Oswald Langdon
by Levi Jackson Hamilton · English · Gutenberg #22221 · 520,328 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Oswald Langdon
Author: Levi Jackson Hamilton
Release date: August 2, 2007 [eBook #22221]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22221
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[Illustration: "THE STAR! THE STAR! MOTHER!"]
OSWALD LANGDON
_Or_, Pierre and Paul
Lanier. _A Romance of_
1894-1898
BY
CARSON JAY LEE
[Illustration]
CHICAGO
THE LAKESIDE PRESS
1901
COPYRIGHT, 1900
BY
N.B. HAMILTON
IN
The United States of America and Great Britain.
Printed in Chicago, U.S.A.
FIFTH EDITION
TO ONE,
"STANDING WITH RELUCTANT FEET,
WHERE THE BROOK AND RIVER MEET."
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I 1
The Double Scare.--The Old Man's Arrest.--Little Jack's
"Sprint."
CHAPTER II 4
The Storm.--"Bill of Particulars" not Demanded.--Sage Assurance
of an Oxford Graduate.--The Dream.
CHAPTER III 11
An Interesting Meeting.--A Barrier and Siege.--At the Parish
Church.--Strange Sense of Familiarity at First Sight.--Esther's
Friend from London.--Alice Webster as an Interloper.--Alice's
Infatuation.--Visit of Paul Lanier.--Lake Excursion.--Two
Proposals.
CHAPTER IV 46
A London Conference.--The Lawsuit.--The Lake Tragedy.--Paul's
Fright.--Trip to London.--Investigations of Sir Donald
and the Solicitors.--The Hyde Park Confidence.--Thames Boat-Ride.--An
Embarrassing Situation.--Splash of Two Bodies.--At
House of Jack Bray.--A Mysterious Drive.
CHAPTER V 67
Parental "Air Castles."--An Unexpected Call.--Hurried
Departure.--Southampton Wharf Toughs and Bullying
Official.--Sledge-Hammer Blows of Drooping
Pedestrian.--Aboard Ship.--An "Ishmaelite" Finding "Casus Belli"
in Fate.--Tempest on Bay of Biscay.
CHAPTER VI 73
Return from Opera.--Esther Piqued at Alice's Conduct.--Search
for Oswald and Alice.--Finding of Hat and Handkerchief.--Harassed
by Reporters and Detectives.--Sleuths Employed by
Sir Donald.--An Optimist Turned Nemesis.--Esther's Clouded
Vision.--Sir Donald's Bluff.--The Conspirators Quit London.--Sir
Donald and Esther Leave for Paris.
CHAPTER VII 85
Oswald in India.--Calcutta too Cosmopolitan.--Seeking
Employment.--Trip to the Himalayas.
CHAPTER VIII 89
Pierre and Paul in Bombay.--A Rich Englishman and his Niece.--The
Laniers Dine with Sir Charles Chesterton.--Mutual Infatuation
of Paul and Agnes.--Paul's Proposal.--Sir Charles
Demands Pedigree and Inventory.--Sir Charles and Pierre Vie
in Villainous Recitals.--Matrimonial Decision Postponed.--Sir
Charles and Pierre Sail for Calcutta.--Paul's Growing
Infatuation.--Agnes' Caprices.--Thursday Evening Call.--The Tableau,
"Eugene Aram" Dream Lines Recital.--Chesterton Rooms Vacated.
CHAPTER IX 101
Interest in Paris Poor.--Losing Zeal for Man-Capture.--The
Hospital Confession.--The Convalescent's Mysterious Departure--The
Trip to Calcutta.
CHAPTER X 132
At Himalaya Camp.--"Lion" and "Bear."--"For Good of
Kaiser and Tsar."--Tippoo Kalidasa.--Claude Leslie.--Camp
Discussions.--"Citizen of the World."--Doctrine of "Merger."--New
York's "Four Hundred."--The Four Bandits.--Decorating
Graves of the Robbers.--"Vot Sendimendals!"
CHAPTER XI 155
Paul Haunted.--That Grewsome Drapery of Seaweed.--The
Sunday Call.--Chesterton Rooms Vacant.--Pierre's Letter.--"Josiah
Peters" Sails from Bombay.
CHAPTER XII 160
Search for Dodge Family.--Sir Donald and Esther "Shadowed."--The
Metamorphosed Stranger.--Mrs. McLaren Locates Mrs.
Dodge.--Visit of Sir Donald.--The Plot.--Arrest of the
Conspirators.--Dodge's Confession.--Release of the Laniers.
CHAPTER XIII 186
Survey Expedition Disbanded.--The Star.--Oswald Sees Pierre
and Paul.--Meets Esther and Sir Donald.--The Call.--Esther's
Changed Manners.--Sir Donald's Tactics.
CHAPTER XIV 201
The Laniers Puzzled at Their Release.--Tentacles of the
Octopus Contracting.--Sir Donald and His Detectives Mystified.--Flight
of Pierre and Paul.
CHAPTER XV 210
The Retrospect.--Acquiesces in Fate's Opening Seals.
CHAPTER XVI 212
The Fugitives Disguised in London.--Paul's Caprices.--Advises
Pierre to "Avoid River Fogs."--Changed Shifts.
CHAPTER XVII 219
Back at Northfield.--Esther's Musings.--The Boat-Ride.--Repetition
of "Eugene Aram" Dream Lines.
CHAPTER XVIII 225
On the "Tramp" Steamer.--Odd Conceits.--The Handsome
Stranger.--The Consumptive.--"Ermine" Function.--It will be
All Right with Mother.--The Image Reflection.--The Stuttering
German.--Human Transfiguration.--Promethean Myth.--White
Heat of Life's Crucible.--Mother Left Out.--Arrival at New
York.
CHAPTER XIX 237
Thames Pantomimes.--Pierre Discovers Paul's Craze.--Seeks to
Elude Pursuer.--A Long Swoon.--Paul's Vigils.--The Pose and
Threat.
CHAPTER XX 247
Rasping Paradoxes.--Becoming Pessimistic.--Conference with
Chief Detective.--Charles at Home.--Criticises Oswald Langdon.--"A
Daniel Come to Judgment."
CHAPTER XXI 261
Studies Paul's Crazed Peculiarities.--Paul Missing.--His Return.--The
New Dagger.--The Alarm Clock.--Sleeps on his Father's
Arm.--Tragic Awakening.--The Arrests.
CHAPTER XXII 268
The "Corpus Delicti."--Sir Donald's Queer "Find."--Bessie
"Bottled."--"Cometh without Observation."--Charles and the
Interesting Strangers.--Visit of Veiled Woman.--Night Trip
to Northfield.--An Upturned Bloody Face.--Paul in Esther's
Room.--Call at Detective Headquarters.--A Misunderstanding.--Learns
of the Arrests.--A Recognition.--Mute Benediction.
CHAPTER XXIII 302
A Strange Story.
CHAPTER XXIV 363
At the Threshold of a New World's View.--The "Modus
Vivendi."--Letters to Sir Donald.--Oswald and the Newsboy.--Escorted
to "Old Slip."--The Arraignment.--"Turn Your Kidnaper
Loose."--Diplomatic Man-Catcher.--Oswald Attends
Church.--"Overcoming the World."--Meets Claude Leslie in
Central Park.--Enigma to Social Belles.--Claude Leaves for the
West.--Marco Salvini.--At Saint Vincent's.--The Delirium.--"The
Star! The Star! Mother!"--Inverted Spike-Prints.--Mystic
Whisperings--The Letter.
CHAPTER XXV 387
The Evening's Meeting.--Angles of Cross-Purpose.--Sir Donald's
Letter to Oswald.--Paul Committed as a Madman.--Pierre's Odd
Ethical Caprices.--"Do Equity."--Esther Inspects Postmarks
and Consults Ship Schedules.--An Expected Proposal.--A Sad
Home-Coming.--A Northfield Reunion.--Ingenuous Assurance.--Puzzling
Interrogatory.--Wordless Betrothal.--Pierre's Release.--Double
Wedding.--Hopefully "Shadowed."
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"THE STAR! THE STAR! MOTHER!" _Frontispiece_
"THERE WAS A FLASH OF STEEL, A BLOW AND THRUST,
FOLLOWED BY THE SPLASH OF TWO BODIES" 60
"WITH UPLIFTED HAND THE APPARITION SLOWLY ADVANCED
TOWARD THE COWERING PAUL, AS IF TO
STRIKE" 98
"WHEN WITHIN ABOUT A HALF-MILE, THE FOUR RAISED
THEIR WEAPONS" 149
"RAPTLY GAZING AT THE CHILD'S INNOCENT FACE, PAUL
SOFTLY CROONS SOME CRADLE MELODY" 283
"PO' SICK CHILE! YO' WHITE FACE 'MINDS ME OF MY
OWN MANDY CAR'LINE JUST 'FO' SHE DIED!" 306
"THEN BEHOLDING PIERRE IRONED AND HELPLESS, PAUL
BURST OUT IN A HYSTERICAL LAUGH" 359
"THIS SAGE REPLY IS HEARD BY THE EAVESDROPPING
BESSIE" 407
PREFACE
Though to explain incurs a risk, the author accepts the hazard of a word
in advance.
While the novelist's license has been so used that there is need neither
to resent an innuendo nor to prove an "alibi," yet, substantially, the
incidents narrated occurred within the time stated, and nearly all the
actors are still upon life's "boards."
The conscientious tourist in search of that "beautiful country-seat" and
"wood-fringed lake" is advised to defer his visit. Perhaps the exact
locations are intended to be in doubt. Even that "station" might be hard
to find in an English train schedule.
Geographical accuracy may not be always essential. One noted writer has
told of infatuation for
"An ounce of common, ugly, human dust,"
and declared that--
.... "Places are too much,
Or else too little, for immortal man."
The reader of few or of many books may find "reminders" in these pages.
The author hastens to confess echoings from bygone days, hintings of
vagrant fancies, and whimsical reveries wherein appeared the vague
evasive outlines of half-remembered things.
If keeping that harmless old connoisseur of the "image and
superscription," who insisted on positive "rigor mortis," jailed so long
seem heartless, it should be remembered that some wrongs are more
apparent than real.
The antecedents of that mysterious fair-haired "Find" are still in
doubt, but this signifies little. Child-life is always a miracle more
inscrutable than the resurrection of Lazarus.
The hinted fate of Pierre and Paul Lanier may merit some criticism.
Perhaps summary justice should have been meted out; but in view of all
"extenuating circumstances," may not judgment be suspended? Since
"Eternity is so long," and in deference to that "bias for saving," can
we not allow an "appeal unto Caesar"?
CARSON JAY LEE.
CHAPTER I
THE SCARE AND ARREST
Passing along the street, apparently self-absorbed, there seems little
in this man to attract notice.
Why does the scared newsboy hurry by, thinking of that strange face?
Quickly the agitated countenance assumes a look of dignified
indifference.
A block away the boy resumes his calls:
"All about the murder of a young girl! Body found in the river! Police
on track of the murderer!"
"Poor little fellow!" murmured Oswald. "He gave me such a shock! But how
frightened he seemed when passing, with his innocent yell! How foolish
my scare! What do New York police know or care about a crime committed
in London years ago?"
Curious to read what the city papers say of this homicide, Oswald
retraces his steps, turns a corner, and sees the boy waiting pay from a
pleasant-faced, careful old man, who holds to his purchase while
critically scrutinizing the coin, as if sorry to part with such "image
and superscription" without approved value.
"Be the girl dead and be she drowned sure?"
"She's a goner!" replied the boy.
This emphatic assurance of "rigor mortis" having convinced the old
gentleman that his money will be well invested, the deal is about to be
closed, when, seeing Oswald, little Jack sprints across the street, down
an alley, into the arms of a policeman.
"Pfwhat yez roonin' loike yez a stalin' wagabond pfhwor?" sternly asks
the officer.
"That willanous-lookin' rascal round there is campin' on me trail."
With visions of a kidnaper of small boys fleeing from his wrath, Michael
P. O'Brien drags the terrified Jack out of the alley to the street.
Seeing the old man holding to the paper and looking dazed, upon this
gray-haired malefactor is placed the strong hand of the "statute in such
case made and provided," and he is started toward the police-station,
with the soothing assurance:
"Yez nadn't confiss yez guilt by discriminatin' ividince."
Seeing that matters are badly mixed, Jack sidles away toward the
opposite street-corner. His movement is noted by the policeman at the
exact moment that Jack again sees Oswald. Heedless of loud command to
"Sthop, in the noime of the law," the youthful auctioneer of the
metropolitan press heads at right angles and is soon out of sight.
CHAPTER II
AFTER THE STORM
The day has been fearfully hot. Unconscious of surroundings, every nerve
seemingly relaxed, a young man is riding along the road toward the
station. Passing a wooded strip, there is a blinding flash. With much
effort, Oswald frees himself from the limb of a tree, which in falling
broke the neck of his horse. Bewildered with pain and drenched to the
skin, he is staggering around in the mud, when a light wagon, drawn by a
fine team, comes to a sudden halt at the fallen tree. The driver turns
his conveyance around and assists the soaked victim of the storm to a
seat. Retracing the way to another road, after a roundabout journey they
stop in front of a large mansion surrounded by a grove.
The injured man is assisted to a room. A servant soon brings dry
clothing and kindles a fire.
Oswald begins to meditate upon his mishap. "Close call," murmurs he,
"and just as I had completed that grand air-castle! At the very moment
when the acclaim was the loudest and the star of Langdon seemed
brightest, that blinding flash! That terrible shock, too, and such an
oppressive feeling, until the limb was removed from my breast! What does
it mean? How like and yet unlike my last night's dream! I feel so cold,
too." He stirs the fire, which is burning cheerily, and sits down in the
cushioned chair, the blood flowing from his mouth.
Oswald soon recovers from the hemorrhage, and is aroused from his
languor by the entrance of a fine-looking man whose general appearance
indicates a life of about fifty years.
Seeing the pale face, and noting its strong outlines, yet refined
expression, he stands for a moment in silent admiration.
"How do you feel now?"
"Much better, thank you," is the feeble reply.
Perceiving his guest's weakness, he rings a bell, and upon the prompt
appearance of a servant, gives orders which are soon complied with by
the bringing of refreshments.
Oswald learns that his kind host bears the name of Donald Randolph, and
is the owner of the beautiful country-seat known as "Northfield"; that
he has a family consisting of a son and daughter; that the son is away
on a trip to India, the daughter visiting in London, but expected home
on the following day.
Wishing to know more of the girl, her age, whether single or married,
educated or otherwise, with the numerous further items of information
naturally desired by a young man of twenty-five, about the daughter of
an aristocratic, highly connected, wealthy English gentleman, Oswald,
however, has the tact and good breeding not to demand a "bill of
particulars."
There being a brief pause here, as if both feel that an important though
delicate subject is under consideration, Sir Donald becomes the
inquisitor, learning much about Oswald's past life without asking many
questions. Sir Donald manifests such kindly, unfeigned interest, so much
sympathy with Oswald's plans for the future, heartily approving of his
highest aspirations, that the young man confides unreservedly, and tells
it well.
Oswald's father was the younger son of Herbert Langdon, and for many
years had been rector of an important parish. His parents had placed
Oswald under a tutor, who had prepared him for Oxford. He had finished a
course at this institution, and was taking a pleasure trip on horseback
when the accident befell him. He now aspires to be a barrister, though
until within a few years his secret ambition had been to be a great
military leader. He had read of "St. Crispin," "Balaklava," the "Battle
of the Nile," "Trafalgar," and "Waterloo," but the military spirit is
subservient to that of commerce and diplomacy. With much sage assurance
he said:
"Massed armies, long-range ordnance, impregnable forts, steel-armored
battle-ships, and deadly, explosive coast marine mines are simply
bellicose forms of pacific, neutral notes commanding the 'peace of
Europe.' The jealousy of nations will not permit wars of conquest for
colonial extension, and the mouths of frowning cannon are imperious
pledges of international comity. Weak dynasties will find tranquillity
in the fears of more august powers. Even the unspeakable Moslem will be
unmolested in his massacres, to insure regular clipping of Turkish bonds
in money markets of European capitals."
Here Sir Donald suggested that possibly this pacific, commercial
tendency had its perils, and through unforeseen complications might
cause war.
"The enervating influences of wealth, the extreme conservatism thereby
fostered, and the resulting disposition to accept any compromise rather
than interfere with the free course of trade, may create conditions
breeding hostilities. May not such extreme aversion to commercial
disturbance, and disposition to think lightly of national honor,
compared with financial security, be bids for attack from more hardy,
martial peoples, having little respect for the prerogatives of traffic
or the hypocritical refinements of diplomatic craft? Are not such
conditions, with the luxurious licentiousness so natural thereto,
combined with the stolid indifference and poverty of the masses, most
potent factors in the decline and fall of nations?"
Struck by the force of these suggestions, Oswald is silent.
Seeing that this interesting young man is pondering upon these
possibilities and resulting changes in the maps of the world, Sir Donald
watches him with much admiration. He thinks, I may not live to behold
much of this, but would like to see a cast of his horoscope.
After a brief pause, Oswald replies:
"Serious contingencies may grow out of these tendencies of the times.
These may require diplomacy and forbearance among the powers. Barbarous
peoples would be at a great disadvantage in a conflict with any of the
greater nations of the earth. Personal prowess, resistless in the
whirlwind of the charge, is of little avail against modern artillery or
long-range ordnance. The destructive power of modern military equipment
will make adjustment of international differences by arbitration
imperative."
He hedges at this point with the suggestion:
"Still, some crazy autocrat or frenzied people at any time may bring on
far-reaching conflicts, and barbarous hordes will become menaces to
civilization if taught the art of modern warfare."
After a few minutes' further conversation of a general character, Sir
Donald bids Oswald good-night.
Being weary, Oswald soon after retired.
On the waters of a beautiful lake, under a cloudless sky, Oswald is
swiftly sailing. The breeze seconding his own skill, the boat seems
instinct with life. From the wooded bank, around a distant curve,
emerges a small sail with two persons aboard. Nearing the middle of the
lake, he sees a struggle, a splash, then a female form sinking in the
water. With its remaining occupant the boat speeds swiftly away,
disappearing beyond a jutting wooded point. Oswald's sail reaches the
spot, and he rescues the insensible form of a young woman. She revives
and becomes his loving friend. Soon a hateful, sinister face haunts
them. Many snares they unconsciously escape. There is a tangle in the
web of events. They stand upon the banks of a river, near a large city.
The girl clings to him despairingly. Their foe appears, and both are
struck from the bank into the river. Regaining the shore, Oswald flees.
Through terrible mazes he is driven over the earth, with the face of the
drowned girl before his eyes, the shadow of the gallows looming grim
and black at every turn.
With a groan Oswald awakes. The pain in his side and breast is severe,
but the dream seems much more real. He can not easily believe it to be
simply a chimera of an overwrought brain.
CHAPTER III
OSWALD MEETS ESTHER
Late on the following morning a servant called with breakfast. In about
an hour Sir Donald paid Oswald a visit.
Replying to a question as to his night's rest, he complained of severe
pains across his lungs. Sir Donald suggested that a physician be called,
but Oswald declined medical assistance.
After some pleasant talk, Sir Donald informed him that the servant would
be at his command until evening; that in the afternoon Esther would
return from London, and expected her father at the station, adding:
"These little girls must be carefully attended."
Oswald felt a shade of disappointment at this fatherly allusion to
little Esther. Having pictured a graceful young woman of faultless face,
form, and manner, how strong his protest against the displacement of
this ideal, by a rollicking little "tot," full of spoiled temper and
domineering caprice.
Oswald now sees in Sir Donald Randolph less to admire. Mentally
arraigning this aristocrat for his poor taste, he blames the silly
father for having such a daughter. Finally, deciding not to be unduly
harsh in his judgment, as there might have been mitigating
circumstances, he is feeling a sense of self-approval, when voices are
heard.
Looking from the window, he sees that pictured ideal coming up the
graveled walk, clasping the hand of Sir Donald, talking as though time
were covenant essence, with forfeiture imminent.
At once all resentment vanishes. This noble father is promptly
reinstated.
Oswald now feels an impulse to apologize for his former verdict and
judgment, but decides, as neither had been announced, to suppress both.
His pleased fancy pictures pleasant moonlight strolls, long rides on
horseback, frequent sails upon a wooded lake, numerous tete-a-tetes in
secluded bowers, a sweet girl's tender, wistful smiles, a whispered
proposal, with happy, conditional acceptance, soon followed by a grand
marriage ceremony.
For nearly an hour little matters kept Sir Donald from visiting his
guest.
Oswald chafed under this prolonged neglect. Why should he, Oswald
Langdon, with assured honors waiting acceptance, receive such shabby
treatment? To leave promptly would be showing proper spirit.
However, there is little hazard of such commendable spiritual
manifestation.
Strange, Miss Randolph has no more curiosity and shows so little
interest.
Soon Sir Donald called, and asked if Oswald felt able to go downstairs.
"Fully, thank you!" is the animated response.
Leaning on Sir Donald's arm, the young man descends, and enters the
family sitting-room, where he is presented to Esther Randolph.
Habitually at ease in exchange of formal social greetings, Oswald feels
a slight tremor of embarrassment upon his presentation to this beautiful
blushing girl. Such mixture of childish curiosity, impulsive girlish
candor, and unconscious grace, with hesitating modesty, womanly dignity,
and restraints of good breeding, all modulated by eye and accent,
blending with expressive facial lights and shades, is to Oswald a new
creation.
The look of questioning admiration is mutual, each evidently seeing in
the other an interesting enigma.
Wonderfully fascinated by this girl of twenty, Oswald spends a
delightful evening. So absorbed is he, that bodily pain and Sir Donald
are in abeyance. This fine specimen of mature, aristocratic manhood now
is interesting only as father of a unique daughter.
While pleased at Oswald's manly refinement and evident interest, the
girl feels no warmer thrill.
Esther's education had progressed under her father's care. Competent
teachers of high character were employed for so important work. The
mental culture, social training, and refined accomplishments of Esther
Randolph to such a father were matters of import. Nor were the subtle
interwoven relations of the intellectual and ethical with bodily
conditions, disregarded. She learned much by study wisely directed;
became proficient in the languages, vocal and instrumental music;
absorbed valuable general information from frequent talks with her
father; read with discrimination some of the best works of poetry,
romance, and literature; was familiar with the amenities of polite
society; yet this girl of twenty seemed totally unconscious of her rare
accomplishments, or bewitching perfections of face and form.
When she first met Oswald Langdon, Esther had not felt any symptoms of
the tender sentiment. Was not this handsome, refined, enthusiastic,
cultured young fellow, so strangely placed in her path, almost an ideal
of manly perfection?
In Oswald's life there had been little social sentiment. The formal
courtesies of polite society were hollow and tiresome. Though thought by
friends and acquaintances to be a young man of strong mind, fascinating,
magnetic manners, and high aspirations, with a brilliant prospective
career, he seemed careless of that dubious prestige whose uncertain
tenure is subject to the whims of the alleged "select."
Oswald had met many well-connected, eligible young ladies. Their manners
had been kindly gracious. Most courteously and with instinctive chivalry
he had responded, but never felt any lasting interest. Now,
providentially, he has met Esther Randolph. Oswald Langdon and
providence cannot fail.
Sir Donald listened with pleasure to the animated talk of Esther and
Oswald.
Though fascinated with the girl, Oswald's manner toward the father was
respectfully considerate. Sir Donald was his kind benefactor, and had a
most charming daughter. Oswald Langdon had too much self-respect--and
tact--to ignore Sir Donald Randolph.
At ten o'clock the family and guest retired, the father to indulge his
soul's long habit of speculative conjecture, the daughter to sleep,
Oswald to think of Esther.
The stay of Oswald at Northfield was prolonged for a period of six
weeks. For nearly half of this time he was detained by his injuries and
the advice of the physician. Fearing hemorrhages as a result of the
injuries to his breast, Oswald finally had consented to receive medical
attendance.
Enjoying the society of this interesting invalid, Sir Donald and Esther
had assured him that he was welcome to the extended hospitality of
Northfield.
There were many delightful talks upon all sorts of subjects, profound
and otherwise. Esther often played, with exquisite skill, selections
from musical masters. At his request she sang songs of grand, refined
sentiment and of most entrancing melody.
Oswald was not at ease. Though Esther promptly responded to his
invitations to sing and play, even anticipating his wishes in
selections, seeming perfectly happy in his presence, Oswald saw that
this grand girl had thoughts and purposes in which he had no part.
The form of this barrier was shadowy, but real.
To some natures, vague, dim outlines of shapes are more potent than
those of an heroic mold.
There was in Oswald's high-strung, impulsive being, not tense, imperious
energy alone, but that craft which in emergency could plan and wait.
But how mass the forces of a masterful spirit against an evasive square?
Though perplexed by this intangible obstacle to his purposes, Oswald
continued, by varying tactics, his subtle bombardment, still floundering
in the mazes of the siege.
While impressed with her father's liberal views regarding the infinite
wideness of divine compassion toward human frailty, Esther had a most
exacting sense of personal obligation to a higher power.
It never occurred to this generous, conscientious girl that her moral
delinquencies should tax the healing properties or sensitive texture of
the "seamless robe." Her conscience was peculiarly responsive to all
religious appeals wherein duty was imperative, and her sentiments were
so generous toward human want, that the natural effect of such ethical
experiences would be a life of self-sacrifice in some line of charitable
service.
This conscientious leaning was toward practical charity. At London,
during her recent visit, Esther had listened to eloquent, stirring
appeals from a brilliant pulpit orator, upon the subjects of charity and
sacrifice. Prominence was given to local endeavor in behalf of the
helpless poor.
"Such are," said he, "exalted objects of divine solicitude. Hopeless
looks and dwarfish lives are fearful protests against the pitiless
avarice of the faithless rich. This or that conception of the
redemptive economy, or concerning the personnel of its central figure,
may be tolerated, but there can be no hopeful sign for him who actively
or passively oppresses God's 'little ones.'
"A story has been told of One whose weary, homeless head, often envied
hole of fox and nest of bird; 'despised and rejected,' yet making
autocratic claims to kingly prerogatives over an empire more limitless
than that of Caesar Augustus; having in marked degree, a high-born soul's
characteristic indifference to personal affronts, yet terribly indignant
at slights to the poor; Who, standing with His imperial brow bared in
oriental sun, His right hand resting in benediction upon curly-headed
babe, the other thrilling with prophetic instinct of the leftward
gesture of 'Depart,' uttered this sentiment, Better a millstone necklace
and deep-sea grave than offense against the helpless.
"How heartless, for one reared in luxury, placed beyond the reach of
want, having refinements and accomplishments of intellectual drill,
leading a life of selfish ease, pampering every personal taste, while
millions of these needy wards lack common bread."
Names and sacrifices of noted philanthropists were eloquently commented
upon, and pathetic instances were narrated of noble women who had spent
their lives in this human ministry.
These appeals had awakened in Esther's mind a fixed resolve to devote
herself to some form of home missionary work. She fully had determined
to forego all associations and environments not conducive to greatest
usefulness in her chosen mission.
Trustingly waiting providential direction, Esther had returned from
London, doubting not that a life of contented service would unfold with
the years.
Thus panoplied with mail of self-consecration to an ideal, Esther
Randolph met and withstood the suit of Oswald Langdon.
Oswald never overtly exceeded the bounds of social propriety, nor
boorishly inflicted his presence upon Esther's attention. The high
constraints of native manliness and gentlemanly instinct precluded such
coarse tactics.
Esther's failure to appreciate this rare chance, and to acquiesce in her
lover's evident interest, resulted not from any strange apathy or
dislike, such as sometimes influences girlish choice. To her father she
said: "I see in Oswald's remarkable individuality much to admire. His
refined, magnetic enthusiasm is contagious, and at times most
fascinating. His delicately guarded, subtle compliments, yet earnest,
sincere speech, interest me greatly." It was but natural that the
tender, wistful courtesies and considerate deference of this masterful
suitor should be pleasing to Esther's womanly spirit. This
high-principled girl, strong for self-sacrifice upon the altar of duty,
was intensely human. Oswald felt this charm, and readily yielded to its
power.
As Esther became sensitive of her interest in Oswald's future, she
became more conscientiously determined upon absolute dedication of self
to higher purposes than earthly pleasures.
Being perplexed at the strange girl's conduct, Oswald concluded to learn
its cause. His waking hours, while alone, were spent in framing all
sorts of delicately worded questions and comments about subjects which
he thought of interest to Esther, calculated to draw out this hidden
secret.
Unconscious of his craft, Esther's responses were void of light as
Egyptian sphinx.
Oswald became wildly curious as to this mystery. It occurred to him that
there might have been a case of early infatuation.
To his skillfully framed, delicately propounded questions about her past
life, Esther answered frankly, with happy enthusiasm, giving each glad
reminiscence.
Perhaps her aristocratic father had confided to Esther cherished plans
concerning proper social alliances, and this loyal daughter yielded to
the parental will.
Oswald's tactful delving unearthed no coercive "find" of restraining or
constraining parental influence designedly swaying Esther's choice
toward any fixed social status.
It was apparent that this girl felt toward her father a loving sense of
filial reverence. That Esther would defer to Sir Donald's unexpressed or
spoken will, Oswald doubted not.
There seemed to be such habitual interchange of parental and filial
regard, so much of loving care and trusting dependence between this
father and child, that Oswald knew in any emergency these would be far
more autocratic in power of high constraint than any dogmatic assertions
of authority or sentimental excesses.
Does she divine his purposes and evade the issue? Are any peculiar
English property entailments obstacles to his suit? Is this hateful
barrier some high family scheme of marital intrigue or establishment?
These and other less probable possible causes are canvassed by Oswald
with much tact and persistence.
Much of information derived by this resourceful inquisitor was not
through question or reply, but was elicited by adroitly worded opinions
upon remotely similar subjects adapted to time and occasion of their
utterance. Still the mystery deepened.
Oswald had been at Northfield for about three weeks, and was entirely
recovered from his injuries.
Though loth to leave this interesting home, he concluded to go. With
evident reluctance he stated his purpose to Sir Donald and Esther. These
so cordially urged longer stay that Oswald readily consented.
"Why not stay here longer, and see more of Northfield?"
He had no wish to find any sufficient answer to this question. To his
visual survey Northfield was then in smiling review.
Sir Donald suggested a ride on horseback. The air was pleasant and the
sky cloudless. Oswald admired the picturesque variety of wood, stream,
hill, and level field, with their blending, many-colored shades. Esther
commented with enthusiasm upon the incidents of each loved spot, seeming
a little girl again among the sweet scenes of her childhood home. Sir
Donald listened with pleased smile to Esther's minute description of
each coincidence of the past. At times there crossed his refined, mobile
face tremulous shades, suggestive of pathetic memories. The panorama of
twenty-five years was passing before his reminiscent gaze, softened and
blended by subdued tints of receding lights.
Turning a wooded curve, they came upon a grassy nook by a pebbly stream
shaded with trees. The granite inscriptions with choicely selected
bushes and flowers needed no interpreter.
Esther saw that Sir Donald wished to be alone. Without spoken sign, she
rode on, accompanied by Oswald.
Sir Donald dismounted. This strong, mature, chastened man never thought
of wife and child as sleeping there. They dwelt too far and safe for
such pulseless rest. With clarified visions and adjusted lenses these
gazed from their high mounts of observation upon "those graves called
human existence, not yet resurrected unto life."
Esther led the way along a narrow path to an open space, where she and
Oswald dismounted. Neither referred to Sir Donald's whim in remaining
behind.
Oswald had spent a half-hour alone with this interesting girl without
reference to the mystery which had eluded his subtle, absorbing inquiry
for the past three weeks.
Upon being joined by Sir Donald, the party rode on for some distance
along the bank of a lake, until coming to a graveled road and following
its meandering course, they returned to the Northfield mansion.
Next day was the Sabbath. Oswald attended the parish church with Sir
Donald and Esther.
Having from early childhood felt the restraints of religious training,
Oswald yielded to the sweet solemnity of the hour. Though his
controlling aspirations, in their uncurbed impetuosity and youthful
conceit, were little consciously tinged with the higher sentiments of
ethical teaching, yet Christian principles were entitled to unquestioned
homage. Feeling slight commendation for that meek attitude of majestic
patience, "led like a lamb to the slaughter," he thrilled at sight of an
heroic warrior figure, clad in royal Bozrah-vintage-tinted purple, with
powerful victor tread, returning from "Edom" conquest. There was not
much of "comeliness" in the "marred face" of an unresenting Christ, but
how fascinating the autocratic, prophet-painted, empire-inscribed pose
of Redemption's Champion, clad in ermine of final decree, alternately
welcoming his ancient "Elect," and with awful leftward gesture upon
countless millions pronouncing the changeless judgment of "Depart."
Esther's lips quivered with sympathetic emotion at the divine tenderness
for human despair. In the miracles she saw heavenly interposition to
relieve earthly want. Barley loaves, fish, and wine were for the hungry,
thirsty, ravenous crowd. Clay anointings were for the blind, quickened
ears for deaf mutes, leprous healings for diseased outcasts, and
recalled vital breath to pulseless mortality, responsive to human
prayer. Esther faintly comprehended the inexorable justice of final
judgment, but pitied poor, erring, bewildered, helpless human wanderers,
gravitating so swiftly and surely to drear, friendless caverns of
eternal night.
Afterward, in comment to Oswald and Esther, Sir Donald said:
"Is not patience royalty's most crucial test? How easy, kingly
assertion! How hard, autocratic forbearance! How little evidence of
omnipotence in vindictive wrath! Are not human weaknesses rightful
claimants to a divine protectorate? Are not the crowning glories of
these grand figures of Hebrew imagery in their pathetic antitypes? Is
not the progressive evolution of the ages more sublime than spontaneous
precocity? Restoring to normal functions ear, eye, and tongue is not so
miraculous as are continuous creations of auricular and visual senses,
with all the wondrous resulting harmonies of speech, sound, and song.
Healing an 'unclean' wretch of his foul disorder ranks not the healthy
rhythm of an infant's pulse. The inexplicable life of an interesting
young girl is more mysterious than was the resurrection of Lazarus."
The ritual had an unspeakable charm for Esther and Oswald.
Monday, Oswald saw Esther only briefly, as some matters of household
supervision absorbed her care. He felt lonely, but improved the time in
writing several letters which had been delayed. Such employment would do
when Esther was out of sight. It seemed a day lost.
Many years had receded into vague retrospect before the absorbing
interests of three brief weeks.
Upon Tuesday Sir Donald and Esther drove to the station. A girl friend
was expected on a visit from London.
Oswald spent the day in walking about the grounds and viewing the rare
beauties of Northfield. Aware that much of interest was being seen by
him for the first time, yet he experienced a strange sense of
familiarity with many objects in this changing panorama. He took an
extended stroll along the banks of the lake. He stops and soliloquizes:
"Still the same unaccountable sensation! When and where have I witnessed
the counterpart of that timbered bank beyond the curve, with the jutting
wooded point in the distance? Why should the waters of a running stream,
with the glare of myriad lights, appear in the background of this real
landscape view? What have I done that a fleeing, skulking form like my
own flits back and forth in the distant outlines? Where have I seen that
despairing female face?"
With insistent sense of some fateful impending ill, Oswald returned to
Northfield.
Having been gone several hours, the sun was setting when he reached the
mansion grounds. Coming up a flower-fringed path, wondering at the
chimeras of the afternoon, he saw Esther seated on a bench near a
rosebush, and stepped toward her with a pleasant greeting, but cut it
short with a startled, "Well!"
The surprised cause of Oswald's exclamation blushed as she looked into
his strangely excited countenance.
Thinking there was some mistake of identity at the base of this
incident, Esther presented Oswald to her friend from London, Miss Alice
Webster.
With much pleasant tact, Esther managed to divert the minds of her young
friends from this little mistaken affair to subjects more agreeable.
"Miss Webster has lived in London several years, and is an intimate
friend of my cousins dwelling there. She called upon them during my
recent visit. I pressed Alice to spend a few weeks at Northfield. We
look for a most delightful time.
"How nice it will be that Mr. Langdon can be here and help us to enjoy
this treat! What lovely trips on horseback! Such sails on the lake! Miss
Webster sings divinely."
Esther's exquisite face shone with genuine anticipation, and Alice
seemed hopeful of perfect happiness.
Oswald did not just like the prospect. Though this London acquisition to
Northfield's select circle was an uncommonly pretty young woman of
twenty-two, tall, and a most strikingly interesting brunette, Oswald had
little disposition to be promiscuous in his tastes for female charms. To
his discriminating vision Esther Randolph was the ideal of all he deemed
desirable in womanly loveliness. If Oswald Langdon had been consulted as
to the advisability of this expected visit, Alice Webster at that time
would have been in London.
However, there were matters in the Randolph social set which had taken
shape without his molding hand.
Oswald considerately decided not to veto any absolute decrees of fate,
but felt that innocent, generous-hearted Alice Webster was an interloper
and a positive barrier to his purposes.
Let none fancy that this chafing, impetuous suitor, so impatient toward
any and all obstacles, permitted ocular evidence of these sentiments to
casual view. All was masked by the most refined, manly courtesy and held
in check by habitual self-control.
From the first Alice admired Oswald Langdon. His conduct toward her was
the perfection of manly consideration. Conscious of his unreasonable
resentment against her presence at Northfield at this particular time,
he made amends by strenuous efforts to entertain this handsome girl.
For nearly two weeks the time of these interesting young people was
occupied in varying rounds of social pleasure. The three seldom were
separated, except when Esther was called away to superintend some
household matter or joined Sir Donald.
Oswald planned many ways to be alone with Esther, but found such
seclusion impossible. Not that there was apparent disposition on her
part to thwart any of his plans, but on the contrary, Esther seemed
acquiescent in every whim of her guests.
Alice was happy in Oswald's company, and did not disguise her
sentiments.
Having been so considerate, Oswald could not now be indifferent without
causing sensitive pain.
Though Esther had concluded that her life's purpose never would permit
anything more than Platonic regard for Oswald Langdon, yet she often
wished that duty's path might be less narrow and exacting. The cost of
living with sole reference to a high spiritual ideal never seemed so
great as when she saw this fascinating, manly suitor, evidently seeking
her hand, but failing of proper encouragement, turning his attention to
another. Beyond this suppressed pain, evidenced by slightly quivering
lips, there was little to disturb Esther's fixed resolve.
When Oswald had despaired of again seeing Esther except in company of
Alice, and was thinking of going home to await further plans, all were
surprised by the appearance of a young man from London.
That evening Sir Donald told Oswald the following story:
"For many years Paul Lanier has known Alice, and they are quite
friendly. He was a frequent caller at her London home. Though Alice
never felt toward him much of interest and doubted his sincerity of
purpose, yet this tireless suitor persistently continued his attentions.
"Paul is the son of a rich broker, who until recently has been the
guardian of Alice Webster.
"Alice's father, William Webster, acquired wealth in India. Pierre
Lanier was his partner.
"Reverses came. In a fit of insane madness over his losses, resort was
had to the suicide's refuge. Pierre Lanier settled the complicated
affairs of his dead partner. All was absorbed but a small estate in
England, yielding an annual rental of one hundred pounds. This income
has been devoted to the care and education of the orphan daughter, Alice
Webster, who at the time of her father's death was four years old. Her
mother died when Alice was a babe, and was buried at Calcutta.
"Paul is the only son of Pierre Lanier, and until he reached the age of
sixteen lived with his father in India. Nine years ago his father
brought Paul to London, where he has since resided. Through his father's
finesse, Paul moved in select London circles. He attended the same
church as Alice Webster. The father being wealthy and of pleasant
address, Paul was regarded as a promising young man with good prospects,
but both, for some reason, seem interested in the future of this young
orphan girl with the moderate allowance.
"Alice and Paul were much together, and became quite good friends.
Paul's father still resided abroad, but made frequent visits to London.
The growing friendship between these two young people seemed to meet his
hearty approval. About nine months ago Paul joined his father at
Calcutta, and Alice thought he was still there until she was surprised
by his unheralded appearance.
"Less than a year previous to this meeting, Pierre Lanier was in
London. At this time Paul proposed to Alice that they be married during
his father's stay. Alice gently but positively declined this proposal.
Paul insisted, and was fiercely indignant at her continued refusal.
Finally, seeing there was then no hope of a favorable answer, his
tactics took more subtle form, and Paul said:
"'It is unreasonable that I should expect an immediate answer. You have
known me as a boy, and have seen little of society. You will like me
better after seeing the hollow mockery of social compliments. My love
for you will be constant. Will you not kindly leave me some hope, and
wait a year before final decision? I will go abroad, hoping that at the
end of twelve anxious months Alice Webster will consent to become my
bride.'
"Thus appealed to, this generous-hearted girl consented to grant the
desired time, and to defer until then the final reply. Soon after this
Pierre Lanier left London, and in a few weeks Paul went to India."
Oswald was much interested in this romance and awaited developments.
Alice experienced much uneasiness because of her promise to wait. She
felt determined upon refusing to become the wife of Paul Lanier, but
dreaded the ordeal. She doubted his sincerity, and felt dread of both
father and son. For several weeks before her visit at Northfield Alice
had experienced an unaccountable sense of being watched, and often in
her walks met a strange man with familiar, furtive, shifting glances.
Fully determined forever to end this unwelcome affair, Alice gladly
accepted Esther's invitation to visit Northfield. In the sweet
infatuation of the past few weeks Alice almost had forgotten her former
distresses, and was experiencing a sense of unmitigated pleasure at this
beautiful home. Her growing interest in Oswald Langdon would make easier
dismissal forever of Paul's attentions.
Though when in company of Esther and Oswald, Alice often had experienced
a temporary sense of being watched, yet her pleasure was too genuine
long to feel the presence of unreal objects. More than once had the
reflected shadow of Paul Lanier appeared in startling clearness. Far
from being homely or of unpleasant features, judged by approved
standards of manly beauty, yet compared with Oswald Langdon, Paul Lanier
was to Alice Webster an uninteresting deformity.
The two girls were sitting upon the lawn, in shade of a tree, listening
to Oswald's full, well-modulated voice reading from the opening chapter
of "Aurora Leigh," when a neatly dressed, stylish-appearing young man
stood before them. Lifting his hat with a low bow, he responded to
Alice's startled "Mr. Lanier!" with "Good-evening, Alice."
With apparent fear, Alice presented Paul to Esther and Oswald as her
friend from London, "Mr. Paul Lanier."
Noting the dismay of Alice at his sudden appearance, and quickly
divining that her sentiments toward him had not improved, Paul bit his
lips with suppressed ire, but otherwise was outwardly impassive. Paul
made a hurried explanation to Alice's unspoken inquiries: "I returned
from India sooner than expected. I learned of you being at Northfield,
and came from London to see you."
Alice endeavored to appear cheerful, but her efforts were apparent to
all.
Paul attributed her conduct to the presence of Oswald, and from that
moment became an implacable foe.
Oswald saw in the presence of Paul Lanier at Northfield, for the avowed
purpose of meeting Alice Webster, a chance to renew his quest. So, far
from attempting to supplant Paul, he wished him success, and hoped Alice
would think kindly of her old-time friend, who had traveled from far
India to see this capricious girl. Was not the infatuated Paul handsome,
stylish, and evidently sincere? Oswald felt a sense of pity for the
foolish prejudices of the silly Alice. His sympathies were aroused in
behalf of the slighted Paul, who would be justified in cutting the
acquaintance of such a perverse sweetheart. Oswald trusted that Paul
would consider before taking such a course. It would be well for
strong-minded, decisive men to practice forbearance with girlish whims
and fancies.
Ignoring the coolness of Alice, Paul was very courteous, seeming not to
notice her evident dislike.
The efforts of both young men to be alone with their objects of interest
were thwarted by the tact of Alice, who was attracted to the side of
Oswald or Esther, as varying circumstances required.
The evening was passed in conversation and instrumental music, yet there
were feelings of bitterness in that apparently happy group. Sir Donald
and Esther felt the pleasure growing out of generous, hospitable
entertainment, but there was much of unspoken recrimination between
their guests.
What pent malice often is masked by smiling social courtesies!
Upon the next day Sir Donald proposed that all take a sail on the lake
and enjoy some excellent fishing.
To reach the water at a convenient spot near the boat, the gay party,
with lunch and fishing outfit, took a double carriage, Sir Donald
occupying a seat with the driver. All entered the boat, Sir Donald with
much skill handling the canvas. After an extended ride the party landed
on a shaded bank, where a fire was kindled. The fish and coffee soon
were steaming on a table before used by the family on similar lake
excursions.
After the meal Sir Donald lay down at a little distance and took a nap.
The rest of the party strolled together through the timber skirting the
shore.
Esther and Alice became separated by a narrow ravine, which gradually
widened until its sides became steep. Oswald had followed Esther, who
seemed perfectly happy, and unconscious of the widening breach between
them and her friend.
Paul had seen his chance to be alone with Alice. The girl had not
noticed how their path was being separated from that of her friends
until they had gone some distance. Then she thought of retracing her
steps, but Paul suggested that they might get farther away in this
manner, and that by continuing up the ravine a crossing soon would be
found. They kept on their way, Paul evincing his desire to find Esther
and Oswald by frequent calls. There were no responses. After an hour of
wandering, Alice became tired, and sat down to rest.
Paul now seemed worried over not finding Esther and Oswald. He suggested
that they wait to see if their friends would not come that way. They
more easily could get back to the point of separation by not traveling
farther. Alice approved of this plan, and both waited in the shade of an
overhanging tree on the bank of the ravine.
Paul was very kind, treating her anxiety with marked solicitude. He
succeeded in allaying her doubts as to the outcome of this incident, and
they talked freely upon little events of their past.
Gradually Paul approached the subject uppermost in his mind. Alice tried
to divert him until some better time. Her ingenuity was not equal to the
occasion in dealing with Paul Lanier. She became aware of this, and
tremblingly awaited the attack.
With softened accents and apparent deference, Paul asked:
"Do you remember, Alice, the promise made me about a year ago?"
"That I would wait a year before deciding?"
"Yes, I believe you did say a year."
"But, Mr. Lanier, that was only nine months ago."
"While I have no right to hurry you, Alice, yet when a man's dearest
hopes are at stake, waiting three long months is a great trial."
"Still, Mr. Lanier, to decide such an important question is a year too
long?"
Mistaking her trembling earnestness for genuine interest in the proper
solution of this heart problem, Paul gravely urged:
"In the time already passed since my proposal, you surely have reached a
decision, and it is cruel longer to keep me in suspense."
Alice began to cry.
Paul attributed her tearful, hesitating manner to yielding consent, and
said:
"It will be better for me to now know my fate than to suffer the
uncertainties of three long months."
As Alice still hesitated, Paul boorishly insisted:
"Do here and now decide my fate."
Thus pressed, Alice replied:
"Mr. Lanier, I am so sorry to say that I never can become your wife."
Alice continued in a stammering way to tell Paul why she could not
accept his proposal.
Seeing that the frightened girl had power to refuse, Paul Lanier
listened with stoic, dogged silence. His craft did not forsake him, but
encouraging Alice freely and fully to state her whole mind, he
helplessly acquiesced.
Apparently dazed, Paul was some time silent; then with resigned air
said:
"I wonder why Mr. Langdon and Miss Randolph have not found us? Perhaps
it would be wise to return before it is late."
They started back, Paul showing no lack of courtesy toward this girl who
had crushed his hopes.
Alice felt rebuked by his conduct, and tried to be very kind in her
manner.
They met their friends near the point of separation. There were mutual
exchanges of surprises, but no one was pressed for explanations. A
strange self-abstraction seemed to control all. Without many words, the
four went together to the place where they had left Sir Donald. The
party was soon on the lake, sailing homeward. Finding the carriage in
waiting, they reached the Northfield residence at sunset.
Evidently all had enjoyed the outing, but they were weary, and soon
retired.
Both Paul and Oswald had reason to ponder the eventful experiences of
that day. Each felt keen disappointment, chafing at the perversity of
fate.
Esther and Oswald had strolled along pleasantly for some time before
missing their friends. Not doubting but that the absent ones soon would
appear, Esther enjoyed being alone with Oswald for the first time since
the arrival of Alice. There was something in the refined manner of this
earnest man that strongly appealed to Esther's womanly sentiments. But
for duty's requirements, she would have yielded to the evident wish of
Oswald Langdon. Her conduct seemed less restrained, and there was an
absence of that preoccupied air so puzzling to Oswald. Realizing that
their lives would drift apart, Esther felt a sense of loneliness. Her
smiles were wistful in anticipation of solemn adieus.
Oswald observed this change in Esther's manner, vigilantly noting each
significant sign. Would he ever have another such favorable opportunity
to learn Esther's mind concerning the subject which so engrossed all his
interest? The time would be too brief for him to know by the slow
processes of the last four weeks. Might not this mystery be solved and
his own fate be determined by frank avowal of his love?
There was to Oswald's thoughts a decisive directness which could not
brook the slow action of less positive minds. He resolved to know his
future in the hopeful present.
They sat down in an embowered spot, under a small tree, upon a grassy
knoll. Oswald's manner was nervously excited, despite strenuous effort
to appear circumspect. He began in low voice to express his sense of
pleasure since coming to Northfield.
"The happiest days of my life have been passed in your society. I have
often congratulated myself on the fortunate accident which detained me
at such a hospitable home, where the associations have been so pleasant.
Of my stay here I shall ever have most tender memories. It seems to me
that I have always known you, Miss Randolph. I never can tell you and
your father my appreciation of your kindnesses."
Here Esther interrupted his earnest talk by saying:
"Father and I are the debtors. We have been overpaid by the pleasure of
your stay at Northfield. Mr. Langdon, there will be a void in our home
when you have gone away."
Oswald eagerly replied:
"Why should I go away? Why not always be with you, Miss Randolph?"
Startled by these sudden questions, Esther was speechless. She saw the
drift, but the form was too dubious to admit of responsive reply.
Then, with impetuous frankness, Oswald avowed his love for Esther and
interest in her future plans.
"My love has grown stronger every day since we met. I have not known you
long, but what has time to do with such sentiments? I have so hoped that
you would reciprocate my love and think kindly of my suit. I have often
wondered at your preoccupation, but hope there is nothing in your plans
or purposes which will prevent our being forever united."
Pausing, Oswald noted Esther's tremor, but awaited her response.
In hesitating, plaintive voice, Esther said:
"Mr. Langdon, I greatly appreciate your sentiments toward me, and feel
much interest in your future. No light consideration would influence me
in such an important decision. I have no words to tell you how it pains
me to decline such an honorable proposal. I too will always have tender
recollections of your stay at Northfield. My life will be devoted to
alleviating the sorrows of the poor and wretched. This vow was taken
before you came to Northfield, and I must not break it, though the trial
be indeed very hard. My life as your wife would be against the plain
dictates of duty and a breach of covenant with Heaven."
Completely stunned, Oswald felt the decisive solemnity of Esther's
words, but could find no fitting reply. He had too much respect for her
good opinion, even though she crush his fondest hopes, to argue against
the grounds of her decision. There was something so intangible, yet
solemnly real, in this decisive consecration to holy ends that Oswald
experienced a sense of bewilderment and awe, rendering nerveless his
imperious will.
Following some further explanations by Esther for her fixed resolve,
they had returned and joined their friends without more than a few
words.
Having retired to his room, Oswald pondered long and bitterly over the
unwelcome revelations of the day. Esther had told him that for a long
time she had been thinking of her chosen life-work, but was fully
decided in this resolve by the solemn words of a minister spoken while
she was at London. Oswald had no censure for this high-principled,
conscientious girl's infatuation, but indignantly railed against her
spiritual advisers. These promoters of high ethical philosophy were safe
from undue force of their own appeals, though more susceptible hearts
might be crushed through conscientious compliance. It maddened Oswald
that this lovely girl, with all her perfections of mind, face, and form,
should be cast, like a common worm, into the great, vulgar, carnivorous
mouth of human want. If Christ's ultimate aim were alleviation of
physical suffering, why not feed and heal all earth's hungry, diseased
millions, through diviner, broad-gauged philanthropy than lagging
processes of personal devotion?
Oswald recalled the hateful, cruel, bigoted zeal of a Calchas, pressing
upon Agamemnon at Aulis the unappeased wrath of the gods, until to fill
the canvas of Grecian fleet for Troy sail this so-called "King of Men"
could yield his household's idol to butcher-blade of human sacrifice.
Could it be that the courteous, indulgent Sir Donald Randolph, with his
wealth of cultured, intellectual power, was such a cruel, heartless,
moral idealist as to approve of his daughter's immolation on this
slow-torturing funeral pyre?
Then, too, Esther's infatuation for such dreary life! Esther seemed to
think the infinite plans would fail without her cooeperation. Diana's
intervention saved the weeping, trembling Iphigenia, but how find
available substitute or Tauris asylum for deluded Esther Randolph?
Thus chafing against the day's revelations, Oswald continued, until
wearied he relaxed from such tense state into uneasy sleep.
Paul Lanier's quickened sense of personal humiliation struggled with the
promptings of overpowering craft. At times his vindictive malice planned
revengeful surprises for the man who was in some way responsible for
Paul's treatment. True, Paul saw little in Oswald's conduct toward Alice
evincing any absorbing interest, and could detect that Esther was the
attraction; but had not this fascinating Englishman come between him and
the girl of his choice? With set lips he recalled each slight received
at Northfield, and meditated sure revenge. "The time is short," he
mutters, "and I must not long temporize upon methods, but there must be
cautious anticipation of all the consequences."
In his malicious ire Paul could have found it easy forever to silence
the voices of that sleeping household.
"My manners shall mask devilish craft until success is assured. There
will be smiling, hypocritical acquiescence in Northfield plans, then
prompt, decisive action upon the part of Paul Lanier."
For hours Paul continued revolving in his mind various plans, but
reached no definite conclusion as to his course of action.
With all his survey of the situation in its remotest bearings, and
determination to practice dissembling, cautious craft, Paul's decisive
acts in this brooding tragedy were to be the result of passionate
impulse.
CHAPTER IV
LAKE AND RIVER TRAGEDIES
The Northfield household was early astir upon the morning after the lake
ride. Neither Oswald nor Paul had any hint of the other's fate.
Oswald possessed too much gentlemanly instinct to abate his respectful
treatment of both father and daughter. Through craft, Paul was very
courteous. He announced his intention to return that afternoon. With
many expressions of regret, Paul left Northfield.
Pierre Lanier is in London. Paul and his father hold a conference, at
which present and future plans are discussed. The refusal of Alice
Webster to become Paul's wife and her apparent infatuation for Oswald
Langdon are talked over. Pierre says:
"We must bring about this marriage in some way, Paul. To fail would be
very serious. That other fellow shall not marry Alice. The man who came
with me from Calcutta will do as I say. He shall begin the suit now. The
income from this remnant of her father's fortune is Alice's sole
support. She does not know of the defect in her title to the property.
Alice will be frantic when the papers are served. Both of us will favor
her side of the case and pose as sympathetic friends. Gradually we can
show Alice our good intentions. When her helplessness and poverty become
clear, how easy to renew your proposal. She will have faith in your
sincerity then, Paul. To escape a life of want the girl will become the
wife of wealthy Paul Lanier. You would make Alice a fine husband, Paul."
Next day an action involving the title to the London property belonging
to Alice Webster, and for an accounting of accrued rents, was begun by
William Dodge. Soon afterward proper papers were duly served.
Upon learning of this Alice was distracted. Trembling with excitement,
she appealed to Sir Donald. This generous-hearted barrister felt much
sympathy for Alice. It was decided that Sir Donald would go to London.
To divert Alice's mind from these worries, Oswald and both girls take
frequent sails upon the lake. The interest of Alice in Oswald seems
growing, and she is cheerful only in his company.
One day he does not join them in their lake excursion, but Sir Donald
takes his place. A few hours later Oswald goes down to the shore. Not
finding his friends, he sets out in a small sail-boat, expecting to see
them somewhere on the lake.
Soon he sees another sail move out from the shore in the distance.
Lifting his field-glasses, he learns that there are but two persons
aboard, a man and woman. The boat is similar to the one which Sir Donald
must have taken, but where is Esther or Alice? The boat moves away
rapidly. Both figures are now standing. Applying the glasses to
determine which of the girls is on board, he beholds a struggle. The
girl falls overboard and sinks out of sight. The boat pulls rapidly
away, passing out of view beyond a timbered point not far distant.
Oswald's sail is soon at the place where he had seen the girl disappear.
Looking around, he is surprised to behold the apparently lifeless form
on the surface of the water.
The mystery is cleared when he sees that a projecting bush holds up the
body by contact with a knotted scarf around the neck of the drowned
girl.
Oswald places the limp form in the bottom of the boat, and soon reaches
the shore. Removing the body to a grassy bank, he sees Esther and Sir
Donald approaching.
They are terribly shocked. He begins to explain, when there is a
movement, with positive signs of returning consciousness. Soon the eyes
open with a wild stare. Slowly the wet figure revives. All are surprised
to recognize Alice Webster returned to life.
The girl seems dazed, but at length knows her friends. For a while
explanations are deferred. Without search for the missing boat, all are
taken by Oswald in his sail, and are soon at the point of embarking,
where a carriage awaits them. Reaching Northfield, they enter its doors,
without reference to the day's events.
In about an hour Alice is able to relate her experiences. In the mean
time, Oswald had acquainted Esther and Sir Donald with his part in this
mysterious drama. The explanation is startling.
"I was sitting on the shore near the boat. Both of you had taken a
stroll, and were out of sight. I heard stealthy steps, and looking up
was frightened to see Paul Lanier. He spoke very gently, begging my
pardon for the intrusion. Then Paul said: 'I have heard of your trouble,
Miss Webster, and came to offer my sympathy and help. Father and I will
be able to render you some assistance, as we know all the facts. Will
you do us the honor to accept our aid in thwarting this unjust attempt
to rob you of all means of support?'
"I was surprised at the kind offer, and consented. After a while Paul
spoke of seeing two people among the trees farther up the lake, and
said he thought they must have been Miss Randolph and her father. He
then said, 'Why not take a sail in that direction, and meet them
returning?' I consented, and we started up the lake. The boat headed for
the point extending out from the other shore. I asked Paul where we were
going. He answered, 'We can reach that point over there, and get back in
time to meet your friends.' His reply was testy and manner unexpected. I
grew suspicious, and insisted on our return. Paul became angry, and did
not heed my demands. In my fear, I arose and grasped his arm. He
fiercely told me to sit down, using a fearful oath. I refused, and said
some wild, bitter things. He then roughly pushed me back, and I fell
overboard."
The mystery of Paul Lanier's conduct greatly puzzled all. However, it
was evident that he had not intended the consequence of his rash act.
This was the result of brutal passion at her resistance to some other
design. What could he have intended in his deceitful ruse? He must have
been convinced of her death, and fled, using the boat to gain time. All
were sure that Alice nevermore would be troubled by Paul Lanier. He
would flee, pursued by the supposed Nemesis of his victim.
In this their conclusion was natural, but not based on subtle knowledge
of Paul's character. He possessed marvelous cunning and much personal
courage. No one but Alice saw him in the boat, and he thinks she is at
the bottom of the lake. His coming to Northfield was in disguise, known
only to Pierre Lanier. In the same manner Paul returned to London.
The affair had taken a most unpremeditated turn, but father and son will
accept the tragic result with resignation. Had their plans finally
miscarried, there would have been a removal of Alice Webster. Better for
their consciences that her death was due to sudden passion and accident
than to "malice aforethought."
Both scanned all the daily papers for news of Alice's disappearance, but
were perplexed by failure to see such reference. Not being able longer
to bear the suspense, Paul, in new disguise, again appeared in the
vicinity of Northfield. Inquiring as to any incidents of note occurring
in that neighborhood, he learns only of other petty gossip. He dares not
visit the residence, but watches for its familiar faces.
At length his tireless zeal is rewarded.
Paul is hidden in a thick undergrowth of bushes, nearly opposite the
point in the lake where Alice Webster had sunk from sight. Looking from
his retreat, he sees the ghost of the drowned girl approaching. In
terror, Paul cowers before this supernatural figure which passes his
hiding-place. Esther and Oswald come in view.
It now dawns on Paul that in some mysterious way Alice had been rescued
from the lake. He fears that news of the incident has been suppressed
until complete evidence can be secured against him. Doubtless Alice had
informed her friends, who are now on his trail. But Paul's conduct will
be other than they expect. By remaining disguised in the immediate
vicinity of his crime he will keep advised of their every move.
Waiting until all have passed, Paul leaves his hiding-place and follows
at safe distance. It is not his intention to be seen by any of the
party, as he wishes to spy upon their movements, but in event of
discovery no one will recognize Paul Lanier in such disguise.
Moving around in a circle, Paul reaches a point within hearing distance
of where the three are likely to stop for rest and conversation. A
narrow, steep-banked ravine will separate him from them, but near enough
for distinct hearing.
Screened from view by some low, thick bushes, where he can note their
actions, Paul awaits the coming of Esther, Alice, and Oswald, who are
now together.
The three sit down on the grassy bank opposite Paul's retreat. Soon
Alice begins to discuss the subject of her London financial trouble, and
tells Oswald she intends to accompany Sir Donald there on the next day.
"Will you not go with us and make my home yours while in the city?"
To this invitation, given in most bewitching manner, the young man
courteously demurs. Just now he has little curiosity for London scenery.
In fact, Oswald feels a lingering fondness for Northfield.
But the prospect takes an unexpected turn. Esther's sense of the
proprieties asserts itself. She likes London very much, and wishes to
accompany her father. "It will be so nice to see the sights with papa!"
Oswald now sees wherein he may be of service in assisting Sir Donald to
understand this case. As he thinks of some time practicing the legal
profession, until a wider field opens, this will be a good chance to
acquire a little preliminary knowledge. He now has little doubt but that
Alice will win her case. With the cooeperation of Oswald Langdon, Sir
Donald Randolph cannot fail.
This confidence is contagious. Alice and Esther now feel that the case
is won.
Next day Sir Donald, Oswald, Esther, and Alice go to London. On the same
train there is an odd-looking, strangely dressed, heavily whiskered
man, who says nothing, but keeps track of the Northfield party until all
enter the home of Alice Webster.
Sir Donald learns that the plaintiff, William Dodge, is from Calcutta.
Recently arrived from India, he had instituted the action. There was no
record of any deed connecting the Webster estate with the original
title. How the decree of court adjudging title to Alice as sole heir of
William Webster had been obtained was a mystery. Perhaps some unrecorded
conveyance from rightful owners to William Webster had been presented,
and upon these the decree was based.
Solicitors were employed by Alice. In support of her rights they could
find no record or other evidence. However, they began most exhaustive
search to locate the different grantors whose names appeared in the
Dodge chain of title.
Sir Donald suspected that the Dodge papers were forgeries, or were
obtained from record owners who had conveyed to the father of Alice and
afterward deeded the same property to the Dodge grantors. Possibly there
might be a number of unrecorded deeds. Perhaps the records had been
falsified.
Numberless possible contingencies were suggested to his legal acumen.
Contrary to his usual secretive habit, Sir Donald suggests these to
Oswald, who in turn comments upon them to Alice and Esther, with all the
gravity of original discovery.
Sir Donald's reports to Alice were brief, giving little information,
except ultimate facts as to results of the investigations. Upon most
matters relating to proposed tactics, Sir Donald was silent.
Oswald marveled at the obtuseness of this eminent barrister. Why not
unravel this web of connivance with dispatch? Time, distance, and every
contingency, immediate or remote, were merely incidental. Oswald Langdon
will see that the solicitors and Sir Donald Randolph do not fail.
One day Alice pressed Sir Donald for an opinion of the probable time
required to have the cloud upon her title removed, and said: "I hope you
will frankly tell me all the difficulties likely to confront you in the
case. The matter surely can be decided in a short time. From what Oswald
has told me, I certainly will win."
Sir Donald explained many uncertainties of the case. His talk was so
sincere, evincing such understanding of the puzzling mazes of the
matter, that Alice could not fail to see her chances of success were at
best very doubtful. In spite of Sir Donald's promise to devote time and
money to vindicate her title, Alice felt despondent over the outlook.
She appealed to Oswald for hopeful assurance, explaining fully what had
been said by Sir Donald.
Oswald saw the gravity of her trouble, and could say little to mitigate
it. Naturally he was frank, and would not indulge in flattery or deceit.
He longed to encourage Alice, but could find no truthful words of hope.
Alice saw his evident sympathy, and felt pleased despite her utter
helplessness.
Esther proposed that they take a stroll in some of the public grounds.
The three afterward were seated in Hyde Park. Esther moved away, as
Alice seemed anxious to talk with Oswald upon some confidential matter.
Alice related Paul Lanier's proposal, and dwelt at length upon the many
persecutions she had endured, culminating in the lake tragedy.
"I always felt an unaccountable dread of both Paul and his father. Can
it be that there is some conspiracy concerning my father's estate in
India? Is my existence in the way of their schemes? Would my death or
marriage with Paul help them? I feel that all my acts are known. How
suddenly Paul appeared at the lake! They now may be watching us!"
Looking around, Oswald was struck by the attitude of a plain-appearing
man, with heavy whiskers, seated about twenty feet distant, evidently
listening. Oswald said nothing about this, as he did not wish to
increase her fears, and the stranger's conduct seemed due to vulgar
curiosity.
Alice was so despondent over her financial stress, that she knew not
what to do.
"What will become of me, Mr. Langdon, if I fail in the case?"
Oswald spoke hopefully, and thought there would be some way out of her
trouble. Esther came up, and he then proposed a moonlight boat-ride on
the Thames. He would rent a rowboat, and was quite good with the oars.
They decided to take the ride. Soon after the three returned to the home
of Alice.
Sir Donald invited both the girls and Oswald to attend an opera that
evening. Esther explained that they had agreed upon a boat-ride. "But
perhaps Alice and Mr. Langdon would find the opera just as pleasant."
To please Alice, the matter was finally settled by Esther accompanying
her father to the opera and the others taking the ride. Oswald did not
approve of this arrangement, but offered no objection.
During the evening Alice seemed nervous. She would exert her most
bewitching arts to interest Oswald, and then remain silent. Many
pleasant complimentary remarks would be cut off abruptly, as if the
speaker refrained from further comment through maidenly hesitation or
restraint. He noticed her odd manner, but being much absorbed in
thoughts of the opera, was not inclined to be sensitive or critical.
After some time had been passed in this manner, she suggested that they
tie up the boat to a projecting bush on the bank of the stream and take
a stroll along the shore.
Alice and Oswald walked along the bank for a few minutes, coming to some
overhanging shrubbery, where there was a seat, used by strollers along
that side of the Thames. They sat down within a few feet of the shore.
The girl still acted strangely, appearing to have some matter in thought
importunate for expression, but nervously suppressed. Oswald inquired if
Alice were still worrying over her financial troubles, adding some
hopeful remarks as to the future, even if the property should pass into
the possession of another. His manner was sympathetic. Overcome by her
emotions and his words, she began to cry.
Oswald was now in a dilemma. He could face danger with unflinching
nerves, but was a novice in such an emergency. Doing what any young man
with generous impulses naturally would do under such circumstances, he
attempted to allay the fears of his hysterical companion. There was
little of premeditated propriety in his words or conduct.
Alice now confessed to Oswald her love. "Much as I dread being left
penniless, such poverty would be nothing compared to loss of you. With
all the worry and uncertainty caused by this villainous conspiracy
against my father's estate, shadowed by fear of the hateful Paul Lanier,
life since meeting you at Northfield has been a joyous dream. Without
you I cannot live, pursued by the cunning malice and crafty scheming of
these persecutors. Will you forgive me, Mr. Langdon, for not waiting a
proposal? You have been so kind, I cannot believe you insincere."
To say that Oswald was embarrassed by this unexpected burst of feminine
emotion would be mild expression of his feelings. He was stunned and
speechless. What could he say in reply? The utter helplessness of Alice,
with her despondent future outlook, pursued by enemies whose aims were
cruelly vague, against all restraints of maidenly sentiment declaring
love for one having no responsive feeling other than pity, was pathetic.
Had he not unwittingly contributed to her misery by his unguarded
conduct? Would not his denial of her strange suit be a base betrayal?
Alice had thought his conduct sincere. How could he now crush this poor
girl's hopes by frank statement of his real sentiments.
With staring, inquisitive eyes Alice watched Oswald's troubled face
while these thoughts were passing through his mind. She could not
mistake his embarrassment. With dawning presentiment of his unspoken
decision, this despairing girl, standing erect, gave one glance at the
river. Her action was quickly noted by Oswald, who sprang between Alice
and the shore. She begged him to have pity. "You have made me love you!
Do not cast me off! Whatever happens, save me from that hateful villain,
Paul Lanier!"
There is a flash of steel, a blow and thrust, followed by the splash of
two bodies. A form stoops over the projecting shore until the waters
have hidden both from view. By aid of the moonlight, scanning the stream
far as can be seen in its onward course, this peering watcher seems
fearful that his victims may escape from the river. At the sound of
voices, he mutters an oath and skulks away.
Oswald rises and swims against the current. Grasping an overhanging
shrub in contact with the water's surface, by great effort he manages to
reach land.
[Illustration: "THERE WAS A FLASH OF STEEL, A BLOW AND THRUST, FOLLOWED
BY THE SPLASH OF TWO BODIES."]
Before starting upstream, Oswald looked for any appearance of Alice.
There was no sign. When on the shore, he tried to go down the river in
hope of rescuing her, but loss of blood and his fatigue prevented.
Hearing distant voices, it dawns on Oswald that he will be suspected of
having caused the death of Alice Webster. They had gone for this night
row, and were last seen together. Whether the body shall be found or
not, he will be suspected of having murdered the girl. Who will believe
his statement of the facts?
These thoughts and his weakened state still kept Oswald rooted to the
spot, undecided what to do. The voices grow more distinct. He detects
the excitement of those approaching. Shall he await their appearance, or
meet them coming and explain all?
In this dilemma Oswald follows the impulse seeming to him most rational.
Avoid these strangers about whom he knows nothing; confide first in his
friends; with them and the police search for the body of Alice Webster.
With these conclusions rapidly formed, Oswald rises to his feet. Weak
from loss of blood, but with forced energy, he starts in an opposite
direction from that of the voices, intending to make a circle, and
coming in their rear, follow cautiously until these strangers have
passed up the stream beyond the point where the boat is tied to the
shore. He then will return the boat. After reporting to Sir Donald and
Esther, the police shall be notified, and together they will search for
the missing body.
Oswald continued for some distance, but saw no chance, without
detection, of getting back of those in the rear. In this way he traveled
until entirely exhausted. Crawling a few rods out of their path, but in
full view, he watched them, expecting to be seen.
Four men passed between him and the shore. One remarked: "Say, pards,
that empty boat down there looks suspicious. Why hasn't anybody showed
up? Wonder what's their bloody lay."
"Oh, you're a little off, old chappie, to-night! Guess that red bottle
you emptied got you a bloody eye!"
The quartette gave a boisterous laugh, and passed by.
When these were out of sight, Oswald arose and started back toward the
boat, but soon was compelled again to sit down. Despairing of his
ability to return that night, he crawled into some bushes away from the
path, and slept.
The sun is brightly shining when he awakes. His left arm is sore, but he
finds that it is only a deep flesh wound, which had caused excessive
flow of blood. The complications of his position daze Oswald. How can he
return and give information of Alice Webster's death? What reasonable
excuse can be assigned for his delay? How seemingly transparent this
yarn! Will it not be evident that he manufactured a tissue of
falsehoods, and to clinch these preposterous lies inflicted on himself
this slight wound?
Return is not to be considered. There is no avoiding the gallows but in
flight. But how escape?
Oswald feels feverish thirst, and hoping to find clear water follows
toward its source a muddy little rivulet emptying into the river. In
this way he travels about a mile from shore, where, in the corner of a
fenced strip of ground, are a boy and a girl drinking from a clear
stream.
Frightened by this pale-looking, bareheaded tramp, the children fled.
Oswald drank deeply of the refreshing water, and was moving away, when a
loud voice commanded him to stop. Looking up, Oswald saw a burly
citizen, just over the fence, puffing with swelling sense of
proprietorship.
Oswald's combative faculties are aroused, and in defiant attitude he
awaits the attack.
"Who be ye, man, and what ye doing here?"
Oswald explained that he was a stranger there, and had slept on the bank
of the river. His hat was lost. He hoped that no harm had been done. He
had money, and would pay for all damages.
The refined manner of speech and good looks made a favorable impression
upon the staring proprietor.
Oswald saw his advantage, and appealed to this red-faced inquisitor for
breakfast, adding that he would pay well.
Greatly mollified, the other invited him into the house, and set before
his guest a substantial meal.
It occurred to Oswald that by show of liberality he might gain very
valuable assistance in extricating himself from his terrible fix. He
tossed a half-crown toward his host, who stared in blank amazement.
"That is right; keep it all, my kind friend."
With much show of appreciation the coin was pocketed.
"By the way, have you a good horse and cart?"
"You bet I has!"
"Say, friend, don't you wish to make some money?"
"That's what I does!"
"Well, I must be forty miles away to-night sometime, and here are three
half-crowns for the drive. How soon can you start?"
"Inside of an hour."
Tossing the coins to his excited host, Oswald said: "Get ready right
off! Tell no one, and there is a sovereign at the end of our ride! Have
you an old duster and hat?"
Rushing to a closet, Dick Bray produced the desired outfit, which had a
most superannuated look.
"Keep the stuff, and welcome!" said Dick, with an air of much conscious
generosity.
With closed lips, Dick set about preparations for the eventful journey.
In less than an hour they were jogging along the road at pretty lively
gait for their slow-geared outfit.
Oswald assumed a most taciturn manner, which convinced Dick that he was
some high-born chap who had been on a "lark" and wished to keep "shady."
The thought of that sovereign restrained Dick's curiosity so thoroughly
that but little was said by either.
Unused to such long, vigorous journeys, the horse required much urging,
and then made distance slowly. At four o'clock the next morning they
came within two miles of Oswald's home. Dick received the promised coin,
and was advised to go back a few miles and rest up. Oswald lived near,
and would walk the rest of the way.
"Say nothing, and perhaps I can do more some time!"
Thus adjured, Dick Bray parted with Oswald Langdon, fully determined to
be very secretive about that mysterious drive.
CHAPTER V
OSWALD'S FLIGHT
Reverend Percy Langdon has been conversing with his wife about the
future career of their only boy. Conscious of Oswald's brilliant powers
and high ambitions, both feel a natural sense of parental pride in this
son who is their one earthly hope. The fond mother talks of this manly,
stalwart youth, using childhood's endearing terms, and expresses
solicitude for his present welfare, while the father, with habitual
sense of superior perception, positively but tenderly allays her fears.
"Oswald is safe anywhere. Our boy can be trusted in any emergency. He
will make his mark. I wonder what position Oswald will occupy in a few
years! How proud he is of his mother!"
"But, Percy, dear, Ossie has his father's temper and is so self-willed
at times!"
"Now go to sleep, little mother!"
A hurried knock is heard at the front door. Startled by such early,
unexpected call, there is no response. The knock is repeated loudly,
and the bell rings. Springing up, the rector cautiously opens the door,
when a dusty figure hastily pushes into the dark hall.
Reverend Percy Langdon grapples with the intruder, who holds on, but
attempts no violence. "Father!" is the low-spoken greeting. "Don't
frighten mother, and I will explain."
After some hurried talk, sobs, and heart-breaking good-bys, a figure
steals out in the dawning light, and starts for Southampton.
Oswald walked rapidly. After about two hours he was overtaken by a man
driving a horse attached to a buckboard. He received a hearty invitation
to take a ride. He learned that the man was going ten miles, to meet a
friend on business. To all questions Oswald gave evasive replies. At
nine o'clock they arrived at the place named. Oswald walked on until
noon, when he sat down in a secluded spot and ate a meal. Resuming his
journey, he soon reached a small station. Here he boarded a train for
Southampton, arriving at his destination without noteworthy incident.
He lodged at a cheap sort of an inn. Finding that a steamer left the
next morning for Calcutta, he gave orders to call him in proper time.
Having purchased passage, Oswald is at the wharf, disguised in
ill-fitting duster and broad-brimmed hat, ready to embark. Some
rough-looking men are at the dock, to whom this seedy stranger is a
butt of much coarse comment. Incensed at their ridicule, Oswald longs to
chastise them, but moves away.
Noting the evident wish of their victim to escape further abuse, these
follow. Oswald stops short, but says nothing. A powerful bully, posing
as leader, steps on Oswald's foot, aiming a blow at his drooping
headgear. A terrific left-hander shoots out, encountering the jaw of our
swaggering tough, who strikes the resounding planks with little
ceremony. Two more rush at Oswald, when, dropping his satchel, both
stretch their lengths on the wharf from right and left hand blows dealt
almost together. Just then the bell sounds for departure, when a big
officer comes up, puffing with surplus fat and official importance.
Seeing three men stretched out, and learning that the odd-looking fellow
then hurrying on board is the cause, he brandishes his club, striking
Oswald on the shoulder, in pompous tones announcing his arrest. Oswald
remonstrates, and attempts to explain that he is not the aggressor, but
to all such, this swelling representative of the Crown's outraged
dignity turns a deaf ear.
Giving a rough push, the officer starts away with his prisoner.
Oswald has great respect for constituted authority, but conscious of
the complications which may result through delay, and smarting under the
uncalled-for arrogance of this guardian of the public peace, drops his
valise, and with two quick blows so completely paralyzes this uniformed
official, that he fails to respond until after the vessel is under way.
When on board Oswald discards his long duster and broad brim.
No one recognizes in his dignified air of indifference the personnel of
that drooping pedestrian who had electrified onlookers with such
skillful sledge-hammer blows, so disastrous to bully insolence and
official conceit.
Gradually Oswald's tense faculties relax, and an overwhelming reactive
despondency takes possession of his being.
The experiences of the last few days pass before his vision. Retrospect
is terrible. In this maze it avails not that he is guiltless of crime.
The circumstances affirm his criminality. Is he not a refugee from
justice?
Sitting alone upon the upper deck, he thus interrogates himself:
"Why not return, face my accusers, and know the worst? Why flee from the
specter of a crime committed by another? Are my hands stained with human
blood? Is not my soul blameless?"
Then in bitterness he says:
"Yes, return and be hung! Listen to adroitly narrated lies of
detectives, caring only for vindication of their theories of guilt!
Witness the heartless curiosity of vulgar crowds feasting on rumor and
depraved gossip! Meet the cold, relentless gaze of those demanding
satisfaction of outraged law! Hear the distorted evidence of witnesses,
the impassioned appeal of the public prosecutor, as with hypocritical
craft he urges the jury to hang no innocent man, and then pleads with
them not to make the law a byword by turning loose a red-handed
murderer! Watch the judge with solemn gravity adjust his glasses,
preparatory to a dignified summing-up, conclusive of the prisoner's
guilt! See the set lips of the 'unbiased twelve' as they retire for
consideration of their verdict! Sit crushed under the terrible 'Guilty'
and bootless, formal blasphemy, 'May God have mercy on your soul'! With
pinioned arms and bandaged eyes hear the suppressed hum of mob--and
then--the awful black!"
As these thoughts surged through his mind, Oswald registered a vow never
to expiate the crime of another. "I will wander over the earth until old
age; will face every danger of desert wilds; will resist to death any
efforts for my arrest; but no gallows ever shall be erected for Oswald
Langdon."
The injustice of his position confronted him with such force that
Oswald felt defiant of all law. He would be an "Ishmaelite," finding
"casus belli" in all the purposes of fate.
The instinct of self-defense and gravity of his position precluded
sympathetic feeling for friends innocently involved in results of the
tragedy. Such sentiments will come when present stress is less imminent.
Emerging from the English Channel, they are in the Bay of Biscay. A
storm is raging. Sailors fear wreck, but Oswald feels not a tremor. What
are ocean's pending perils to this human castaway, about whose hunted
soul seem closing the tentacles of fate?
Roar of tempest, blinding electric flash, rushing wave, descending
spray, creaking timbers, with instinctive ravening of ocean's hungry
hordes, are luring, friendly greetings compared to merciless clamor of
that receding shore.
Spending its spasmodic heat, the storm subsides, and the ship plows on
toward destined port.
CHAPTER VI
THE TRIPLE WEB
Sir Donald and Esther returned from the opera expecting to meet their
friends. Admitted by the servant, they were informed that Alice and
Oswald were still out. A little surprised, they expect them momentarily.
After waiting some time, Esther expresses the opinion that possibly an
accident occurred, causing the delay. Sir Donald has no fear but what
Alice and Oswald soon will arrive. "They have enjoyed the ride and gone
farther than intended."
Esther sees the probability of this, but feels piqued at their careless
conduct.
"Alice should know better than to stay out so late! Perhaps they have
not started back yet!"
Sir Donald looks up and notes his daughters evident excitement. Her
flashing eyes and quivering lips tell their story.
Esther feels that she has shown too much interest, and resorts to pretty
arts of dissembling.
Sir Donald is indulgent. He acquiesces in Esther's artful show, and with
much animation they chat away for another hour on subjects which seem
to have new interest for this charming girl. Finally both retire.
They listen, expecting the bell soon to announce the return of Alice and
Oswald.
Both Esther and Sir Donald arose early. They were puzzled at the strange
absence of their friends. Some accident must have befallen them. Perhaps
assistance is needed. However, it would be wise to avoid undue haste and
notoriety. The innocent conduct and mishaps of their friends must not be
made the theme of vulgar gossip.
Restrained by these refined sentiments, Esther and Sir Donald waited
until afternoon before taking any action. Then they started out
together, and procuring a boat, rowed up the Thames in the direction
which Oswald and Alice had taken, the keeper going with them.
After about an hour the boat was found, and all landed at this point. No
signs of the missing couple were seen. It was decided that Sir Donald
and Esther should row farther up the stream, while the keeper searched
the shore for any signs of the young people. Soon all stopped.
Oswald's hat was found upon the bank at the rustic seat. Their search up
and down the river revealed no other clew. They returned greatly
shocked.
It seemed certain that both had disappeared at the place where the hat
was found. In some way they had gone over the bank. There may have been
a bloody tragedy, but most likely Alice had fallen over into the stream,
and Oswald, attempting her rescue, both were drowned.
The police were notified. Careful search up and down both sides of the
stream gave no further clew. All the means available for rescue of the
bodies were employed. Finally a lace handkerchief was found. Esther
identified it as the property of Alice. The delicately embroidered
initials "A.W." made its identity complete. Both had been murdered or
were accidentally drowned.
The papers commented upon this mysterious affair. Reporters vied in
their narratives of exciting coincidences.
Sir Donald and Esther were harassed by all sorts of questions as to the
antecedents of their friends. Between desire to be courteous and
dictates of discretion, they often were much puzzled.
Detectives, each with his own theory, made frequent calls. While polite,
these inquisitors were most persistent in their persecutions. What cared
they for refined scruples? The presence of both missing parties at
Northfield, their conduct while there, and Oswald's stay at the home of
Alice in London were dwelt upon at length. Failing to get full replies
responsive to direct questions, shrewdly phrased opinions delicately
hinting at possible infatuation of one or the other were expressed.
Sir Donald, though much annoyed, could answer with apparent frankness,
yet conceal what he wished not told, but Esther had greater difficulty.
Their inquisitors soon became aware of this. Not desiring notoriety, but
shrinking from apparent concealment, Esther's distress was evident.
At first Sir Donald refrained from further instruction to Esther than
simple suggestion of care in her answers. But this inexperienced girl
was no match for detectives or reporters, who quizzed her mercilessly.
Sir Donald came to the rescue with a vigor most decisive.
One reporter had been offensively persistent. An amateur detective was
pressing Sir Donald with his theory of the case.
"Oswald suggested the night ride, and lured Alice to the rustic seat for
the purpose of murdering the girl. To avoid blame for her betrayal, she
was thrown into the river. His hat was left at the spot as evidence that
he too met death. Oswald fled, and is now somewhere in disguise."
Sir Donald managed to suppress his indignation at the substance and
manner of this statement. Just then the reporter in the next room asked
Esther by direct question what he had been urging by innuendo:
"Was there anything in the conduct of your friends while at Northfield
or in London which indicated that they were unduly familiar?"
Before time for reply, the reporter was lifted through the front door,
landing beyond the porch. No one seeming to appreciate our sleuth's
brilliant theory, he promptly left.
Both Sir Donald and Esther regretted the notoriety likely to result from
this affair, but none of its details were published.
Soon after, there appeared in a London paper this comment:
"It is pretty generally agreed that a certain gentleman and his daughter
know more than they feel safe to relate about the mysterious
disappearance of Oswald Langdon and Alice Webster. Their evident
embarrassment when questioned regarding the conduct of the missing
parties is significant. There is such a thing as being an accessory to
crime by concealment. There is no wrath like that of--, etc. A little
detective work along a certain line might unearth some startling finds.
A hint to the wise is sufficient."
Sir Donald received a marked copy of the paper containing this screed,
but concealed it from his daughter. This precaution was unavailing, as
another copy, conspicuously marked, was delivered by special carrier to
Esther.
Both were greatly distressed by these insinuations. Every one would know
to whom reference was made. However, there was nothing which could be
done. To resent this attack would be most indiscreet.
Relying upon the probability that Sir Donald and Esther were
sufficiently disciplined by this publication, other inquisitors
appeared.
Sir Donald's manner was so frigid that none cared to persist. No one had
the audacity further to interview Esther.
Instead of returning at once to Northfield, they remained several days
in London. Realizing that there might be some suspicion cast upon them,
Sir Donald was on his mettle. So far from shrinking from public gaze, he
openly moved about his affairs with dignified composure. He consulted
one of the most noted London detectives, retaining his agency to unravel
the Dodge conspiracy, lake tragedy, and these mysterious disappearances.
This agency undertook to solve the three complex issues involved,
convinced that these were so interwoven as to form one web. Skillful
assistants were intrusted with particular lines of investigation.
Double shifts were employed in watching each of the Laniers. A trusted
lieutenant, skilled in intricate work, was sent to India.
Sir Donald keenly felt the unpleasant notoriety. He had been attacked at
the most sensitive, vital point of his nature. Never before had he
experienced any sense of social ostracism. No thought of family shame
ever had suffused his cheek. And his beloved Esther! This motherless
girl, whose clinging, obedient love and trusting dependence had wound
their silken tendrils around every pulsing fiber of his soul!
That penny-liners could make coarse reference or express vague innuendo
about this pure-minded, sensitive girl seemed horrible. He could have
trampled to death such offenders with deliberate fury, yet this
vengeance but more surely would crush Esther's hopes. For her sake he
must be patient. Time, property, and every available means will find
employment in her vindication. There shall be permitted no maudlin
sentiment of pity in this undertaking. Certain retribution shall be
whetted by each delay.
This former impersonation of complacent optimism, acquiescing in all
human experiences as special essentials of the infinite plan, shrinks
from such crucial test. This is surely a noted exception. A daughter's
tender heartstrings are too sensitive for such stoic touch.
Sir Donald chafes at slow processes of retributive justice. How tardy
the infinitesimal grind! Would that the wheels speed their lagging
momentum!
The former Sir Donald Randolph is changed. His old philosophical,
speculative, idealistic bent is as completely in abeyance as though
stricken with rudimentary palsy. In their stead is an alert, untiring,
relentless Nemesis, more pitiless because of intense, novel zeal.
But Sir Donald is handicapped. Not that time or money is lacking. These
are available. What about Esther? Her comment upon the absence of Oswald
and Alice that night had been painfully distinct. The unmistaken, mute
language of her eyes and quivering lips was clearer. Her pretty,
persistent dissembling was confirmation. Subsequent suspicious
innuendoes had aggravated her feelings. He asks himself: "Shall I
neglect this troubled child to engage in ferreting out crime? Why should
Esther's sorrows merit her father's neglect?"
Seeing a picture of justice blinded, he exclaims: "What mocking irony in
judicial pose of blind goddess poising nicely adjusted balance, whose
crude, arbitrary registers reckon not of vicarious pain!"
Sir Donald's first duty is at home. Justice can find agents more expert
than he, but its ministry is too coarse for the subtle sentiments of the
fireside.
Sir Donald and Esther returned to Northfield.
Though taking her father into many little girlish confidences, Esther
had not told him of her life's mission or of Oswald's proposal. She
still remained silent. Both subjects were painful. Her father's worries
should not be increased.
Esther sees no way to begin her chosen work. Recent troubles cloud her
vision. She shrinks from the notoriety. That which was once grand
charity and self-sacrifice is now crafty, hypocritical show.
She knows her father's proud sense of propriety and abhorrence of every
sham profession cannot be reconciled to such step at this time. Has not
this field been interdicted by Providence? Are her faculties to find
employment in the more congenial ministries of home?
Esther feels a sort of vague responsibility for the tragic occurrences
of the past few weeks. True, she had acted from high moral sense of
duty, but conscience is often dogmatic.
Esther knows Oswald was sincere. That she loved this manly, refined,
courteous suitor she is most painfully certain. But for her acquiescence
in the infatuation of Alice Webster, Oswald never would have encouraged
the growing sentiment of this girl. Had Esther remained at Northfield,
Oswald would have stayed away from London. But for Esther's apparent
desire that Oswald and Alice take the boat-ride while she accompanied
Sir Donald to the opera, both now would be alive.
Esther charged herself with being the cause of all Sir Donald's sorrows,
and wished to bear his burdens.
For several months Sir Donald and Esther remained at Northfield.
Occasionally they went to London, Esther accompanying her father upon
these brief trips. Each felt sympathy for the other. Such generous
sentiments, while bringing additional solicitude, have their
compensations. Personal griefs gradually recede. Vain regrets are
merging in tender companionship and mutual sympathy. Each tries to bear
the other's load. Thereby selfish grief grows less acute.
Gradually Sir Donald's champing impatience for speedy retribution
sufficiently subsides for intelligent survey of the situation. From the
nature of the case, time, patience, and much discretion are required.
Isolated circumstances shall find coherent connections, chasms of time
and latitude are to be bridged.
Sir Donald keeps advised of what is being done by the agency.
Circumstances have been reported, but there are many missing links. One
report concluded thus: "Both Pierre and Paul Lanier are still in London.
It is sure that these are confederates of William Dodge. The tireless,
systematic camping of the detectives upon the Lanier trails found them
both in frequent conference with Dodge. All were disguised. When casual
reference to the Dodge suit was made in hearing of either father or son,
Lanier conduct had careful watchers. Their speech and silence were alike
significant. The fact that neither Dodge nor Lanier ever had met the
other was noted."
Sir Donald surprised the opposition by having the Dodge case set for
trial.
There was a conference held at the office of the Dodge solicitors.
William Dodge and both Laniers were present, two of the party being in
disguise. Soon after, the case of William Dodge against Alice Webster
was dismissed by the complainant.
At a London meeting, the Bureau chief said to Sir Donald: "Your bluff
worked well. It is now sure that Dodge is the tool of the Laniers. Alice
Webster's death rendered this conspiracy unavailing. The interests to be
subserved by the bringing of this action are in another venue. India is
the proper jurisdiction. William Webster's estate and Pierre Lanier are
the real parties in interest."
William Dodge quit London, and both Laniers sailed for Calcutta.
Sir Donald and Esther left Northfield for Paris.
CHAPTER VII
SOUTHAMPTON TO CALCUTTA
The conclusion of Oswald Langdon to sail for India was hurriedly formed
while at Southampton. There were many other places more likely to have
been the choice of mature deliberation.
Oswald had a glimpse of his assailant at the river. The blow upon the
head of Alice and thrust following were in quick succession, but he
received an impression as to their enemy's identity. He had seen the
same heavily whiskered face on the trip from Northfield to London, and
in Hyde Park. Had not he observed that listening attitude, while Alice
was relating her troubles with Paul Lanier? This eavesdropper knew their
arrangements for the night ride. Doubtless this man followed along the
shore and saw them at the rustic seat. Screened behind the bushes, he
heard all their conversation. Either through premeditated malice or
sudden passion, the blows had been struck. Paul Lanier was the only man
who could have any object in this assault. Paul had learned of Alice's
escape from the lake. He surely thought she had told all about this
affair, and Paul had followed them in disguise. By silencing forever
this the only witness to his crime, he could defy hearsay testimony. It
became necessary to kill both. Perhaps Paul fled soon as Alice and
Oswald fell over the bank. Possibly he may have seen Oswald reach the
shore. It might be that Paul knew of the flight, and deliberately
permitted it, to insure his final ruin.
These thoughts harassed Oswald after his arrival in India. Was not this
supposed asylum the home of Pierre Lanier? If identified, and the body
of Alice were found, how could Oswald escape conviction as her murderer?
His flight would be conclusive.
Oswald felt strong determination. He would neither skulk nor court
observation. If seen here by either Pierre or Paul Lanier, he would face
the issue. Fully convinced that in degree both were guilty of this
murder and of an attempt upon his own life, he reasoned that neither
would risk further notoriety than such as might be essential to their
own protection.
Oswald wishes that he had sailed to some other country, but his money
now is nearly spent, and employment must be obtained. What can he do?
Where and of whom shall he seek work? His life had been spent mostly at
school. True, he is a physical athlete, but how farm this barren
resource? If chance come to explore remote wilds, this will accord with
his restless spirit, while insuring immunity from arrest.
At Calcutta, Oswald made ostensible search for employment. Many gazed at
this fine-looking Englishman and shook their heads.
The fact is that Oswald was looking for something he felt little
curiosity to find. His manner was so courteous, there being such an air
of refinement, that he gained much information about business
enterprises. This was his real purpose.
Calcutta was too cosmopolitan. There could be little hope of isolation
in this Indian metropolis. Its ever-changing population came from all
quarters of the globe. To remain hidden in shunned districts, among
moral and social lepers, would be living death. How else stay in
Calcutta and not be recognized? The thought of constant disguise was
repugnant. He shrank from the appearance of falsehood. Realizing the
urgent necessity of concealment, he must be reserved and silent, having
no confidants. In what remote part of this great empire can he be lost
to curious observation while employed in congenial work?
To one who recommended certain hard work, but spoke of its perils, he
replied:
"Perilous undertakings shall have no terrors. Dangers will be welcomed
as the spice of life. My restless energies crave occupation, but there
must be no menial taint. Mental and physical toil are not to be shunned,
but my hands shall remain clean."
Oswald feels some relaxation of tense dread. He begins to take a less
somber view of the situation. Possibly his missing hat had been found
and identified. Perhaps the London public thought both had been drowned.
Might it not be that no search was made for him, his death being
conceded? Strange if detectives were now on the trail of Paul Lanier.
Was Paul likely to sail for Calcutta when this would be the place
searched for the fugitives? Would Pierre Lanier return to India, or
remain in London until the mysterious disappearances ceased to interest
the public mind? The Laniers would not care to meet the man they had
attempted to murder and thought dead. Possibly to remove a witness they
again might conspire directly against his life.
Oswald's chance for employment comes in most desirable form. An
engineering party contemplates a trip to the Himalaya Mountains.
Oswald finds the chief, offers his services, and is employed at good
pay. The work requires an indefinite absence from Calcutta. No
information is given as to details. The purposes of this expedition are
sealed. Its destination is near the point where three empires meet.
CHAPTER VIII
STRANGE ROMANCE OF PAUL AND AGNES
William Dodge took an extended trip over the continent, finally settling
down for a prolonged stay at Paris. The Laniers sailed for Calcutta, but
landed at Bombay.
Paul assumed an air of elegant refinement. It was rumored that father
and son were fabulously wealthy. To all such gossip both seemed
indifferent. Their hauteur and reserve insured desired social entree,
while hedging against impertinent curiosity.
Paul was lionized. After attending gatherings of Bombay elite, Paul
condescended to manifest interest. The niece of an English aristocrat
had arrested his attention.
Sir Charles Chesterton was rich and unmarried. Agnes Randall was his
favorite. It was reported that this uncle had willed the bulk of his
immense wealth to Agnes. Paul Lanier had heard casual reference to these
bits of gossip, but seemed bored. What were vulgar expectations to
refined possessor of unlimited capital?
But the good qualities of this lovely girl found appreciation. Spite of
reputed wealth and high expectations, her manners had interested Paul
Lanier. He accepted invitations to dine with both uncle and niece. No
curiosity as to financial matters was manifested. Such common sentiment
was too low for Paul.
This rich Englishman and his interesting niece recently had arrived at
Bombay.
Both were interested in Paul's antecedents and future prospects. The
growth of this sentiment was natural and reserved, neither premature nor
effusive.
After suitable time Pierre Lanier received an invitation to dine with
Sir Charles. Agnes was present. Their guest was treated with due
respect, as the father of such elegant son. Pierre was elated. Under the
influence of rare wines, Sir Charles and Pierre became confidential. Sir
Charles seemed fully absorbed in his own financial conquests. At first
he listened with impatience to any of Pierre's guarded talk. Sir
Charles' recitals were so insinuating that Pierre felt much constraint
toward polite bragging. However, the secretive habit of a lifetime
sealed his lips against boastful avowals. Vintage warmth elicited
nothing more than a few guarded hints at possible craft in acquisition
of untold wealth.
This interesting quartette became so exclusive that little attention
was paid to other Bombay society. It soon was rumored that Paul Lanier
and Agnes Randall were mutually smitten. The report was confirmed by the
manner of all. In their confidences, Sir Charles and Pierre casually
referred to this gossip. It was talked over between Agnes and Paul.
Neither evinced any disposition to discipline the "tattling dame."
Paul proposed marriage. Agnes felt disposed to grant his suit, but would
abide her uncle's decision. To Paul this appeared proper. He entertained
the highest respect for Sir Charles Chesterton. Much as Paul desired
this marriage, he would defer to the judgment of her fond uncle.
It was arranged that Paul should submit the matter the next day. At the
time appointed the subject came up in the private room of Sir Charles.
Paul was graciously received. From Sir Charles' manner Paul was sure
that Agnes had spoken to her uncle of the proposal, and had received a
favorable response. He avowed his love for Agnes, and their intention to
abide Sir Charles' decision.
This gracious uncle for a while remains silent. His prolonged pause
embarrasses Paul. Sir Charles asks where Paul was born, where his
relatives reside, their names, his father's antecedents, their future
intentions as to home and business, what portions of the world they had
seen, adding, "These questions may seem impertinent, but I wish to know
all about the one seeking the hand of my favorite niece and heir."
Encouraged, Paul answers quite fully. Sir Charles seems satisfied.
After an extended pause, during which Paul shifts about in nervous
anticipation, Sir Charles tells him there is yet another important
matter, often neglected, but of which, before deciding, he must have
full information.
"To my mind the present and future property interests of the proposed
husband of Agnes Randall are vital considerations. This young girl would
not think of such matters, but I have lived longer, and never will
consent to her marrying a pauper. I anticipate living a few years, and
whoever becomes the husband of Agnes Randall must have sufficient
property to support her elegantly during this time. After I am through
with earth there will be no danger about the future of my niece, as my
will provides for that."
Paul assures Sir Charles that both he and his father are very wealthy.
Sir Charles seems much pleased. He hopes Paul will not consider him
impertinent, but there must be a more definite statement of financial
resources.
"I must have an inventory. The list must be full, including every
description of property, real and personal, with exact location of each
separate parcel. If you desire, I will furnish such a statement of my
property, which is all willed to Agnes, but there must be one furnished
to me."
Paul is willing to tell Sir Charles all about the matter, but cannot now
properly describe their properties as required.
Sir Charles says:
"Mr. Lanier, tell all you know, to be made more definite later."
With paper and pencil Sir Charles makes notes. The recital is quite
minute and without reserve. Sir Charles is much gratified. His memory
refreshed by interjected inquiries, Paul tells so much that there is
little need of promised statement. However, Sir Charles does not waive
further information.
In good spirits, Paul leaves to confer with Pierre Lanier.
The wily father is much pleased at his son's matrimonial prospects, but
says: "Paul, I do not like his insistence on details, but perhaps you
ought to humor him. So far as information cannot be evaded, the truth
should be told, for possibly this stubborn fellow may take time and
trouble to verify your statements."
The list is prepared with care. Within three days the completed
statement is presented to Sir Charles, who promises to look it over.
Agnes and Paul are often together. They exchange mutual confidences,
each expressing the fond hope that her uncle will be satisfied.
Incidentally Paul speaks of his past experiences, giving wrong names,
places, dates, and associations. He is encouraged to do this by the
artless curiosity and interest of this fond girl, whose past at times
seems entirely merged in that of her lover.
Frequently Agnes speaks of Paul's reminiscent confidences when her uncle
is present. Some trifling changes are made by Paul, but she is too fond
to be sensitive. Her memory is defective. Even Paul's guarded mention of
boyish excesses is interesting. Both uncle and niece approve of the
youthful sower's occupation. There are seasons for distributing untamed
oats.
Pierre Lanier accepts frequent invitations to call upon these
aristocratic friends. He and Sir Charles are growing still more
confidential.
The matrimonial decision is further postponed, but in such frank, honest
manner, that waiting is not difficult.
In strict confidence, Sir Charles tells of many dubious successes. He
knows the elder Lanier will not betray a friend's trust. Without prying
into secrets of his guest, Sir Charles touches on outskirts of many
crafty exploits, suggestive of more complex villainies. Pierre Lanier is
greatly interested, but the narrative always lacks coherence at the most
thrilling point.
By his questionable tactics Sir Charles had amassed great wealth, which
covered all moral turpitude with silken mantle.
Gradually the habitual secrecy of Pierre Lanier loses its restraining
discretion. These cronies become inseparable. Under influence of
insidious drinks, they vie in recitals of villainous craft. Sir Charles
enjoins strict secrecy.
"Never let Paul and Agnes know what their father and uncle have done for
them!"
Sir Charles seems to revel in such reminiscences. He has his friend
repeat parts of narratives at different times, and never tires of these
villainous recitals.
Sir Charles promises to decide concerning Paul's proposal within three
months. This is most exasperating, but there is no help. He will take a
trip to Calcutta, and postpone decision until his return.
It is evident to both Laniers that Sir Charles intends to test their
statements of property interests at that point. The elder Lanier has
business there, and will be pleased to accompany Sir Charles. Paul
prefers to remain in Bombay, and is delighted that Agnes has no thought
of going on this trip. Sir Charles is glad to visit Calcutta with his
dear friend Pierre Lanier. They sail together.
Paul's calls upon Agnes are frequent. These seem indifferent to Bombay
society, finding ample diversion in each other's presence. There is
about Agnes such bewitching air of refinement, coupled with suggestive,
romantic interest, that Paul yields completely to the charm. Her conduct
varies, and there are capricious feminine moods. Paul sees in these,
hints of possible estrangement, and suits his manners to every change.
Agnes discreetly limits Paul's calls to proper times. The intervals
between these visits he endures under protest. Paul becomes still more
hopelessly infatuated, and is ready to applaud any suggestion of this
charming girl. Loyal to her unspoken whims, he would not hesitate at any
act she might seem to approve. Agnes' caprices multiply with Paul's
increasing acquiescence. There are many blanks in her narratives, and
Paul feels these must be properly filled.
Agnes seems bored at commonplace talk, never appearing really happy
except when listening to Paul's telling of questionable exploits wherein
he was the central figure. Hints at successful craft, vindictive temper,
swift retribution, and bootless pursuit are sure of thrilling
appreciation. But those bewitching smiles subsiding, Paul is obliged to
regain favor by more explicit recitals, seconded by her pertinent
questioning.
By slow processes the story is told. Names, dates, and places have been
misstated, but such inadvertences are not misleading.
Circumstances correct particular errata.
Some time after the departure of Sir Charles and Pierre Lanier for
Calcutta, Agnes informs Paul that her uncle has sailed for Bombay. She
had received word to that effect, and his letter was of most cheerful
tone.
Paul expects a favorable decision, and with pleasant emotions awaits the
arrival of Sir Charles. Agnes requests that Paul defer again calling
before Thursday. This will be two days, but she wishes to avoid scandal.
Comments have been made by cheap tattlers about his frequent visits.
"Perhaps in a little while there will be no need for such care."
Paul is pleased at the modest suggestion. He looks forward to marriage
with this aristocratic heiress, and the future is most luminous. Even
haunting memories of Alice Webster and Oswald Langdon fail to dampen
Paul's expectant joy. These recede, their menacing voices stilled by
hope's siren lullaby.
Upon Thursday evening Paul calls upon Agnes, according to appointment.
The servant ushers him into the private room of Sir Charles. This seems
strange, but Paul thinks it some caprice of Agnes. There is but one
chair in the room, and this faces the door through which Paul expects
Agnes to enter. The lights are dim and throw fitful shadows. Though
feeling a superstitious sense, Paul's strong nerves brace against all
"uncanny" sentiments. He attempts to turn on more light, but finds this
is impossible. He shifts uneasily, finally picking up a paper lying on a
small table within reach. Date and title startle him. How came this copy
of _London Press_ of such date in possession of Sir Charles or Agnes?
Paul's hand shakes as he glances over the paper's contents. He beholds,
under heavily marked red lines, the account of the Thames tragedy.
Just then the door opens from an adjoining room. Draped in seaweed, the
form of Alice Webster appears, blood oozing from her bruised temple,
long damp tresses clinging to her neck and face. With uplifted hand, the
apparition slowly advances toward the cowering Paul, as if to strike.
Paralyzed with terror, the guilty wretch falls upon the floor, begging
for mercy. Slowly the ghost, without change of mien, passes backward
through the open door, disappearing in rayless darkness.
[Illustration: "WITH UPLIFTED HAND THE APPARITION SLOWLY ADVANCED TOWARD
THE COWERING PAUL, AS IF TO STRIKE."]
Paul recovers, and rising resumes his seat. Straining his bewildered
gaze, he sees that the door is shut. He is alone. Everything is as
before. It must have been an hallucination, but how dreadfully real the
appearance of drowned Alice Webster! Where is Agnes? Soon he hears a
voice in the next room.
With solemn inflection it repeats from Hood's "Eugene Aram" these
fearful lines:
"'Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone,
That could not do me ill;
And yet I feared him all the more
For lying there so still:
There was a manhood in his look
That murder could not kill.
* * * * *
"'So wills the fierce avenging sprite
Till blood for blood atones.
Ay, tho' he's buried in a cave,
And trodden down with stones,
And years have rotted off his flesh,
The world shall see his bones.'"
There is a minute's pause.
"Wonder what detains Mr. Lanier!"
Tremblingly Paul opens the door between the rooms, and there are many
surprised remarks, followed by explanations.
Agnes says: "I heard the bell, and supposed you entered the
sitting-room. I continued my toilet, and was delayed by missing articles
of apparel. The new servant, in her zeal, disarranged everything.
Without directions from me about your expected appearance, the servant
ushered you by mistake into my uncle's private room."
The bewitching manner and artless talk of Agnes soon quiet Paul's
excited nerves. No hint is given of his strange apparition. The evening
passes pleasantly, though at times Paul feels a creepy sense of dread.
He is loth to leave. From mute signs he concludes it is better to go.
Paul hurries away about midnight.
Within half an hour the rooms occupied by Sir Charles and Agnes are
vacated. Two figures in male attire enter a closed conveyance, and are
driven rapidly in an opposite direction from that taken by Paul Lanier.
CHAPTER IX
THE HOSPITAL CONFESSION
Sir Donald Randolph and Esther remained several months at Paris.
While keeping fully advised of all developments reported to the London
detective bureau, Sir Donald seemed absorbed in sight-seeing. His zeal
in unmasking the conspiracy resulting in the double murder was unabated.
That Paul Lanier, at the instigation of his father, committed the
homicides, partial developments tended to prove. From Calcutta and
Bombay advices received at London there was no doubt that some fraud had
been perpetrated against the estate of William Webster by his partner in
India.
Sir Donald felt much concern for the welfare of Esther. Not having his
retributive zeal to support her in this trial, she brooded more over the
recent past. He tried to divert her mind to pleasant subjects, thereby
weaning from sorrowful memories.
There was much in Paris life to engross youthful attention. This, with
her generous sympathy for her father's troubles and effort to mitigate
his painful remembrances, prevented gloomy melancholy. Yet Esther could
not be joyous. Both Oswald and Alice were transfigured. Her love for the
one and pity for the other grew in tender pathos. Oswald Langdon ever
would be an ideal of courteous, refined, considerate, earnest,
high-souled manhood, whose last of life had touched her being's most
sensitive vibratory chords.
Father and daughter were much admired by Parisian social elite. Their
rare intelligence, culture, and refined manners had an irresistible
charm. However, there was that about both which repelled familiar
personal association. They moved amid gay festivities as if their
thoughts were elsewhere.
This abstraction and mutual care for each other's wants tinged their
conduct with romantic interest. In all the whirl and surge of Parisian
life, these unique faces never failed to attract notice. Neither seeking
nor avoiding social recognition, they became quite extensively known
among prominent French families and cosmopolitan notables domiciled at
this Mecca of migratory moneyed aristocracy.
Sir Donald's intellectual acumen and rare versatility could not fail to
impress all with whom he came in contact. His elegance of manner and
diction, easy grace, with air of accustomed self-poise suggested
habitual luxurious environment.
Esther's finely molded, expressive features, faultless form, pensive
grace, and rare feminine accomplishments seemed natural paternal dower.
Doors flew open as if by magic; desired entree smiled eager beckoning;
refined circles gave freedom of their domain. Many arts of indirection
were employed by eligible madames, monsieurs, and visiting notables of
both sexes to remove that invisible yet formidable barrier of reserve.
Courteous evasion or mild indifference or other countercraft parried
every assault. In some few instances, vague or more positive-mannered
"cuts" silenced curious inquiry, but these were rare. After one
successful evasion, he remarked to Esther: "Refined, resolute reserve
has many arts for warding off both vulgar and cultured impertinence."
Esther found time to learn much about the condition of Paris poor. Sir
Donald encouraged this whim as tending to divert her mind from the past
and to exert a wholesome influence. Many little helpful ministries among
this class could be credited to her brief sojourn in this European
capital. Esther frequently visited at the hospitals. Her calls were so
ordered that notoriety was avoided. Naturally timid, she now shrank
from publicity as contagion, but would take necessary hazards.
Esther's zeal grows with knowledge of human want. Service becomes high
privilege. Ward of want is now sanctuary. She sometimes has glimpses of
angelic competition.
Smiling at his daughter's helpful infatuation, Sir Donald often
accompanied her in these calls. He soon feels symptoms of mild interest.
The contagion is pleasing. These visits grow in length and frequency.
Sir Donald is losing zeal for man-capture. He is in danger of yielding
to the delusive heresy which sees more of interest in human suffering
than in crime.
One stormy day father and daughter are at a hospital. They had thought
of staying away until after the rain was over, but Esther seemed lonely,
and Sir Donald proposed an immediate call. They rode in a closed
carriage, taking some delicacies to those who had learned to watch for
their coming.
A piteous moan attracts Esther's quick ear and sympathy. Going softly
down the aisle, she places her hand upon the fevered brow of a new
inmate. The sufferer opens his eyes with a startled look. She asks his
name and ailment. There is an expression of supplication on the pale
face.
"Am I dreaming? No, it cannot be Miss Randolph."
"Yes, I am Esther Randolph. Won't you kindly tell me your name?"
Seeing his hesitation, Esther added: "Whisper it! I will not tell!" Sir
Donald came near, but was motioned to stop. He understood her reason,
and moved away. There was no response.
"Perhaps I can do something for you!"
"Not now. I shall soon be where help never comes."
Esther begged him to permit her to send for a minister.
"There is no use! My crimes are too great!"
Esther could not leave this strange sufferer with his goading
conscience. She suggested that perhaps by telling her of his past life
some good might result to the living. He remained silent for a while.
"Yes; but how atone for the death of the innocent? No, I did not kill
them! I never knew about the murders until both were drowned!"
He seemed in fevered reverie. Esther, now excited, but controlling her
voice, soothingly said:
"Tell me all your troubles. You are safe."
"But they will kill me if I tell! They never fail to have revenge."
"But if you are dying, why go before God without telling all? How can
they hurt you for telling?" whispered Esther.
"True; but if I should not die?"
"Tell all, and you shall not be harmed."
He looked long in her face and eyes.
"Yes, I will tell none but you. I have seen you and your father in
London. Where is your father now?"
"Here in this ward."
There is a startled look.
"But Sir Donald Randolph is my enemy!"
Esther assured him that her father never would betray the trust of a
dying man.
He seemed convinced, but indulged in further soliloquy.
"Why should they care to follow me? The case is dismissed. I had nothing
to do with the murders."
Esther sees the tragic coherence of these rambling remarks. She urges
him to confess all.
"Better to tell father also. Perhaps he can protect you from your
enemies. I am sure father never will betray your trust."
Sir Donald was called, and with Esther heard the confession.
"My name is William Dodge. Yes, I am the man who commenced that
villainous suit against poor Alice Webster. Don't look so hard at me! I
did not kill her! I never murdered Oswald Langdon.
"It is so hard to be poor and out of work. To think of Mary and the
four children without food or clothing! Why, I was so desperate at times
that I would have murdered for money! What was the life of one rich,
useless old man to that of my Mary and our starving children? But I was
not to be a murderer. No, old Pierre Lanier saved me from that crime.
Bad as he is, that must be said in his favor. How scared the old rascal
was when I fired! He spoke so strangely. Said: 'My good man, you are
surely mistaken, but what can I do for you? Here are some coins, all I
have with me, but come along and you shall have more.' I had fired at
him, but missed my aim. There was no one in sight in that deserted part
of Calcutta. I mistrusted his motives, but needing money, went with him.
He stopped, and we sat down on a deserted bench by the side of an old
vacant house. What a sly, insinuating old villain he was! Telling me
that there must be some reason for my strange action in shooting, but
that he would help me if I trusted him.
"I told him of my poverty and helpless family. He seemed to pity us, and
said: 'I do not blame you in the least. I admire your spirit. What can
you do?'
"I told him that my former work had been bookkeeping, but that I had
been discharged for dishonesty, through the connivance of another
employe, who stole the money and turned suspicion on me.
"Old Pierre Lanier then became very sympathetic. I could make a neat
little fortune and provide for my family's immediate wants without
committing murder. He would commit any crime before those depending on
him for support should suffer. If I would come with him, we would talk
it over.
"I expressed fear that he would surrender me to the police.
"'Is not your revolver full of cartridges? Here, take my pistol. Soon as
you see me attempting any treachery, shoot to kill. My good friend, I
have use for you. If you can serve me, your family shall be well cared
for, and I will find more money for you to-night.'
"With this strange assurance, so positively stated, I went with him. We
entered his room, and the lights were turned on. Bringing pen, paper,
and ink, he sat down by a table and wrote several names.
"'Please copy these just like originals.'
"I did as requested.
"'Good! Now these,' handing me paper with other signatures.
"'Very good! Please copy the body of the papers.'
"Then he told me of his wish to procure conveyances, purporting to come
from the persons whose signatures I had copied, of property situated in
London. This property was in the possession of a girl there. I was to
draft these, and sign the proper names to them as grantors and
witnesses. We would go to London, and at the right time begin the action
for the possession of the property. He did not imagine the case ever
would come to trial, but I must wait until advised to quit. My pay would
be one thousand pounds and all expenses. He said the girl's title was
defective, but that easily could be remedied. In the mean time my family
must be provided for. 'Take these to bind the bargain.'
"What could I do but accept the offer and the money? It is easy for
those having life's comforts and luxuries to be honest. What idea have
such of temptation's power? Look in haggard, despairing face of wife and
hear the cries of hungry children! Then be honest! Refuse to stain your
soul for bread! I tell you, hunger has no soul!"
Overpowered by passionate memories, he fell back exhausted. Tears were
streaming down the cheeks of Esther. Sir Donald's vision was obscured by
mists. He turned away his face.
Punish such criminal? It is more likely that both these would incur
liability as "accessories after the fact."
In a few minutes strength for further confessions returned.
"I often met Pierre and Paul Lanier in Calcutta. Neither of them told me
directly that Paul desired to marry Alice Webster, but I was sure that
this was the wish of both. I thought that if the marriage occurred,
there would be a dismissal of the action, otherwise it would be pressed.
In this I was but partly right. They never intended the case should be
tried. It was begun to bring about the marriage. When Alice was drowned
and the case was set for trial, it had to be dismissed. Paul and his
father were with me when I told the solicitors to quit.
"I heard Paul tell his father before Alice Webster's death that they
would never hear from that girl again. She was at the bottom of the
lake. Pierre Lanier replied:
"'It is bad business, Paul, but can't be helped. Better an accident than
intentionally, my boy.'
"They never knew I heard their talk. I suspected some foul play, but was
surprised to have Alice and the rest of you pointed out after your
arrival in London.
"Paul, his father, and I often met in London, but without being seen
together. After it was rumored that Alice and Oswald Langdon had been
drowned in the Thames, I felt much worried. That same evening of the
night when they disappeared I heard Paul tell his father of the proposed
boat-ride, but that Oswald and the two girls were going. They agreed
that Paul should trail them and learn what he could. Paul told his
father what he had heard in the park. Both seemed much enraged, but
Pierre Lanier cautioned Paul to be patient and not lose his temper.
"'Whatever happens, he must not marry her!' said Paul.
"'That's right, my boy; but remember the lake, and keep cool. Make no
rash breaks next time.'
"I was present at this conversation, but appeared not to notice their
subdued talk. My curiosity was aroused by their suggestive remarks. I
left about dusk. Soon after, Paul came out. I kept out of his sight, but
watched him closely. He stopped beyond where the boats were. I watched
at a suitable distance. Soon Oswald and Alice came down to the stream,
and procuring a boat, rowed up the river. Paul followed them. Very
curious to know the result, I yet feared for my own safety. If he
intended any violence, I would be safer elsewhere. It would be dangerous
for him to learn that I knew of his crime. He would find an effective
way of silencing a witness. Besides, I might be suspected.
"These thoughts determined me to return. My curiosity was sufficiently
aroused for me to shadow the neighborhood of Paul's room. My own room
was in another block, but where I could see Paul if he came back the
most direct route from the river. Part of the time I sat by the darkened
window, looking out in the direction of the stream; at other times I
strolled up and down the street. Then I would stand in the dark hallway.
"About three hours after his disappearance up the shore of the river I
heard hurried steps, and slipped out into the hallway at entrance of the
stairs and watched. Paul walked rapidly by, and I followed at safe
distance. He soon entered his room. I returned and retired, but felt
that some fearful crime had been committed.
"Next morning I bought daily papers, to learn if anything had happened
to Oswald or Alice. Feeling uneasy, I haunted the neighborhood of
Alice's home, but saw no signs. In the afternoon I visited the point
where the boat had been taken. The keeper remarked:
"'What could have happened to that good-lookin' jay and bloomin'
sweetheart of his'n? I doesn't care how much they spoons, but I wants my
boat.'
"Much excited, I was walking around, wondering what had happened, when
you two were seen coming. Feeling ashamed to meet the friends of the
girl against whom had been brought the villainous suit, I moved up the
stream to where there would be a good view of your actions. Pretty soon
both of you and the keeper started up the river in a boat. I then knew
neither Oswald nor Alice had returned. That they had been killed by Paul
Lanier I was now sure.
"A sense of indirect complicity in this crime oppressed my heart. I
skulked away and hid in my room. Uneasy there, I went over to Paul's
quarters, but he was not in. His father was there, and seemed nervous.
The old man asked if I had heard any news, adding that he had not been
in the street yet. I noticed some of that morning's papers upon the
table. He watched me suspiciously, but I acted unconcerned. I affected
not to notice his nervous manner, but noted all. Listening intently to
every sound, he would answer me mechanically, then would get up, slowly
yawn, and shuffle toward the window fronting the street. Glancing each
way, he then would be seated. His questions, answers, remarks, pauses,
and whole manner confirmed me in the conviction that he had been
informed of some act of Paul's resulting in the death of the missing
parties. He finally became quiet, and made no responses to my talk. I
knew he wished to be alone, and rose to go. Following to the door, he
was extremely polite, begging me to call again next day, sure. As I
left, the door closed quickly, the bolt was thrust, and the lock
clicked. I waited near, but where he could not see me.
"In about fifteen minutes a stooped form, with snow-white, flowing
beard, feebly emerged from the hallway. Bending over a heavy cane, this
old man looked through large colored glasses up, down, and across the
street. He slowly started in an opposite direction from where I was
standing. After he had turned the corner, I walked rapidly around the
block, and saw the old man still pegging away, watching everything along
his path. Soon his steps quickened, and I was compelled to walk rapidly.
Finally he turned a corner, entering a narrow alley extending between
rows of low buildings. I crossed to the other side of the street, and
passed down to the alley, but the old man had disappeared.
"I was sure that either Pierre or Paul Lanier, in this disguise, was now
hiding in one of these low buildings along the alley. Though much
excited, I knew better than longer to continue my stay in that quarter.
I returned to watch the entrance to the room occupied by Paul and his
father.
"In about two hours this same stooping figure slowly came up the street
and entered the hallway. I was sure that Pierre Lanier had visited
Paul, and was keeping him posted.
"That evening I went down to the boathouse and learned about the finding
of Oswald's hat. The boat had been found. I felt creepy, and that night
retired early.
"Next morning's papers told of the disappearances. In the afternoon I
went over to Paul's room. Both were in, and greeted me with great
apparent pleasure. They wondered why I did not come sooner. After a
while Paul carelessly asked me if I had read any of the morning papers.
Neither he nor his father had been on the street, except for meals. I
told him that there had been considerable in the papers about our mutual
friends. Here were the accounts. I expressed doubt of their correctness,
and carelessly remarked:
"'Guess it's some reporter's fake.
"Paul read, and seemed greatly surprised. His father looked it all over,
and wondered if there were any truth in the reports. They suggested that
if it should turn out true, we must consider well our course of action.
Suspicion might point to me as the one interested in the death of Alice
Webster. My suit recently commenced against her might be construed as
interesting me in having the girl put out of the way.
"I was terribly shocked. They continued to arouse my fears until I was
frantic. Both spoke of this mysterious disappearance as most unfortunate
for me under the circumstances. It seemed to me there was little chance
to escape. Old Pierre Lanier thought I must remain in seclusion until
matters cleared up. It would not do for me to be seen. Perhaps if I kept
out of sight, no one would think of me in connection with this affair.
They advised me to change my room to a certain quarter of the city, and
remain there until Paul procured suitable disguise.
"I was paralyzed with fear, and did as they told me. Going back to my
room, I waited until Paul entered. He came in without knocking. I was
startled by the appearance of a strange man with slouch hat and heavy
brown whiskers. He removed the disguise. I was told to pack my valise
and trunk and get ready to move. A false beard was handed me with some
old clothes. Paul told me to put them on. Giving the name of my new
quarters, and cautioning me to remain there until he called, Paul ran
downstairs and brought up the man who was to remove my baggage. Telling
me the man had his directions and would know just where to go, Paul
left. After a roundabout trip we reached my destination. I was surprised
to see the driver enter the same alley down which had passed on the
previous day that strange old man. With feelings of dread I followed up
a back stairway into a low room, where my stuff was deposited.
"'This is the place,' said the driver, and left.
"Soon after, Paul entered in the same disguise. This, he said, was to be
my home until further arrangements could be made.
"'Father and I will be over every day and report. I will show you where
to board near here. Your name is to be Joshua Wilkins.'
"I remained in this place several weeks, going out frequently. Both
Pierre and Paul called often, always in disguise. Occasionally we went
about London together. It seemed to me at times that we were being
shadowed. Sometimes when I was alone, strangers in my hearing would
speak about either Paul or Pierre Lanier, and watch me, as if they knew
our acquaintance. Frequently the Dodge case against Alice Webster was
mentioned. There would be talk about the disappearances of Alice and
Oswald. It always seemed to me that I was being watched. Paul and Pierre
Lanier were affected in the same way. Strangers would refer to these
subjects in their presence. Both had denied ever seeing William Dodge.
"Oh, how miserable I was during all this time! I was suspicious of
everybody and trembled at common noises. Any unexpected look of stranger
caused a start. It was in vain that I reasoned against this foolish
fear. My misery was so great that I contemplated suicide. It seemed to
me that both of the Laniers gloated over my wretchedness. They enlarged
on the perils of my situation. I really believe they wished me to take
my own life. From things which I then did under their advice I often
think they intended deserting me. If the bodies of Alice and Oswald had
been found, I believe these villains would have procured my arrest for
the murders. I was completely in their power, and it now seems that they
were weaving a web for my destruction. They owed me nine hundred pounds,
and I knew things against them. I bore up under it all, for the sake of
Mary and the children. Old Pierre had given me in all one hundred pounds
before we started for London. I gave most of this to Mary.
"Poor Mary! I have not heard from her for many weeks. Now I am here in
this hospital, dying!
"Serves me right for killing that poor girl! Yes, I'm to blame that
Oswald Langdon and Alice Webster were drowned! But tell the jury, Mary
and the children were hungry! Tell them that. Tell the judge about Mary
and the children. Don't forget to tell the judge that! Tell everybody
about that!"
There was a long silence. With scared faces Sir Donald and Esther bent
over the motionless form. The attending physician felt the wrist,
listened for heart-throbs. A cordial was administered. That deathlike
swoon lasted for several minutes, followed by slow return to
consciousness. It was evident that further attempt of the sick man to
relate his experiences with these archconspirators then would be
unadvisable. The physician said there was some hope of the man's
recovery, but that quiet and rest were imperative. Sir Donald and Esther
were loth to go, but the hospital rules were strict. They left, much
interested in the fate of William Dodge.
The confession, though confirming Sir Donald's theory of this
conspiracy, was startling. That Paul Lanier had murdered both Oswald and
Alice was evident. But what had become of the bodies? Could it be that
the hat and handkerchief were placed where found to mislead as to manner
of deaths? Were the bodies still in the river, or buried elsewhere?
Perhaps the remains of Oswald and Alice had been reduced to ashes and
scattered to the winds. How could the necessary evidence be obtained?
How bring their murderers to justice without proof of the "corpus
delicti"? Could this dying man know other facts furnishing a clew to
establish their deaths? Would it be right to harass him with further
inquiry upon the verge of the tomb? Why employ his slender thread of
life in unraveling this intricate web. Better point him to that hope
which is the refuge of a sinful soul.
But is there any way of saving this guilty wretch, with his crimes
unconfessed? First confession, then shriving of the penitent.
Limit the mercy of Heaven? Is the Infinite compassion contingent upon
finite fellow tactics?
Sir Donald and Esther felt more solicitude for the sick man's recovery
than in further revelations.
Next day they are early callers at the hospital. William Dodge is still
alive, but delirious. He slept much of the night, but is flighty, making
many wild, incoherent speeches. Receiving permission to see him, Sir
Donald and Esther approach the cot.
"No, Mary, I will never let you or the children starve! I got the money
from Pierre Lanier! Dear old Pierre Lanier saved my Mary and the
children! Put that down! Yes, the old rascal saved Mary and the children
from starving! Put that down! Old Pierre saved me from being a murderer!
Write that in the book, too! No, I never struck either of them! It was
Paul Lanier! He murdered them! Your boy is not a murderer! Mother, I am
innocent! Mary's folks said William Dodge could not provide for Mary! I
did though! But Mary cried about the children! How Mary and the children
ate that night! I got it all from dear old Pierre Lanier!"
There was another pause, and the delirious man seemed to sleep. Suddenly
he struck his clenched hand upon the spread and stared wildly.
"You miserable murderer! Keep that money, and I will hang you! Send it
to me, or I will tell how Paul killed Alice Webster and Oswald Langdon!
That's right! Pay me, and it's all right! I'll never squeal! I need it
for Mary and the children! They'll be happy now!"
Sir Donald and Esther make daily calls until it is safe to see their
interesting invalid. Recovery is slow. Sir Donald broaches the subject
of the Thames tragedy. Dodge does not remember much of his former talk,
but seems willing to divulge all he knows. He trusts that these kind
friends will not betray his confidence. The Laniers would murder him if
they heard.
Receiving positive assurance that there will be nothing said until Dodge
is consulted, the narrative is again begun. Sir Donald tells him the
substance of former statements.
"Well, I will complete the horrible story, relying on your promise never
to tell without my consent. Those Laniers would surely find a swift way
of silencing me if they knew I had told. Often I am afraid that they
will have me assassinated, anyhow.
"Both of them came together to my hiding-place, much excited. My case
against Alice was set for trial. Her barrister had procured the setting.
They were much perplexed at this, and wondered if Alice and Oswald had
turned up. Both were pale, and Paul trembled violently. He was not
shamming this time. His father was nervous, but advised Paul to keep
cool or all would be lost. We went together that night to see my
solicitors. Pierre said he had seen them before, and that they would be
in their office waiting for me. Pierre and Paul were disguised. I was to
tell the solicitors that the case should be dismissed, as my witnesses
could not be found.
"We entered the office, and found both solicitors there. When I told
them to have the case dismissed they were much surprised.
"'A continuance can be procured on proper showing.'
"Pierre Lanier scowled, and looking at me, shook his head.
"I insisted upon its dismissal, as the witnesses could not be relied
upon. One solicitor said:
"'You have a complete chain of title deeds, and need no other witnesses,
except to prove their genuineness.'
"Old Pierre frowned, and I replied:
"'It is better to quit. I do not care to press the case.'
"They looked at each other and at us suspiciously.
"Old Pierre then spoke up, saying:
"'My friend wishes to drop the case. I understand that he owes you part
of your fee. What were you to pay them, Mr. Dodge?'
"I replied, 'Two hundred pounds.'
"'How much have you paid?'
"'Fifty pounds.'
"'Well, I know you have little money to waste on this case. These
gentlemen have been paid well for what has been done thus far. If you
need fifty pounds more to pay them off, I will loan the amount.'
"His proposition was promptly accepted. It was arranged that the case
should be dismissed and the money paid. This was done.
"The Laniers now seemed anxious to get rid of me. I insisted on payment
of the remaining nine hundred pounds. They expostulated with me; said it
was outrageous; what good had I done them?
"To my remark that I was to quit upon their advice, and had done so,
Pierre replied:
"'Yes, but who imagined Alice would be drowned?'
"Paul said:
"'You are suspected of putting her out of the way!'
"I was so angry that I looked straight at him, and said:
"'You know more about that than I do!'
"I have often been sorry for this thrust, but it went home. Paul grew
pale, and stared at me frightfully.
"'Here, boys, none of your foolish quarreling!' said Pierre. 'Mr. Dodge
is entitled under the contract to the money. It shall never be said that
Pierre Lanier failed to keep his word. We must stand by each other
whatever happens. Mr. Dodge has a family, and long as I live they shall
be provided for. I could beat him out of the money, as the contract was
illegal and void. He could be prosecuted for conspiracy and fraud. Mr.
Dodge will be suspected of murdering that man and girl. I have already
heard rumors to that effect. But we must stand together. It would never
do for Mr. Dodge to return home now. He must stay away from Calcutta a
year, at least. Paul and I will go to Calcutta. We will let you know all
that happens. You must not write to London, or to any one but me. I will
deliver your letters to Mary, and mail hers to you. Your name must be
James Wilton. When it is safe, I will write you to come home.'
"I saw the force of these directions, but asked how I was to live
during my stay from home, and what provisions would be made for my
family.
"Pierre replied: 'To-morrow you shall have one hundred pounds. I will
give Mary one hundred pounds on my arrival in Calcutta. In one year I
will pay each of you an additional hundred pounds. By that time, in all
probability, you can return, and I will pay the balance in five equal
annual installments.'
"This arrangement was made between us. I was in their power, and did
just as he said. In a short time I sailed for Paris with the promised
payment. The Laniers were to sail for Calcutta soon after. I have never
received any letter from either of them since. A letter came to me from
Mary, speaking of having received one hundred pounds, but not knowing
from whom. It was placed to her credit in a Calcutta bank, and notice to
that effect was left at the house. The letter was addressed to James
Wilton in a disguised hand, but the inside sheet was in Mary's
handwriting. She had been told at the bank that I was in Bombay.
Doubtless her letter went there, and was forwarded by some one
instructed by Pierre Lanier to me at Paris.
"Letters from my wife came regularly. I continued to write, as directed
by Pierre Lanier, and Mary received my letters. It was evident that
Pierre had furnished the information of my being in Bombay, and I kept
up the delusion.
"Life here in Paris, without employment, harassed by uncertainty,
compelled to pass under an assumed name, away from my family, and
obliged to keep up a deceitful correspondence with Mary, who supposed I
was in Bombay, became very miserable. Still there was no alternative. I
dreaded any failure to comply with the wishes of the Laniers. They would
hesitate at no crime to protect themselves. I believed they suspected me
of thinking Paul had murdered Oswald Langdon and Alice Webster. It would
be safer for me to be away from them. Would they not plot my death if I
were at Calcutta? If suspected or pursued, they might accuse me of the
crime, and both conspire to secure my conviction.
"After some time spent in Paris, Mary's letters ceased. I waited
anxiously, but none came. Writing for explanations, I received no
answer. My fears were aroused. Was she sick? Did my letters reach her?
Were her letters and mine intercepted? Were detectives on my trail?
Could it be that the Laniers were being pursued for those murders? Had
they decided to throw me off?
"A thousand fears haunted me. I was in constant dread of being
identified, yet looked daily for a letter from Mary. Sometimes I would
fully decide to start for Calcutta, regardless of consequences, but
abandoned the plan. I took sick. Becoming very weak, a physician was
consulted. After a few visits, he directed that I be removed to the
hospital. Here I have been for weeks, without hearing from my wife or
family. What can I do to hear of them? Oh, can't you do something in my
behalf? Help me to hear from Mary and the children!"
Sir Donald asked many questions about the deaths of Oswald and Alice,
but elicited little further information. He was convinced that nothing
had been concealed. There was no positive proof of their deaths. How
could this missing link be procured?
Both Sir Donald and Esther were much interested in the family of William
Dodge. That this husband and father had been led into crime through
poverty was apparent. His love for hungry wife and children placed him
at the mercy of this archvillain, who, with his murderous son, had
caused so much suffering.
Sir Donald well knew that to keep inviolate his agreement with William
Dodge would be a technical concealment of crime. Yet he would have
accepted any fate rather than betray such trust.
Strict compliance with penal statutes may require much individual
meanness.
William Dodge was most unhappy. Each movement made seemed to further
involve him in hopeless entanglement. The mistake which resulted in his
wildly aimed cartridge missing its intended victim saved him from guilt
of homicide.
But how judge of any event by its immediate circle? Only that far cycle
whose ever-widening circuit merges eternal radii can fully compass the
puissance of human action.
Under stress of immediate death he had fully confessed all. Now even the
one dubious remnant of personal honor, according to crime's unwritten
code, is swept away.
How could the wretch, about to escape all human reckoning, making
cowardly confession of crime involving fellow-guilt, hope that his
confidences would remain inviolate? One of the penalties of faithless
duplicity is that all trust in fellow-fealty dies.
William Dodge now feared that those who so kindly watched over his
hospital cot would betray his trust. They doubtless were solicitous for
his recovery, that he and the Laniers might be brought to ultimate
justice. What respect could be expected of these for pledges given to
one who had conspired against a helpless orphan? Why should they not
speed the conviction of him whose intrigues were accessory to this
double homicide?
How hard to conceive of better than self!
Neither Sir Donald nor Esther ever thought of punishment for the man
just saved from the grave. Both felt that this poor fellow and his
family were their special wards. All moral taint was covered by the
mantle of sympathetic interest. Sir Donald had concluded that something
must be done in behalf of those at Calcutta. It would not do to write,
as this might in some way lead to inquiry for the absent father. He
would avoid any course of action tending to affect the safety of this
poor fellow with his burden of troubles.
There are persons who cannot do a mean act.
Though at times loth to leave Paris, Sir Donald and Esther will visit
Calcutta. Thereby they may learn all about the Dodge family, and perhaps
render needed assistance.
It has been three days since the hospital visit. Esther has been sick.
When able to sit up, she insists upon his making a call upon their
interesting convalescent and telling him of the proposed trip to India.
Judge of Sir Donald's surprise upon being informed that William Dodge
had been removed from the hospital. At his request a conveyance bore him
away the previous evening, but no one knew where. Not a word had been
said by him giving any clew to his intentions. Nothing was uttered about
Sir Donald or Esther.
This strange conduct greatly mystified Sir Donald. He framed all sorts
of queries as to possible causes. Had their failure to make daily calls
aroused Dodge's suspicion? Was this poor fellow afraid of their
betraying him? Did he think that having procured a full confession, they
had no further interest except his conviction of crime? Had the identity
and whereabouts of William Dodge been discovered? Were his silence and
removal only parts of an adroitly planned detective ruse? Could it be
that the Laniers were at the bottom of this strange move? What if
William Dodge were to be tried for murdering Oswald Langdon and Alice
Webster? Had the Laniers accused him of these crimes? Strange if Paul
were to be tried as principal and the other two as accessories. Possibly
the detectives had a complete chain of evidence connecting these with
the murders and the bodies were discovered.
Sir Donald is much perplexed. This must not be communicated to the
London office. In all this tangle there is one clear point. Whatever the
result, Sir Donald will shield William Dodge. That family must be found
and kept from want. Delay and premature action are alike precarious.
He compromises by a brief stay in Paris, better to know how to proceed.
Failing to learn anything more, Sir Donald and Esther leave for
Calcutta.
CHAPTER X
AT THE HIMALAYAS
Traversing many weary miles of that vast Indian Empire, the survey party
reaches the Himalaya range.
Twenty-five persons are in the camp. The guide is an intelligent Hindu.
There are one German, a Russian, and an American. Ample provisions had
been made for the journey. The chief is absolute head of the
undertaking, but void of light as to its ultimate purposes.
From the outset Oswald is well treated. In his looks is that which
claims respect. While feeling gratitude for employment and evident
good-will, Oswald's experiences of the recent past make him pensive.
This abstraction had been noted. His prompt obedience to all orders wins
approval. He never makes inquiries as to the purposes of this
expedition. His chief reciprocates by not referring to Oswald's
antecedents and by relieving him from the natural curiosity of
fellow-workers.
For a long time they are employed in surveying the mountain passes and
approaches. Maps are made and grades established. For many miles on
both sides of the range the country is explored, and numberless cipher
annotations are placed on the charts. Much care is taken in survey of
streams and the location of springs.
Oswald becomes greatly interested in this work, but asks only questions
about technical parts. He learns much of triangulation and of aneroid
computations. Vernier and arc readings become familiar.
At times tripod and transit seem revolving belcher of deadly hail.
Glaring eastward from rocky summit is a "lion rampant." This figure
slowly retreats backward with sullen roar. Now upon the mountain apex
appears a huge grizzly form, looking from shaggy, impassive brows toward
sea and plain and jungle. A mighty horde sweeps down, emerging from pass
and rocky fastnesses. This army, scattering over the plain, is swelled
by Moslem, Sikh, Hindu, Parsee, and Buddhist allies, until its millions
hold India's domain. The perspective becomes confused, outlines jumble,
figures are inverted, lights and shadows intermingle their chameleon
hues, until under widened folds of British and Russian canvas "Lion" and
"Bear" divide the "foray," still regarding each other with "rolling eyes
of prey."
From such chimeras Oswald turns to more prosaic matters.
Many books had been brought on this far journey. Long, tedious hours are
beguiled in the perusal of their contents. History, politics, war,
poetry, religion, and romance are freely discussed by different members
of the party during hours spent in camp. Both German and Russian speak
English fairly well; the Hindu guide is easily understood. There is a
plentiful supply of rifles, swords, knives, and ammunition. When
possible, all camp near together, taking proper precautions against
attacks from roving bands of marauders.
Oswald's most intimate associates are the chief, German, American, and
Russian. These are not afflicted with curiosity as to each other's past.
The chief is under sealed orders; both German and Russian had left their
respective countries for good of Kaiser and Tsar; the American is an
adventurous son of millionaire residing in New York. Weary of ennui in
the metropolis, this Yankee aristocrat seeks diversion in trips to all
parts of the globe. All of these are recipients of classic culture.
Oswald's experiences had been most limited, but of greatest intensity.
Since his Northfield romance, pain of years had crowded into a few brief
months. The face of Esther Randolph is indelibly painted on his memory.
Now free from haunting fear of detection, Oswald can more rationally
review the events driving him into indefinite exile from home and
friends. Doubtless Sir Donald and Esther believed him dead. They never
could accuse him of murdering Alice Webster, but surely would charge
this crime and his own death upon Paul Lanier. The lake tragedy was
conclusive. Would not Esther have sad recollections of the man who
sought her hand and met such death? That she would never marry another
he is sure. Has this lovely girl entered upon her chosen mission? To
himself he says:
"One so pure should find refuge from earth's coarse pleasures in holy
consecration to spiritual ideals. How grand the influences of those
moral advisers whose teachings had directed her feet aright.
"Could I only see father and mother! What sleepless nights they must
have passed since my disguised exit from that home, months ago! If I
could only write to or hear from them! It may be that this horrible
condition of things is proper punishment for my presumptuous pride, but
why should the innocent suffer? When will this mystery be cleared? What
is being done to convict the guilty?"
Oswald now hopes that English justice will not be delinquent. Surely
detectives can unravel this complicated web. Why are these sleuths so
tardy? He now chafes at the slow zeal of those whose pursuit of Oswald
Langdon would have been resisted to the death. These ministers of
justice, in honest, tireless search for the murderer of Oswald Langdon
and Alice Webster, even now would reckon lightly of their own lives if
they attempted his arrest. But this high-spirited youth feels no tremor
of physical fear. The gallows have no terrors other than those of
unmerited ignominy. Oswald would rush on swift death if thereby the name
of Langdon could be cleared.
He thus upbraids himself: "My flight from London was cowardly. Better
with moral determination to have faced all and accepted my fate. The
death of Alice Webster is unavenged; her slayer is at large, a human
beast of prey; father and mother are in frightful suspense; the spectral
hand of the drowned girl beckons me to revenge upon her murderer; but
ignoring all these, I am a selfish, cowardly 'derelict,' fearful of
possible harm."
Then he exclaims: "Not too fast! Has not English justice gloated over
conviction of the innocent? What fearful irony in some of its swift
so-called vindications! How can public clamor be satisfied but by
sacrifice when there is a victim at hand? What hope that detectives
would pursue Paul Lanier for the murder of Alice Webster with Oswald
Langdon conveniently near? Are not my absence and supposed death
necessary to the unraveling of this intricate plot? In what other way
can the name of Langdon be cleared from pending disgrace?"
Oswald now desires to live until justice triumphs. He sometimes feels
assurance that all will be righted. It is difficult to restrain his
curiosity within discreet bounds.
The camp discussions help to divert his thought from somber reflections.
These informal debates take wide range.
Karl Ludwig is a versatile German. Though thinking it discreet to absent
himself from fatherland, Karl is at heart loyal to his sturdy young
Kaiser. To Karl the memories of imperial Teutonic succession and
achievements are proud heritage. He would champion the real cause of his
emperor against the world. In event of foreign attack Karl would
subscribe without reserve to the "divine rights" of William. There is in
his heart no place for treason.
Like many other exiles from native land, Karl was a real menace to
constituted authority. Speech led him into proscribed provinces.
Harmless in overt act or intent, his words were deadly explosives,
charged with dynamo energy sufficient to wreck every throne of Europe.
To poetic or reflective mind Karl's startling metaphors were harmless
hyperbole or garrulous trope of brilliant, idealistic sentiment, but
such fired credulous natures to white heat of anarchy. It became
essential to German tranquillity that Karl Ludwig be suppressed.
Not aware of proper rating by officials of fatherland, Karl took passage
for Calcutta, landing with culture, pride, and imagination at this
Indian metropolis.
Ivan Shelgunoff graduated from Moscow University. He had imbibed
sentiments harmless in theory, but inimical to practical policies of
Russian civics. Having no intention of posing as factional disturber of
the public peace, his indiscreet utterances reach ear of vigilant
official. Not fascinated with prospect of indefinite Siberian exile,
Ivan procured leave to quit the domain of the Tsar, finding habitation
under the British flag in this seaport near the mouth of the Ganges.
Yet Ivan Shelgunoff is proud of Russian traditions and statecraft,
feeling no bitterness toward Nicholas II., but filial reverence for this
recently crowned youthful patriarch-autocrat.
Intrusted with enforcement of police regulations, Ivan soon would
abandon plausible theories of individual freedom as Utopian chimeras,
not adapted to exigencies of practical civic needs. Siberian penal exile
would become essential part of police supervision, with possible
excesses, as in all provisions for the suppression of crime.
Oswald comes to regard Karl Ludwig and Ivan Shelgunoff with much
interest. Their critical, liberal sentiments, so well expressed, are
appreciated by his subtle perception. Through these garrulous, versatile
commentators his horizon is vastly extended. Readily appropriating the
good, he notes defects and makes judicious comparisons. Seldom drawn
into discussion or comment, his evident interest insures hearty
good-will. However, these vocal encyclopedias of wisdom generally and of
statecraft in particular at times are surprised by Oswald's responses to
their direct appeals. By a subtle system of intellectual buccaneering
this reserved Englishman winnows from much chaffy verbiage the real
seeds of thought. In fresh-turned fallow of his fertile fancy the grain
germinates into better growths. They wonder at his quick perception,
profound discrimination, and marvelous craft of readjustment. That this
British subject can see in the different policies of more absolute
powers and in less flexible modes of civic alignment so much to commend
or excuse to them is queer indeed. They surmise that by habitual
globe-trotting Oswald has become a "citizen of the world."
Strange that he who would resent the least show of arbitrary
interference with his own interests finds so much to justify in rigorous
German and Russian policies.
When Oswald did express an opinion on any of the subjects under
discussion, Karl and Ivan seemed to accept his comments as oracle,
making no adverse suggestions. Such deference is no infrequent tribute
to well-bred reserve.
To some criticisms of Karl Ludwig, Oswald showed much sympathy with
aspirations of Emperor William for military resources promptly available
in all emergencies. He said:
"Increased land and naval equipment should be voted by the Reichstag in
the interest of German tranquillity. Such expenditures are economic
precautions against expensive wars. Thereby the solvency of the German
exchequer would be moderately insured. So far from unduly fostering a
bellicose spirit tending to war, these would be tactful preventives of
wasteful foreign and civil broils. Fifty years' current expense to
insure the empire's peace would not equal waste of one such serious
conflict. There is no doubt that this sturdy sovereign possesses much
military spirit. This is natural heritage, coming down in direct royal
line from hero ancestry. Fostered by severe German tactics, it tends
toward ambition for martial prestige, but has been consecrated to the
arts of peace. It is but natural that such trend and discipline tinge
this consecration with heroic shades. These are not the results of
diseased caprice, but suggest potent considerations which it would be
well to respect. Let none think that William would falter in any crisis.
The same imperial foresight prompting some strange assertions of royal
prerogatives would head German armies, for success of colonial
extension, in chastisement for wanton treaty violations, or to preserve
the integrity of his empire. Much lightly has been written about the
caprices of this ruler, but genius always was peculiar."
After an impressive silence, Oswald resumes:
"Cares of empire have strange tendencies and special warrant."
Dreamily looking at Karl, Oswald then, as if in reverie, quotes:
"'And some among you held, that if the King
Had seen the sight, he would have sworn the vow;
Not easily, seeing that the King must guard
That which he rules, and is but as the hind
To whom a space of land is given to plow,
Who may not wander from the allotted field,
Until his work be done.'"
At another time there had been an animated discussion between Ivan
Shelgunoff and Karl Ludwig as to the comparative merits of Russian and
German dynasties, with the peculiar institutions of both countries.
Direct appeal being made to Oswald for an opinion, he avoids invidious
comparisons, and says:
"Nicholas II. is crowned head of an absolute dynasty. The royal line of
Romanoff succession found in him rightful representative of its august
power. Whatever may be said about the rigor of Russian rule and its
conflict with Nihilistic tendencies, the quarrel so far as pertains to
this young sovereign is that of a true inheritor.
"Nicholas succeeded to Russian policies as essential allies of his
crown. These are united in newly welded bonds of imperial wedlock. Their
divorce would be destruction of his throne.
"Representative liberty is a comparative ideal. The Russian peasant
enjoys frugal life with his family and few humble friends. Is it likely
that such feel the autocratic pressure of their Tsar? Perhaps there may
be many cases wherein private rights have been ruthlessly invaded, but
are not such results usually due to insolent perversions by minor
officials? Doubtless many innocent suspects are sent into hopeless exile
through official zeal, still like effects often result from similar
causes in liberal commonwealths."
Looking in questioning banter at Claude Leslie, Oswald says:
"It has been rumored that in the great republic beyond the Atlantic they
sometimes do a little 'railroading.'"
Tippoo Kalidasa is an interesting Hindu. With self-inflicted cognomen
and many eccentric notions about all sorts of subjects, Tippoo can talk
well and to the point. Though a professed disciple of modern Brahmanism,
he had deeply imbibed Buddhistical precepts and philosophy. The lessons
learned in childhood at his island home never were forgotten.
Leaving Ceylon about his eighteenth year, Tippoo had traveled much in
China, Japan, and over parts of Siberia before going to India.
Everywhere had been accented in human lives the influence of that noble
prince, the founder of Buddhism. True, Tippoo saw in these writings
frequent contradictions, yet the character of this Indian teacher was
pure.
Faith rarely insists on absolutely consistent verities.
Much travel among peoples of other beliefs, and study of new religious
tenets had modified these earlier views. In reflective moods, Tippoo saw
much to criticise in this ancient philosophy, which, though indelibly
stamped upon its modern successor, as a professed system of religious
teaching, had become almost a stranger in the land of its original
growth. Still these early influences are most potent. In all emergencies
of thought or feeling, Tippoo Kalidasa soulfully repeats the formula:
"I take refuge in Buddha!"
Though Oswald's mind is not excessively tinged with the speculative or
ethical, he finds much of interest in the talk of this unique guide.
So rudely having been torn from all early environments, with such shock
of utter change in thought and impulse, is it strange that former trend
is broken? While tempering the white heat of aspiration, Oswald's recent
troubles widened his horizon. But novel tempers are not wholly the
results of changed circumstances. Latent powers and senses are awakened.
At times the memories of recent experiences weigh upon Oswald's mind,
but are not always present. There is little menace of arrest and much
youthful elastic spirit. Imperious will is in abeyance. There are moods
of chastened relaxation from self-consciousness, with peculiar sense of
relief and compensation.
Many an hour is beguiled by these two widely different men in comment
upon this philosophy of the East. A moral system claiming the fealty of
so great a part of earth's population surely is an important subject for
human study.
Much pleased at the interest of this dignified Englishman trying to
understand the tenets of an ancient faith, Tippoo talks freely and
profoundly, giving numerous explanatory versions from his own fertile
fancy.
Oswald notes the strong points, beautiful sentiments, practical
beneficence, and occult theories of this oriental belief. He becomes
enamored of the life and teachings of Prince Guatama.
To some criticisms of Ivan Shelgunoff, Oswald replies:
"Original doctrines often are distorted by ignorant interpreters. Great
ideas are degraded by dogmatic priestcraft."
There is no danger of Oswald becoming a partisan of this creed. He is
impressed with its defects, though appreciating the sublimity of general
tenets. Oswald does not like the doctrine of "Merger." This assertive
Briton has no desire to lose identity in "Brahm." Oswald Langdon as
dissolved dewdrop in shoreless sea were too vague.
From listening to these German, Russian, and Hindu philosophers, Oswald
enjoys talking with Claude Leslie. This rich American has none of that
reputed affectation of some western aristocrats. His manners are frank,
without any suggestion of pretense. Having the entree of Gotham select
circles, Claude sailed on an extended tour of the world. He had visited
at leisure nearly every port and important city of earth. With a quick
sense of the remarkable in ordinary commonplace, he had seen much of
interest. His descriptions greatly entertained Oswald, who never tired
of listening to Claude's narratives. Indeed it may be well surmised
that from some of the broad-gauge ideas and epigrammatic sayings of
Claude Leslie came much of Oswald's changed views and disposition to
justify or excuse in others that which he formerly considered as utterly
without warrant.
How little does the awakened alert sense reckon of the initial processes
of its quickening!
The most fascinating parts of Claude's talks are about persons, places,
events, anecdotes, and incidents familiar to this Yankee aristocrat
before starting on his prolonged tour of the world.
Oswald becomes greatly interested in the affairs of this land beyond the
seas. Much had been written about "impressions" of America and
Americans. He had read some of these erudite, mildly drawn caricatures,
and is not predisposed toward the homes or characters of those "cousins"
across the Atlantic. A few that he had met in England strengthened this
prejudice. Shallow attempts to ape everything English had disgusted this
frank, open-hearted, perceptive Briton, with his innate abhorrence of
sham pretensions.
Americanism as typified by Claude Leslie is a new revelation. Such
incarnation of a great national character evokes his English pride of
kinship. He feels a most complacent sense of British responsibility for
American progress. In response to some of Claude's comments, Oswald
inquires:
"With such pedigree, why should not this bounding thoroughbred win the
Derby?"
Oswald begins to feel potent suggestions that much of human prejudice
results from long-range ignorance. That this narrow-gauge, contracting
visual handicap is a real social, religious, and political astigmatism
he now and then quite clearly sees.
Claude Leslie's comments upon Gotham social and business life are those
of a close observer. His criticisms are judicious. Though frequently
barbed, these shafts never are tipped with malice.
Replying to opinions expressed by Karl Ludwig about reported whims of
New York's "Four Hundred," Claude says:
"These practices result from local conditions. Those living there must
conform to the unwritten social law, or risk the ostracising penalties.
To some, caste observances are irksome and utterly sham, while to others
the very breath of life. It ought not to be expected that all curb their
tastes to conform to the fastidious notions of a few, nor should this
fashionable minority be unduly blamed for exclusive whims. There always
have been and will be select circles. Those sensitively chafing against
this would be better employed in rising superior to such things. Even
those who set the social pace often feel rebellious toward this
dictator. Beneath the disguise of caste New York's select circle love,
hate, despair, trust, doubt, rejoice, and suffer in degree like others.
I have found such life dull, but concede the right to 'pay the price.'
Temperaments differ. Constant touch with their kind is a necessity to
many."
From Karl, Claude looks questioningly to that other attentive listener.
Oswald gazes at a mountain-ledge and slowly answers:
"It may be that the generous Allgiver, indulging even queer tastes of
bird scavengers, not always is vexed at human caprice, but with tender,
amused smile watches many of our peculiar antics."
Oswald is much interested in Claude Leslie's comments upon American
political and business methods. These, while somewhat similar to those
in England, yet radically differ. Disposed to doubt the wisdom of such
departures from accustomed ideals, Oswald is often inquisitively
critical. Claude explains nearly all to the satisfaction of his friend.
Though sensible of defects, Claude is thoroughly American in his tastes
and feelings.
Oswald resolves to visit that western land, and to see for himself, but
this trip shall abide the course of events. The whole subtly interwoven
web of the Lanier conspiracy first shall be unraveled. The dead avenged,
his name stainless, Oswald Langdon will sail for that western
republic, no longer a hunted refugee.
How elusive Fate's alliance!
For many months the survey party has tramped up and down the slopes of
the Himalayas. Nothing has happened to interfere with the purposes of
this undertaking. The chief is preparing for return to Calcutta.
Oswald and Karl Ludwig have taken a ride of several miles from camp. In
the distance Karl sees a solitary horseman. Through his field-glasses he
notes that the distant rider is beckoning toward some farther point.
Four horsemen, with rifles across their saddles, are now in sight.
Oswald has been hidden from view of these by a slope upon which Karl
reined his horse. The four when within about a mile veer to the right.
It soon becomes evident to Karl that these are trying to get between him
and the camp. He tells Oswald his fears, who promptly joins Karl, facing
these unknown horsemen. Making a turn near the trail, the four rapidly
approach. Both drop their bridle-reins, grasping the repeating,
long-range weapons.
[Illustration: "WHEN WITHIN ABOUT A HALF-MILE, THE FOUR RAISED THEIR
WEAPONS."]
When within about a half-mile the four raise their guns at once. Karl
and Oswald elevate their weapons, and the six discharges seem together.
Karl's rifle drops, and he hurriedly loosens his feet from the stirrups,
as the horse sinks, shot through the brain. Oswald again shoots, when
his horse falls to the ground. The remaining two of the enemy press
forward, firing repeatedly. Karl has been disabled by a wound in the
right arm, and can render no further help. His gun has rolled down the
slope, out of reach.
His horse dead and Karl wounded, Oswald again fires, while shots whiz by
his head. Only one of the attacking party is now advancing. Oswald fires
his remaining charge, but fails to stop his foe, who takes deliberate
aim.
Seeing that his only chance to escape being killed is by feigning death,
Oswald drops heavily to the ground. With yell the other spurs forward,
followed in the distance by another, who, having lost his horse, now
rushes to be in at the death.
Having signaled Karl to make no resistance, Oswald is lying in apparent
stupor when the horseman rides up and dismounts. Bending over the
prostrate form, his long black hair is grasped by Oswald's left hand,
who, springing to his feet and giving that strong right arm a swing,
strikes the surprised bandit such hard blow under the left ear that
there is no need for another. Picking up the rifle dropped by his
quivering foe, Oswald fires the remaining charge after the fleeing form
of the other robber.
Grasping the bridle of the steed standing by the side of its dead
master, Oswald leads the animal to where Karl is lying with cocked
revolver in his left hand.
Karl had obeyed Oswald's signal, but watched the effect of this ruse,
intending to assist if necessary.
Oswald tears off the sleeve of his shirt and bandages Karl's arm.
Placing the German on the robber's steed, he leads the animal to where
the nearest horse is lying wounded. Dispatching the beast, he continues
on until they reach another of the attacking party, who appears to be
mortally wounded by a shot in the side, but is still living.
Oswald again presses forward to the point where the first man and horse
had fallen in the fight. Both are dead. The other horse is not in sight.
That upon Oswald's second shot taking effect the riderless steed escaped
is evident, but where is the fourth horseman? Two are dead, one is
mortally wounded, and another escaped.
They go on toward the camp. After traveling in this way over five miles,
they are met by three of the camping party on horseback. It is now
arranged that Oswald ride one of these horses, leading the one ridden by
Karl to camp, while the others go up the trail and guard the dying
bandit until a cart can be sent to bring in the wounded man, the two
dead bodies, the guns, bridles, and saddles. After a few hours more,
Oswald and Karl reach camp.
The thrilling adventures related, the cart, accompanied by several of
the party on horseback, is sent out, and in due time all are under
canvas.
This incident warns them that strict watch must be kept to avoid
surprises from roving bands infesting some of these mountain fastnesses.
The four bandits evidently were a scouting party. Seeing Oswald and
Karl, they had ventured an attack. Their tactics in trying to cut off
return of the two showed knowledge of the camp's location.
Though painful, Karl's wound healed rapidly.
Oswald was lionized. Many times Karl told how that quiet Englishman rode
up to his side and faced the horsemen when they were trying to cut the
two off from camp. Karl would insist that all of Oswald's shots took
effect except the last, and he thought that perhaps this slightly
wounded the fleeing bandit. That feint of death, vigorous resurrection,
and terrific right-hander electrified the garrulous Karl, who is
tireless in praise of Oswald's prowess.
Though thankful for their narrow escape, Oswald feels no elation. At
least one human being suddenly had been sent by him before his Maker,
and another through his act is about to cross the dark river. His
conscience is clear, but why was he not spared this sad notoriety?
From the wounded man's features, it was believed that he came from Spain
or Mexico. His rambling, delirious utterances were a jargon of mixed
tongues. He lived for a week at the camp, but never gave any clew to his
identity.
Oswald was the most frequent watcher at the cot of the dying man,
anticipating every want, appearing to thereby seek atonement for the
fatal shot.
In the last hour Oswald borrowed from one of the party a crucifix.
Holding this before the glazing eye of the conscious bandit, he gently
lifts the right arm, placing the emblem within the hand which is then
laid across the breast.
With a smile, clasping this sacred symbol, the outlaw passes into the
Beyond.
There were no papers on the three dead men giving any clew. They were
buried about one mile from camp.
In another week the survey party is ready to break camp for return
journey.
Accompanied by Karl Ludwig, Oswald visits the graves of the highwaymen
and places thereon bunches of wild flowers gathered from slope of the
Himalayas. Karl laughs at this whim of the Englishman.
"Vot sendimendals! Bud id vill nod hurdt you, und der flowers vitter any
vay."
Karl's arm was "in evidence."
Both returned to camp, and soon all were on the road for Calcutta.
CHAPTER XI
PAUL'S BEWILDERMENT
Pondering over the strange events of the evening, Paul Lanier lay awake
all night after return from his visit with Agnes Randall. Longer he
thought, deeper became the mystery. He mutters: "Not one weird
circumstance alone, but such grouping of ghostly coincidents! Being
ushered into the private room of Sir Charles was explained by Agnes, but
why that fitful glare of lights? How came that copy of _London Press_,
with underscored reference to the Thames murders, in possession of Sir
Charles Chesterton? All this might concur in time and place through odd
happenings, but that horrible tableau! The murdered Alice Webster, with
gory temple, long, damp tresses clinging to her form, in striking pose,
advancing and receding, mutely gesticulating such fearful prophetic
menace, was too real for chimerical conjecture or mere coincidence. How
came that door closed just after the tableau? That declamation! Such
pertinent lines and ghostly utterances, so exactly imitating the voice
of Alice!"
Paul began to think there must be something wrong with his head. Never
before had he felt any such queer sensations, except when Alice
approached his hiding-place along shore of the lake. Strange about that
grewsome drapery of seaweed!
Paul is now startled with the conviction that Alice Webster, borne by
the Thames current, had drifted out to sea. He exclaims: "Can it be that
her body has been found and identified? What could the spectral voice
have meant by the prophecy about burial 'in a cave' and 'trodden down
with stones'? What if the body of Oswald Langdon, too, has passed out to
the boundless deep, and his fleshless skeleton now is awaiting
identification in some rock-sealed ocean cave!
"That fearful threat about will of 'fierce avenging sprite!' How escape
that sure blood-atonement?"
It now seems to Paul that all the sleuths of fate are hunting him for
these murders.
Rising haggard and feverish, he takes a glass of strong brandy and
braces himself for the day. After light breakfast, he starts out for a
walk, but avoids familiar faces.
Agnes had told Paul not to call again before Sunday evening. Still
revolving in his mind weird incidents of the previous night, this
restless youth passes the time, and again sleeps but little.
All the next day, until time for his call upon Agnes, Paul spends in
nervous, troubled conjecture, but can find no solution of this elusive
problem. The strain is terrible and his look is alert. He avoids all
acquaintances and gives startled looks into vacancy, as if fearing
invisible attack. With quick, furtive glances, his right hand grasping
concealed dagger, Paul scans strange faces, but there is suggestion of
helplessness in facial shades, as if consciously battling against
unseen, pitiless foes.
Promptly at the appointed hour Paul rings the bell at apartments of Sir
Charles. There is no response. Impatiently waiting for some time, the
bell is again rung. Still no one responds. Going around to apartments
occupied by the family, Paul again rings, when the proprietor appears.
Upon asking if Miss Randall were at home, Paul is startled by the
information that the Chesterton rooms have been vacated.
Excitedly curious, Paul inquires when and where Miss Randall moved. He
learns that the rooms were vacated shortly after midnight two days
before, without notice. The rent had been paid until the first of the
next month, and the keys were found in the doors. The proprietor had
watched from his window, but did not see Miss Randall leave the house.
Two men left in the vehicle.
Paul returned to his room more startled and mystified than before. The
occupants of that midnight conveyance disturbed his waking hours and
haunted his dreams. What had become of Agnes Randall? Perhaps the girl
had been abducted, but why did she not enter the conveyance? Possibly
Agnes had been murdered. Could it be that her body was removed in one of
the large trunks? He becomes terribly interested in solving this puzzle,
but hesitates to investigate.
The circumstances immediately preceding this strange affair render his
will nerveless. The menacing voices of his murdered victims warn him to
be cautious. With all his excitement, Paul will shun notoriety by
discreet silence.
Pierre Lanier and Sir Charles are daily expected. It now occurs to Paul
that his position will be most embarrassing. What theory can he advance
to Sir Charles for the absence of Agnes? Will not Sir Charles suspect
him of foul play? Had not Paul called that evening and left late? When
Sir Charles inquires at the house and hears the whole story, Paul's
connivance in this abducting scheme will seem clear.
Between two tragic plots, one real, the other mysterious, Paul is much
bewildered. How escape deserved reckoning in the one and unmerited
accounting in the other?
The young man's ingenuity again comes to his aid. All intangible,
ghostly menace downs before this real danger. Paul quits his room, and
in disguise watches for incoming steamer from Calcutta. He will seek
first chance to explain all to Pierre Lanier. Father and son then will
determine what to do.
Disguised, Paul haunts the wharf. Neither Sir Charles nor Pierre Lanier
arrives. Much perplexed, Paul nervously awaits the distribution of the
mail, and receives a letter from his father. Eagerly tearing it open, he
is startled by its contents.
Pierre had written:
"Take first steamer. Important business here. Come in old suit."
It is sure that something serious is contemplated. Such guarded allusion
to Paul's former disguise tells of some proposed desperate job.
Paul makes hurried preparations for departure.
Soon after on a mail steamer sails a stooped old man with long beard,
and known on ship as "Josiah Peters."
CHAPTER XII
"SHADOWED" IN CALCUTTA
After usual incidents of ship life, Sir Donald and Esther are at
Calcutta.
A few days were spent in rest and sight-seeing before active search for
the Dodge family was begun. Sir Donald had been in the neighborhood of
the former Dodge home, and by inquiry learned that the family had moved.
Questions as to present whereabouts of former occupants failed to elicit
any satisfactory information. All that he heard from the neighbors was
that Mrs. Dodge and children left suddenly in a closed conveyance, never
returning nor disposing of the house furniture. The owner had taken
possession of the premises and leased to another tenant.
Having inquired every day for about two weeks and learned nothing more
of this family, Sir Donald concluded to make thorough search.
The postoffice, rent-collecting agencies, hospitals, and poor lists,
hotel-registers, mortuary records, with many other means of discovery,
were unavailingly employed. Investigation at the bank where Mary Dodge
drew the hundred pounds failed to disclose any clew to the identity of
the depositor or of her movements.
Difficulties served to whet Sir Donald's desire for success. He employed
discreet persons to search different districts of the city and enlisted
the police in locating the Do
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