 CHAPTER VI What I don't like about woman, exclaimed Roy Morton, with an inflection of disgust, is the kind of men they like. It was the morning of another day, and the exhaustive search commanded by Billy Walker as the mouthpiece of inexorable logic had begun. The voice of the oracle could, at this moment, be heard from the porch, where he was engaged in pleasant conversation with Mrs. West, while his three friends were busy with the actual work of investigation. They were in the small room opening off the hall, on the ground floor, which had been used by the late owner of the cottage as a sort of office. There he had kept all of his business papers, at least as far as the knowledge of his secretary went. A flat-top desk in the centre of the room contained a number of drawers, and in one corner stood a small iron safe. Under the terms of the will, every freedom was accorded to the searchers, and now safe and drawers had been opened for their convenience by May Thurston, who thus followed the instructions she had received from the lawyer. At the moment when Roy made his rather bitter remark concerning the nature of womankind, he had just observed, through a window that looked out to the south, a trio strolling along the lake shore. The three were Margaret, May, and the ubiquitous masters. It was the presence of the engineer that had aroused the indignation of Roy, and had caused him, thus cynically, to stigmatize feminine indiscretion and friendship. Himself a devotee of the fair sex, though shockingly irresponsible as an eligible bachelor, it irked him mightily that the requirements of his present relation to sex were such as to hold him there, pouring over a motley of sordid bills, receipts, and other financial memoranda, though while a scoundrelly nincompoop, so he secretly termed the engineer, strutted abroad with two charming girls. David laughed at the disgust in his friend's voice, for he, too, had observed the passing of the three, and he understood perfectly the jealousy that underlay Roy's displeasure in the situation. He paused in his task of conning the year's milk-bills of one a leisure snuddy, lighted a cigarette, and inhaled the fumes with a sigh of deep gratification. I wouldn't mind being in his place myself, Roy, he said, placidly. The grumbler scowled at his two penetrant crony. Sacks looked up from a sheet of fool-scap, covered in the minute handwriting of the miser with long columns of figures by which were set forth details of the expenditures for a month in the matter of postage. He, too, paused, becoming any diversion from the uncongenial labour, and lighted a cigarette with manifest relief. Be in whose place, Dave, he questioned, idly. Roy attempted a distraction from the topic. Ha! he sneered. This adventure isn't what it's been cracked up to be. No gore, no gold, no anything, except a parcel of musty papers. I have just finished the thrilling items of tenpenny nails in the matter of shingling the cottage. I suppose that poor old miser had a spasm every time he paid for a pound of them. In fact, I'm sure of it, because I get psychosympathetically those same spasms in going over the charges. Psychosympathetically is good, David generously declared. Then he turned to sacks. Roy just saw masters out for a walk with the girls, and it stirred him to envy, naturally enough. It did me, too, for there are certainly, too, unusually nice girls. Roy's gloomy face lighted in an instant, marvelously. His eyes grew very blue and soft. His lips curved in the smile that made all women like him. Peaches, he ejaculated with candid enthusiasm. But what a revelation it was when little Miss Thurston took off her spectacles. A demure angel appeared where before had been a dumpy New England school-marm. I have discovered the important fact that spectacles on a short woman take exactly two inches from her height. Have you informed Miss Thurston of your interesting discovery? David inquired. Not yet, was the answer. But I shall, at the first opportunity. It's a crime for any woman not to be as beautiful as she possibly can, every moment of her life. Think of the wholesome happiness that loveliness gives to every observer. Except the other woman, Sachs suggested. Roy disdained the interruption. And yet, he continued energetically, there are women, good women, mind you, who give away soup, but look like frumps and actually believe that they are doing their duty. Why, sirs, they minister to the bellies of a dozen, perhaps, while they shock the finest sensibilities of the souls of a thousand who have to look at them, and they believe that they have done their duty. It's shameful. Are bellies more than souls? The thoughts of Sachs were busy with the other of the two girls, Margaret West, and now he spoke of her, reverting to Roy's diatribe concerning the chief duty of women. Margaret West certainly fulfills all her obligation, he observed. There was a quality of repressed admiration in his voice which set the observant David to thinking. She is beautiful at all times. It's a delight to look at her. The other's nodded agreement, but in the same moment Roy grinned sardonically. Beware, he advised, mockingly. Remember that that girl, so young and seemingly so innocent, is your deadly enemy. Don't let the spell of her loveliness lull you into a fancied security in which you may be caught off guard. Again, I bid you beware. What on earth are you raving about? Sachs demanded, engend you in astonishment. But you're merely joking, of course, though I must say that I don't exactly see the humour. As my language was a trifle extravagant, Roy conceded, but as to the essential fact, why I stand by what I said. Margaret West is, naturally, your enemy. There can't be a shadow of doubt as to that. Margaret West, my enemy. The incredulous Sachs repeated, in a voice that was indignant. Why, man, the ideas observed. Roy wagged his head sapiently. Human nature is human nature, he vouchsafed. Money is power. There are a dozen trusums that I might utter very aptly at this present juncture, but I refrain. It so happens, however, that in the event of your failing to discover the hiding place of the gold so artfully concealed by the late lamented, the same Margaret West will fall arised to exactly one half of that gold. Therefore, inevitably, she is your enemy. Such is the law of our civilisation, and which gold plays the vital part. Sachs was frowning. He turned to David, with open impatience. Did you ever hear the like of that nonsense? He demanded. David smoked thoughtfully, and paused for a few seconds before he answered. Then he smiled his usual kindly smile, as he spoke decisively. Of course it does seem a bit preposterous, first off, he admitted, but you see the common facts of experience lend colour to Roy's argument. Miss West is a charming girl, and doesn't seem a bit the sordid, avaricious type, and yet, well, you never can tell. Women are kiddle cattle, and there's a pot of money concerned. I'm thinking she wouldn't be quite plain human if she didn't want you to fail. Of course she does, she must. Yes, Roy is right enough. Miss West is your natural enemy. Sachs was silenced, and, in a manner of speaking, convinced as well. He was forced to admit the plausibility of the reasoning of his friends, although his feeling was still bitterly opposed to any admission that the contention was just in this particular instance. It occurred to him that, were the case reversed, he would undoubtedly desire the seeker's discomforture with all his heart. Would, in fine, regard the seeker as his natural enemy, just as Roy had designated Margaret West to be his natural enemy. Nevertheless, something within him forbade that he should esteem this girl as one hostile to himself. The colour in Sachs's cheeks deepened a little. Of a sudden, it was born in on his consciousness that there existed a most cognant reason why he could not regard Margaret West as an enemy. It was because he so earnestly desired her as a friend. In that instant of illumination, he realised that never before in his life had he longed for the friendship of woman as now he yearned for that of Margaret West. A strange confusion fell on him. He did not quite understand the emotion that welled in his spirit. It was something new to his experience, something subtle, bafflingly elusive, and very, very sweet. This was recalled to the business of the moment by the pained voice of Roy. Digging the drain cost six dollars and ninety-eight cents. Sounds like a department store, was David's amused comment. I learned that, on the sixteenth of last January, nine cents was expended in the purchase of the succulent onion. Roy groaned with dismal heartiness. I embark on an adventure. I crave adventure. I seek it in far places and near, wherefore I come hither with my bold companions, a hunting a chest of gold. Fourth with, I become an uncertified private accountant. What hideous degradation? I tell you, sacks, I'm mighty sick of this job. I'd just as leaf be assistant bookkeeper in a tannery. Why tannery? David inquired. He pushed the heap of papers aside, and lighted another cigarette, highly pleased with the diversion. Because a tannery happened to be the most disagreeable place I could think of at the moment, was the simple explanation. Smells, you know? Yes, I know, David admitted. His jagged nose wrinkled violently, as memory smote his olfactory nerves. Sacks seized on a topic that promised some measure of distraction from his crowding thoughts. Myself, I don't think much of this method. He waved a hand contemptuously toward the litter of papers on the desk before them. It seems to me that we're just losing time and wading through all this trash. But what shall we do, instead? This is a part of the exhaustive search. Roy sprang up with an exclamation of impatience. No Christian gentleman, not even a miser, would concoct the diabolical idea of preserving a clue to his gold pot amid trash of this sort. Besides, I have a presentiment. Oh, a presentiment. There was a note of scoffing in Sacks's voice. But David, in the years since their graduation, had journeyed with Roy through strange places, and so had come to know the whimsical nature intimately, with a consequent respect for some seemingly fantastic idiosyncrasies. Now he stared at his friend expectantly, with no hint of derision in the look. Roy smiled quizzically as he met David's earnestly inquiring gaze. You're not so sceptical, eh, Dave, he said. David smiled wryly and shook his head, and his gentle, goggling eyes was reminiscence. It's borne in on my consciousness, Roy continued, rather pedantically, that the clue isn't here, and it's not to be found by tedious, disgusting ransacking of scraps, like those we've been wasting our time on here, but on the contrary, will be revealed to us in some much more curious manner. In fact, I feel that we shall succeed, but that our success will come in an apparently chance suggestion from some one of us, which will really be in the nature of an inspiration. You see, Dave, he concluded, staring at the other intently, the idea of the hiding-places well compacted as a thought-form, for the old man was thinking of his treasure and its concealment, hour after hour, day after day. The influence is here, ready to affect anyone sensitive enough to be susceptible to such vibration. For my part, I'm sure some one of us will presently become obsessed by some seemingly absurd idea, an idea in all likelihood quite irrational. That idea will lead us to victory, and to the Abernethy Gold. Sacks laughed a bit sourly. Roy's psychic gaskinating would have been more amusing with another theme. It seemed in truth rather heartless, Justin, when a fortune was the issue, to suggest that wealth must await the vagaries of a thought-form's impact on somebody's consciousness, which wouldn't know even what had hit it. Of all preposterous things, it was brutal, too. David sprang to his feet, his big, brown eye shining alertly through the eyeglasses. Praise be! he cried. Instantly thereafter he proceeded to the execution of a clog dance, which he performed with astonishing precision and swiftness, while Roy clapped the rhythm with foot and hands. Sacks looked on in unconcealed disgust. At the conclusion of the parcel, he lifted his voice in complaint. Well, of all the heartless, unsympathetic wretches, if it was your money, you might not feel so devilishly tickled. He glared at the unabashed too accusingly. David strode forward and clapped his friend on the back. Hold your horses, he cried. A crisp note of authority was in his voice. Why, old fellow, this is just what I've been waiting for. Indeed, Sacks exclaimed with sarcasm. Then he shrugged his shoulders resignedly. He found himself fairly bemused by this madness on the part of his friends. It's this way, David went on. His manner proved that, however extravagant in his credulity, he was quite sincere. I've been about more than a bit with Roy, and in some infernally tough places, too, let me tell you. Sacks nodded ascent. Well, the fact of the matter is simply this. From experience I've learned that, when Roy has a hunch, it goes. That's all. He has sensed things, as he calls it, and are acting on the knowledge we got in that way has saved our lives more than once. So here, I've been waiting for his sixth sense to get busy, and it has at last. I was beginning to get discouraged. Now, everything's all right. Roy's got his hunch. Before Sacks could voice utter disbelief in a trust so fantastic, he was interrupted by Roy himself. That intermittent seer, who had been smoking with an expression of infantile contentment on his face, sprang lightly and noiselessly to his feet. While Sacks and David stared curiously, he leaned close to them and whispered, There's somebody listening. Look out of the window, Sacks. Roy had been sitting for some time with his back to the one window in the room, while the other two had been facing it. There had come no sound from without. Now instinctively obedient to the command, Sacks started to the window, which was open, and thrust out his head. Close to the wall of the cottage, within a yard of him, stood Hartley Masters in an attitude of absorbed attention. Without attracting the notice of the eavesdropper, Sacks drew back and turned to his friends. He nodded affirmation of Roy's surmise. In the gaze with which he scrutinized the amateur psychic, there was a curious commingling of bewilderment, respect, and chagrin. David threw back his head and laughed joyously, scorning the listener, and spoke his mind. When Roy gets a hunch, watch out. End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of The Lake Mystery by Marvin Dana. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 7. Hap Hazard Questing Masters, who was not minded to let the value of a small weekly stipend stand between him and the possession of riches, had now abandoned even the pretense of work. He let it be known, casually, at the cottage that he was temporarily idle, while awaiting orders. As a matter of fact, he was awaiting the dismissal that now could not be long delayed. To May, however, he confessed the truth, that he had chosen to sacrifice a paltry certainty for the sake of possible wealth. She had protested against the recklessness of his conduct, but her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. Masters went his way of crafty greed without a moment's faltering. He had exalted on learning from the conversation overheard among the three friends, that the systematized search was to be abandoned in favor of a foolish fancy, as he deemed it. While Sax Temple and his companions loitered in expectation of some psychic guidance, Masters would give himself to the quest with an energy that must win him the victory. It was in a very cheerful frame of mind that he betook himself to the cottage on the following morning. Upon his arrival, however, he was at once confronted with a new phase of the situation which filled him with rage. The engineer found Mrs. West and Billy Walker chatting causally on the porch, as usual. Mrs. West beamed kindly in her greeting, for she enjoyed the breezy manner of this handsome young man. Billy merely grunted. To judge from the expression of his face, the utterance were better inarticulate. Masters leaned his long length against a pillar at the head of the flight of steps and joined genially in the conversation for a few minutes. Despite the manifest grumpiness of Billy Walker, who, never a courtier, was at no pains to conceal his distaste for the engineer's society. Mrs. West, however, was amiable itself, and Masters was minded to ignore the superciliousness of the other man's manner, though fully conscious of it. He felt that, under the circumstances, he could ill afford to be too finical over such a trifle, notwithstanding the irritation to his vanity. So he rolled a cigarette from the chip tobacco and wheat straw paper which he affected, and chatted jauntily with Mrs. West. When he deemed that a sufficient interval had elapsed, the engineer prepared the way to continue his delayed search of the cottage. I'll just take a look inside. Miss Thurston promised me a book. Fourthwith, he reprobated himself for having employed this particular ruse. For Mrs. West said, Mr. Thurston isn't in the cottage, Mr. Masters. You will find her down at the boathouse. Masters thanked her with his most winning smile and strolled away toward the lake. Mrs. West looked after him with a femininely appreciative smile. What a delightful gentleman Mr. Masters is, she remarked innocently to Billy, by way of answer. There came a rumbling, luckily again quite inarticulate. Forced thus by his own error to postpone the anticipated investigation, Masters was in no pleasant mood as he made his way to the boathouse, with the intention of venting his spite on the girl who loved him. But even this relief was not to be vouchsafed to him yet. On the contrary, his displeasure was swiftly to become wrath, venom by alarm, for, as he drew near the boathouse, he heard a chorus of merry voices. Instantly, he realized that the other men were here where he had expected to find only May, and possibly Miss West. Fury mounted high at the thought, a fierce, unreasoning jealousy bit at him. So great was his emotion under these confederate causes that, for once, he forgot discretion, and passed with hasty steps around the boathouse, totally heedless of the distraught expression on his usually debonair countenance. As the engineer rounded the corner, a scowl bent his brows at sight of the scene before him. The summer morning was of bland sun and gentle airs to set the carefree in a mood for lazy delights. The group of four, it was plain, had yielded to the soft seduction of the hour, for their faces were radiant. Roy Morton was sitting, in a boyish attitude, on the top of a snubbing post, about which his long legs were twined for security's sake. While May Thurston cuddled at his feet, her face uplifted, her eyes wrapped as she listened to some tale told from the book of his adventures. The spectacle infuriated masters, and new fuel fed the flame as his eyes fell on the other two. These had their backs to the newcomer, who approached immediately behind them. Margaret sat at the edge of the dock, leaning against a post, in a posture of perfect comfort peculiarly exasperating to the observer. A little to the right, and so placed as to face the girl, sacks sat, with his feet folded under him like a Turk. Masters noted, even in this gusty moment, that his rival was an especially good looking young man. Of the shaven, clean cut type most esteemed by the contemporary illustrator. The engineer appreciated the type of which he himself was the exemplar, and appreciated it indeed at its full worth. But having a fair degree of intelligence, he knew that woman admired also the vigorous, wholesome and cultured man of the kind there before him. Though he had not the least fear for his own prowess where the hearts of women were concerned, he could not disguise from himself the fact that here was one who might easily prove a dangerous rival were the opportunity given. Sacks had just done with explaining to Miss West the reason for the new era of idleness, which the day had inaugurated for himself and his two companions. With Billy Walker, the era was merely continued. It must be confessed that sacks had cast a reconnoitering glance toward Roy before beginning his recital, and that he held his voice lowered throughout the telling. He knew that this confidence to the girl, whom, to a certain extent, at least, the others distrusted, might be deemed by them the height of folly. But he was past respecting their opinions and ought that concerned her and him. So he told her freely of the decision to abandon systematic search in favor of a recognized dependence upon occult inspiration. Margaret's interest in the narrative was of the sincerest, and it delighted him. Her manner of receiving the information was proof enough to his mind that she harbored no least desire for his failure in this undertaking. His heart was in a glow of happiness, as she bent a little toward him. Her face all eagerness, her limpid eyes dazzlingly blew in the brilliant light. She met his gaze squarely, as she voiced her protest against the course adopted. Oh, but Mr. Temple, the time so short, less than three weeks now, it isn't safe. The two were in this attitude of absorbed intimacy when master's glance fell upon them. The evident intensity of their interest in each other capped the climax of his rage. He strode forward with a sneer arching the heavy mustache. At the sound of his steps, the group looked up, and, in varying fashion, each of the four showed unmistakable signs of dissatisfaction at this interruption of the conversation. Master so far forgot his manners as to make no response to the rather curt nods with which the two men greeted him. Instead, he halted abruptly, and stared, glowering at Margaret and Sacks. After the first moment of astonishment at the engineer's discordious manner, Sacks's expression of animation died out suddenly to be replaced by a set severity that awkward ill for him who should challenge it. Roy's jaw shot out a little, and the veil dropped over his eyes, which, a moment before, had been mild and deep. Margaret could only regard the malevolent face of master's with sheer amazement, as his wrathful eyes met hers. It was May who saved the situation. She sprang to her feet with a little cry, which might have been of pleasure or of pain. With the intuition of a loving woman, she seized instantly on the fact that something had thrown her lover from his customary poise. Without a particle of hesitation, she employed the first ruse suggested by her woman's wit. Oh, you did come, after all, in spite of that horrid tooth! She had no least idea as to the cause that had put the man in this tempestuous temper, but she realized the necessity of restoring him to some measure of self-control ere he should commit himself hopelessly by a violent outbreak. The fiction concerning the tooth rose to her lips without conscious volition on her part, the grimace with which masters faced her, though merely a physical symbol of fury, might well have had its origin in a spasm of pain. As he met May's dismayed and imploring eyes, sanity rushed back on the engineer. By a stern effort, he fought back the flooding wrath. His face worked a little, then settled into a grim repose. While the others waited in silence for the outcome, he suddenly smiled crookedly. I had a frightful twinge while I was coming through the woods. But that didn't matter so much, because I was alone and could make faces and say just what I wanted to. But I do think it was unkind of fate to visit the worst twinge of a jumping toothache on me at the very instant when I stepped into the presence of company. Forgive me the face I made, please. His big eyes were shining gently now, where before they had been blazing. His demeanor was convincing to the unsuspicious Margaret, who, having once experienced a jumping toothache, was prepared to accept it as full justification for any desperate deed. Of the others, May felt a profound relief in finding that he had so swiftly made use of her offered help, and for the moment, this satisfaction contented her. Roy adjusted his jaw in a less belligerent fashion, as contempt took the place of anger. Sax found himself smiling, genuinely amused over the fancy of so piratical seeming a person in the throes of toothache. Neither of the men, however, had the slightest doubt that May had offered an ingenious excuse to account for the engineer's savage manner. And forthwith, Sax and Roy began to wonder mightily as to what, in fact, had occurred to destroy so completely the ordinary suavity of this young gentleman whom they cordially detested. Mrs. West sent her servant, Chris, in quest of Margaret, and soon afterward, May and Masters also went to the cottage, without troubling much for an excuse, so that the two friends were left alone together on the dock. But before they had time to voice their common astonishment over the scene that had just passed, they were confronted by Jake, who, as they looked up at his approach, bobbed his head at them, and winked with a fine air of mystery. When he spoke, he addressed himself directly to Roy, for the love each of them bore to niceties of mechanism sealed their sympathy. Well, what's new, Jake? Roy demanded amiably. Another series of bobbings and winks emphasized the importance of the forthcoming communication. Then, finally, he spoke in a husky whisper for secrecy's sake. Thought I'd look in on ye, and tell ye I got an ID. Capital Jake, Roy's tone was distinctly encouraging. What's it all about? It's this way, Jake began, with manifest pride and the importance of the coming revelation. You see, I know something about the House Uptar. He nodded over his shoulder in the direction of the cottage. That you chaps don't. That's what. At this preamble, sacks, who had been giving only desultory attention to the old man, quickly seized looking out over the lake, and gave ear to what the boatman was saying, while Roy, too, displayed a new interest. Jake was plainly gratified by the effect he had wrought on his hearers, and he proceeded with a note of pride in his voice. That's one thing about that dark cottage that you ain't onto, and thinking as how you want likely to be, as says to myself, says I, I'll just put him wise, seeing as how he come to a kind of stand still, as it were. Thanks, Jake, Roy said. We surely need any help we can get at this stage of the game. Go ahead. The cottage was an uncouth structure. It had originally been a story and a half building. And to this Abernethy had added a sort of wing to make the music room. And eventually this portion had become the principal bulk of the edifice, for domestic offices had been joined to it, and a second story set above, in which were a number of bedrooms. It was in reference to this second story on the wing that Jake now came with tidings for the treasure seekers. See, Hatch did that dark job, he said, with a wheezy chuckle of amused reminiscence. She means well, but, between you and me and the lamppost, he ain't worth shucks as a carpenter, and Jiner, no, three. Well, being a cussed fool, see, miscalculated somehow, and left about two foot space at the forward and between the outside wall in the last to that side of the bedroom. I supposed, of course, the old man be madder in the hornet. But he only just grand some, and says to me, says he, it'll save that much flooring for the bedroom. Yes, a snummy he did. Mighty class the old man was. Jake paused and regarded the listeners with merry twinkling eyes. My so be as the golds and are, he concluded. Of course, taint likely, but it might so be. He stood silent, awaiting comment. We are tremendously obliged, Jake, Roy declared promptly, and sacks added a phrase of appreciation. Do we have to tear the house down to get into the space? Roy continued. Jake shook his head vehemently. Not a bit on it. He declared. And he forthwith gave vent to another chuckling series of explosions. You see, the old man was class, as I said. That's right. He was going to class, meaning no disrespect. You know that dark closet in the front hall upstairs by the bedroom door. Well, the old man said that they want no earthly use. A waste and good timber put in a back to that closet was plastering and all. So he just had paper put up, you break away at the paper, and then you can sidle right in between the outside wall and the last of the bedroom. Thought it might be worthwhile just to look in, as it were. Indeed, we shall look in, sacks declared. And we're tremendously grateful to you, Jake, for the tip. Because we need a lot of help, I'm thinking. Roy nodded ascent. We appreciate the kindness, old chap. He exclaimed. And let me tell you that I'm going to show my friendship by getting you a decent birth, after this wild adventure is over and done with, where you'll have the chance of your life. Your skill with engines is wasted here. It's way off in Cuba. But it'll be worth your while. Would you like that? You bet she was the contentious answer of the boatman, as he turned to lead the way toward the house. Presently, he chuckled yet once again, contentedly, and added, My old woman, all this has been a pin in to travel in foreign parts. End of chapter seven, chapter eight of the Lake Mystery by Marvin Dana. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter eight in the recess. At the house, no one was visible, with the exception of Billy Walker, who, on the porch, reclined in a large rocking chair, displaying his customary masterly inactivity. The while he contemplated the tip of a particularly black cigar, which he had not troubled to light for the sufficient reason that there were no matches nearer than the hall. The information concerning the recess within the walls was duly imparted to him. And he followed his two friends and the boatman to the closet in the hallway upstairs. The others were inclined to jeer at Billy Walker for this surprising show of activity on his part. But it was a jive from Roy that put the lethargic one on his metal. It came after Jake had cut through the paper in a panel from floor to ceiling, by which was revealed a black opening into the space beyond. And above all, Roy said, intreatingly, Don't I beg of you, Billy, let your rash impetuosity lead you to squeezing in here. Remember your punch and be warned in time. It is certain that, until this moment, Billy had had no slightest thought of thus venturing into the opening. But human nature is often contrary. And though ordinarily Billy vastly preferred taunts to physical exertion, in this instance it's so chance that his friends remarked touched him in a sensitive spot. He said nothing at the time. However, contenting himself with a sudden valiant resolve. So after candles had been brought, and his two friends had squeezed themselves, one after the other into the opening, Billy Walker, in his turn, essayed an entrance to the considerable astonishment of Jake, who remained in the hall. Better take a candle, sir, he suggested, and he offered one already lighted. It was accepted, and, holding it high before him, Billy surveyed the region into which he meant to venture thus intrepidly. By the flickering light he beheld a very narrow passage, in which, toward the farther end, he could distinguish the deeper shadow that he knew to be Roy, who had been the second to enter. There could be no doubt as to the person's identity, since there was no room in which one person could pass another unless by climbing. At sight of the limited space, Billy was assailed with pings of regret that he had so vangloriously undertaken the adventure. Nevertheless, he felt that it was now too late to retreat, and, with a sigh of disgust, he thrust himself forward. He had observed in his brief examination that there was no flooring, but merely the naked joists, over which he must make his way very cautiously, stepping accurately from one to another. Wearily, then, he went forward using every caution. It was by no means pleasant going, because of the precarious footing, and, too, because of the fact that his broad shoulders were unduly constricted by the walls on either side. Disaster came when a nail caught in the sleeve of his coat just as he gave a lunge forward. The unexpected restraint threw him out of balance. In recovering himself, he dropped the candle. On the instant his imagination was filled with glaring visions of the house in flames. Alarmed, he stooped his heavy body swiftly, too swiftly alas, for his feet slipped from the narrow supports. He fell heavily. His hands and arms shot through the plastering that sealed the room beneath. The violence of the impact was such that a large square of the plastering broke away and went clattering to the floor of the room below. But before the noise of its falling sounded, Billy Walker had heard another sound, a sharp cry of surprise or fear. Through the rain of plaster, his eyes caught one glimpse of a darting figure. His ears distinguished from out the other din a scurry of steps over the polished floor. Even in the turmoil of the moment, Billy automatically noted these things. But at the time, he gave no heed whatever to them. His one desire just then was to escape from this horrible predicament without the loss of an instant. To that end, he immediately began to back out with never another thought to the candle, which however had been extinguished by the fall. Slowly and wrathfully, Billy Walker made his laborious retreat on hands and knees backward from the scene of his exploits. His friends, startled by the noise behind them, had managed to face about, and to hurry toward him. And now they stood, one behind the other, peering at the prostrate one, at first an amazement over his presence there at all, then an alarm over his condition. Finally, reassured, and hilarious enjoyment of the catastrophe that had befallen him. Their presence and comments did not tend to soothe the outraged feelings of the victim as he wearily crept, retrograde, into the closet, and at last scrambled to his feet in the hallway. Jake was so discreet as to say nothing at all, which reticence gave him a place for all time in the unhappy man's esteem, despite the fact that the disaster had come from accepting the preferred candle. The others, unfortunately, were not so restrained, and their remarks came near to offending Billy Walker. Certainly, they increased his exasperation against the event that had made him ridiculous. But after a little, he contrived a diversion. I hope that plastering didn't hurt anybody when it fell. He exclaimed of a sudden. Jake shook his head. Nope, he declared. There want nobody downstairs, I guess. Marthe's out at the back, look and order her flower garden. And there want nobody else round when we come up. But there was someone in the room downstairs. Billy persisted. I heard a cry just as my fists went through the plastering. And then, along with the other noise, I heard the steps of someone running out. Was it a man or a woman? Roy asked. Billy shook his head. Really, I haven't the least idea, he answered. You see, I was pretty well occupied at the moment with my own affairs. And I didn't pay a particle of attention to anything else. Anyhow, I don't see that it matters much, sacks declared. It's plain that you didn't hurt anyone seriously. Or we'd have heard of it before this. It didn't wound Mrs. Dustin or Chris. For here they both come now. He waved his hand toward the stairs. And the others turned to see the two hurrying up. Mrs. Dustin was valuable and mightily relieved to learn that her precious Jake had suffered no harm. The mild black eyes of Mrs. West's servant twinkled with amused excitement when he was informed as to the nature of the happening. They too were puzzled on hearing that someone had been in the music room at the time of the accident. The three friends went down to the porch, which was still deserted. Billy, who had cast a disgusted glance on the litter in the drawing room in passing, sighed legubriously, as he sink back into the rocking chair. No more thrilling adventures by field and flood for me, he boomed. I have had my belly full all at once. Let the cobbler stick to his last and let me stick to my chair. I got too confoundedly energetic, and I'm old enough to know better. I've messed up the place shockingly, which means so much extra work for the industrious Mrs. Dustin, who's amiable, but foolish husband got me into this idiotic scrape. You would have found that there was no gold in the place without my assistance. And unfortunately, I've incurred a financial penalty for my misplaced intrusiveness into the plastering. And when the repairs of Miss West's ceiling shall have been accomplished, it will be my melancholy duty to foot the bill. Oh, misery. The others laughed with the unfortunate, who was now again restored to his usual good humor. But presently, sax spoke in a puzzled voice. You really must have been mistaken, Billy, about having heard someone down below you in the music room. Billy Walker snorted indignantly. I may possibly be a trifle and grievous physically in some ways on occasion, he retorted. But I assure you that my ears are quick enough. I was not mistaken. I heard just what I told you I heard, and I saw too. The others were unaware that Billy did not exaggerate the excellent quality of his hearing. And in consequence, they found themselves at a loss. It was Roy, the suspicious, who finally voiced the idea that was bound to find lodgement in their minds. When he spoke, it was in a tone of conviction. The ubiquitous masters, of course. It's not a dissent. Spying again, he agreed. We know that he's capable of it. He turned to Billy Walker inquiringly. The fellow is undoubtedly open to suspicion. After what you caught him at the other day, Billy admitted. Equally, of course, we haven't a shred of evidence against him. That doesn't matter a bit, as long as we have the moral certainty, sacks argued. But the real gist of the problem is what on earth is the fellow up to anyhow? It's just pure cussedness, Roy asserted, his face hardening. One look at him is enough to warn anyone that he's spoiling for mischief. He's a water, that's all. Billy Walker shook his head authoritatively. You're wrong, as usual, he announced with unpleasant frankness. As a matter of fact, our friend, the enemy has a motive other than sheer devilry. The others regarded the speaker in surprise, whereas Billy Walker nodded his head vigorously a number of times, and looked very wise indeed. Yes, he continued with much complacency. After you had told me the incident of his listening to your talk together, I grappled with the problem of the engineers not minding his own business. And I presently came on the obvious solution of the puzzle. He paused expectantly. Well, what was it? Roy demanded impatiently. He was still smarting a little from Billy's sweeping statement as to his own habit of inaccuracy. Sacks to showed a keen curiosity in his face. The simple truth of the matter is this, the Oracle resumed, when he felt that he had sufficiently wedded their interest by delay. This man, masters, has a mind to lay hold on Abernethy's treasure himself. He stared triumphantly at first one, and then the other of his hearers. The effect on them was enough to satisfy the purveyor of information. Roy fairly gaped in amazement, while sacks manifested first astonishment, then incredulity, which he voiced boldly. Absurd, he cried. But Billy Walker was prepared to maintain his contention with arguments. And forthwith, he did so. And at the last, Billy made a shrewd suggestion, which by a totally different method, arrived at the conclusion already reached by Roy through his vaunted sixth sense. You may have wondered a little, the Oracle said, that I should have made no particular remonstrance when you incontinently gave up the search commanded by immutable logic. Well, as a matter of fact, I myself would have suggested the uselessness of further effort along those lines. You see, the affair lies thus. He paused for a moment and pursed his lips, as one preparing for didactic discourse. This chap, masters, is on terms of considerable intimacy, I judge, with the girl who was the secretary of the late Mr. Abernethy. Moreover, he was here, on the spot. There can be no question that, sooner or later, he learned the facts from her concerning the last will and testament of the eccentric miser. Thereupon, he determined to go treasure hunting on his own account. He was on the job in stanter, so to speak. In fact, I'm quite willing to eat my hat, which is an especially indigestible variety of stetson, if the cottage has not already been searched with great thoroughness by our industrious antagonist. Billy stared at his two friends contentedly, out of his small, dull eyes, and his heavy face wrinkled into a smile. The result of his words was all that he could have desired. The infernal sneak, Roy exclaimed violently. His eyes grew hard, his mouth set, with the slight forward push of the jaw. And Saxe's face, too, anger was plain. To think of a nice girl being fooled like that, Roy continued furiously, after an interval of silence. But will land the robber somehow? If we don't, I'll find some excuse for beating him up. Never mind the pummeling, Billy counseled. Just you keep your eyes open that he doesn't beat you to the money. For the present that's more important than jealous rose. At this remark, which showed that the scholar was more observant than might have been supposed in a field so foreign to his usual investigations, Roy blushed for the first time in many years, and Saxe was so rude as to titter aloud. It was at this moment that David appeared from around the north end of the cottage. Fourth with, he was made familiar with all that had happened during the period of his absence, together with the lively suspicions entertained against the engineer. When the tale had been told, David took a few minutes for reflection before he spoke. I'm willing to believe anything against that ornery critter, he remarked at last, with his big eyes twinkling. But I am, before all else, a just man. You've got to leave masters out on this last deal. As a matter of fact, he has a perfectly good alibi. I wanted a line on the Rapscallion. And so I fairly forced myself on him this morning, to his disgust. But he didn't think it quite prudent, I guess, to be out and out rude to me. For the last two hours, masters and I have been together, strolling chumily over the hills and far away. End of Chapter eight, Chapter nine of the Lake Mystery by Marvin Dana. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter nine, The Gold Song. As Mrs. West, with Margaret and May Thurston, had gone for a stroll soon after the departure of David and the engineer, the mystery concerning the identity of the person in the music room at the time of Billy's misadventure remained unsolved. The subject afforded the friends much opportunity for speculation, all of which resulted in nothing definite. Margaret and her mother showed not the slightest irritation over the way in which the property had been damaged. On the contrary, they were seen to smile whenever their gaze touched the broken place in the ceiling, which remained the mute witness to an inglorious achievement. Sacks, while awaiting the development of another idea for the quest, devoted himself assiduously to Margaret. He made no effort to conceal his infatuation. Or, if he did, the attempt was futile. He was, indeed, so flagrant in his court as to fill the engineer with an ever-increasing fury of jealousy, which threatened ill to one or the other of the two young men. On his part, Sacks was made miserable by the effability with which Margaret accepted the attendance of the engineer on her. It seemed monstrous that her instinct should leave her unworn as to the vicious character of the fellow. Sacks felt that he, as a gentleman, could give her no least word of admonition under the circumstances. He could only do his best to keep at her side every moment. And in this he succeeded remarkably well, though by no means to the extent of his desire. As for the disposition of the girl herself, she showed neutrality between the two men in a manner that, while equally objectionable to each of them, must have commanded the admiration of any unprejudiced observer. Roy devoted himself with good grace to May Thurston, who welcomed him candidly, for her heart was deeply wounded by the patient defection of her lover. Masters had glibly assured her that it was part of diplomacy just now for him to conceal their real relation by his attentions to Margaret, but his reasoning was not altogether convincing to her intelligence, and the voice of instinct told her that her love was being flouted before her very eyes. In consequence, she greeted this new admirer gladly as a sob to her pride, and, presently, as Roy exerted himself to the utmost toward making a favourable impression, for the sake of the genuine pleasure his company gave her. Being a sensible young woman in the main, the inevitable comparisons that soon began to arise in her mind between the two young men did much toward tearing loose the roots of love from her heart, leaving the soil there freshly tilled for the planting of other seed. Mrs. West played her part excellently as chaperone by giving her society much of the time to David and Billy. She was so good to look on in her well preserved charms, and so wise and sympathetic in her conversation, and so untiring a listener that the two men found themselves very content. The other three members of the household, Jake, his wife, and Chris made an amiable trio in the kitchen, where Mrs. Dustin, who, as Jake bore witness, had always hankered to go a-traveling, was never weary of hearing the newcomer's tales of strange places whether he had journeyed. For the first time in his life, Chris found himself appreciated at his full worth, perhaps beyond, not as a servant but as a man, by those who, while of a humble walk in life, were yet not of the servant class. He expanded under the novel and pleasing influence, and developed a gift of narrative that surprised himself. He felt a new sense of his own importance, which did not in the least lessen his devotion to Mrs. West and Margaret. On the third night, after the episode in the recess, the ladies had retired to their chambers for the night, and the indefatagable masters also had taken his departure from the cottage, but the four friends still remained in the music room, where sacks had been playing. They were smoking and chatting in carefree fashion of many things, but not of the treasure which they had set out to find, though that lay ready at the back of the mind of each. Sacks lingered at the piano. Now he was idly giving forth bits of various compositions as they chanced to rise in memory. It was while in this mood of desultory reminiscence that he suddenly became aroused to knowledge of the fact that he was monotonously drumming a tedious strain, which had neither melody or harmony to justify the choice of it at all, much less this senseless reiteration. For a few seconds he found himself bewildered. He could not recall what the music was, either the name of the composition or the name of the author. Nor could he recollect what manner of association he had ever had with the barren phrases, that he should thus subconsciously carry them in memory. He was disagreeably impressed by the event, because he prided himself on the clarity of his mental processes, and here he found himself completely baffled. Then, in a flash, remembrance came, and with it an even greater wonder. This was the music that had been written by the old man of whom he was the doubtful heir. Even while he mused, he had been continuing the harsh fragment, and now he gave careful ear to it, seeking some explanation of the reason why it had persisted in memory, to issue in his playing without volition on his part. But there came no suggestion as to that cause from the uncouth strain. He played it once again, without any hint of understanding, then seized. Holy Adelos! It was another who afforded the clue that had eluded him. As the echoes died away, Billy Walker rumbled a comment from his luxurious huddling in the depths of the chair. Sounds like money, heaps of money. Gold, you know, all in stacks, being counted, clink, clink, clink, clink. Sacks whirled on the piano stool, an expression of amazement on his face as he stared at his unmusical friend. By heavens, Billy, he cried excitedly, You've got it! You've got it exactly! That's what it is. It's the clink, clink, clink of the gold pieces, as they're piled up. He was astounded by this perspicacity on the part of one who had no soul for music, yet had succeeded here, where he himself had failed. He had no particle of doubt that this explanation as to the meaning of the music was the true one. He played the piece once again, emphasizing the accent in the base a little, so that the effect was even more pronounced. There could be no mistake. Roy spoke with sudden appreciation of the fact. Why? That's the piece you played the other night. The weird one. I'd been wondering where I'd heard it. It's the one that got on Miss Thurston's nerves. So because the old man was always playing it toward the last, it's enough to get on anyone's nerves for that matter. But Billy hit the idea all right. David Swing, nodding energetically, turned his protuberant eyes on Billy. Yes, you hit it, old man, he exclaimed. You got the idea we were all looking for and couldn't quite catch hold of. Bully for you. But how in the world did you ever come to do it? You, a music sharp. He burst into a mellow peel of laughter in which the others joined. Suddenly, Sax sprang to his feet with a display of emotion that was contrary to his habit, for he had schooled himself to a certain flimatic bearing that masked the native susceptibility of his moods. Now, however, he forgot restraint in the agitation of his feeling, and addressed his friends with the vehemence that astonished them. His swift gestures and the changing play of his features revealed the volatile artistic temperament, which was ordinarily shrouded within a veil of impeturable calm. I know I understand it all now, he declared eagerly. In this music, the old man crystallized his besetting sin. This composition of his is the song of gold. It is the miser song. In it, he translates into musical terms the vice that corroded his soul. In it, he expresses the sordidness of that vice, even as he himself knew it out of dreadful personal experience. And somehow he put into the music the strength of the spell that was laid on him. It is there some malignant fascination which each and every one of us has felt in a fashion of his own. That is why it so gripped Miss Thurston, and why it affected her so disagreeably. It has in it a subtle, irresistible suggestion of the hideous, the ignominy and the power of greed alike sound in the monotony of its rhythm, its harshness, its fearful simplicity. It is uncouth. It is as if it were calloused. Yet it is full of vital, frightful emotion. It is a statement of ghastly truth. It is a confession of degradation. It is a wail of utter despair. In short, it is the heart song of the miser, written by the brain that looked into the heart and learned its hateful mystery. The others had listened in tense silence, surprised beyond measure before this outbreak from one always hitherto so tranquil, so serene amid the varying stresses of affairs. It was the revelation of their friend in a new light, wherein he showed with an impressiveness strange to them. They watched him intently as he stood there before them. All animation, his handsome face flushed in the passion of the moment. A little sigh of appreciation issued from the lips of each as, with the last words, he sank again to the piano stool and dropped his hands to the keys. So once again he played the music of that dead man who had given himself to a gross in evil worship. Still under the influence of deep emotion, the player now abandoned himself to the theme and wrought on it with all his skill in music, with all the feeling of repulsion that held him in thrall. There was not in this improvisation the power, the mastery, that had marked the frenzied interpretation by which the composer had amazed the night. But Sax Temple was not wanting a large measure of skill, and to this he added the sympathy of the true artist, surcharged with a profound emotion. The uncanny spell of the music laid its hold on them all as he went on playing, gripped them, sent weird visions reeling before their fancy. Even Billy Walker for once was beguiled into a curious receptivity, so that he saw vistas of crouched spectres, which ceaselessly shuffled golden coins to and fro, in a frenetic joy that was the madness of anguish. May Thurston, asleep in her chamber, turned uneasily, and her dreams grew troubled. When, at last, Sax had made an end of playing. There followed a long silence. It was Billy Walker who broke it. His great voice rang through the room, harsh, compelling. It's there, he said, with simple finality. It's there, the clue. End of Chapter 9 CHAPTER 10 IN THE WOOD The others received the astonishing pronouncement of Billy Walker with varying emotions, of which the chief was a candid incredulity. How, in the world, do you justify that remarkable statement? Roy demanded, breaking the silence of surprise which had at first held the three. For a moment Billy showed traces of embarrassment. Then, swiftly, an expression of relief showed on his heavy face, and he spoke glibly enough. The conclusion to which I have come, he declared ponderously, is compelled by exact reasoning from all the facts in our possession. The late Mr. Abernethy unquestionably left for his heir some sort of clue as to the hiding-place of the money. Having in mind the whimsical nature of the man, we may well believe that, in a case such as this, the clue would be of an especially curious kind. Next we have the fact that Mr. Abernethy was a musician. He was devoted to that art beyond anything else, accepting only his passion as a miser. Now our search through his effects and his house has discovered only a single thing having a real vital bearing on his personality, and, more than that, on the very object of our quest here, money. In consequence of all these facts I am led to the conclusion that this page of manuscript offers us the clue for which we have hitherto been hunting in vain. The speaker paused. To stare from one to another of his auditors triumphantly. Roy uttered an ejaculation of impatience. A reason is a good thing sometimes, and sometimes it isn't. This, I am thinking, is one of the times when it isn't. The trouble with your whole argument, Billy, lies in an additional fact, that a sheet of music can't tell you where a certain hole in the ground may chance to be. Why not? Billy's question came tartly. Roy replied with a hint of disdain in his voice, such as is often characteristic of the musical person in speaking of his art to one unlearned. The reason would be obvious to you if you knew anything of music, he declared. Then it's lucky I don't, was the other's retort. Because in some way that we don't know yet the clue we need is set down on that manuscript. It is logically certain, and if you musical sharps can't guess as much it's fortunate I'm along to give you the pointer. David also expressed himself as skeptical of the announcement made by Billy. If it had been anybody except Billy who had been hit by this idea, I should feel quite differently about it. He asserted, chuckling in response to the glare of indignation with which the oracle received the words. Of course you know my feeling in the matter. I'm expecting some sort of inspiration to hit us. I have been, ever since Roy had his hunch. But Billy isn't of the sensitive temperament, which is receptive to impressions of a psychic sort. If Roy had received this idea, without a bit of reason to back it up, I should have had high hopes. Or if it had come to sacks even, because he has the sensitiveness of the artistic temperament. Or even if it had come to your delicately susceptible self, I suppose, Billy suggested acrimoniously. David nodded assent. With all humility, yes, he answered, unabashed. And you needn't be peevish, Billy, for the simple reason that you'd be furious if anyone were to accuse you of being a psychic subject. Eh, wouldn't you? Billy growled assent. That sort of things all wrought, he affirmed with emphasis. I arrived at the fact easily and sanely by the exercise of irrationalizing intelligence. Precisely, David agreed. And that's why I don't attach the slightest importance to your statement. At this heterodox confession, Billy was too overwhelmed with disgust to pursue the argument farther. Sacks did not share in the avowed disbelief of Roy and David. While the others were engaged in disputation, he had gone to the stack of music, and had looked through it until he came upon the sheet of manuscript. Then he returned to his seat on the stool, placed the music on the rack, and devoted himself to scrutiny of the writing. He felt, somehow, that he dared not reject the suggestion that here was the very thing he sought as the guide to fortune. Nevertheless, though he studied the page with anxious intensity, he could perceive no possibility of any hint to be derived from the simple score of notes. There was nothing set down in the way of diagram, or combination of letters which, by twists of ingenuity, might be made to suit his need. Nothing showed beyond the phrases of a composition naked in its simplicity. Reason told him that any trust in this manuscript were delusion. Yet he hung over it, absorbed, even while he chided himself for his interest in a thing plainly worthless to the purpose. It was Billy Walker, turning in disgust from the debate with David, who first observed Saxe's absorption in the manuscript, and his vanity was at once consoled by this mute support. He got up lumberingly, and crossed over to the piano, where he stood looking down at the music. His action caused David and Roy to perceive what Saxe was doing, and forthwith, despite their skepticism, they too rose and went to the piano, there to stare down curiously at the manuscript on the rack. Here is a copy of the sheet on which the four adventurers were looking down. The four stood in silence for a long minute, gazing down at the manuscript page with keen discouragement. Saxe was the first to speak, shaking his head dispiritedly. It means nothing, he said, with melancholy certainty in his voice. There is no possibility of its meaning anything. For a moment I was foolish enough to hope that Billy had really got the right idea, but he hasn't. This is a plain bit of music, nothing more. Of course, Roy agreed, with a contemptuous inflection. My personal opinion is that the power of radiosynation is not always what it cracked up to be, Billy. David, once again, shared the general disbelief. No, he declared, the idea won't hold water. There is no way to convey meaning by the score of a musical composition, except the emotion that the author has experienced himself, and wishes thus to interpret to his hearers. The old man meant in this case to tell us of the spell that the love of gold lays on the miser. He has done that. Billy was the one who called our attention to the fact. He must be content with that much glory. His other idea was just poppycock. Billy Walker was unconvinced. I know nothing about music, he conceded. But I have the God-given gift of reason, which is not vouchsafed to the Brutes. Or to all human beings, I regret to say. Reason convinces me that the clue lies somewhere on this sheet. I reaffirm my conclusion. Since I know nothing of music, the remainder of the work must be done by you. It has now become your responsibility. I have done my part. The dignity and the earnestness with which this declaration was made impressed the doubters in spite of themselves. When Billy had ceased speaking, they remained silent, vaguely hesitant, though quite unconvinced. Sax, perhaps, more than either of the others, was desirous of accepting Billy's idea as true, but he was unable to justify it by anything tangible. His was, after all, the chief interests in the issue, and he was eager to seize on even the most meager possibility that offered hope of success. So now he was anxious to believe, and wracked his brain to find some character of subtle significance on the page before him. It was in vain. He could discern nothing beyond the obvious meaning of the score as the symbol of a musical composition. Thus the matter remained for a week. Billy Walker retained certainty as to the correctness of his judgment. David and Roy maintained their attitude of skepticism. Sax continued his mood of willingness to believe, along with a total incapacity to find an atom of evidence in support of it. He sat for hours before the manuscript, hoping for some inspiration to come, but his thoughts remained barren. He realized, with poignant regret, that time was slipping away on swiftest wings, yet he felt himself powerless before the problem, on the solving of which his fortune was conditioned. Nevertheless, not all his time was given to the quest. A part, even the greater part, was bestowed on Margaret West, on her in person, when opportunity served, on her in thought, when absent from her. His failure to make any progress in the search for the treasure would without doubt have caused him vastly more distress of mind, and it not been for the fact that most of his energy was devoted to the girl. Worry over money could not affect him to desperation, when he was constantly titillating over the secret of a maiden's heart. He was assiduous in his attentions, but he could not win from Margaret any sure indication of preference. She was as amiable as the most exacting lover might require, but she displayed none of that coyness or confusion for which Sax looked as a sign that her heart was engaged. He did not dare over much, for the brief length of their acquaintance seemed to forbid. But this restraint caused him torment on account of jealousy, since masters appeared soon as an open rival in the wooing of the girl. Margaret's treatment of the engineer was of such a sort that it drove Sax nearly to desperation. She was unfailingly as amiable to the one as to the other of her suitors. It was to Sax, utterly inconceivable that any woman could be guilty of such folly as to love a man like the engineer. Yet the girl's attitude toward masters filled him with alarm, so that he pressed his own suit with more insistence, and came to hate his adversary exceedingly. Masters, too, suffered under the curse of jealousy. His love for Margaret was a sincere passion, and the hate Sax bore for him he returned in overflowing measure. Through all his emotion of love, however, there remained an undiminished figure, his desire to possess himself of the gold hidden by Abernethy, and presently there grew in him a desperate resolve, brought into being in part by greed, in part by hatred of his rival. May Thurston was another in the throes of anguish, and that from no fault of her own. Her love for the engineer had involved her in almost unendurable humiliation. His ostentatious worship of Margaret West at first filled May with the agony of outraged affection, then forced her to the wrath of revolt against such treachery. This mood endured. The little hypocrisies of loving, which masters attempted on the rare occasions when the two were alone together, did not deceive her in the least. Yet the final break between the two was delayed for lack of courage on her part to accuse him openly of his guilt. The matter stood thus between them when, one morning after a sleepless night, May got from her bed before sunrise, dressed herself hurriedly, and left the cottage, hoping that the freshness of the dawn might serve to soothe her wearied nerves. She wandered aimlessly hither and yawn through the woods bordering the shore, and did indeed win some solace for her soul in the radiance of the summer day. She was about fifty yards distant from the cottage, descending the slope that ran to the shore, when she heard a slight noise among the bushes in front of her. She halted instantly, curious to know what manner of creature might be at hand, and welcoming any distraction from the distress in her heart. Herself hidden by a screen of foliage, she peered forth cautiously, searching with her eyes the thicket beyond. At first she could distinguish nothing, and after a little became convinced that she had been deceived by the dropping of a rotted branch. She was on the point of advancing again when another and louder sound arrested her. It issued from a place somewhat farther to the right than that she had scrutinized, and now, as she watched intently, she made out the dim form of some object moving slowly within a clump of high bushes, from the centre of which grew a thick-leafed sapling. Another minute of inspection convinced her that the object was a man, and immediately an intuition bore upon her that it was Masters himself. Sure of his identity she went forward quickly, following the impulse of the moment, and called him by name. Masters, for it was in truth the engineer, whirled and faced the girl with an expression of terror, which, however, vanished so swiftly that May afterward found herself wondering if, in fact, she had not merely imagined it. Moreover, he smiled on her with more tenderness than he had exhibited in his manner for days, and his voice, when he spoke, was caressing. You may, he cried. His tones indicated a joyous surprise over the unexpected meeting. You, too, are rivalling the lark this morning, like myself. I woke up three hours ago, and when I found there was no chance to get to sleep again, I decided to commune with nature. I've been trailing a wonderful moth, but I've lost it at last, I'm sorry to say. It was a beauty. He paused from the flow of words, which had been perhaps a trifle too rapid for entire sincerity, and regarded the girl with a glance that was at once fond and quizzical. And did you, too, have a touch of insomnia? He inquired. May nodded, rather listlessly. For some reason that she could not understand, she was not convinced by the specious suavity of the engineer's utterance. At the back of her mind was a belief that the man was lying, though she refused to allow the accusation place. Her instinct revolted against the disloyalty of the fellow. Nevertheless, her heart was moved to a last struggle in behalf of the love to which she had once so joyously surrendered herself. She determined on an appeal to that better nature, which she believed the engineer to possess. Heartly, she said softly, I wish you to do something for me. No, for yourself. I want you to give up this mad idea of securing the gold, Mr. Abernethy hid. The gaze of her dark eyes was full of affectionate pleading. The reply of masters was prompt, without any least trace of hesitancy. He put out his hand, and took hers, pressing it tenderly. Dearest, he said softly, you have been right, and I have been wrong. I see it now. I was carried away for a little while by my longing for money. I wanted it for you, not for myself altogether. You must know that. Now I have repented. It was my conscience that kept me awake last night. I have already abandoned the idea of trying to get hold of a fortune that doesn't rightly belong to me. Can you forgive me, dearest? I've been a little mad, I think. He paused, and, in the silence that followed, grew her to him, and kissed her very gently on the forehead. May accepted the embrace. Knew not, indeed, how to refuse it, although it failed to thrill her with that rapture which she had once known in his arms. Instead, she sighed in a confusion of emotions, which she herself was far from understanding. As a matter of fact, however, this was the beginning of the end. At last, under the stress of doubt inflicted persistently on her higher nature, the physical attraction exerted by Masters, which, unknown to her, had banned the impelling cause for the activity of her imagination in making him an ideal, this potency of sex charm was overwhelmed by the essential antagonism between her soul and his. A certain shyness held her mute, so that Masters was well content with the effect he had secured. But, in this, his self-confidence and the seeming passivity of the girl led him far astray. In truth, May felt assured that Masters lied, and the failure of personal contact to yield any emotion save an actual dissatisfaction set the instinctive disbelief in bold relief. When, soon afterward, they separated, May was secretly aware that her first romance had come to an inglorious end.