible you should have got this body fairly sure sir you're must icon entirely said one of the men but the other looked Fetis darkly in the eyes and demanded the money on the spot it was impossible to misconceive the threat or to exaggerate the danger the lads heart failed him he stammered some excuses counted out the salmon saw his hateful visitors depart no sooner were they gone than he hastened to confirm his doubt by a dozen unquestionable marks he identified the girl he had gested with the day before he saw with horror marks upon her body that might well be taken violent a panic seized him and he took refuge in his room there he reflected at length though with the discovery that he had made considered soberly the bearing of Mr. K.'s instructions and the danger to himself of interference in so serious a business and at last in sore perplexity determined to wait for the advice of his immediate superior the class assistant this was a young doctor Wolf McFarland a high favorite among all the reckless students clever, dissipated and unscrupulous to the last degree he had traveled and studied abroad his manners were agreeable and a little forward he was an authority on the stage skillful on the ice or the links with skate or golf club he dressed with nice audacity and to put the finishing touch upon his glory he kept a gig and a strong trotting horse with fetus he was on terms of intimacy indeed their relative positions called for some community of life and when subjects were scarce the pair would drive far into the country and McFarland's gig visit and desecrate some lonely graveyard and return before dawn with their booty to the door of the dissecting room on that particular morning McFarland arrived somewhat earlier than his will fetus heard him and met him on the stairs told him his story and showed him the cause of his alarm McFarland examined the marks on her body yes he said with a nod it looks fishy well well what should I do asked fetus do repeat the other do you want to do anything least said soonest men did I should say someone else might recognize her objected fetus she was as well known as the castle rock we'll hope not said McFarland and if anybody does well you didn't don't you see and there's an end to it the fact is this has been going on too long stir up the mud and you'll get K into the most unholy trouble you'll be in a shocking box yourself so will I if you come to that I should like to know how any of us would look or what the devil we should have to say for ourselves in any Christian witness box for me you know there's one thing certain that practically speaking all our subjects have been murdered McFarland grind fetus come now snare the other as if you hadn't suspected it yourself well suspecting is one thing and proof another yes I know and I'm as sorry as you are this should have come here tapping the body with his cane the next best thing for me is not to recognize it and he added coolly I don't you may if you please I don't dictate but I think a man of the world would do as I do and I may add I fancy that is what K would look for at your hands the question of course is why did he choose us two for his assistance and I answer because he didn't want old wives this was the tone of all others to affect the mind of a lad like fetus he agreed to imitate McFarland the body of the unfortunate girl was duly dissected and no one remarked or appeared to recognize her one afternoon when his day's works were over fetus dropped into a popular tavern and found McFarland sitting with a stranger this was a small man very pale and dark with cold black eyes the cut of his features gave a promise of intellect and refinement which was but feebly realized in his manners for he proved upon a nearer acquaintance course vulgar and stupid he exercised however a very remarkable control over McFarland issued orders like the great Bashar became inflamed at the least discussion or delay and commented rudely on the civility with which he was obeyed this most offensive person took a fancy to fetus on the spot applied him with drinks and honored him with unusual confidences on his past career if a tenth part of what he confessed were true he was a very loathsome rogue and the lads vanity was tickled by the attention of so experienced a man I'm a pretty bad fellow myself a stranger remark but McFarland he's a boy Toddie McFarland I call him Toddie what do you find another glass or it might be Toddie you jump up and shut the door Toddie hates me he said again oh yes Toddie you do don't you call me that confounded name growled McFarland hear him did you ever see the lads play knife he'd like to do that all over my body remarked the stranger we medicals have a better way than that so it fetus when we dislike a dead friend of ours we dissect him McFarland looked up sharply as though this jest was scarcely to his mind the afternoon passed gray for that was the stranger's name invited fetus to join them at dinner ordered a feast so sumptuous that the tavern was thrown in commotion and when all was done commanded McFarland to settle the bill it was late before they separated the man gray was incapable drunk McFarland sobered by his fury chewed of the cut of the money he had been forced to squander and the slights he had been obliged to swallow fetus with various liquors singing in his head returned home with devious footsteps and a mind entirely in abeyance next day McFarland was absent from the class and fetus smiled to himself as he imagined him still squaring the intolerable gray from tavern to tavern as soon as the hour of liberty had struck he posted from place to place in quest of his last night's companions he could find them however nowhere so returned early to his rooms went early to bed and slept the sleep of the trust at four in the morning he was awakened by the well-known signal descending to the door he was filled with astonishment to find McFarland with his gig and in the gig one of those long and ghastly packages with which he was so well acquainted what he cried have you been out alone how did you manage but McFarland silenced him roughly bidding him turn to business when they had got the body upstairs and laid it on the table McFarland made it first as if you were going away then he paused and seemed to hesitate and then you had better look at the face said McFarland in terms of some constraint you had better he repeated as fetus only stared at him in wonder but but where and how and when did you come by it cried the other look at the face was the only answer fetus was staggered strange doubts assailed him he looked from the young doctor to the body and then back again at last with a start he did as he was bitten he had almost expected the sight that met his eyes and yet the shock was cruel to see fixed in the rigidity of death and naked on that coarse layer of sackcloth the man who he had left well glad and full of meat and sin upon the threshold of a tavern awoke even in the thoughtless fetus some of the terrors of the conscience it was a class tibbey which re echoed in his soul that two whom he had known should have come to lie upon these icy tables yet these were only secondary thoughts his first concern regarded wolf unprepared for a challenge so momentous he knew not how to look his comrade in the face he durst not meet his eye and he had neither words no voice at his command it was McFarland himself who made the first advance he came up quietly behind and laid his hand gently but firmly on the other shoulder richardson said he may have the head now richardson was a student who had long been anxious for that portion of the human subject to dissect there was no answer and the murderer resumed a talking of business you must pay me your accounts you seem as tally fetus found a voice that goes to visit pay you he cried pay you for that well yes yes of course you must by all means and on every possible account you must return the other I dare not give it for nothing you dare not take it for nothing it will compromise us both this is another case like chain gallbrates the more things are wrong the more we must act as if all were right where does okay keep his money there answered fetus horseley pointing to a cupboard in the corner give me the key then said the other calmly holding out his hand there was an instant hesitation and the die was cast McFarland could not suppress a nervous twitch the infinitesimal mark of an immense relief as he felt the key between his fingers he opened the cupboard brought out pen and ink and a paper book that stood in one compartment and separated from the fronts in a drawer are some suitable to the occasion now look here he said there is the payment made first proof of your good faith first step to your security you have now to clinch it by a second enter the payment in your book and then you for your part may defy the devil the next few seconds were for fetus an agony of thought but in balancing his terrors it was the most immediate the triumph any future difficulty seemed almost welcome if he could avoid a present quarrel with McFarland he sat down the candle which he had been carrying all his time and with his steady hand entered the date the nature and the amount of the transaction and now said McFarland it's only fair that you should pocket the lucre I've had my share already by the by when a man of the world falls into a bit of luck he has a few shillings extra in his pocket I'm ashamed to speak of it but there's a rule of conduct in the case no treating no purchase of expensive class books no squaring of old debts borrow don't lend McFarland began fetus still somewhat horse like I put my neck in a halter to oblige you to oblige me cried wolf come you did as near as I can see the matter what you downright had to do in self-defense suppose I got into trouble where would you be this second little matter flows clearly from the first Mr. Gray is the continuation of Ms. Galbraith you can't begin and then stop if you begin you must keep on beginning that's the truth no rest for the wicked a horrible sense of blackness and the treachery of fate seized hold upon the soul of the unhappy student my god he cried but what have I done and when did I begin to be made a class assistant in the name of reason where's the harm in that service wanted the position service might have got it would he have been where I am now my dear fellow said McFarland what a boy you are what harm has come to you what harm can come to you if you hold your tongue why man do you know what this life is there are two squads of us the lions and the lambs if you're a lamb you'll come to lie upon these tables like gray or Jane Galbraith if you're a lion you'll live and drive a horse like me like K like all the world with any witter courage you're staggered at the first but look at K my dear fellow you're clever you have pluck I like you and K likes you you were born to lead the hunt and I tell you on my honor and my experience of life three days from now you'll laugh at all these scarecrows like a high school boy at a farce and with that McFarland took his departure and drove off up the wind in his gig to get undercover before daylight Fennis was thus left alone with his regret he saw the miserable peril in which he stood involved he saw with inexpressible dismay that there was no limit to his weakness and that from concession to concession he had fallen from the arbiter of McFarland's destiny to his paid and helpless accomplice he would have given the world to have been a little braver at the time but it did not occur to him that he might still be brave the secret of Jane Galbraith and the cursed entry in the daybook closed his mouth hours pass as the class began to arrive the members of the unhappy gray were dealt out to one and to another and received without remark Richardson was made happy with the head and before the hour of freedom rang Fennis trembled with exaltation to perceive how far they had already gone towards safety for two days he continued to watch with increasing joy the dreadful process of disguise on the third day McFarland made his appearance he had been ill he said but he made up for lost time by the energy with which he directed the students to Richardson in particular he extended the most valuable assistance and advice and that student encouraged by the praise of the demonstrator burned high with ambitious hopes and saw the medal already in his grasp before the week was out McFarland's prophecy had been fulfilled Fennis had outlived his terrors and had forgotten his baseness he began to plume himself upon his courage and had so arranged the story in his mind that he could look back on these events with an unhealthy pride of his accomplice he saw but little they met of course in the business of the class they received their orders together for mr. k at times they had a word or two in private and McFarland was from first to last particularly kind and jovial but it was plain that he avoided any reference to their common secret and even when Fennis whispered to him that he had cast in his lot with the lions and foresworn the lambs he only signed to him smilingly to hold his peace at length an occasional rose which threw the pair once more into a closer union mr. k was again short of subjects pupils were eager and it was a part of this teacher's pretensions to be always well supplied at the same time there came the news of a burial in the rustic graveyard of glenn coasts time has a little changed the place in question it stood then as now upon a crossroad out of call of human habitations and buried fathoms deep in the foliage of six cedar trees the cries of the sheep upon the neighboring hills the streamlets upon either hand one loudly singing among pebbles the other dripping furtively from pond to pond the stir of the wind in the mountainous old flowering chestnut and once in seven days the voice of the bell and the old tombs of the pre-centaur were the only sounds that disturbed the silence around the rural church the resurrection man to use a by name of the period was not to be deterred by any of the sanctities of customary piety it was part of his trade to despise and desecrate the scrolls and trumpets of old tombs the paths worn by the feet of worshipers and mourners and the offerings and the inscriptions of bereaved affection to rustic neighborhoods where love is more than commonly tenacious and where some bonds of blood or fellowship unite the entire society of a parish the body snatcher far from being repelled by natural respect was attracted by the ease and safety of the task two bodies that had been laid in earth and joyful expectation of a far different awakening there came that hasty lamplit terror haunted resurrection of the spade and mattock the coffin was forced the cremants torn and the melancholy relics clad in sackcloth after being rattled for hours on moonless byways where it length exposed to uttermost indignities before a class of gaping boys somewhat as two vultures may swoop upon a dying lamb fetus and mcfarlane were to be let loose upon a grave in that green and quiet resting place the wife of a farmer a woman who had lived for 60 years and been known for nothing but good butter and a godly conversation was to be rooted from her grave at midnight and carried dead and naked to that far away city that she had always honored with her sunday's best the place beside her family was to be empty till the crack of doom her innocent and almost venerable members to be exposed to that last curiosity of the anatomist late one afternoon the pair set forth well wrapped in cloaks and furnished with a formidable bottle it rained without remission of cold dense lashing rain now and again there blew a puff of wind but these sheets of falling water kept it down bottle and all it was a sad and silent drive as far as pannock where they were to spend the evening they stopped once to hide their implements in a thick bush not far from the churchyard and once again at the fisher's trist to have a toast before the kitchen fire and vary their nibs of whiskey with a glass of ale when they reached their journey's end the gig was housed the horse was fed and comforted and the two young doctors in a private room sat down to the best dinner and the best wine the house afforded the lights the fire the beating rain upon the window the cold incongruous work that lay before them added zest to their enjoyment of the meal with every glass their cordiality increased soon mcfarlane handed a little pile of gold to his companion a compliment he said between friends these little damned accommodations ought to fly like pipelines ferris pocketed the money and applauded the sentiment to the echo you are a philosopher he cried i wasn't asked till i knew you you and k between you by the lord harry but you'll make a man out of me of course we will applauded mcfarlane a man i tell you it required a man to back me up the other morning there are some big brawling 40-year-old cowards who would have turned sick at the sight of the damn thing but not you you kept your head i watched you well and why not ferris thus pointed himself it was no affair of mine there was nothing to gain on the one side but disturbance and on the other i could count on your gratitude don't you say and he slapped his pocket till the gold pieces rang mcfarlane somehow felt a certain touch of alarm at these unpleasant words he may have regretted that he had taught his young companion so successfully but he had no time to interfere for the other noisily continued in this boastful strain the great thing is not to be afraid now between you and me i don't want to hang that's practical but for all count mcfarlane i was born with a contempt of god devil right wrong sin crime and all the other old gallery of curiosity they may frighten boys but men of the world like you and me despise them is to the memory of gray it was by this time growing somewhat late the gig according to order was brought round the door with both lamps brightly shining and the young men had to pay their bill and take the road they announced that they were bound for pebbles and drove in that direction till they were clear of the last houses of the town then extinguishing the carriage lamps returned upon their course and followed a byroad toward glenn course there was no sound but that of their own passage and the incessant stride and pouring of the rain it was pitch dark and here in there a white gate or a white stone in the wall guided them for a short space across the night but for the most part it was at a foot pace and almost groping that they picked their way through that resonant blackness to their solemn and isolated destination in the sunken woods that traversed the neighborhood of the burying ground the last glimmer failed them and it became necessary to kindle a match and reallume in one of the lanterns of gig thus under the dripping trees and environed by huge and moving shadows they reached the scene of their unhellowed labors they were both experienced in such affairs and powerful with spade and they had scarce been 20 minutes at their task before they were rewarded by a dull rattle on the coffin lid at the same time McFarland having hurt his hand upon a stone flung it carelessly above his head the grave in which they now stood almost to the shoulders was close to the edge of the plateau of the graveyard and the gig lamp had been propped the better to illuminate their labors against the tree and on the immediate verge of the steep bank descending to the stream chance had taken a sure aim with the stone then came a clang of broken glass night fell upon sounds alternately dull and ringing announced the bounding of the lantern down the bank and its occasional collision with the trees a stone or two which had it had dislodged in its descent rattled behind it into the profundities of the glen and then silence like night resumed its sway and they might bend their hearing to its utmost pitch but not was to be heard except the rain now marching to the wind now steadily falling over miles of open country they were so nearly at an end of their upward task that they judged it wisest to complete it in the dark the coffin was exhumed and broken open the body inserted in the dripping sack and carried between them to the gig one mounted to keep it in place and the other taking a horse by the mouth broke along by wall and bush until they reached the wider road by the fissures trist it was a faint diffused radiancy which they hailed like daylight by that they pushed the horse to a good pace and began to rattle along merrily in the direction of the town they had both been wedded to the skin during their operations and now as the gig jumped among the deep ruts the thing that stood propped between them fell now upon one and now upon the other at every repetition of the horrid contact each instinctively repelled it with a greater haste and the process natural enough as it was began to tell upon the nerves of the companions mcfarland made some ill-favored jest about the farmer's wife but it came hollowly from his lips and was allowed to drop in silence still their unnatural burden bumped from side to side and now the head would be laid as if in confidence upon their shoulders and now the drenching sackcloth would flap icely about their faces a creeping chill began to possess the soul of fetus he peered at the bundle and it seemed somewhat larger than at first all over the countryside and from every degree of distance the farm dogs accompanied their passage with tragic ululations and it grew and grew upon his mind that some unnatural miracle had been accomplished that some nameless change had to fall in the dead body and that it was in fear of their unholy burden the dogs were howling for god's sakes and he making a great habit to arrive at speech for god's sakes let's have a light seemingly mcfarland was affected in the same direction for though he made no reply he stopped the horse past the reins to his companion got down and proceeded to kindle the remaining lamp they had by that time got no further than the crossroad down the auction clinic the reins still poured as though the deluge were returning and it was no easy matter to make a light in such a world of wet and darkness when at last the flickering blue flame had been transferred to the wick and began to expand and clarify and shed a wide circle of misty brightness round the gig it became possible for the two young men to see each other and the thing they had along with them the rain had molded the rough sacking to the outlines of the body underneath the head was distinct from the trunk the shoulders plainly modeled something at once spectral and human riveted their eyes upon the ghastly comrade of their drive for some time mcfarland stood motionless holding up the lamp a nameless dread was swathed like a wet sheet about the body and tightened the white skin upon the face of fetus a fear that was meaningless a horror of what could not be kept mounting to his brain another beat of the watch and he had spoken but his comrade forestalled him it that is not a woman said mcfarland in a hushed voice it was a woman when we put her in this pretty oh hold that lamp said the other i must must see her face as fetus took the lamp his companion untied the fastenings of the sack and drew down the cover from the head the light fell very clear upon the dark well molded features and smooth shaven cheeks of a two familiar countenance often beheld in dreams of both of these young men a wild yell rang up into the night each leap from his own side into the roadway the lamp fell broke and was extinguished and the horse terrified by this unusual commotion bounded and went off toward edinburgh at a gallop bearing along with it sole occupant of the gig the body of the dead and long dissected gray and of the body snatcher by robert louis stevensson recording by mike harris the chicken by ellis parker butler this is a libra vox recording all libra vox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit libra vox dot org reading by greg margaret the chicken by ellis parker butler filo gub with three rolls of wallpaper under his arm and a pile of mixed paste in one hand walked along cherry street near the brickyard on this occasion mr gub was in a reasonably contented frame of mind for he had just received his share of the reward for capturing the dynamiteers and had this very morning paid the full amount to mr metterbrook leaving but eleven thousand six hundred and fifty dollars still to be paid to that gentleman for the utterly hopeless goldbind stock and upon the further payment of seventy five cents half its cost mr metterbrook gave him a telegram he had received from cerilla the telegram was as follows rapidly shrinking have given up all soups including tomato soup chicken soup mulligatoni mock turtle green pea vegetable gumbo lentil consomme bouillon and clam broth now weigh only nine hundred fifty pounds wire at once whether clam chowder is a soup or a food fond remembrances to gubby mr gub was thinking of this telegram as he walked toward his work just ahead of him a short lane led between mrs smith south's and the cherry street methodist chapel to the brickyard mrs smith's chicken coop stood on the fence line between her property and the brickyard phylo gub had passed mrs smith's front gate when mrs smith waddled to her fence and hailed him oh mr gub she panned it you got to excuse me for speaking to you when i don't know you mrs miffin says you're a detective detecting is my aim and my profession said mr gub well said mrs smith i want to ask a word of you about crime i've had a chicken stall chicken stealing is a crime if ever there was one said phylo gub seriously what was the chicken worth forty cents said mrs smith well said phylo gub it wouldn't hardly pay me it ain't much admitted mrs smith no you're you're right it ain't said phylo gub was this a rooster or a hen it was a hen said mrs smith well said mr gub if you was to offer a reward of a hundred dollars for the capture of the thief oh my land exclaimed mrs smith it would be cheaper for me to pay somebody five dollars to come and steal the rest of the chickens it seems to me that you ought to make the thief pay i ain't the one that did the crime am i it's only right that a thief should pay for the time and trouble he puts you to ain't it i never looked at it that way said mr gub thoughtfully but it stands to reason of course it does said mrs smith you catch that thief and you can offer yourself a million dollars reward if you want to that's not a my business well said phylo gub picking up his paste pail i guess if there ain't any important murders or things turned up by seven tonight i'll start in to work for that reward i guess i could ask more than five dollars reward at seven the evening was still light and phylo gub to cover his intentions and avert suspicion in case his interview with mrs smith had been observed by the thief put a false beard in his pocket and a revolver beside it and left his office in the opera house block cautiously he slipped into the alley and glided down at keeping close to the stables the detective must be cautious the abandoned brick kilns offered admirable seclusion a brick kiln is built entirely or almost so of the brick that are to be burned and the kilns are torn down and carted away as the brick or sold the overstructure of the kilns was a mere roof of half inch planks laid on timbers that were upheld by poles a ladder leaning against one of the poles gave access to the roof in the darkness it was impossible for phylo gub to find a fingerprint of the culprit on the kilns although he looked for one he did not even find the usual and highly helpful button torn from its place in the criminal's eagerness to depart he found only an old horseshoe and a broken tobacco pipe as there were evidences that the pipe had been abandoned on that spot several years earlier neither of these was a very valuable clue mr gub next gave his attention to the chicken coop it was preeminently a handmade chicken coop of the rough and ready variety phylo gub entered the chicken house and looked around lighting his dark lantern and throwing its rays here and there that he might see better the house was so low of roof that he had to stoop to avoid the roosts and the tails of the chickens brushed his head it needed brushing so this did no harm the hands and the two roosters complained gently of this interruption of their beauty sleep and moved along the roosts and mr gub went outside again it was quite evident that the thief had had no great hardships to undergo in robbing that roost all he had to do was to enter the chicken house choose a chicken and walk away with it why had he not taken 10 chickens mr gub as he put the keg hoop over the endboard of the gate studied this the theory that mr gub adopted was that the thief coming for a raid on the coop had been surprised to find it so poorly guarded it had been so easy to enter the coop and steal the chicken that he had decided it would be folly to take eight or 10 chickens and thus arouse instant suspicion and reprisal instead of this he had taken but one trusting that the loss of one would be unnoticed or played to rats or cats or weasels thus he would be able to return again and again as foul meat was needed or desired and the chickens would be like money in the bank a fund on which to draw this theory was so sound that mr gub believed it would require nothing more than patience to capture the criminal the thief would come back for more chickens filo gub looked around for an advantageous position in which to await the coming of the thief and be unseen himself and the loose board roof of the brick kiln met his eye no position could be better he climbed the ladder inside the kiln pushed one of the boards aside enough to permit him to squeeze through onto the roof and creeping carefully over the loose boards reached the edge of the roof here he stretched himself out flat on the boards and waited nothing absolutely nothing happened the mosquitoes numerous indeed because of the nearness of the pond buzzed around his head and stung him on the neck and hands but he did not dare slap at them lest he betray his hiding place hour followed hour and no chicken thief appeared and when the first rays of the sun lighted the east he climbed down and stalked stiffly away to a short hour of sleep the next night the correspondent school detective wasted no time in preliminary observations of the lay of the land he kept out of sight until the sun had set and dusk covered the land with shade and then he went at once to the roof of the brick kiln this time he was disguised in a red moustache a pair of flowing white side whiskers and a woolen cap he wore two revolvers large ones in a belt about his waist it was still too early for brisk business in chicken stealing when philo gub climbed to the roof of the kiln and spread himself out there and he felt that he had time for a few minutes sleep he was tremendously sleepy sleep fairly pushed his eyelids down over his eyes and he put his crook darm under his head and after thinking fondly of serilla for a few minutes went to sleep so suddenly that it was like falling off a cliff into dreamland he dreamed uneasily of having been captured by an array of 40 chicken thieves of having been led in triumph before the supreme court of the united states and of having been condemned as a detective trust on the charge of acting in restraint of trade as injuring the chicken stealers association's business and required to dissolve himself the dream was agonizing as he tried one to solvent after another without success turpentine merely dissolved his skin alcohol had no effect whatever he imagined himself in a long room in which stood vast rows of vats bearing different labels and in and out of these he climbed trying to obey the order of the court but nothing seemed capable of dissolving him and he suddenly discovered that he was made of rubber he seemed to remember that rubber was soluble in benzene and he started on a tour of the vats trying to find a benzene that he walked many miles sometimes he arose in the air with ease and grace and flew a few miles finally he found the vat of benzene immersed himself in it and began to dissolve calmly and with a blessed sense of having done his duty it was then that phylo gobb entered the dreamless sleep of the utterly weary and about the same time two men slunk under the roof of the brick kiln and after looking carefully around took seats on the fallen bricks resting their backs against the partly demolished kiln they arranged the bricks as comfortably as possible before seating themselves and when they were seated one of them drew a whiskey bottle from his pocket and after taking a good swig offered it to his partner nope said he i'm going to steer clear of that stuff until i know where i'm at and you're a fool for not doing the same wixie first thing you know you'll be sourced and if you are and anything turns up what'll i do i got all i can do to take care of you sober ah turn up what's going to turn up way out here asked wixie they ain't nobody farler in us anyway that's just a notion you've got your nerves has gone back on you sandlot my nerve is all right and don't you worry about that said sandlot i've got plenty of nerve so i don't have to brace it up with booze and you ain't that's what's the matter with you you saw that feller as well as i did didn't you see him at the bureau that feller with the white whiskers yes him and didn't you see him again in dirling port well what was he following us that way for when he told us at jolly yet he was going east a tramp has said good or right to change his mind is what we have said wixie didn't we tell him we was going east ourselves maybe he ain't looking for steady company any more than we be maybe he come this way to get away from us like we did to get away from say sandlot he said almost pleadingly you don't really think old white whiskers was a trail in us do you you ain't got a notion he's a detective how do i know what he is asked sandlot all i know is that when i see a feller like that once and then again and he looks like he was trying to keep hid from us i want to shake him off i know that and i know i'm going to shake him off and i know that if you get all boozed up and full of liquor and can't walk and that feller shows up i'm going to quit you and look out for myself when a feller steals something or does any little harmless thing like that it's different he can't afford to stick to a pal even if he gets nabbed but when it's a case of now don't use that word said wixie angrily it wasn't no more murder than nothing was we going to let chicago chicken bash our heads in just because we stood up for our rights him wanting a full half just because he put us onto the job he ought to be killed for asking such a thing well he was wasn't he asked sandlot you killed him all right it was you swung on him with the rock wixie remember that trying to put it off on me ain't you said wixie angrily well you can't do it if i hang you hang maybe i did take a rock to him but you had him strangled to death before i ever hit him let's see you scabbing about it said sandlot he's dead and we made our getaway and all we got to do is keep got away there ain't nobody ever going to find him not where we sunk him in that deep water ain't i been saying that right along asked wixie ain't i been telling you was a fool to be scared of an old feller like white whiskers cutting across country this way when we might as well be 40 miles more down the rock island traveling along as nice as you please in a boxcar now look here said sandlot menacingly i ain't going to take no abuse from you drunk or sober if you don't like my way you go back to the railroad and leave me go my own way i'm going on across country until i come to another railroad i am and if i come to a river and i run across a boat i'm going to take that boat and float away when i says nobody is going to know anything about what we did to the chicken over there in chicago i mean it nobody is but didn't sal know all three of us was going out on that job that night and when the chicken don't come back ain't she going to guess something happened to the chicken she's going to think he made a rich haul like he did and that he up and quit her said wixie that's what she'll think and what if she does says sandlot she and him has been bordering with mother smith ain't they ain't mother smith been handing the chicken money when he needed it because he said he was working up this job with us i bet the chicken owed mother smith a hundred dollars and when he don't come back then what sal will say she ain't got no money because the chicken quit her and mother smith will well what asked wixie she'll send word to every crook in the country to spot the chicken and you know it and when word comes back that there ain't no trace of him you've lost your nerve that's what else you said wixie scornfully no i ain't sandlot insisted i've heard plenty of fellers tell how mother smith keeps tabs on anybody that tries to do her out of ten cents even why maybe the chicken promised to come back that night and pay up i bet he did and i bet he was sour on sal and i bet mother smith knew it all the time and that when he didn't come back that night she sent out word to spot him or us i'll bet you you've lost your nerve said wixie drunkenly you never did have no nerve you're so scared you're seeing ghosts all right said sandlot rising i'll see ghosts then but i'll see them by myself you can go good bye said wixie carelessly and finished the last drop in his bottle goodbye old sandlot goodbye sandlot hesitated a moment and then arose and after a parting glance at wixie struck out across the drying floor of the brickyard and was lost in the darkness wixie blinked and balanced the empty bottle in his hand he's afraid he boasted to himself he's a coward afraid of dark afraid of ghosts lost his nerve i ain't afraid he rose to his feet unsteadily sandlots cowered he said and threw down the empty bottle with a motion of disgust at the cowardice of sandlot the bottle burst with a jangling of glass on the loose board roof phylo gub raised his head suddenly for an instant he imagined he was a disembodied spirit his body having been dissolved in benzene but as he became wider awake he was conscious of a noise beneath him wixie was shifting 20 or 30 bricks that had fallen from the kiln upon a truss of straw used the last winner to cover new molded bricks to protect them from the frost against their drying he was preparing a bed he muttered to himself as he worked and phylo gub placing his eye to a crack between the boards of the roof tried to observe him the darkness was so absolute he could see nothing whatever he heard wixie stretch out on the straw and in a minute more he heard the heavy breathing of a sleeper wixie was not letting any cowardice disturb his repose at all that's and phylo gub considered how he could best get himself off the roof the sleeping man was immediately beneath him the ladder was a full 10 yards away every motion made the loose boards complain looking down mr gub saw that the top of the kiln reached within a few feet of where he lay and that the partially removed sides had left a series of giant steps mr gub loosened his pistols in his belt now that he had the chicken thief so near he meant to capture him with the utmost care he slid one of the boards of the roof aside and put his long legs into the opening thus made feeling for the kiln until he touched it and when he had a firm footing on it he lowered the upper part of his body through the roof five feet away a cross timber reach from one pillar of the roof to another and just below that was one of the steps of the kiln phylo gub lighted his dark lantern and casting its ray saw this crosspiece if he could jump and reach it he could drop to the lower step and avoid the danger of bringing the side of the kiln down with him he slipped the lantern into his pocket reached out his hands and jumped into the dark for an instant his fingers grappled with the crosspiece he struggled to gain a firmer hold and then he dropped straight upon the sleeping wixie he alighted fair and square on the murderer stomach and the air went out of wixie in a sudden woof phylo gub in the unreasoning excitement of the moment grappled with wixie but the unresistance of the man told that he was unconscious and the correspondent school detective released him and stood up he uncovered the lens of his dark lantern and turned the ray on wixie the murderer lay flat on his back his eyes closed and his mouth open mr gub put his hand on wixie's heart it still beat the man was not dead with the dark lantern in one hand and a rusty tin can in the other mr gub hurried to the pond and returned with the can full of water but even in this crisis he did not act thoughtlessly he set the dark lantern on a shelf of the kiln so that its rays might illuminate wixie and himself alike drew one of his pistols and pointed it full at wixie's head and holding it so he dashed the can of water in the face of the unconscious man wixie moved uneasily he emitted a long sigh and opened his eyes i got you said phylo gub sternly there ain't no use to make a move because i'm a detective and if you do i'll shoot this pistol at you if you're able so to do just put up your hands wixie blinked in the strong light of the lantern he groaned and placed one of his hands on his stomach put him up said phylo gub and with another groan wixie raised his hands he was still flat on his back he looked as if he were doing some sort of health exercise in a minute the hands fell to the ground i guess you better set up said phylo gub you ain't going to be able to hold up your hands if you lay down that way as he helped wixie to a sitting position he kept his pistol against the fellow's head now then said phylo gub when he had arranged his captive to suit his taste what you got to say i got to say i never done what you think i'd done whatever it is said wixie i don't know what it is but i never done it some other fellow done it that don't bother me none said phylo gub if you didn't do it i don't know who did just about the best thing you can do is to account for the chicken and pay my expenses of getting you and the quicker you do it the better off you'll be pale as wixie was he turned still paler when phylo gub mentioned the chicken i never killed the chicken he almost shouted i never did it i don't care whether you killed the chicken or not said phylo gub calmly the chicken is gone and i reckon that's the end of the chicken but mrs smith has got to be paid did she send you asked wixie trembling did mother smith put you on to me she did so said the correspondent school detective and you can pay up or go to jail how do you like that wixie studied the tall detective look here he said suppose i give you fifty and we'll call it square he meant fifty dollars maybe that would satisfy mrs smith said phylo gub thinking of fifty cents but it don't satisfy me my time's valuable and it's got to be paid for ten times fifty ain't a bit too much and if it had took longer to catch you i'd have asked more if you want to give that much all right and if you don't all right too wixie studied the face of phylo gub carefully there was no sign of mercy in the birdlike face of the paper hanger detective indeed his face was severe it was relentless in its sternness five dollars was little enough to ask for two nights of first-class correspondent school detective work rather than take less he would leave the chicken thief to jail and wixie with his third and half of the chicken's third of the proceeds of the criminal job that had led to the death of the chicken knowing the relentlessness of mother smith that female fagan of chicago considered that he would be doing well to purchase his freedom for five hundred dollars all right pal he said suddenly you're on it's a bet here you are he slipped his hand into his pocket and drew out a great roll of money with the muzzle of phylo gub's pistol hovering just out of reach before him he counted out five crisp one hundred dollar bills he held them out with a sickly grin phylo gub took them and looked at them puzzled what's this for he asked and wixie suddenly blazed forth in anger now don't come any of that he cried a bargain's a bargain don't you come and pretend and he didn't say you'd take five hundred and try to get more out of me i won't give you no more i won't you can judge me if you want to you can't prove nothing on me and you know it have you found the body of the chicken well you got to have the corpus what you call it ain't you huh eight five hundred and not by bet the chicken never cost mother smith more than a hundred and fifty i was only thinking began phylo gub don't think then said wixie five hundred dollars seemed to phylo began again it's all you'll get if i hang for it said wixie firmly you can give mother smith what you want and keep what you want that's all you'll get phylo gub could not understand it he tried to but he could not understand it at all and then suddenly a great light dawned in his brain there was something this chicken thief knew that he and mrs smith did not know the stolen chicken must have been of some rare and much sought strain so it was all right the thief was paying what the chicken was worth and not what mrs smith thought it was worth in her ignorance he slipped the money into his pocket all right he said i'm satisfied if you are the chicken was a fancy bird ain't it so the chicken was a tough old rooster that's what he was said wixie staggering to his feet i thought he was a hen said phylo gub mrs smith said he was a hen wixie laughed a sickly laugh and ain't much of a joke that's why everybody called him chicken because his first name was hen phylo gub's mouth fell open he was convinced now that he had to do with an insane man wixie moved toward the oak drying floor well so long part he said to phylo gub give my regards to mrs smith and say he added if you see sal don't let her know what happened to the chicken don't say anybody made away with the chicken see tell sal the chicken flew the coop himself see who is sal asked phylo gub you asked mrs smith said wixie she'll tell you and he went out into the dark phylo gub heard him shuffle across the drying floor and when the sound had died away in the distance he put up his revolver five hundred dollars he said and he routed mrs smith out of bed he did not tell her the amount of reward he had made the chicken thief pay he asked her what the most expensive chicken in the world might be worth and she reluctantly accepted ten dollars as being far too much then he asked her who sal was sal queried mrs smith the chicken thief declared the statement that you would know said mr gub he said to tell her well mr gub said mrs smith partly i don't know any sal and if i did i wouldn't carry messages to her for a chicken thief and it's past midnight and the draft on my bare feet is giving me my death of cold and if you think this is a pink tea for me to stand around and hold full conversation at i don't and she slammed the door and of the chicken by ellis parker butler