Sir Donald advances, and with courtesy says:

"I am happy to see you, Alice!"

The girl stammers and sinks back on the sofa. She soon becomes calmer, and presents her uncle, Thomas Webster.

After a few remarks, the uncle leaves Sir Donald and Alice alone.

Seeing Alice's embarrassment, Sir Donald kindly says:

"I have not the least criticism of your conduct, Alice. Tell me all, and I will be your friend. It has turned out gloriously!"

Thus encouraged, the girl begins her strange recital.

How years before, with Oswald Langdon, she took the night row on the Thames, strolled along the river-bank, and chatted at the rustic seat, is brokenly described. The assault and fall of both into swollen stream are shudderingly explained. Alice pauses.

"Must I tell the rest?"

Sir Donald speaks assuringly.

They hear suppressed murmurs at outside entrance to the hallway. Thomas Webster goes to the door. Three men are in sight. One inquires for Sir Donald Randolph.

"It is important that we see him at once."

Alice still pauses.

Hurriedly her uncle enters. He advises Sir Donald to see these callers without delay.

Going to the hall door, Sir Donald recognizes Charles, who explains their unceremonious call.

"I went as directed to the detective office and reported. After some little time employes who had shadowed that Thames spy arrived. These expressed the opinion that the couple who left the hotel were the girl and this same mysterious watcher, and that they went directly to this inn. The strange spy often had gone there, presumably to report. These two employes and I took a cab to the hotel where we have stopped. We there learned that you and a middle-aged man a short time before entered a cab and were driven away. Then we believed that the two had gone to this inn. To circumvent any escape or trick upon you, I then insisted on finding you without delay. We have just arrived and will do as you think advisable."

Sir Donald stepped back into the room and briefly explained to Thomas Webster what had occurred. They decided it would be better not to tarry longer. On the next day Alice could finish her story. These detective employes need not further trouble themselves in this matter. Scandal easily could be avoided. The next day, at three o'clock, Alice and her uncle would meet Sir Donald at his hotel, and she would tell all. Sir Donald would return with Charles and the detectives.

Bidding the two good-night, Sir Donald, Charles, and the detectives return at once to the hotel. Cautioning these sleuths still to shadow this pair and report, Sir Donald and Charles join Esther, who, with the sleeping Bessie in her arms, has been awaiting their return.

These talk over the probable facts of this strange romance, and agree that whatever may have been her conduct, they will befriend Alice. The poor girl doubtless suffered greatly. What sorrowful memories were suggested by that sad face! All soon will be cleared. Oswald Langdon now may return without shame. Esther's eyes are tearfully luminous; Charles looks proudly expectant; over Sir Donald's fascinating features settles a gravely wistful smile.

Triple content concentrates in mute benediction upon curly head of baby tramp, dreaming unspeakable mysteries upon the arm of Esther.



CHAPTER XXIII

A STRANGE STORY

The appointed meeting takes place. Alice still is nervous.

Though her uncle had spoken most assuringly, she shrinks from the ordeal. Only through repeated assurances, much prompting, and many questions upon the part of Sir Donald is the strange story told.

"At the rustic seat on the river-bank, Oswald and I talked over my troubles. I was overcome at thoughts of the dark outlook. Oswald tried to comfort me. Perhaps our conduct was indiscreet, but I alone am to blame."

Here Sir Donald's curiosity is quickened, but he refrains from question or comment.

Hurriedly passing over this point, Alice tells of having suddenly risen and stepped with suicidal intent toward the bank. "There was nothing any longer in life for me. Oswald must have perceived my impulse, as he sprang between me and the stream.

"Using some harsh language about Paul Lanier, I begged Oswald not to forsake me. Just then a man came from behind a bush. Before time to warn Oswald, a blade gleamed in the moonlight. At almost the same moment I was stunned by a blow on the head, and lost all consciousness.

"After an indefinite period I felt confused sensations, and awoke as from a horrible dream. Some time elapsed before surroundings could be discerned. Objects seemed evasive and bewilderingly unreal. The low ceiling swayed up and down, back and forth. The candle glowed and flickered, moving around, followed by table and chairs. Such a dreadful sensation of helpless bewilderment! There were harsh janglings of unnatural voices and glitter of fiendish eyes.

"When again aroused, I felt a dull, painful stupor. Then objects assumed distorted shapes, with wildly variegated tints, shrouded by mysterious hazes.

"How long this continued I can only surmise. All my ideas were confused. It seemed an age before any rational sense was felt. During these terrible hours there was frequent recurrence of those harsh, grating accents and repellent looks from sinister faces. Of these experiences I can give no clearer account. The brain-pressure caused by the temple blow produced queer sensations and frightful fancies."

Sir Donald listened with patient sympathy to these harrowing details. Such might be irresponsive, but doubtless had been fearfully real to Alice.

Thought of that terrible chapter in her life's history so affects Alice as to cause almost hysterical emotion.

"At length I felt a sense of quiet rest and relief. It seemed as though we were again at Northfield. The air was musical with songs of birds. Oswald and Esther were with me; Oswald was reading. A shadow falls athwart the flower-fringed walk! I look up, and there stands Paul Lanier, as at his other Northfield call, after return from India!

"While looking at him with feelings of repulsion, the apparition changes. We are on the lake, and I am remonstrating with Paul, who pays no heed to my words. I speak more plainly and grasp his arm! Paul rises and pushes me overboard!

"I am on the shore with Oswald, you and Esther bending over me.

"Oswald and I are at the rustic seat, standing on the river-bank. Paul Lanier steps from behind a bush, takes a quick step, and strikes me into the water!

"The dream was so real that I awoke with a scream.

"Now fully aroused, I see a dark form disappear from the low, open door of the cabin. The sun is shining. I look around the poorly furnished room. I am lying on a cot. There is but one window. How came I here?

"Trying to sit up, I am too weak, and the effort tires me. After several minutes a scared, black face peers through the smoke-bedimmed glass.

"Slowly this colored woman enters the room. Her face relaxes into a broadened grin. Showing two full sets of teeth, she stares as if curious what to say.

"'Law! chile, yo' scare Sarah Angeline mos' to def!'

"I put out my hand.

"The wench soothingly says:

"'Don' be 'fraid of Sarah Angeline; she won't hurt yo', honey!'

"I motioned the old woman to be seated.

"With much show of sympathy old Sarah sat down by the cot.

"I now asked where we were and how I came there.

"She looked troubled, and replied:

"''Deed, chile, I'se 'fraid to tell yo'! Dey mought hurt yo', honey, an' beat po' ole Sarah Angeline moughty considerable!'

"The sound of coarse voices is heard coming around the cabin.

"Much excited, old Sarah raises her hand, whispering:

"'Shut yo' eyes an' don' say nuffin'!'

"There are four in the party now entering. From their voices I detect that two are men and the others women. They pass into the other room. I hear their talk, but cannot catch its drift.

"I was too weak for strong purpose, and with presentiment of harm, had no strength for resistance. I must have dozed. Old Sarah is now arranging some things upon a small table at head of the cot. To my look she soothingly says:

"'Yo' needn't be 'larmed; dey's all gone 'way. Yo' bettah pahtuk of some refreshments now. Dis tea an' toast moughty good for de s'port of yo' 'feebled system.'

"After partaking of the food, I felt tired and dizzy, and closing my eyes, appeared to sleep. The old negress moved around the room, muttering to herself. She gently placed her hand upon my brow, then said:

"'Po' sick chile! Yo' white face 'minds me of my own Mandy Car'line just 'fo' she died!'

"Softly stroking back my hair over this bruised temple, old Sarah says:

"'Suah some one struck yo' powerful hard! P'raps dis yere purty chile 'fused his offah an' he fro' her in the ribbah.'



"In semi-conscious stupor and with faint sense of the meaning of this talk, I dozed on.

"'Dey would fo'sake yo', honey, and leave po' old Sarah Angeline, 'less I leaves yo' heah to die all 'lone by yo'self in the dark.'

"I looked up into the black face bending over my cot.

"'Good Lawd, chile, doan' yo' look that way at po' old Sarah Angeline! Bress yo' heart, chile, I'se nevah gwine to fo'sake dis yere white baby in her powerful trials and deep 'flictions—'deed I won' now, honey!'

"Then, fully conscious, I again asked where we were and how it all happened. My recollections of that terrible night on the Thames seemed shrouded with a bewildering haze.

"The old black woman hesitated, shaking her head. Old Sarah for a while was silent, and then yielded:

"'Yo' po' sick chile, yo' knows Sarah Angeline can't 'fuse yo' nuffin' when yo' mo' and mo' 'zembles my Mandy Car'line ebery bressed minit, lookin' so pleadin' in her ole black mudder's eyes just 'fo' she died!'

"After many solemn warnings, 'nevah to say nuffin' to nobody, nevah, nevah!' the old negress told all she knew about how I came to be at this den in a London suburb.

"There had been a robbery in the city. Suspicion fell on two rough characters. These, with their girl companions, for several months had occupied this same two-room cabin.

"Old Sarah had been installed as housekeeper for the four, and received quite good pay. She knew they were bad characters, but needed the money for her children and invalid husband, living in the same neighborhood.

"The four had been up the river, and were returning downstream. They saw two persons sitting near the bank. Fearing that these were spies upon their track, the men permitted the boat to drift past this point. Both forms on the shore seemed to rise and stand. The four were now past, a few rods downstream. They moved very slowly, all cautiously looking at the two on the shore. Just then a third form was visible. All saw a knife glisten in the moonlight, followed by a blow and thrust. The two fell into the river, sinking out of sight.

"The men quickly rowed toward the point of the stream where the bodies sank. Several rods down something gripped one of the oars. A face appeared above the water. The hands held that oar, until the girl was drawn into the boat. Nothing was seen of the other who had fallen into the stream.

"Now convinced that these were not spies, the four rowed up and down past this point, but seeing no signs, concluded to abandon the search. With the girl lying unconscious in bottom of the boat, rowing downstream for some distance, they landed on the opposite side of the river. Efforts to revive her were successful, but she relapsed again into an unconscious state.

"The two men advised leaving her there, and that no one say anything about what they had seen or done. They were suspected of this robbery. This incident would make them notorious. The girl would die, anyhow.

"This plan was about to be adopted when voices were heard down the stream. The men, followed by the girls, rapidly bore me to an old, abandoned shed, about one hundred rods from shore. Here all remained until about three o'clock the next morning. As I was still alive, they finally concluded it would be less dangerous to take me to their cabin. Both girls favored this plan. The men were afraid to follow their own impulses, depending upon secrecy of these fickle-minded females. The four, with their load, reached the cabin just before daylight. Old Sarah let them in, and was cautioned to say nothing, under penalty of sure death.

"I had remained here over a week, in charge of this kind-hearted old negress, being nearly all this time in a seemingly comatose state, with only brief spells of semi-consciousness. No physician had been called, as these bad characters wished to avoid notoriety. London papers had referred to the deaths by drowning or murder of Oswald Langdon and Alice Webster. These two highwaymen dreaded any mention of their names in such connection. Old Sarah kept their secret, for fear of losing her position and of personal violence.

"At times my chances of recovery had been doubtful. I had been delirious, but most of the time lay in a stupor. What to do with me the four could not devise. All dreaded an invasion by the police. They had discussed the proposition to leave me in the cabin, the four quitting London for some distant city, the men going first singly, the two girls following later. Still they feared that old Sarah would inform the police, as she had overheard this talk, and was much distressed about losing her job. It then was proposed that the five take some other house, and abandon me to my fate.

"To this old Sarah vigorously objected, and said:

"'I'se nevah gwine to fo'sake dat po' sick white baby who 'minds me so powerful much of my own little Mandy Car'line just 'fo' she j'ined de angel band!'

"This settled that proposal.

"Revolving in their minds many schemes to dispose of me and of the colored woman, the two robbers could not think of any safe plan. Too, they feared that these girls might confess. They threatened and flattered the negress, who said nothing in reply.

"The night before had been the worst. The four, drinking heavily, lost their discretion. A loud quarrel ensued. One of the drunken brutes staggered into the room where we were lying asleep. He stood there, glaring first at one, then at the other. His actions aroused old Sarah, who, springing up and grasping a large bottle standing on the shelf, struck the besotted wretch such hard blow in the face that he fell heavily upon the cabin floor. This created a commotion, causing a noisy row.

"Old Sarah never flinched, but threatened to murder the first one who touched 'dat po' sick, unfortunate chile, who has no kind mudder to gib her good device, an' 'zembles my own little angel baby, Mandy Car'line!'

"The girls were not so far gone as to have no fear of results. They succeeded in getting these drunken villains into the other room. The excited wench slammed the door and bolted it.

"Through all this fuss I had not shown any signs of life, except heavy breathing and slight moaning. The faithful old colored woman kept watch until morning.

"The four breakfasted late, and afterward went out singly.

"Having finished her morning work, old Sarah returned to watch at the cot. The poor old servant was feeling a sense of superstitious dread. She had just turned away her face when I made that awful scream."

In nervous, dramatic manner Alice related these experiences, with old Sarah's account of what had happened. Memories of this eventful period had shadowed after days and given somber hues to many dreams.

At breaks in the narrative Sir Donald made tactful suggestions, courteously prompting its continuation. As to those parts which Alice, through evident maidenly reserve, passed over hurriedly, he did not urge more explicit recital. However, his suggestions evinced thorough recollection of all that had been said and a tenacious hold on the natural drift of the story.

Aided by Sir Donald's discreet suggestions, promptings, and questioning, Alice continued her strange romance.

"For several days nothing of much account occurred at that old cabin. I suffered from peculiar pains in the head and confused sensations, sleeping much, but having frightful dreams. During waking hours my memory seemed almost blank, with only bewildering hints of events. Sleep was dreaded, as dreams again presented the awful past. Time, place, and incidents were grossly distorted. Yet each day I grew stronger.

"Slowly the brain-pressure relaxed. Dreams grew less fantastic. I had more distinct memories. With returning strength and clearer understanding of my condition came thoughts of past misfortunes. My then helpless position was appalling. That for an indefinite period I must be dependent upon the bounties of those depraved creatures who had rescued me from the Thames current seemed horrible. The presence of these I continually loathed and feared. It appeared fate's cruel decree that I should escape Paul Lanier's murderous designs but to suffer this prolonged, indefinite, loathsome danger. Yet such distress served to check the despondent outlook of future years. I became anxious for some immediate rescue.

"Old Sarah was my only hope, but could not devise any plan to help me. I studied that black, sympathetic face for inspiration. It seemed that my mute appeals greatly pained her, but she could give only high-sounding encouragement, while solemnly pledging everlasting devotion to one who 'mo' and mo' 'zembles my own little bressed baby, Mandy Car'line just 'fo' she died!'

"After weeks of suspense, only the girls returned from night visits to London scenes. They looked much depressed. Old Sarah was taken into their confidence, and appeared greatly troubled. The next day both girls moved, taking only articles of clothing, saying nothing as to where they were going.

"The old servant seemed much affected, but soon grew more cheerful. She told me that these men had been arrested, charged with the robbery. The girls suspected the police would come that day to search the cabin for stolen stuff. They would go away, and old Sarah must keep quiet. She was to claim as her own everything in the cabin. The four had been only boarders, about whom she was to know nothing. As the price of her secrecy she could keep everything in the rooms. There were sufficient supplies for at least a month.

"All this and much more old Sarah told me in a hysterical burst of confidence. When entirely recovered, I could find my friends, and she would go home to her family.

"To me this unexpected turn was a great relief, and my simple-hearted old benefactress grew quite hopeful.

"The police raid did not occur. None of the four ever came back. What became of these criminal suspects I never heard.

"After a few weeks I was able to walk about the cabin. Determined soon as possible to cease dependence upon this poor old servant who so generously had befriended me in such need, I longed for speedy recovery. Old Sarah seemed to dread the hour when her 'new baby chile' would go away.

"The colored woman indulged in much grief at our parting, bewailing it as a fresh bereavement. She explained that Mandy Caroline was her oldest child, and died at the age of twenty-four. Though having many other children, it seemed to her that I was a heaven-sent substitute for this lost daughter.

"Sarah and her husband were slaves on a Georgia plantation before the close of the American Civil War. They came to London as servants in the family of an Englishman who had been traveling through the Southern States. They afterward married in London.

"The colored woman would not listen to any talk of future repayment, but so pressed upon me the acceptance of a few small coins that I took them.

"I had intended to go home and explain all, but felt much fear after starting. How could my strange disappearance and long stay be explained? What would be thought of my staying in this disreputable den with criminals and social outcasts? To whom could appeal be made for proof, but to this poor, old wench, who had been in the employment of the four, two of whom are charged with highway robbery? Would not my friends and acquaintances feel averse to further association with such a person? They might suspect that both Oswald and I had practiced deceit in our disappearances.

"These thoughts overwhelmed me with an unbearable burden of doubt and dread. I became confused and bewildered. My sense of London locations grew hazy.

"Calling to a passing 'coster,' I begged him to take me to some respectable inn.

"He objected, but upon learning that I was sick and had lost my way, consented.

"In about an hour he stopped at a cozy little house. Helping me to alight, he told me that lodging could be obtained there at reasonable rates. He generously declined to accept payment for the ride.

"I staggered into the hallway and sat down in a fainting condition upon one of the stair steps. Still dizzy, with severe pains in the head and sensations of nausea, I was shown a room.

"The proprietor gazed at me with surprise. Seeing my weakness, he left.

"Soon after, a servant called, but hearing that it was only a slight attack, requiring quiet rest, disappeared.

"After several hours, I awoke with a start. The proprietor's wife, portly and sympathetic, stood staring in at the half-open door. She eagerly accepted my stammering invitation to come in and be seated. Seeing that I was weak and embarrassed, she refrained from questions as to my name or connections. I gave prompt assurances that my indisposition was not serious.

"Soon a tempting meal was served. Following more sympathetic suggestions, the kind-hearted lady withdrew.

"Left alone, I, late into the night, thought over my perplexing situation, but could not devise any plan of action. The only settled conviction reached was not then to meet any friends or acquaintances, but to await the clearing of the dark clouds.

"In this extremity came thoughts of past rescues. How strange my escapes from lake and river! Had not Paul Lanier's cruel malice been thwarted? That black benefactress surely had been an angel of deliverance from loathsome perils in London suburb. Perhaps I yet would live to outwit the crafty Laniers. Surely there would be a way out of these helpless, bewildering mazes.

"For some time I remained at this inn, neither going upon the street nor making inquiry. The landlady restrained all her curiosity as to my past life and present distress. With motherly kindness she shielded me from all questioning. I decided to leave London for some obscure English town, and there seek employment. What to do was very indefinite, but there must be something done.

"As I barely had enough money to pay my bill, how to reach such a place was an important problem. In my weak state this obstacle grew more and more difficult. In desperation I was about to quit the inn penniless, and look for work. I had paid and was ready to start out on this hard search.

"From a whispered talk with her husband the landlady returned, and in a motherly way, placing one arm around me, slipped several small coins into my hand. I was hesitating, when a carriage stopped in front of the open door where we were standing.

"Quickly stepping down, a well-dressed gentleman gave low-spoken directions to the driver and entered the inn. With apparently unconcerned look he surveyed those present, but was visibly interested as I turned my face.

"I tarried, between curiosity and dread of identification, but became more confused, and started for the outside door. Bidding the surprised landlady a hurried good-by, I passed out and down the street. Having gone three blocks and paused at a corner, uncertain which way or where to go, looking back I saw the same carriage which a short time before stopped at the inn rapidly approaching.

"I started on, and had gone only a few rods when the stranger passed. He turned around, stared, and the carriage stopped.

"The man stepped out, and coming up to me, in low, hurried tones said:

"'Excuse my rudeness! You are Alice Webster! Don't you know your Uncle Tom?'

"Between recognition and shame at my strange conduct I stammered some confused greeting.

"Seeming to notice this painful embarrassment, uncle gently said:

"'Do not worry, Alice. Your Uncle Tom is all right! Get into the carriage, and we will go anywhere you say! You have something to tell me, but take lots of time to tell it.'

"Seeing my hesitation, he carelessly says:

"'I will not take you home now, little girl.'

"My fears allayed, I accepted the invitation. We took a long drive, making many turns, uncle talking about the scenery, weather, and other subjects, but never hinting at any explanation of my conduct. Once I started to speak of what weighed upon my mind, but was silenced by:

"'After a while, little girl; no hurry about that.'

"The day was warm. Giving orders to stop at a park, Uncle Thomas told me that we would take a stroll and have a confidential chat. When seated under a tree in a secluded part of the grounds, he says:

"'Now, Alice, tell Uncle Tom all your troubles. Make it just as bad as possible. I like to hear thrilling stories from real life.'

"Set at ease by this pleasant, insinuating bantering, I told all. When speaking of my final determination neither to go home nor to meet any old acquaintances, I hesitated to assign reasons for such course.

"Uncle seemed to understand this, and at once said:

"'No, you must not go home yet. We have much important work to do, and must soon quit London. We would leave to-day but for a little matter here.'

"We then decided to stop at a secluded hotel, where identification would be doubtful, and when Uncle Thomas finished that 'little matter' would take a trip.

"During several days I saw little of Uncle Thomas. He did not stay at the hotel, but made brief daily visits. One evening he called, and said:

"'How would my little girl like a sea voyage?'

"I gleefully replied:

"'That would be splendid!'

"'Well, be ready to-morrow morning at seven. I will be here then.'

"With these words he left.

"Upon the next day Uncle Thomas appeared. Taking out of a traveling-bag a pretty gown, neat jacket, and stylish hat, he told me to put these on, comb my hair low over the temples, and wear a veil, which was then produced.

"I made the change, and the simple disguise was quite effective.

"Uncle Thomas looked droll in old-fashioned long-tailed coat, ample trousers, sorrel whiskers, and silk tile.

"We took a closed carriage for the train, and in short time were on our way to Southampton, where soon after passage was procured on an ocean steamer for Bombay. Uncle Thomas had said nothing about his plans; I was ready to go anywhere away from London, and would trust my uncle's judgment implicitly.

"He had suggested that I speak to no one on the train, at the wharf, or aboard ship. This disguise should be kept up during the journey.

"In the privacy of my cabin Uncle Thomas explained that he wished our identity unknown, as persons were on the vessel whom it was necessary for him to 'shadow.' To watch the movements of these was his main reason for sailing so suddenly. Keeping track of them had been his work for some time in London. Learning their intention to sail from Southampton on this steamer, he had decided to take the trip. These had come from London on the same train. They were booked for Calcutta, but would land at Bombay.

"Uncle Thomas was 'shadowing' two noted criminals. I must not be inquisitive, but Uncle Tom would tell all about it at the proper time. If on the voyage he appeared to neglect me, it would be to watch and checkmate these cunning rascals. If any one acted strangely or seemed to watch me, I was to appear unconcerned. He would take charge of the clothes which I had worn at and since the Thames assault until our departure from the London hotel.

"Much impressed by uncle's precautions, I strictly observed them during the whole voyage, never entered the dining-room, and rarely went on deck. Meals were served in my cabin.

"Uncle Thomas made many brief calls, speaking cheerily, but never referring to his interesting watch. The few times I saw him on deck he seemed not to know me.

"Only once during the whole trip did it appear to me that Uncle Thomas was alert.

"A slim, dudish man, with close-cut, coal-black beard and heavy mustache, carelessly passed by, but seemed to give some signal, simply a slight backward turn of the wrist. Uncle turned abruptly and went below.

"After a tedious voyage, we landed at Bombay.

"Uncle Thomas had said that if possible he would secure private rooms somewhere in the city.

"From the landing this same dudish-looking man and two others went away together. Then uncle and I left, and after some time found three nicely furnished rooms in a private house, which we occupied during our stay in Bombay."

At this point in the narrative Sir Donald grows eager, and looks at the striking, flushed face of this beautiful girl with an admiring, querulous stare. New light is dawning upon some reported occurrences in that far Indian seaport. But it is apparent that Alice has grown weary with the strain of recital.

Sir Donald suggests deferring further explanations for half an hour while he attends to some small errands. Seeing Esther and Charles, he tells them not to stay in on his account.

Promptly at the appointed time Sir Donald is back for the story's continuance.

"In about a week after arrival at Bombay Uncle Thomas said:

"'I have kept some things secret for fear of worrying you at a time when you required rest and quiet. The sea voyage has done you much good, and you are now strong enough to help me a little in my work. While traveling through different countries at times I have been engaged in detective employment. The job now on hand staggers me. I am trailing two of the most adroit villains that ever committed crime. Embezzlement, perjury, conspiracy, attempts to kill and murder are some of the offenses these have committed. Perhaps you have heard their names? Pierre and Paul Lanier.'

"I gave a scream.

"'Do not be alarmed, little girl! Uncle Tom will take good care of you.'

"Uncle Thomas had arrived in London a few days after the report of Thames drownings was published. Careful inquiry into all the circumstances made it clear to him that the Laniers killed both Oswald Langdon and me. Aided by an assistant, he went to work on the case.

"He and this man shadowed both Laniers and William Dodge at London. Through this assistant was learned that a young woman, wounded nigh unto death, had been rescued from the river by four disreputable characters, and that for weeks she lodged in an old cabin, and only a few days before left for her home in the city.

"These facts had been related by an old colored woman who nursed the girl back to life and shielded her from indignities attempted by one of these brutes.

"Feeling strong assurance that this girl might be his niece, he made diligent search, going to numerous hotels and other places, but never stating his purpose nor giving any hint of this settled conviction.

"On the morning of my leaving the inn he learned that a costermonger had found a young woman, sick and bewildered, who, having lost her way, was taken by him to a public-house. He learned the man's name and home. Finding him, the desired information was given. Rapidly driving to the inn, he entered, and saw my embarrassment. After my hurried departure he made some careless inquiry about an object of assumed interest, soon left, and found me trying to evade identification by running away from my own Uncle Tom.

"He understood my reasons for not wishing to go home, and thought I acted wisely. Uncle Thomas said:

"'Alice, if you will be brave and help me, we will yet outwit those villainous Laniers.

"'It will be hard for you at times, and most disgusting, but the aim justifies the means. The big estate stolen from your father by Pierre Lanier yet may be recovered, and perhaps both Laniers be brought to strict account for the murder of Oswald Langdon. I will devote time and money to this purpose, and need your help.'

"To this generous appeal I could not be indifferent. While dreading the thought of having anything to do with these cruel foes, refusal would be base ingratitude. In fear I promised, but then had no idea of such long, terrible mixing in future 'shadowings.' The fearful part I was to play could not then have been clear to uncle's mind, but grew out of the situation's intensely dramatic promptings and tragic power.

"Through this same assistant who had helped keep watch of the Laniers, Uncle Thomas was advised as to their conduct since arrival at Bombay. This man had come from London and Southampton with them. He lodged at the same hotel.

"Paul freely spent money with a number of young fellows, who gave him information about the wealthier people of the city.

"Pierre and Paul were reported as very rich. They were seeking acquaintance with wealthy Bombay families. Both had been invited to a social function at the home of a prominent man.

"Uncle Thomas said:

"'Alice, the money Paul is spending rightfully belongs to you. This red-handed wretch will try to marry some aristocratic heiress. How fine to snare him into a trap!'

"Then he suggested that with little difficulty I could assume an effectual disguise.

"'Your previous voice-culture will help out the ruse. The Laniers doubt not that you are lying in the Thames. Neither Lanier knows me. There may be a few people in Bombay who would recognize your Uncle Tom. I will avoid such, and as a precaution assume a new disguise. Through this assistant of mine I will acquire reputation of immense wealth. As Sir Charles Chesterton, a bachelor and multi-millionaire I will soon be an object of social interest. Much attention will be paid you as the niece and heir of such a rich uncle. You will be known as Agnes Randall. Thoroughly disguised and under these assumed names, we will entertain the Laniers. By playing well our parts, perhaps the whole Lanier conspiracy may be laid bare, these wretches be brought to strict account, and you recover your father's stolen estate.'

"Looking into my eyes, Uncle Thomas soothingly said:

"'Take plenty of time to think about it, little girl. Uncle Tom always will be within call, and never let you be harmed. Be brave, and it will come out all right. What proper avenging of Brother William's death, your own wrongs, and of Oswald Langdon's murder!'

"With but faint hint of terrible after strain, nerved by these strong appeals, I entered into this fearful covenant.

"Soon after this conversation Sir Charles Chesterton and Agnes Randall received invitations to a ball given by a prominent Bombay resident. They there met Paul Lanier.

"Formally presented, Paul soon became very affable, paying marked attention to both niece and uncle. From the first, Paul appeared predisposed in favor of these new acquaintances.

"I was shocked, feeling a sense of fear mingled with utter aversion. The past so overwhelmed me as to render even common civilities loathsome, yet I endeavored to play the part assigned.

"Gayeties of the occasion helped to ease my emotional strain, but when all was over I felt much relieved.

"Uncle Thomas was greatly elated. He praised my acting, predicting success.

"That assistant had dropped suggestive hints concerning Chesterton wealth, and about a will bequeathing to favorite niece the bulk of a princely fortune.

"During the evening Uncle Thomas found opportunities for brief chats with Paul, and had been very pleasant.

"Paul appeared favorably impressed with Uncle Thomas. He hardly had deigned to notice any one except Agnes Randall and Sir Charles Chesterton.

"After this ball I often felt uneasy and presentiments of dread. In dreams appeared vivid reproductions of past scenes.

"Uncle Thomas startled me with the announcement that he had invited Paul Lanier to dine at our apartments. We were to royally entertain Paul, but would be 'duly reserved, as befitted our wealthy and aristocratic tastes.'

"This affair passed off without hitch. Within two days Paul called.

"Uncle Thomas and I treated him with apparent consideration. When Paul was leaving, uncle said:

"'Call any time and often, Mr. Lanier.'

"Paul seemed greatly pleased with uncle's cordiality, and left smiling.

"Seeing how frightened I was, Uncle Thomas said:

"'Uncle Tom always will be eavesdropping when that lover calls.'

"My uncle had met Pierre Lanier. Shortly following Paul's call, Pierre received an invitation to dine with Sir Charles Chesterton. Uncle Thomas proved a most entertaining host, telling of many thrilling adventures in which he had personal part. His recitals greatly interested Pierre.

"To me it seemed that uncle frequently had been mixed up in doubtful schemes, but always evaded detection. I began to doubt his morals, and finally concluded he had been a cruel, heartless trickster.

"Pierre seemed to note my pained embarrassment, and checked some vague hints at his own villainous past.

"I suffered much during Pierre's stay. Having thought Uncle Thomas the soul of honor, engaged in a high-principled crusade against crime, generously sacrificing time and means to punish guilt and to right the wrongs of the helpless, to hear him in low tones glibly telling of villainous performances, often furtively glancing at me as if fearing I might catch the drift of his talk, made me heartsick with growing mistrust and painful forebodings. Uncle's narratives had been so realistic that I began to dread Pierre's departure. My face must have expressed some of these feelings, for when Pierre left, Uncle Thomas looked me straight in the eyes and banteringly said:

"'What a villainous fellow Uncle Tom is, anyhow! I never knew before I was so bad! If that close-mouthed old wretch dines here often, my little girl will think him better than Uncle Tom!'

"I began to see uncle's crafty tactics, and must have looked at him in a questioning, half-apologetic way.

"Uncle Thomas responded with:

"'Oh, you little suspicious innocence! I was only pumping.'

"I felt a heavy load lift from my heart, with growing admiration for this wonderful uncle who could so dissemble. The thought that I, too, might act such part and lure the cruel, vindictive, infatuated Paul by consummate deceit now became fascinating.

"Uncle Thomas's cunning suggested great possibilities in clearing the Lanier conspiracy. Neither Pierre nor Paul suspected my identity. They then thought Alice Webster at the bottom of the Thames. All friends believed me dead. I could return to London only when past conduct was justified. Without this horrible affair fully cleared, there could be nothing in life for me. What pressing claims awaited my actions! Here only was opportunity.

"For many long years father's wrongs had been awaiting avenging; Oswald Langdon was sleeping in Thames slime; I was an exile, robbed of home and fortune; and the guilty Laniers were at large, seeking to ensnare another victim.

"As supposed heir to fabulous wealth, how the real heiress would be avenged! With what dissembling arts the infatuated Paul would be lured to unwitting confessions! Through feminine wiles I would learn the facts of Lanier guilt, and bring both to justice. Why longer fear any harm from either of these cruel foes?

"Nerved by these sentiments, I became impatient for the test. Since through such strain, maidenly scruples had been stifled, I felt equal to any demands upon my dissembling arts.

"Both uncle and niece attended other social gatherings at which the Laniers were present.

"Though Pierre and Paul were much flattered by Bombay elite, they seemed most interested in Sir Charles Chesterton and Agnes Randall.

"The girl appeared to enjoy Paul's attentions. Soon it was rumored that Paul and Agnes were engaged.

"Paul proposed, and was conditionally accepted. He asked uncle's consent, who insisted on an inventory of all property belonging to the Laniers. Paul furnished the list. Uncle Thomas took time to look it over, and made copies. Concealed in a folding wardrobe, that assistant heard all Paul's talk.

"Paul called often. Through questions and hints from me, he told much of his past life, but gave wrong names, places, and dates. I would appear pleased at any story which promised some revelation as to Calcutta or London incidents. Paul was vague, and would abruptly change the subject. Then I appeared bored and listless, when he would tell more, but less disconnected, stories about his past. At each suggestive hint I would show renewed interest, again lapsing into listless preoccupation, uneasy dissatisfaction, or frigid unconcern. Paul noted each changing mood, suiting his conduct to these varying caprices.

"At times I would feel an overwhelming sense of disgust at such deceitful, unmaidenly occupation. Past recollections intruded with startling clearness.

"Looking at the infatuated Paul, whose fingers, then nervously twitching, surely would strangle me if he knew, I often shuddered and felt deathly sick, but from such sensations rallied, with strong resolve well to act my part.

"Even these moods appeared to interest Paul, who was most persistently attentive.

"Through uncle's advice, Paul's calls were limited. Though dreading these visits, there yet was a sort of fascination in my strange part. The reaction from such strain was so depressing that I sought relief in renewed excitement, and despite fear and loathing, felt a growing passion and feverish zeal for success in outwitting these villains who were responsible for all my sorrows. The more to stimulate Paul's disclosures of past villainies, I made suggestive hints at infatuation for dubious exploits and admiration of cruel, vengeful, crafty successes which elude detection.

"Paul grows more confidingly boastful, omitting many connecting circumstances.

"All the main facts of his Northfield and London crimes are related, but with ingenious disguises.

"For some of the parts in these tragedies, fictitious characters are substituted in place of real actors and the places are changed.

"I appear wonderfully thrilled at these recitals, and ask many questions about obscure parts, insisting on frequent repetitions.

"Pierre Lanier accepted numerous invitations to dine with Sir Charles Chesterton.

"At first Uncle Thomas showed lack of interest in Pierre's guarded talk. As the intimacy between the two grew closer, Pierre relaxed much of his secretive caution. Over their glasses Uncle Thomas and Pierre seemed to compete with each other in tales of villainous performances. When Pierre grew unusually confidential, and touched on Calcutta or London crimes, Uncle Thomas would show signs of approval, but sometimes appeared to caution his guest against indiscreet revelations. After relating some horrible yarns about his own successes in amassing fabulous wealth and merciless crushing of all who impeded him in such schemes, Uncle Thomas would say:

"'It is not proper for me to enjoin secrecy. I know you will never betray a friend's trust.'

"Pierre grows more confidential. He boasts of having acquired vast interests in Calcutta and India. With some changes, he tells about his heartless persecution, under friendly guise, of a slow-witted, unsuspecting, rich Englishman, a former associate in large business enterprises.

"Having induced this partner to make some large cash advances upon collaterals, and himself received the bulk of the money, he then brought about a crisis in which the Englishman required much ready funds. When, through Pierre's scheme, it became impossible for the partner to tide over such shortage, a Shylock accomplice, upon most grinding terms, advanced from cash formerly loaned by Pierre's unsuspecting victim a sufficient sum briefly to postpone the accounting. When the debts matured, payment was demanded. The helpless debtor made frantic attempts to raise the money, but failed.

"These pledged collaterals had been turned over to the last money-lender, but in reality to Pierre Lanier, who claimed to have lost them in a recent robbery.

"The creditor was obdurate, threatening legal proceedings to enforce his claims. Pierre enlarged upon the probability that all his partner's personal estate, if sold under the hammer, would not pay these debts. His business associate then would be worse than penniless. He induced the frantic debtor to deed him all real property except a small parcel in London, promising to sell at advantage, pay the claims, and faithfully account for the residue.

"After the deed had been delivered, Pierre induced this accomplice to threaten his harassed victim with arrest for fraud and conspiracy in thus disposing of all property.

"Under guise of friendly adviser, Pierre appeared much worried over his partner's troubles. He magnified the impending disgrace of bankruptcy and imprisonment.

"The proud, sensitive debtor, after a few days' hopeless worry, goaded by threats, made desperate through Pierre's crafty, hypocritical sympathy and deceitful insinuations, was found in the river.

"This partner had one child, a girl, who afterward died. There had been attempts to deprive Pierre of this property, which was now of great value. All adverse claims had been quieted. The shares of stock had advanced and dividends were regular. From the proceeds he and Paul were insured luxurious living and large, increased incomes, with swelling bank credits.

"At times Pierre would seem to repent of his confidences and to plan against discovery by some adroit qualifications, but Uncle Thomas eased all concern by saying:

"'Oh, that's all right! I am deeper in the pool than you.'

"Whenever Pierre told of these exploits, the assistant was listening. Uncle Thomas kept his promise to act as eavesdropper during Paul's calls.

"After both Pierre and Paul had confided many of the facts of their criminal conspiracy and other offenses, Uncle Thomas told me that he purposed taking a trip to Calcutta. Thus might be learned details of what Pierre had suggested but ingeniously disguised. Perhaps, if we went together, the Laniers might grow suspicious. He would not leave me in Bombay if I feared to remain. I could limit Paul's calls to suit myself, and that assistant would be at my service.

"Trembling at the thought of being alone in Bombay, Uncle Thomas far off in Calcutta, and the Laniers making frequent calls, I felt desolate at the outlook. He guessed at my emotions, and said:

"'Just say the word, little girl, and Uncle Tom stays!'

"I then advised him to go alone, but to return as soon as possible.

"Upon hearing of uncle's intentions, Pierre concluded to sail for Calcutta at the same time. Learning that I purposed remaining in Bombay, Paul decided that he did not care then to take another sea voyage.

"Uncle Thomas was gratified at both conclusions. He could use Pierre in Calcutta, and though it good to separate these rascals for a while.

"I felt much relieved that but one of these dreaded foes would remain in Bombay during uncle's absence. Uncle Thomas and Pierre Lanier sailed together.

"Paul made frequent calls. By practicing all sorts of capricious humors, I sought to smother feelings of dread and aversion, but at times became so interested in these deceitful practices and in watching their effects upon Paul as to forget former persecutions. While thus absorbed, it often seemed that the past had been but a cruelly delusive dream. It could not be that the soft, insinuating tones of Paul Lanier masked such base, bloody purposes. Those bejeweled fingers, tremulously eager to caress, surely were not those of a red-handed murderer! Yet if my wiles succeeded, those hands would wear manacles, those fingers convulsively clutch at vacancy, and that musical voice choke with tense strain of the hangman's knot.

"At such times pity would unnerve my strong resolve, but Paul's realistic repetitions of his crimes dispelled such illusions, and I again aspired to be a scheming, determined Nemesis, aided by lure of woman's craft.

"Some time before uncle's return I had received a letter stating when he would sail, but did not tell Paul until after his arrival in Bombay. Then, with assumed glee, I informed him that uncle had left Calcutta and within a week would be back. His letter was cheerful, and he seemed to be very happy. I requested him to defer again calling for two days.

"Paul called on Thursday evening.

"Uncle Thomas, that assistant, and I had prepared a great surprise.

"I often had noticed that Paul was very superstitious, fearful of unreal dangers. It occurred to me that a scare would be suitable entertainment for Paul's last visit. Uncle Thomas had planned our departure from Bombay for Calcutta on the next steamer. The vessel would sail on Friday morning, and our passage already had been engaged. We would go aboard soon after midnight, and the ship was to sail in the early morning.

"I chose a tableau for Paul. Aided by Uncle Thomas and that assistant, the performance was staged. During that day there had been two rehearsals. That assistant manipulated the lights. Uncle Thomas had produced a copy of London Press containing a graphic account of the Thames drownings. This he ornamented with heavy red headlines. The paper is lying on a small table in uncle's room.

"Dressed in that Thames clothing, over which hangs a draping of seaweed, my hair combed back from the temples, I await Paul's evening call.

"With loaded pistols Uncle Thomas occupies my room. Fully armed, the assistant is hiding in the folding wardrobe.

"The house-servant is directed to admit any male caller into the room usually occupied by Sir Charles Chesterton.

"The bell is soon rung, and Paul is ushered according to directions.

"Pouring over my head a pitcher of warm water, daubing the temple scar with thin, red liquid paint, from darkened room I watch Paul through slightly open connecting door, which has been effectively braced against pressure from that side.

"Paul picks up the paper, glares frightfully, turns deathly pale, and shakes with fear.

"Just then, with uplifted hand, I slowly enter, approaching Paul as if to strike him down. Paul falls upon the floor, begging me to spare him.

"Slowly stepping backward, and passing into the next room, I softly close the connecting door. Quickly slipping off the disguise, removing the paint-stains and arranging my hair, I recite parts of a poem about Eugene Aram, then light the gas and say something about Mr. Lanier being late. Paul opens the connecting door, and I explain how the mistake occurred.

"Paul seems satisfied, but nervous. He remains longer than usual, appearing afraid to leave. As midnight is near, I assume a listless air of indifference. Paul takes the hint, and goes.

"Shortly afterward, two vehicles drive up. Trunks are first taken, accompanied by that assistant sleuth. Disguised in suit of his clothes, I enter the other conveyance. Uncle Thomas soon follows. In a short time after bidding Paul Lanier good-night, I was asleep aboard the steamer, and did not awake until miles at sea."

Sir Donald intently had listened to that part of the girl's narrative about the trip from London to Southampton, and thence to Bombay. His wonder and admiration grew with her frank, dramatic, yet timid recital of tactics employed to elicit incriminating clews from the secretive Laniers. Alice had shown marked heroism remaining alone at Bombay, and in her strange treatment of the infatuated Paul. These experiences had left an indelible impress upon Alice, whose confiding sincerity and generous impulsiveness always must bear effects of the shock, but that tableau and recital revealed a tragic craft foreign to such a nature, bordering the verge of madness.

How under pressure intense natures evolve new traits and latent powers become dominant!

Seeing that Sir Donald seemed in a reverie, Alice awaited invitation to proceed. Her face bore such a weary, questioning look that he proposed that they join Esther and Charles. To this Alice nervously objected, saying:

"I ought to see Uncle Thomas."

Sir Donald then suggested that she see her uncle, and that both dine with his family. Alice objected with some energy, closing with these words:

"Not until my whole story is told will I meet Esther or your son."

Sir Donald admired the commendable deference and spirit of the girl's sentiments. It was then arranged that on the following day Alice would finish her story.

The next afternoon the recital is continued.

"Though the trip from Bombay to Calcutta was rough, I felt great relief. The strain since arrival at Bombay had been fearful. Sitting on deck, gently swaying with the ship's motion, watching seabirds, looking at approaching squalls, or tossing in stress of tropic storms, proved a restful quiet for my fevered consciousness. Such change reversed the whole current of thought, driving away the awful past. Neither Lanier would harass me on this journey.

"Uncle Thomas left his old-time assistant at Bombay to shadow Paul. Arrangements to communicate with each other had been made. If Paul should quit Bombay, that assistant would be on the same vessel. We surmised that Paul would join his father at Calcutta.

"On board ship, Uncle Thomas and I assumed new disguises. In Calcutta we were known as father and daughter.

"Later Uncle Thomas often met Pierre Lanier, but himself remained unknown.

"Soon after our arrival, that assistant landed at Calcutta and reported to Uncle Thomas. Paul and he came from Bombay on the same ship.

"After the tenants left, Paul had called at Chesterton apartments. To his questions the family could give no satisfactory information. Paul seemed much worried over the removal of Agnes Randall. He received a letter and awaited departure of next steamer for Calcutta.

"Paul engaged passage and was booked as 'Josiah Peters.' He was disguised as an old man, with stooping walk and white, flowing beard.

"Uncle Thomas continued his investigations of Calcutta property interests formerly owned by my father, but gained little further information.

"Both Pierre and Paul were closely watched. Uncle enlisted the head of Calcutta police department to help shadow these men and to keep him advised of their conduct. From him uncle learned that you and Esther were there. You had been making search and inquiry for the Dodge family. In hopes to gain helpful clews and to keep posted as to exact condition of other investigations of Lanier crimes, that assistant shadowed you and Esther. At the same time Uncle Thomas and the police watched the Laniers.

"The assistant was a slim, dark-complexioned, trim man, with black close-cut whiskers and heavy mustache, but posed as an old, shabbily dressed fellow, with halting gait, gray hair, and snow-white beard, moving feebly by aid of a cane.

"Pierre had been traced to a cabin in a poor part of the city, where lived a needy woman with a family of small children. The Laniers inquired about the probable time when a certain vessel was expected, and haunted the landing. Night of the ship's arrival both visited this cabin and afterward saw passengers go ashore. One of these followed Pierre."

Alice now told about the Laniers and this stranger going to that deserted house in city suburb; how Pierre and Paul again called at the cabin, and of visit from veiled woman next day at that old house. Unexpected swoop of police and arrest of the three men followed. The stranger was William Dodge, and veiled caller his wife. As Sir Donald knew these facts, she would not relate them, further than to explain some things which he might wish to know.

"Aided by Calcutta police, Uncle Thomas closely watched every movement of the Laniers, while his assistant shadowed you and Esther.

"Through you the police official learned that William Dodge was expected on the next steamer, and about his being in danger from these villains. In the same way the proposed meeting in that deserted house was discovered.

"Precautions against assaults upon Mr. and Mrs. Dodge were taken.

"Uncle Thomas and his assistant thought the time had come for a bold move. By arresting both Laniers and William Dodge the whole conspiracy would be confessed. William Dodge would accuse the Laniers, and they would implicate him. With Paul's and Pierre's Bombay confidences, corroborated by Dodge's expected confession, conviction of the Laniers would follow. William Dodge would explain that in bringing the London suit he was only a pliant tool of the Laniers, and they would blame all on him. Then he would retaliate by telling about the Thames murders. These recriminations, the vague Bombay confessions, supplemented by other facts already known, and further information obtainable through such powerful clews, would unravel the whole web of criminal connivance, bringing both Pierre and Paul to strict account."

Alice then told of the tactics employed, William Dodge's Calcutta confession, and the Lanier reserve. Dodge had no actual knowledge of Paul's assaults upon Alice and Oswald, but related what he knew of the circumstances. He fully explained his and Lanier complicity in bringing the suit, with all after procedure in the action, including its dismissal.

Alice narrated some parts of this confession, which agreed with that formerly made in Paris hospital by William Dodge. It was full, but disappointing.

"Strenuous efforts to induce the Laniers to talk were fruitless. They made no responses. We surmised that neither cared to assert his rights by demanding a hearing or trial. They were kept jailed several weeks, in expectation of some revelations. At last the officers and Uncle Thomas decided to turn them loose, but still to keep William Dodge in custody. Thus might Lanier conduct be observed without danger of this important witness being spirited away or forever silenced.

"William Dodge himself did not protest against his continued imprisonment.

"For a few days Pierre and Paul nervously moved about in Calcutta, and then quit the city.

"That assistant left at the same time, and following them to different points, reaches London, lodging across an alley, in full view of the basement stairway leading to the room occupied by Pierre and Paul.

"For a long time after the Laniers sailed, Uncle Thomas and I remained in Calcutta.

"Letters telling of Lanier movements came from that assistant to Uncle Thomas. Then during the following weeks nothing was heard. We began to worry, fearing some accident had happened. Perhaps he had fallen victim to Lanier vengeance. This would be most unfortunate for me. Sufficient facts already had been discovered upon which to base actions against Pierre Lanier for frauds upon the estate of my father, and for that London conspiracy involving the suit begun by William Dodge. I could not think of such notoriety until the Thames assaults and murder were cleared, and never would risk public scandal among friends in London.

"These were the motives inducing uncle to advise that Pierre and Paul be released from Calcutta imprisonment. Too, the murder of Oswald Langdon must be avenged."

Sir Donald smiled at Alice's earnest explanations, but awaited her story's ending.

"At length came a letter from London informing Uncle Thomas of Lanier arrivals and shadowings by his old-time helper. We soon after sailed for England. Full details were given by that assistant, and with much zeal Uncle Thomas resumed his former work.

"Much of the time I kept out of public view, lodging at the obscure inn.

"Pierre seldom left the basement room at night, but Paul then made many strange excursions, often prowling up and down the Thames.

"The assistant began to notice queer freaks in Paul's conduct. The first evidences of these were after their return to London.

"The reports startled me, as it seemed Paul feared I yet might rise from the river, and that he was determined to prevent it. Many nights Paul would skulk along the river-banks and peer over into the Thames from the place where we had been struck into the stream. Later he took boat-rides up and down the river, past this spot, closely scrutinizing projecting shrubs until opposite the rustic seat, when, rowing back and forth across the river, Paul would pause and strike at some reflection from the water, then be seated and drift downstream.

"As these incidents were related by that assistant and Uncle Thomas, I felt horrible dread. This craze of Paul's seemed almost a judgment upon my head. Such determined malice against the girl he had slain, yet feared still might rise from her slimy grave, was beyond belief, yet I could not doubt the evidences. My curiosity was increased, and I felt a strong desire to witness Paul's new infatuation. In male disguise I watched from hiding some of this madman's night performances upon and along the river.

"Though at first dreadfully shocked and nearly dead with fright, my curiosity grew with each watch. Uncle Thomas refused longer indulgence, except at rare intervals.

"Before our arrival at London that assistant had followed Paul to Northfield.

"Paul's conduct there had been strange, but he seemed desirous of learning the whereabouts of you and Esther.

"Later, Paul again visited Northfield, and I witnessed some of his actions. Uncle Thomas, the assistant, and I were hidden in thick shrubbery near the spot where Northfield visitors often sat along the lake. Paul had been skulking through the woods, but could not see us. Between us and him was that steep ravine. Suddenly Paul struck a tragic pose, lifted his right hand, advanced a few steps, then slowly stepped backward out of sight beyond a cluster of bushes.

"These movements, though very startling, were followed by still greater surprises.

"Soon out of leafy stillness came quotations from that poem partly declaimed by me at Bombay.

"Such utterances at that time and place from this crazed outlaw, reiterated with madman's unction, were horrible.

"After repetition of phrases, 'buried from my sight,' 'and trodden down with stones,' Paul hesitated, as if pondering the improbability of such fate to his victims' mortal remains; then broke out in a hysterical laugh.

"I was eager, and prompted:

"'And years have rotted off his flesh,'

"Paul turned, facing that way, uttered terrible curses, gave a crazed yell of fear, and stood staring into vacancy, when in deep gutturals I repeated:

"'The world shall see his bones.'

"At this Paul staggered, made wild thrusts with his dagger in direction whence came these promptings, and then fled.

"On the next train, watched by that assistant, Paul returned to London.

"Uncle Thomas and I saw you with Esther rowing upon the lake. This was just after Paul's flight. Until then we did not know of your return from Calcutta.

"I felt a growing interest in Paul's Thames tableaus. One night Uncle Thomas allowed me to watch with him along the river-bank. Paul takes his usual row up the Thames. We are hiding in some shrubbery beyond the rustic seat. Paul's boat arrives opposite that point in the river, and he repeats former performances.

"After steadying the boat with an oar, holding in set teeth that gleaming dagger, moving back and forth across the river, peering over at watery reflections, and making savage thrusts, Paul is again seated, drifting down the stream.

"Uncle Thomas and I are following, when another spy emerges from a cluster of bushes farther down, keeping slightly in rear of the boat, a short distance from shore.

"Uncle and I are a few feet apart. I am ahead. Both of us are eager, but cautious. The grass and bushes rustle, but that spy is too intent for hearing or fear. The chase grows exciting.

"Drifting around a curve, the boat is out of sight. That stranger runs forward, trips and falls on the river's brink. I was alarmed, as it seemed sure that this man would fall into the current. I paused at the edge of leafy foliage. To my relief the fallen man recovers his footing. Giving a look to where I stood partly concealed, he hurries on, badly limping, as if in pain. Uncle Thomas signaled me to keep back, and we followed cautiously at greater distance, but soon after lost sight of this limping spy.

"I was nearly exhausted with the chase. Just before reaching the point of starting, we rested over an hour, and then went to the inn.

"Next day that assistant told of both Pierre and Paul having spent most of the night away from their room. Contrary to custom, Pierre went out first. A few minutes afterward, Paul left, starting in an opposite direction from that taken by his father. Puzzled at this change in Lanier habits, and fearing some new flight, the assistant followed, but soon losing sight of Paul, returned to watch that cellar stairway.

"After midnight, Paul came back. Limping around the corner, faint and exhausted, hours later, Pierre staggered down the stairs.

"We were then sure this spy was Pierre Lanier, who for the first time had witnessed Paul's Thames infatuation. This was confirmed later by Pierre's limping walk.

"It became apparent to Uncle Thomas and his assistant that other shadowings were occurring. Spies upon their actions, as well as those of the Laniers, watched regular shifts. They suspected that in some way you were responsible for this, but doubted that you had any hint of their identity.

"Another discreet helper was employed by Uncle Thomas, to report any interesting happenings at Northfield.

"That you visited London and called at a detective agency was reported. This helper followed you back to Northfield, and reported Charles Randolph's return from abroad. Later the same spy followed your son to London, and told Uncle Thomas at what hotel Charles stopped.

"In slight disguise we quit the inn, going to this hotel, and with but short absences remaining until I was recognized by you and Esther.

"It was known to us that Charles helped shadow the Laniers, often calling at the same detective agency formerly visited by you.

"Both Uncle Thomas and I had noticed that Charles seemed interested in us, but we attributed this to possible detection of our guarded observations of his actions. I sometimes wondered at Charles's interest, fearing that possibly he suspected my identity. At meals this feeling embarrassed me, but Uncle Thomas insisted on our dining at the same time, when he could watch Charles's actions.

"To me it often seemed strange that persons planning for like ends, engaged in similar work to right human wrongs and to punish the guilty, should spy upon each other, scheming and operating at cross-purposes. I hardly could refrain from appealing to Charles to help in my troubles, and from the first was sure he would be such a good, faithful friend. Why should not you, Charles, and Esther become my confidential allies, helping us to unravel this web? I hinted this to Uncle Thomas, who would not think of such a 'rash break.'

"Later on, for a few days, we stopped at the inn.

"It had been reported that Paul was showing quarrelsome traits, and at any time might commit some murderous assault. These agency sleuths had become troublesome, hampering Uncle Thomas in his determined watches upon Lanier conduct. Through competing zeal at any time might occur some unfortunate clash. Those agency employes were argus-eyed, watching each move made by him and his assistants. Doubtless the man sent by Uncle Thomas to Northfield was being shadowed and his doings were reported to agency headquarters.

"For these reasons Uncle Thomas decided that we would return to that obscure inn. This change was made at a late hour, and I went alone. Uncle Thomas left before, and by a long route reached the ambush beyond the rustic seat.

"Next morning he reported that Paul did not appear. Calling at the cabin where that old-time assistant kept watch, Uncle Thomas learned that early the previous evening Paul left, but had not returned. Pierre was in the basement room.

"The following night Uncle Thomas watched along the river, but again was disappointed. Next morning he called upon that assistant, but finding the door securely fastened, returned and slept a few hours. In the afternoon he again called, but could obtain no response.

"That night Uncle Thomas resumed his watch along the Thames. He saw Pierre Lanier prowling up and down the river, followed by that same assistant. Next morning Pierre inquired of police officials as to any arrests made within the last two days and nights. He then returned to the basement room, trailed by that assistant and Uncle Thomas.

"Pierre had gone out the previous morning, during all that day and the following night searching for Paul. The third night after Paul's disappearance was spent by Pierre along the river, trailed as before. Next day Pierre did not return to his room until afternoon.

"In the early evening a letter came by special messenger to Uncle Thomas at the inn. It was from that helper at Northfield, stating that Paul Lanier was then skulking about in the timber along the lake. On the previous night Paul had been close to the Northfield mansion grounds, but evidently became aware that a sentinel was on guard. Paul surely meditated mischief, but the writer thought sufficient precautions against surprise had been taken by Sir Donald Randolph.

"The contents of this letter, with knowledge of Paul's crafty malice and murderous zeal, greatly alarmed me. It seemed that ordinary watchfulness would not avail against Paul's crazed, homicidal mania. If you or Esther fell a victim to Paul's knife, it would be chargeable to your friendship for me. Was it right that through acquiescence in any mode of procedure advised by others I should permit such friends to be ruthlessly butchered by a madman?

"To Uncle Thomas I told my fears, but he thought there was little danger to any one at Northfield through Paul's crazy breaks.

"'For months this insane wretch has been a harmless lunatic, practicing his night tableaus through some purposeless infatuation.'

"With this remark he dismissed the subject, but went out, secured a cab, and drove to that cabin across the alley from the Lanier room. The assistant was directed to take the first train for Northfield, and keep close watch of Paul's every act. Uncle Thomas remained at the cabin.

"After uncle went out I still felt nervous and a strong presentiment that peril hung over the Randolph household. With each effort to think of other things, this feeling grew stronger. There was something so awful as to overpower all habitual obedience to Uncle Thomas.

"I thought of Charles Randolph. Perhaps Charles was at the hotel, unconscious of dangers threatening those he loved. Without any plan of action I caught up the veil presented at London by Uncle Thomas, sped from my room, hailed a passing cabman, urging him to drive fast to that hotel. Going at once to the room occupied by Charles Randolph, I knocked, and was admitted. On the way there I had thought out a mode of broaching the subject to Charles and of hiding my identity, but when in his presence this all became blank, and some other things were said. He promised to go home at once, and I returned to the inn.

"I did not tell Uncle Thomas about this call. He remained at that cabin all night, the next day, and until the following morning.

"I called at the cabin. Uncle Thomas told me that Paul was in London. This seemed strange, but he explained that there was an early morning train from station near the Northfield premises. Paul doubtless came back, on that train, and reached the room before daylight. That day neither Paul nor Pierre was seen on the street. My uncle closely watched the basement room.

"On early morning train of the following day both assistants came from Northfield and hurried to that old cabin. They explained Paul's assault on a guard at entrance to the Northfield mansion grounds and the murder of the sentinel.

"Uncle Thomas acted promptly. He went out and called up a prominent police official, notifying him to bring help and arrest two desperate villains.

"The three men waited at the entrance to that old stairway until five police officials appeared.

"Listening at the basement door, these heard scuffling inside, curses, and suppressed yells. Then all noises ceased. There was no response to continued knockings. The door yielded to pressure, and the officials entered.

"With dirty, blood-stained clothing, hair disheveled, and face begrimed, froth upon his lips, lay Paul upon the stone floor. Across Paul's breast was Pierre, pale and motionless.

"At first both were thought dead. It was soon discovered that Pierre had only swooned. Water was dashed upon his face. He revived and stared about vacantly. Slowly what had happened dawned upon his mind, but he seemed stupid, saying nothing.

"Pierre intently gazed at Paul's unconscious form, but looked blank when questioned by the officials.



"After some time Paul showed signs of returning consciousness, slowly revived, and seeing his captors, became furious. Then beholding Pierre ironed and helpless, Paul burst out in a hysterical laugh, which was followed by frantic appeals for protection against his father's imagined wrath. Both were taken to prison.

"For various reasons Uncle Thomas then had procured the arrests. As news of that Northfield murder came through his agents, it was his duty to inform the proper officials. For months he and his employes had shadowed both Laniers, witnessing Paul's crazed acts, and it was known that they had done this. These assistants were in the immediate neighborhood of Northfield when this murder occurred. It would be inquired, why such continued shadowings, yet failure to prevent this crime? The whole matter would be thoroughly probed. This murder could not be concealed without guilty responsibility. Proof of Oswald Langdon's death was not conclusive. It never might be clearer with Paul hung or in a madhouse. If we had taken proper action to restrain this madman, the murder never would have occurred. Better to take decisive steps and assist the officers than appear to condone crime. All we had planned and worked for would fare better through prompt procedure. Possibly out of this very tangle might come clearance of the unhappy, troubled past.

"Such motives prompted Uncle Thomas to decisive action in procuring these second arrests of Pierre and Paul Lanier.

"Just how or when my part in this drama is to be revealed neither Uncle Thomas nor I yet have decided. I greatly dread the trial.

"At times I seem standing, dizzy, bewildered, and speechless, upon the brink of a yawning chasm. Then appears a light beyond, beckoning me to try the plunge.

"Occasionally, in day-dreams, a hand, not spectral, but inspiringly real and familiar, seems drawing me toward new earthly life and joy; but such fancies are fleeting. The old dread of social ostracism and of suspicious aversion returns with increased power. I have no consciousness of wrong-doing, yet maidenly ideals have been shocked by my conduct, and the place for Alice Webster is outside the pale of social recognition.

"Afternoon of the day upon which occurred the arrests Uncle Thomas decided again to move. To show no attempt at privacy, we returned to the hotel. Both of us were surprised to see your family in the dining-room.

"Uncle Thomas could act unconcerned under any circumstances, but I felt so helplessly embarrassed. As you and Esther looked so intently I was sure you saw through that simple disguise. A sense of shame at such conduct made me faint and heartsick. To escape this I quit the table, going to my room. Soon after, through the open connecting door, I saw you and Uncle Thomas enter, and then knew a crisis had come.

"Uncle Thomas related what you had said, and I was greatly puzzled. Your reasons for not promising to keep his proposed confidences then and ever since seemed unaccountable. He advised that we return to the inn, there to await clearing of increasing difficulties.

"What since occurred you well know. I hope to be forgiven for all my strange, unmaidenly conduct. The very worst has been told, except that words can never tell the painful experiences and sorrowful memories of the unhappy past."

Pausing, Alice gave a look of questioning appeal into the expressive, sympathetic face of Sir Donald Randolph. He seemed struggling with some unwonted emotional impediment to proper speech. Rising, he extended his hand, took that of this interesting young woman, and bowing low, in a husky voice said:

"Make no apologies, Alice! You are all right."

Alice felt much relieved, but the strain had been great. For a while she leaned back in wearied collapse.

Sir Donald suggested that she await her uncle, while he saw his family. After the evening meal, he would esteem it a favor to have all meet at Esther's room.

This invitation was accepted.

Sir Donald notified Thomas Webster that Alice awaited him, adding:

"What a grand girl!"



CHAPTER XXIV

OSWALD IN NEW YORK

Oswald awakes early upon his first morning in New York. The significance of present surroundings dawns upon his mind. He is in the metropolis of that country about which so much had been written, told, and dreamed.

What vistas of destiny since that protest and affirmation received the sword's decisive arbitrament! With what sense of opportune occasion these two kindred nations are surely drawing toward that "modus vivendi," tentatively flexible, yet more potential, responsive, and insistent than treaty covenants, "triple alliances," or proscribed "spheres of influence."

But how capricious fate's fast-loose antics with individual destiny!

Not with complacent retrospect and cleared prospective does this intensely impressionable Englishman stand at the threshold of a new world's view.

That complex web remains intact, the dead lifts unavailing hands, justice is laggard, while the name of Langdon shrinks from pending odium.

Springing up, he soon descends to the hotel office. After breakfast he writes that promised letter. Not knowing anything of Sir Donald Randolph's present address or plans, Oswald writes him at Paris.

Being very curious as to the Lanier affair, and to avoid delay, he addresses copies to Calcutta and to Sir Donald's Northfield station. The letter is brief, announcing his safe arrival at New York, intention to remain until some report comes from Sir Donald, and explaining that similar copies will be mailed to each of places named. He would mail and receive all letters at the general postoffice. No reference is made to the Laniers, as he knows Sir Donald will not need such reminder.

That day Oswald remained at the hotel. The notes of a trained orchestra charmed his musical sense, while sight of superbly clad, richly bejeweled hotel guests was interesting diversion.

Next morning he dined at a restaurant near the corner of Thirty-third Street and Broadway. Taking an elevated Sixth Avenue car, he rides to Park Place, thence walking to the postoffice and mailing his three letters. This important move now made, he is ready for sight-seeing.

Standing by the statue of that young patriot whose life was so freely offered upon Freedom's altar, Oswald marveled at such unselfish infatuation as found voice in words:

"I regret that I have but one life to lose for my country."

Crossing to other side of Broadway, he narrowly escapes collision with an electric car. From the irritated conductor comes:

"Well, chump, you are just off of grass!"

This cheerful compliment is followed by another, more pointedly suggestive, from a wag who calls out:

"Indade yez a bloody jude from owld Loondin, but yez betther moind yer own way, or the polace will copper yez shoor!"

For a few moments the "modus vivendi" is much strained, but Oswald quickly recovers his self-control, and slowly strolls down street, pausing at St. Paul's Chapel.

Having read the chiseled memorial of that American officer who fell in attack upon Quebec, Oswald passes on, turning at Trinity Church into Wall Street.

When at the corner of Nassau, he stands for a few moments in front of the Sub-Treasury Building, looking up at the statue of America's first executive.

This heroic figure is fitting impersonation of successful revolt against oppressive exactions.

Oswald's sense of antithesis pictures in somber background that doomed spy hurried to his fate, and another swinging, strangling shape expiating through hangman's device the proven crime of "high treason."

Such diversions are not conducive to cheerful reverie. His spirits droop lower under the clammy handicap. Memory of those greetings from petulant conductor and guying wag again intrudes.

Oswald is nearly opposite the Custom-House when just before him that newsboy shrieks:

"All about the murder of a young girl! Body found in the river! Police on track of the murderer!"

Tragic memories of those eventful years, augmented by petty, suggestive, yet meaningless recent affronts, shaded by somber-hued reveries, congest about the center of Oswald's sensitive consciousness at the parrot-like yell of a child.

Thought that past concealments and identity known, he now is closely trailed by New York police for the crime of Paul Lanier rouses Oswald's fighting temper to fierce heat.

There is no doubt that under such momentary emotional pressure this guiltless fugitive then would have incurred homicidal accounting by resisting to the death any attempted arrest.

Little Jack's fright at that awful stare was natural.

The scared newsboy again resumes his stereotyped yell at corner of Nassau and Wall Streets.

Oswald had turned back, intending to procure a paper and learn about this reported murder. Returning to Trinity Church, he sees the boy, farther down on opposite side of Broadway, waiting pay for copy then so tenaciously gripped by that careful old financier, who had insisted upon assurance of positive "rigor mortis" as condition precedent to purchase.

Oswald starts across in direct line to where these are standing. At sight of Oswald, little Jack, speedily waiving payment, cuts across Broadway, down Exchange Alley, where he jostles reveries of that brass-buttoned official, and, through official duress, pilots him back to the street. Here Michael Patrick O'Brien hastily fits Jack's description of Oswald to that dazed old man, whom he pompously arrests and valiantly escorts toward "Old Slip" police station.

At a distance of a few rods, Oswald had watched the whole proceeding, and followed, curious to learn cause of the arrest.

Sight of that "willanous-lookin' rascal" still trailing him causes Jack to sidle over Broadway, and ignoring Michael's loud command, disappear at the next crossing.

Oswald concluded that there must be some mistake about this arrest. The man's conduct had appeared void of all criminal intent. The boy seemed to shun Oswald himself, through some unaccountable aversion. Probably the policeman's zeal had caused a serious blunder. The little fellow's strange scare, with hasty, ill-advised official action, resulted in arrest and possible detention of this harmless old gentleman.

Oswald paused to reflect. Why should he concern himself, in a strange land, about such an affair? This mistake soon would be righted. For Oswald to show any interest or make inquiries, might lead to complications. What if he should be required to testify? His real name, former home, and antecedents might be asked. These must be given or he would be committed for contempt. Better not to meddle with this matter.

Oswald boards a Broadway car and gets off at Thirty-third Street. Going to his room, he ponders over the incidents of that morning absence. Recollections of his conduct are not pleasant. The experiences were annoying, but only his own action seems blameworthy. In some way he was responsible for the circumstances leading to arrest of that feeble old man, yet made no explanation or protest. What an initiative in a new world was such selfish, unfeeling discretion! Why hope for exalted aid in his own troubles, while shirking opportunity to help the helpless?

Oswald left the hotel, returning to corner of Wall Street and Broadway. Inquiring of a shop-keeper, "Where are persons arrested in this neighborhood taken by the police?" he receives the answer: