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Jacob Long Jacky Hazardous Case #2 "It's My Party and I'll Die if I want to." To My Nephew Jacky was at school after hours when Melissa dropped the case into his lap, though neither of them knew it at the time. The leaves on the oak trees painted the scene in reds and oranges that fell in droves to the ground. Jacky and his chubby, ginger friend Ron were sitting on a bench in the courtyard. Jacky was hunched over the bench with his bony elbows on the table, hands in a ball in front of his face. He looked intense, like he usually did without even trying, because his feathery blonde hair fell over his vibrant, blue eyes. He listened intently to everything Ron had to say, unable to turn off the constant analyzing with which his brain tormented those around him. Ron finished his story with a flourish, “And that’s why I say you should go through this life with ten toes, and one extra toenail.” One of Jacky’s eyebrows shot up, and he held it there for a long time before replying. “Even if I possessed the eccentricity to carry an extra toenail with me, and acquire one from god knows where in the first place, a lot of things would have to go wrong for me to be shoeless and riding on the bolts on the back of another person’s bike.” Ron scratched the back of his neck coyly. “Yeah, well. I don’t really know how I always end up in these situations anyway.” Jacky replied flatly. “At least you always learn something from them. Why it always has to be epitomized in a nonsensical aphorism, I’ll never know, though.” “Hey! Jacky!” The voice came from behind him, but Jacky would recognize it even if it were only a whisper siphoned through a fuzzy space-age walkie-talkie communication. Melissa was coming over to talk to him. Jacky took his hands from his face and twisted around to see her. Everything about her was perfect; her long black hair, her bright, green eyes accentuated by all the eye shadow, the way the tight Flyleaf shirt hugged her every curve. Jacky didn’t even have time to react. The intense, analytical Jacky Hazardous took a back seat, and the dorky, stumbling, love struck Jacky reared his ugly head again. Before he knew it, Jacky had a big, dumb, creeper grin on his face. Melissa was with her friend, Joanie; Ron’s older sister. Like Ron, she had muted red hair. It was frizzy, and seemed to spout from her head in all directions as if from a fountain. The two walked up and stood next to the poor juniors. Melissa was smiling brightly. “Jacky, me and Joan are gonna go to John Demeo’s birthday party, I thought it would be cool if you came. You in?” Jacky giggled like a little idiot. “Isn’t that a senior party?” “Yeah, but you can come. Everybody already knows who you are, and I’ll vouch for you so no one’s gonna give you any crap. Ron can come, too.” “Mistake.” Joanie chimed in. “Hey!” Ron whined. Melissa ignored them and kept her eyes on Jacky. “You’ll come, right?” “S-sure. Where is it?” “It’s at his house.” Melissa cocked her head over toward the school parking lot. “Hop in my car. I’ll drive you guys there.” “In your car?” Jacky asked. “Yeah, no sweat.” Melissa said. “Come on.” At that Melissa an0d Joanie turned and walked away, chased by Jacky’s eyes. He drifted off of his seat after them. Ron followed grudgingly. During the ride in Melissa’s black Honda, Jacky and Ron sat in the back. Jacky couldn’t take his eyes off the rearview mirror, for in it shone Melissa’s big, green eyes. At one point, they came off the road and caught him staring. Jacky couldn’t see her mouth, but the shape that her eyes became suggested a smile. They pulled up to a small, art-deco home near the edge of Cyalume. Several other cars were already outside. No noise registered from inside the house. Jacky had expected loud music. As they walked up to the front door, he asked about it. “Why isn’t there any music, or, like, party lights?” Melissa looked over her shoulder at him. “Yeah, John’s kind of weird.” Joanie was upset by this. “Mel!” “He is!” Melissa retorted, and then turned back to Jacky. “He grew up in a kind of strange environment. His parents were rich, so they subjected him to, you know, like a Victorian upbringing. So this is going to be more of a dinner party than a drunk-and-falling-down party. I normally wouldn’t even hang out with this guy, but Joanie likes him, so here we are.” “Mel!” Melissa rolled her eyes and shook her head. They had arrived at the door. Even as Melissa reached for the bell, the door opened. A teenage boy in a blue military dress uniform answered the door. His face was freckled and his short hair was cropped up in a high top fade. His uniform was awash in awards. Jacky didn’t have a clue what they could be for, but at least the name plate he wore made it easy to discern him as John Demeo. “Hey girls.” The boy said. “Hey, John.” Joanie smiled. Melissa was unimpressed. “What’s with the get-up?” John answered quickly and surely. “I just got back from being promoted at my ROTC unit.” He exuded confidence. Joanie was still behaving like, well, a school girl. “I think it looks great on you. You look tough, and dignified at the same time.” “Thanks.” John stepped from the doorway and invited them in. “Well, come on in and have a seat. Everyone’s just chatting right now. Later my mother will be serving tea and cakes.” John walked away into the kitchen, and the kids were left to themselves. Melissa sighed in exasperation. “His mother is here? What did you get me into?” Joanie looked at her. “Come on. It won’t be that bad. I just need a minute alone with John, and then we can go.” Melissa held her hand up with the pinky stuck out and adopted a satirical accent of refinement. “Splendid, let’s go have tea and crumpets with General Patton.” Her remark caused Jacky to spit out a laugh. It made him sound mentally handicapped. No one else but him seemed to notice, though. They walked in and Ron shut the front door after them. As the kids walked toward the crowd, the wheels in Jacky’s brain churned. He needed to say something before some senior in here stole her away; just to start the conversation. His brain had already made a couple of observations, he could start there. “Is John’s mother his birth mother?” Melissa stopped and turned around, looking at him with furrowed eyebrows. “No. How did you know that?” Joanie and Ron drifted off to other parts of the house. “You said his parents were rich.” Jacky answered. “Also that he had a Victorian upbringing, but now he lives in this small house.” Melissa nodded. She seemed impressed. “Yeah. They died. His mother died when he was young and his father died about two years ago. His dad left all of the assets to him, but he’s not allowed to touch it until he’s 21. His step-mother must be a real saint, taking care of him and his little brother the way she does.” Jacky nodded in agreement. “Interesting.” The two continued into the epicenter of the little party. Jacky stuck close to Melissa and tried to occupy her attention as much as possible. After a few minutes, John came back into the room. With an air of officiality, he quickly got everyone’s attention. “Excuse me, everyone! The tea and cakes are about to be served, if you could take your seats, please!” All of the teenagers dropped their conversations and complied, grabbing chairs around a long table that had been set up in the den. There were only maybe ten guests total. John sat at the head of the table. He looked very out of place with the other teens in his uniform, but seemed not to mind at all. John’s eyes immediately fell on the two unfamiliar faces sitting at the table. “I recognize you. You’re name’s Jacky, right?” “It’s Jack,” Jacky corrected. “Jack Hazardous.” John’s left eyebrow elevated. “You know your last name’s an adjective?” Jacky snickered and shook his head. “You know, I never hear that.” A smirk grew on John’s face. He understood and appreciated the sarcasm. “Well, I’m glad to have you here. It’s not every day you meet a celebrity.” “Yeah, you’re the kid that busted up that thing with the teachers, aren’t you?” One of the other seniors, Arthur, had chimed in. Jacky recognized Arthur. He was a football player with a large, football player’s body and short, black hair. Jacky never understood the paragon that Arthur was. He played sports, but wasn’t very popular. He was good in science. He’d look like a total nerd with those thick back rims he wears if it wasn’t for the physique. As Jacky considered this, an Asian woman came into the room holding two large trays of cups and cakes. She appeared to be in her early-to-mid-thirties, but even to a teenager like Jacky, she was beautiful. This was John’s step mother. Of course, a wealthy man looking to remarry could pick from any young woman he wanted. With an undeniable skill, John’s step-mother laid the giant trays down on the table without spilling a drop. “Eat up.” She said; bowing, and then shuffling out of the room with dainty little steps. All of the kids at the table grabbed a cup of tea and a slice of cake, except John, who only grabbed a cup of tea. “You’re not going to have any cake, John?” Joanie asked. John shook his head as he took a drink of his tea. After he took the drink he said, “I’m not a fan of sweets.” Joanie took a bite of her cake, and her face lit up. “Oh my god! They’re great! You’ should try it!” Indeed, everyone at the table seemed to be thoroughly enjoying John’s mother’s baking. Joanie extended her cake toward him, but John only shook his head with a smirk on his face, as if she were adorable for even trying. It communicated that confidence he constantly exuded. Joanie rescinded the cake. Suddenly The front door opened and a child in a blue soccer uniform came running into the house. “John!” the boy shouted. John’s face lit up with delight and he jumped from his chair. “Hey! There he is!” John scooped the boy up in his arms and hugged him tightly. “Ohh! Ricky, how you doing?” “Good! We won!” Ricky answered. “You did? Awesome!” John turned to his guests. “Everyone, this is my little brother, Ricky.” Jacky mused at Ricky’s appearance. John was mostly Italian, but his brother seemed to possess more Asian qualities. He might have been the product of John’s step-mother rather than a full-blood relative. John lowered Ricky to the ground. “Hey, you wanna stay and hang out?” “Sure!” Ricky smiled. Melissa’s face became increasingly exasperated. Suddenly Mrs. Demeo came back into the room. “Richard, honey. I think Jonathon’s friends would rather you go play in your room. You’re not supposed to have a lot of sugar, anyway.” John sat down with Ricky on his lap. “Oh, they’ll be fine, mom. How often do I get to see my brother?” Mrs. Demeo seemed sullen. “Oh, alright. He can stay. I’ll go get him some fruit juice.” She shuffled back out of the room. Without much hesitation, Ricky grabbed up what was left of John’s tea and fired it down before John could stop him. The child immediately wretched and dropped the cup back on the table. “YYYUUUCCCKKK! How can you drink that?!” A few people at the table thought it was pretty funny. “Richard!” Everyone turned to see their mother standing in the kitchen doorway with a child’s cup in her hand. She hurried over to Ricky, set the cup on the table, and proceeded to baby him. “Oh, Richard. You shouldn’t be drinking any tea! Here, have some cake to get the taste out.” She began to shove a cake into his mouth. While watching the whole scene, Jacky’s eyebrow arched in confusion. Still chewing the cake, Ricky's mother began to rush him out of the room. “Tea is not for children!” John spoke after them. “Looks like you better go, bro. We’re in trouble this time.” The smug look still plastered his countenance. After that whole scene, John simply tilted his cup over to look into it and said. “Only now I’m out of tea.” Arthur chimed in once more. “It actually looks like a lot of people are out of tea. Me and Joanie can go in the kitchen and make some more.” “Me?” Joanie asked. John looked at her. “Yeah. Sounds like a good idea. My mother probably won’t be around to do it. Go with him, Joan.” Joanie looked dismayed, but she got up and followed Arthur into the kitchen. After a few minutes the two returned, each holding a tray of tea. Joanie looked irritated. They set their trays down on the table and everyone grabbed some more tea. When Joanie sat down again she leaned over and whispered into Melissa’s ear. Jacky could hear it. “He brought me in there so he could ask me out on a date. I said no.” Melissa replied in a normal voice. “Hey, wow. That’s interesting. Can I talk to you outside for a second?” She got up, opened the sliding glass door that led out to the backyard, and led the way outside. Joanie looked confused, but she got up and followed. After Melissa closed the door behind them, Jacky watched as the two girls walked off of the porch and stopped on the grass; still within sight. He watched as Melissa pointed both fingers at the ground. She wanted Joanie to stay right where she was. Jacky took a drink of his tea and considered that. She wants Joanie and John to talk so she can leave. In another moment she’ll probably come inside for John. After taking another drink, Jacky took the cup away from his face and looked at it. It was okay tea, but it definitely wasn’t as good as Mrs. Demeo’s. It didn’t have that almond aftertaste. Suddenly a voice reached Jacky from the side. “You like Melissa, don’t you?” Jacky turned to see John Demeo looking at him intently. Jacky didn’t answer, though. After a moment, John sniffled and shrugged. After taking a swig of tea he said, “Well, too bad. You’re gonna have to go through me first, and I’m a senior. Do you really think Melissa would go out with a Junior? You’re like her funny little buddy right now, but once that teacher thing blows over, you’re not gonna be considered the boy hero anymore. You’ll have no appeal.” Jacky raised an eyebrow. He had no clue why this guy was even telling him this. Melissa opened the sliding door back up and took a step inside. Joanie was still outside. “Joanie wants to talk to you.” Melissa said. John sighed and threw his napkin on the table. “I suppose I should take care of this right now.” He got up and walked outside. Melissa closed the door behind him and continued to watch. Jacky stood up and moved next to her to watch as well. The sun was beginning to set, and the sky was turning a velvet pink. It actually looked kind of beautiful with them standing in front of it. “I don’t think this is going to be a conversation Joanie is going to want to hear.” Jacky said. “Me neither.” Melissa agreed with a sigh. Jacky watched as the conversation grew more and more heated. Joanie’s expressions became painful and John looked angry. In the middle of Joanie saying something, John looked over at the house. Next John grabbed her brusquely by the arm and led her around the house, out of sight. He must not have appreciated being watched in a situation like that, so he led her away in some pride driven effort to save face. “He always treats her like crap.” When Jacky and Melissa turned around to see who had joined them, they found that Arthur’s girth had somehow snuck up. “It’s fine.” Arthur continued. “He’ll get what’s coming to him, soon.” Jacky and Melissa exchanged creeped-out glances. Never being very subtle, Melissa tried to aid in their escape by saying, “Well, show’s over. Come on, Jacky. Let’s go make out in a closet or something.” Jacky immediately looked shocked, and even a little afraid. Melissa giggled at him. “Just kidding. I don’t think we’re there yet.” Jacky couldn’t tell if she was kidding with the “yet” part, either. Without warning, a scream rent the air from outside. Jacky was shocked, but Arthur was moving in an instant. He pushed Melissa and Jacky out of the way, tore the door open, and sprinted outside. Jack and Melissa followed in the next second. When the group rounded the corner, they found Joanie knelt over John’s body, sobbing. John was motionless, and his eyes and mouth were still wide with pain and fear. Arthur knelt down and tried to move Joanie away from him. “Joanie move! Joanie MOVE!” Joanie finally stood up and stepped away, right into Melissa, where she nuzzled her face into Melissa’s neck. She was crying uncontrollably. Arthur started pumping John’s chest, administering CPR. The rest of the guests caught up and Melissa turned to them. “Call 9-1-1!” A police detective arrived and examined the body. Due to the lack of physical wounds, and the smell still lingering in John’s gaping mouth, he determined cause of death to be poisoning. Potassium Cyanide; nasty stuff. Jacky had been hunched over the body for a while and already made that determination before the officer arrived. He told Ron his findings, and then said to keep him abreast of any new developments; after which he ran back into the house and hadn’t been seen since. After making his determination, the detective asked all of the guests to gather around. John’s mother and brother were off to the side, crying all over each other. Because everyone was required to attend, Ron fetched Jacky. When Ron found him, he was in the kitchen. He was holding a tea cup at his side in his left hand and smelling another cup in his right. After getting a good whiff he dropped the cup into the sink and pulled out another cup. He smelled this one as well. When he was satisfied he dropped the cup back into the sink. “That tears it.” Jacky muttered; then he turned to Ron. “Did the detective examine the body?” “Yes.” Ron answered. “And?” “He said it looked like poisoning.” “Alright. Let’s go.” Jacky continued holding the cup in his left hand as the two walked out of the house. They rejoined the group that was huddled around the detective. “Is this everybody?” the detective asked. “Alright. I’m Detective Stern with the Cyalume Police Department. Did anyone see anything?” Jacky was about to raise his hand but Joanie immediately stepped out in front of the group and pointed a finger at Arthur. “He poisoned John’s tea!” Arthur was outraged. “What?!” “I saw him do something to the drink when we were making the second batch!” Joanie screamed. Arthur looked dismayed. “Well, yeah. I spit in it. But I didn’t poison him!” Melissa chimed in softly. “I did hear Arthur say John would get what’s coming to him.” Detective Stern tried to get them to stop. “Stop. Wait. I asked if anyone saw anything. I don’t want to know what you saw yet!” Joanie grabbed on to what Melissa said and ignored him. “Aha! You wanted me for yourself, but you knew I loved John, so you killed him!” Arthur was bewildered. “What? No! I mean, yeah. I said he would get what’s coming to him, but all I meant was that I was going to beat his ass one of these days! I never meant I was going to kill him! What about you? You had as much access to the tea as I did! Maybe you killed him! You knew that he was never going to like you because he had the hots for Melissa, so you killed him. Is that the kind of person you are?” “What?” Melissa asked. “Eww.” Joanie couldn’t even speak after that revelation. All she could do was stand with her mouth hanging open. This halted the argument. One of the officers at the scene stepped over to Stern and talked into his ear. "What do you think we should do?” Stern made a quick decision. “We need isolation. We’ll take all three of these kids and anyone else who thinks they have something to say down to the station for further questioning.” Jacky finally had his chance. He slipped to the front of the crowd and piped up. “I don’t think that will be necessary, officer.” Stern raised an eyebrow? “Who are you, kid?” Melissa chimed in once more. “His name is Jacky Hazardous. He’s the one who solved the case of the missing tax money a few weeks ago. If you’re lucky he’ll solve this case for you, too; if you listen.” Jacky smiled sheepishly. “Thanks Melissa.” “Did you do it?” Arthur asked. “I heard John tell you that you would have to go through him to get to Melissa. Did you get rid of him?” Jacky went beet red with embarrassment and turned his head to look a Melissa. She was wearing a poker face that revealed none of her thoughts. After a moment Jacky regained his composure and fired back. “Um, dude. You don’t need to lash out at everyone. You never know; I might just clear you. I didn’t kill John, but I know who did.” With Arthur and everyone else quiet, Jacky began his explanation. “The person who killed Jonathon Demeo was not Joanie and it was not Arthur. Um, and it wasn’t me, either. I believe the person who killed John Demeo was…Mrs. Demeo!” Everyone immediately turned to see the little Asian woman’s horrified face. Her mouth was gaping with shock. “Me?” she asked. Detective Stern interjected. “You shouldn’t be throwing accusations like that around without some evidence, kid.” “I have my evidence right here.” Jacky responded, holding up the tea cup in his left hand. “It’s the cup John Demeo was drinking out of right before he died. I watched him drink out of it.” “That’s evidence--” Detective Stern was cut off by Melissa. “He knows it’s evidence in your investigation. It’s evidence in his, too. Let him talk! He’s handing you the case.” Jacky continued without hesitation. “It was prepared by Arthur and Joanie and it doesn’t smell of Potassium Cyanide. The cup that John was drinking out of first, that his mother prepared, reeks of it.” “But how would his mother know which one he would pick?” Melissa asked. Joanie had a question as well. “Yeah, and we put all of those cups in the sink. How do you know which one was his?” Both good questions; Jacky had an equally good answer. “I didn’t need to, just like Mrs. Demeo didn’t need to. All of the cups she served were poisoned. We were all poisoned, but Mrs. Demeo forced the odds by putting the antidote in the cakes. John doesn’t like sweets, and she knew he wouldn’t eat it no matter how delicious she made it, or perhaps because of how delicious she made it. We all know it wasn’t light on the sugar. John could have been peer pressured into eating it, but he was way too proud and set in his ways for that. Without the antidote John succumbed to the poison within a half-hour.” To Arthur this was ridiculous. “How could you possibly know that?” Jacky explained. “John’s little brother, his half-brother, is diabetic. That’s the only reason I could guess why Mrs. Demeo said he wasn’t allowed sweets; especially that sweet-ass cake. Despite this, when he drank some of John’s tea, she was shoving it down his throat as fast as she could. This is because she cares for her son.” “But why?” Melissa was only trying to help with her questions. Jacky looked at her. Being on a roll as he was he could do it and still speak with his legendary intensity. “The same old “why.” Money. Mr. Demeo left everything to John in his will, but after John, his next of kin is his widow, Mrs. Demeo. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d killed the old man too, only to find out that she wasn’t his favorite thing in the whole-wide world.” Mrs. Demeo’s face had become ghostly. “I…I didn’t kill my s-son.” Detective Stern put an end to Jacky’s theorizing. “Alright. That’s enough. Take everyone down to the station, including Mrs. Demeo. We’ll get the truth there.” During interrogation, Mrs. Demeo finally confessed to poisoning John Demeo. Later her lawyer would say that the police coerced her into saying it under duress. With this defense, the circuit judge allowed her to post bail. She did not attend her son’s funeral. Because of this the police inquired into her whereabouts, but she was not to be found. She had already fled the country and gone into hiding. John Demeo’s funeral was held shortly after bail for his step-mother was posted. Because of the heinous nature of the crime, the Army afforded him a full military burial. It was complete with the twenty-one gun salute and roll call, in which all of his classmates were called to attention. Upon the announcement of their respective names, all students responded with “Present, sir!” When John Demeo’s name was called, there was only silence. The General conducting the ceremony repeated his name three times before moving on to Cadet Rigel Durham. Jacky thought it was very sad. Melissa, usually cynical, was brought to tears. During the playing of “Taps,” the military funeral song, Jacky noticed poor Richard Demeo. He was flanked on either side by a nun from the orphanage in which he officially lived. Jacky felt sorry for him more than anything. His brother had been killed, his mother had been accused of murder and fled the country, but he was the real loser in all of this. He is all alone now. Sometimes even justice has a victim. …Case Closed. Text: Jacob Long All rights reserved. Publication Date: August 3rd 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-vigilantoneful

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Erin Clerity Dark Keys I dedicate this to my friends and loving family. Chapter 1 Publication Date: September 16th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-deadened.hopes

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Robert F. Clifton Mister Dingledine Chapter One Married Life                                                         Mister Dingledine by Robert F. Clifton                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     Copyright 2016 by Robert F. Clifton   All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.                                               The reader is advised that this is a work of fiction any similarities of persons places or events is purely coincidental. R.F. Clifton                                                                                                                         Table Of Contents     Chapter One....Married Life Chapter Two....Ethel Chapter Three..Alberta Chapter Four....Death Chapter Five.....Investigation Chapter Six.......Theodore Henderson Chapter Seven...The Prosecution Chapter Eight....The Defense Chapter Nine......Closing Arguments Chapter Ten........Eastern Penitentiary                                       Chapter One Married Life   Herbert Dingledine sat at his kitchen table grading the test papers that his students had submitted. From time to time he had to stop, remove his eyeglasses and rub his eyes. The gas lamp on the wall gave off a yellow glow. It was enough to see, except when it came to constant reading. It was the year 1900 and although he owned the house on North Fourth Street in the Liberty section of Philadelphia the house lacked electricity and he didn't have the funds to have it installed. Dingeldine was a small man of stature standing five foot four inches tall and weighing one hundred and forty-five pounds. He had dark brown hair that was thin and balding. A well-trimmed mustache covered his upper lip. As a boy growing up he had been frail and while other boys his age played outside he stayed in his bedroom and studied. Born in 1870 he graduated from high school in the year 1887. At age twenty he applied for a teachers position and with a high school diploma met the requirements to teach. His first two years were spent teaching in an elementary school. Then, an opening occurred at a high school and he took the position teaching biology. By nature he was thrifty, saving what money he could. He also had three interests, the first was gardening and he grew his own vegetables and produce in his backyard garden. Next, was science and chemistry. Finally, he enjoyed cooking. To him, cooking was a part of chemistry requiring precise measurements, temperatures and time. Actually, he cooked out of necessity since his wife Ethel who imagined that she was constantly ill and unable to stand for long periods of time, or so she said. To him, she had become a lazy, nagging, whining, hypochondriac who he had to constantly wait on all of the time. While he was small she was large standing nearly five foot ten and now weighing two hundred and five pounds and getting larger every day. Herbert smiled as he corrected a test paper, glad to know that he was teaching and his students were learning. his thoughts were interrupted by a loud voice. "Herbert? Bring me a glass of water," said Ethel Dingledine. "Can't you get it yourself? You can see that I'm busy," Herbert answered. "You know I suffer from vertigo. I get very dizzy if I stand too long." "It wouldn't hurt you to get up. Stand up and practice standing. that way you just might get over what ails you." "Are you going to bring me a glass of water or not?  I could die of thirst for all you care." " To tell you the truth, I don’t care how you die, just that you do it quickly,” he thought to himself as he got up from the table walked to the sink and after taking a glass filled it from the kitchen faucet. He then carried the glass of water to Ethel who sat on the upholstered sofa. “Here,” he said handing her the glass. He then walked back to the kitchen, the table, and the test papers. “ This water is warm. You didn’t allow the water to run for a bit before you filled the glass,” Ethel complained. “ I let the water run.” “ You say you did, but I know better. Bring me another glass.” “ No. If you want another glass of water get up off of the couch and get it yourself,” Herbert replied. “ You would like that, wouldn’t you? You’d like to see me fall, injure myself, perhaps break a hip. I can just imagine seeing you standing over me as I lay on the floor.” “ Ethel, I’m trying to concentrate on grading these papers. Please stop badgering me.” “ Oh, so now I’m badgering you am I? Why, because I’m ill and need attention from my husband, who by the way pays no attention to me at all.” “ You have no idea just how much attention I give you each and every day. I have to listen to you constantly, listen to how sick you think you are. I have to listen to the excuses you give of how you can’t cook, clean the house, or do the laundry. Oh, I pay attention to you, believe me,” keeping his thoughts to himself. “ I saw a rat in the backyard yesterday. I want you to make sure they don’t get in the house,” she said. “ I’ll take care of it,” he answered. “ When? You say you will, but you won’t. I know you won’t. You’ll either forget or ignore the fact that rodents are present and are about to enter our home.” “ I’ll do it.” “ How? How are you going to prevent rodents from entering the house? “ I’ll put down poison.” “ Make sure you put it near the back door and use plenty.” “ I’ll take care of it.” “ See that you do. Why don’t you do it now? There’s still plenty of daylight.” “ Alright, alright, I’ll do it now, anything to shut you up so I can finish these papers,” he said as he got up and walked outside through the kitchen door. He walked through his backyard to the corner of the high fence that separated his property from that of his neighbors. In that corner, he  had built a small shed that he used to keep his gardening tools and supplies. At the door of the shed, he pulled a key chain and keys out of his trouser pocket, found the key to the padlock on the door and unlocked it. After opening the door he reached inside and removed a bag of Paris green, a rodenticide from a shelf. He then carried the poisoned powder to the back door and sprinkled a large amount, forming what he hoped was a wide, blue-green, barrier in front of the back entrance. After carrying the half empty bag of poison back to the shed he placed it back on the shelf, closed the door and locked it. Back in the house he washed his hands, dried them and sat again at the kitchen table. “ Did you put down the poison?”, asked Ethel. “ Certainly, what did you think I was doing outside?” “ How do I know? I’m sure you do things that I’m not aware of. You keep things from me?” “ How about the things you keep from me? You don’t even perform as a wife. You claim that you’re afraid of getting pregnant thinking that you would die during childbirth,” he thought to himself. “Ethel, what could I possibly keep from you?”, he asked. “ Plenty. How do I know what you do when you are at work?” “ What I do at work, is teach. Would you prefer that I read my lesson plan for the day to you before I leave in the morning?” “ Don’t be silly. My feet hurt. I want you to rub liniment on them. It takes the pain away for awhile.” “ The pain in your feet is caused by not standing or walking. Get up and move about.” “ You don’t care. I can truly see that you don’t care about my health or my discomfort. I could die for all you care.” “ I should be so lucky,” he thought. Herbert started the next morning just as he did every morning. He would climb out of bed and while still in his nightshirt would walk into the kitchen. There, he filled the coffee pot with water. Using the coffee grinder he would then grind the beans and empty the coffee into the pot. After placing the pot on the gas stove he turned on the burner and after raising the flame to his desired height turned and walked back to the bedroom. Being fastidious, he would require a clean union suit of underwear each day as well as a clean, white shirt and a celluloid collar. Putting on his trousers he would then place his suspenders, walk to the bathroom and lathered his face with shaving soap. He would then removed last night's growth of whiskers using a straight razor. Once dressed, he made his way to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. Removing a loaf of bread from the bread box he cut three slices. One slice would be his breakfast. The other two slices were for the sandwich he would make and carry to work for his lunch. Usually, the sandwich would be made from leftover beef, chicken or ham. Without meat, he would use either cheese or jam. Today, he would use cheese. Herbert sat at the kitchen table taking small bites from the slice of dry bread. He would chew then take sips of black coffee. As he did he thought of the lesson plan he had created for the day in the classroom. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard Ethel’s voice. “Herbert! Bring me a cup of coffee. I’m too ill to get out of bed. I think you should either send for the doctor or stay home and take care of me,” she cried. “ Doctors cost money. There’s nothing wrong with you. You imagine that you’re sick. Get up out of bed and move about. I guarantee that you’ll feel better,” he answered. “ Oh, so now you’re a doctor. I don’t believe you. All I ask is a bit of consideration. Do I get it? No.” “ I’m bringing you a cup of coffee, then I’m leaving for work.” “ On your way home stop and see Kroger the butcher. Buy a fat stewing hen. One with yellow skin. I need chicken broth. It does wonders for me.” “ Good. Maybe it will get you up and about,” he replied. After leaving the house Herbert walked to the trolly stop. There he boarded the last horse drawn trolly car in Philadelphia soon to be retired as the transportation company switched to electric powered cars. After paying his five cent fare he would take any available seat near a window enjoying the sights of the city as people went about their business, some shopping, most going to work. Arriving at the school Herbert walked into his classroom and after taking a seat at his desk he opened a drawer and placed his lunch, contained in a paper bag inside. He looked up when he heard a female voice say, “Good morning, Mister Dingledine.” “ Good morning, Miss Collins.” “ I hope that we may converse at lunch today. I have something to tell you,” she said. “ May I say that I look forward to our lunch together today,” he replied. “ See you then,” she said as she walked away. Herbert smiled just knowing that she acknowledged his being there made him happy. Alberta Collins was a small, petite, young woman. He had learned by talking to members of the faculty that her father, a railroad worker had been killed in an accident. As a result, she took care of her mother, necessitating in turning down many suitors that asked for her favors. For some reason, she went out of her way to engage Herbert in conversation, usually at the table in the faculty lunch room. There, they would share a small pot of tea. He would eat his sandwich she would take small bites from tiny finger sandwich’s sometimes watercress or when in season, lettuce and tomato. All he knew was that when she asked him to join her at the lunch table he became a clock watcher wishing that time would fly by. She was small, petite, with a perfect, white porcelain complexion. Her light brown hair consisted of long hair that she wore in a bun but wore loose on Saturdays at home or shopping and Sunday mornings as she attended church. Her eyes were dark brown and sparkled when she was happy. At noon the bell rang alerting both student body and teachers that it was the lunch period. Herbert opened his desk drawer, removed the brown paper bag and walked quickly weaving in and out of the crowd of students heading in the same direction. In the lunch room, he stood waiting for her to appear. When she did he smiled and held the chair for her as she sat down. After taking a seat across from her he said, “Now Miss Collins, what is it that you wish to tell me?” “ Mister Dingledine, I have a cousin who happens to be a cellist, Andrew Cummings. He has just taken a position with the newly formed, Philadelphia Orchestra. The conductor will be Felix Sheel and the first concert will be held in the Academy of Music.” “ My that is exciting news. I can see that it makes you happy and please call me Herbert.” “ Very well Herbert, but only if you call me Alberta.” “ Then, Alberta it is.” “ Good. Now then, my purpose in telling you this is, that my cousin has given me two tickets for the first concert. I need an escort if I was to go.” “ May I be so bold to assume it is I that you wish as an escort?” “ You may and yes.” “ Surely your mother would wish to attend.” “ Mother is poorly.” “ I see. Then, as a gentleman, I must advise you that attending any affair with a married man and without chaperone would and could be damaging to your reputation as a lady.” “ I would have a chaperone.” “ Who?” “ My cousin, the cellist.” “ Who I can assume would only be able to keep an eye on you from where he sits in the orchestra and then only after taking his eyes off of the music sheets.” “ Still, he could vouch for my reputation.” “ I agree. Please tell me, when is this concert to be performed?” “ I believe it will be on the evening of Friday, November the sixteenth.” “ I see. It now being the beginning of October the concert is, let’s say, a month away. That being so, it allows you more time to select an escort other than myself.” “ I’m beginning to think that you do not wish to share my company, Mister Dingledine.” “ Please, do not think harshly of me Alberta. Understand that it is you and your reputation that concerns me if we were to be seen together, out for the evening.” “ It’s not like we were out honky tonkying. We would be attending a social event, actually, the performing arts, if you will. Please consider how much I want to attend and want you as my escort.” “ Very well. However, you must let me know certain things, such as the proper dress for the occasion. You see, I only have one suit. The one I’m wearing right now and I’m afraid that on a teacher's salary I can’t afford to purchase a tuxedo.” “ Herbert, our seats will be in the balcony. The tuxedo and evening gown crowd will be in the seats on the main floor. You forget I earn a teacher's salary also.” At four thirty in the afternoon, Herbert opened the front door of his home. He walked past Ethel who lay on the sofa with a cold, wet, cloth on her forehead. Entering the kitchen he unwrapped the chicken he had bought at the butcher shop and placed it in the ice box. He then took a look at the block of ice that was slowly melting as it kept milk and other things cold. “ Soon be time to buy another block,” he thought. “ Herbert? Did you buy a chicken?”, yelled Ethel. “ Yes.” “ Fat and yellow, like I asked?” “ Yes.” “ Well? I don’t hear you getting it ready to cook. I told you I need broth, chicken broth.” “ Ethel, I just walked into the house. I haven’t even removed my hat or taken off my coat. In time, I’ll stew the chicken.” “ Well, make sure you do. I’ve had a terrible day Herbert. Just terrible.” “ What’s wrong this time?” he asked. “ Headaches, terrible headaches,” she replied. “ Did you take something for the pain?” “ Yes, aspirin powder, which incidentally we’re almost out of it. You must go to the drug store and buy me some more, not that it helps.” “ I’ll stop at the pharmacy on the way home tomorrow.” “ See that you do.” “ I see that you ate lunch,” he said. “ Yes, but I had to force myself.” “ The bread is almost gone and the strawberry jam jar is empty. I’m sure it was difficult forcing yourself to eat so much,” he said sarcastically. “ Now, you’re begrudging me the few morsels I’m able to eat and keep down. Me, as sick as I am, left alone for the majority of the day with no one to look after me or even care.” “ Ethel, you imagine many of your ills.” “ So you say, Herbert. So you say.” “ Hey, I’m just glad that you got up off of the sofa. That in itself shows that you can do it if you really want to do it.” “ And I want you to know that while up I saw a rat again in the backyard.” “ Wonders never cease. When I’m home you become an invalid. When I’m gone from the house you can get up, feed yourself, even look out of the back door window long enough to see rodents in the backyard. Yesterday you couldn’t stand because of your imagined, vertigo.” “ You know the spells I have come and go.” “ I wish to hell, that you would go,” he thought.                                           Chapter Two Ethel   It was a warm, sunny, early October, Saturday morning. Herbert enjoyed Saturdays. It was the only day of the week when he didn’t shave. Instead, he made a breakfast of bread, oatmeal, and coffee and after carrying the same to Ethel who once again was too ill to get out of bed he dressed in old clothes and went to his backyard garden. Here, he would harvest the rest of his vegetables. There were still string beans hanging from the plants. He grew two varieties, green and yellow. It was Ethel that preferred the green string beans. He liked the yellow, but he had picked those last week, cooked them and canned them in mason jars. He knelt on one knee and picked the beans placing them in a wicker basket. He was pleased with the amount he had produced. He had been lucky, for the summer had produced just the right amount of sunshine and rain and that along with the horse manure he gathered from the street and mixed with his compost pile each year created an excellent soil condition. When he was finished picking all of the beans he looked carefully under the leaves of the cucumber plants looking for any of the fruit that it had produced that he might have missed. He found one, but it had been gnawed on by some rodent, a mouse or rat. He picked and threw it towards his gathered compost material. All that was left was the root vegetables, the potatoes, turnips, and beets. He got up slowly, picked up the basket of beans and carried them to the house. Entering at the back door he stood and wiped his feet after stepping into the Paris green that had been out down previously to kill rodents. Entering the laundry room he stumbled and in order not to fall Herbert dropped the basket of beans, spilling them on the floor. “Damn,” he said out loud, then knelt down and picked them up placing them in the basket again. He then carried them to the sink. There, he spent the rest of the morning, snapping, cooking and canning string beans. Canning was something he had learned to do as a boy at his mother's side. It was something he enjoyed to do even in this case where the green beans he prepared were for Ethel. As the canned vegetables cooled Herbert sat eating his lunch consisting of sardines and crackers. As he ate he thought of what else he had to do in the garden. His thoughts were interrupted. “Herbert? Are you eating your lunch?” asked Ethel who as usual sat on the living room sofa. “ Yes. Yes, I am,” he answered. “ What are you eating?” “ Sardines and crackers.” “ Oh, that’s awful. Did you ever stop and ask yourself, What would my wife like for lunch. No, I know you don’t. You never have. All you do is think of yourself.” “ I know what I 'd like to give you for lunch. Ground glass comes to mind,” he thought. “ Make me a cup of tea and I’ll try a piece of toast and jam.” “ We are out of jam. I can give you cheese.” “ You know cheese binds me up. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d like to see me with intestinal distress.” “ Ethel, you don’t know what distress is. I know what distress is. It’s listening to you complain each and every day from sun up to when you go to bed. For goodness sake woman, don’t you realize that there’s nothing radically wrong with you?” he asked. “ According to you. Let me remind you of something Mister Dingledine. You are a teacher and a poor one at that. You teach biology. That does not make you a doctor even if you think you know everything. When to comes to me, you know absolutely nothing.” “ Wrong again Ethel. I know that you are one royal pain in the ass. Do you want tea? Get off of your ass and make it. Jam? Get dressed and walk down to the corner store and buy it.” “ You are heartless. You know how sick I am, but you pretend that there’s nothing wrong with me. You want me to die, don’t you? I’ve told Mrs. Kramer, next door that you wanted me dead.” “ Yes, I know. Mrs. Kramer told me what you said. Would you like to know what she said? She said that you are crazy. Mentally ill, bonkers and I’m starting to believe her.” “ You are a cruel man Herbert Dingldine, cruel. Had I known at the time you proposed that you were so mean and thoughtless I would have rejected you.” “ Oh, if only you had,” he replied. “ Say it. Say it. Say that you’re sorry that you married me.” “ Wrong again Ethel. I’m sorry that I ever met you,” said Herbert as he walked out of the house by the way of the back door. Back in his garden, Herbert stood silently regaining his composure. When his heartbeat slowed and his respiration returned to normal he went to the shed and got a shovel. With it, he began digging and collecting potatoes and turnips. Soon he had two bushels of potatoes and one bushel of turnips. Most of these vegetables he would store in the root cellar he had dug and built under the side of the house. A friend of his at school supplied him with salt hay that he used to cover his bounty. On Sunday morning Herbert brushed his black suit, shined his shoes and wearing a clean, white shirt and collar made his way to the Episcopal Church where he had worshiped at as a boy, and man. It was also the church where he and Ethel were married. Herbert entered the church and walked to the pew where he always sat. He genuflected, bending his knee as he bowed towards the altar and blessed himself. Then after taking his seat he knelt and prayed. When he was finished praying he looked to his right. He soon found Alberta on the other side of the church looking at him. She had a slight smile on her lips, but aware and satisfied that he had seen her, turned her head and turned the pages in the Common Book Of Prayer for her mother who sat next to her. After the sermon and the end of services, Herbert walked slowly in line to the front door where he would shake hands and speak briefly to Father Holmes. Their conversations every Sunday morning were always the same. “Good to see you, Herbert. How is Ethel?”, asked the priest. “ Not feeling too well this morning Father.” “ What a shame. If you would like, I could stop around to see her, maybe give her comfort.” “ No, that isn’t necessary, but thank you for thinking of her.” “ I’ll remember her in my prayers.” “ Thank you, Father.” After stepping onto the sidewalk Herbert made his way to where Alberta and her mother stood talking to members of the congregation. He waited until they were finished talking and when they turned he removed his hat and said,” Good morning Mrs. Collins and to you Miss Collins. Isn’t it a fine Sunday morning ?” “ Oh, good morning Mister Dingledine. Yes, it is. It is indeed,” said Mrs. Collins. And a good morning to you Miss Collins. I trust you enjoyed Father Holmes sermon this day,” said Herbert. “ Yes of course. The sermon serves well in the attempt to prohibit sin in all of us. don’t you think?’, she asked. “ Yes, yes, unfortunately, it doesn’t always save us from sin or sinful thoughts,” Herbert replied. As he did he caught the hint of a twinkle in Alberta’s eyes. “ I hope that you both have a pleasant day,” he continued. He replaced and then tipped his hat and walked away. Arriving home Herbert entered the living room and seeing Ethel who was still on the sofa said, “Today is Sunday. I’ll be making chicken and rice. I suppose you want green beans.” “ No, today I think I’d like to have beets. Beets sliced thin with lots of butter and just a sprinkle of black pepper.” “ That means I have to go outside and dig them. You always want green beans.” “ Not today Herbert. You inquired and I decided on beets. Now, if it’s too much to ask, just let me know. Maybe you’d like to see me go without as usual.” “ I can’t think of a thing that you go without Ethel, except maybe fresh air and exercise.” “ There you go again with the sarcasm. Are you going to get the beets or not?” “ I’m going. It gives me time away from you and your complaining.” Once outside Herbert went to the shed unlocked the door and removed a shovel. He then went to the garden row where the beet tops grew high and healthy. As he began to dig he heard a voice. “Working your garden on the sabbath Herbert? that’s not like you.” Herbert turned to the sound of the male voice. Seeing John Kramer he said, “Hello John. You’re correct. I shouldn’t be doing this but the wife insists that she has fresh beets for supper. I insisted that she eat green beans, but that only started another argument.” “ Well, you know the saying, Women, you can’t live with them and you can’t live without them,” said Kramer. “ I for one would like to live without them and the sooner the better,” Herbert replied. After carrying a bunch of beets into the kitchen Herbert washed off the bits of soil that clung to the eatable root. He then cut off the beet greens and let them soak. As he worked his mind wandered. He thought back to when he had first met Ethel. “ It was on the fourth of July, 1892. He had traveled to the Schuylkill River to watch the boat races as rowing was one of the favorite sports of the people at that time. As he stood watching the individual shell races he detected a slight aroma of vanilla. Young women at that time would put a touch of it behind their ears using it as a fragrance. He turned his head and saw a tall, young woman who stood under a parasol using it to protect herself from the sun. She was blond, blue-eyed and although not fat by any means was slightly, plump. “Do you have a favorite in the races Miss?’, he had asked. The young woman had turned and after looking at the small, built man said, “No, I don’t. I come here for the sun and the fresh air.” “ I see, well it is indeed a fine day and not too warm for this time of year. July is usually a hot month here in the city,” he replied. “ I agree. Still, it is warm enough to create a thirst, said the woman. “ May I be so bold to invite you to join me at the refreshment stand and area. Perhaps a cold lemonade or sarsaparilla would quench your thirst,” said Herbert. “ I’m not in the habit of joining men that I’ve not been introduced to for lemonade or any other such meetings.” “ Then, please accept my apology. I shall not bother you any further.” “ Wait, if you are a gentleman and I suspect that you are, introduce yourself,” said the woman. “ Certainly. My name is Herbert Dingledine. I am a teacher of biology at a local high school. I attend church every Sunday. I’m single and like you, very thirsty.” He remembered that she laughed. “I’m sorry, is there something funny?”, he had asked. “ Just your name. Dingledine. I’ve never heard the name Dingledine before,” she had said. “ It’s of German origin or so I’ve been told,” He had replied. “ I still think it sounds funny.” “ Now that you know my name and consider it humorous may I ask your name?” “ Ethel, Ethel Thompson. At the moment single and thinking of becoming a midwife.” “ A noble profession for a young lady I would presume,” he had said. “ I agree Mister Dingledine, now instead of conversing under this hot sun, may I agree to your invitation to a cool lemonade under the canopy?’ “ It would be my pleasure, Miss Thompson,” he had said. “ Why did I speak to her? Why didn’t I just mind my own business, ignore her and walk away? No, after that first meeting I pursued her. I took her to band concerts in the park, ice cream socials, dinners. Then I wanted her, desired her, had to have her and the only way to have her was to marry her. So we were married. We took the train to Atlantic City and had a weekend honeymoon. The wedding night was a disaster. I spent the night looking out of the hotel window as my new bride cried and called me a brute. The only good thing was bathing in the ocean. He had rented a bathing suit at a bath house and spent the day jumping in the ocean waves and laying on the sand. Ethel stayed in the hotel room still upset by the requests of a husband. He bought them a house. It was a row house on Fourth Street. It was small with one bedroom, but it had a large, backyard. He saw the yard as a place to escape from the trap he had made for himself in a bad, marriage. And, so as the years passed Ethel became more of a hypochondriac, more demanding and more attention seeking. All these things at first created resentment towards her until now hated for her had manifested itself in him. He wished her dead.” After placing the sliced beets in a pot he added water from the sink and placed the pot on the back burner of the stove. He took a long look at the mason jar filled with green beans, beans that he had intended to serve to Ethel. He picked it up and carried it to the pantry. There he put it back on the shelf with the others. When he walked back into the kitchen he turned to the ice box and check the size of the block of ice. Seeing that it was just about used up he called to Ethel. “Was the ice man here this week?”, he asked. “ Probably. Someone knocked on the door, but I was too sick to get up and answer it. Besides, he’ll be here sometime next week.” “ In the meantime, the food in the ice box might go bad.” “ You could always go down the street and buy a block at Foster’s. He has ice.” “ I know that Ethel. I have Mr. Metzer deliver ice just so I don’t have to go, buy ice and carry it home. Answer the door. You know when Metzer comes to deliver.” “ Now, it’s my fault. Me, always me that causes problems. Me, never you. You must hate me.” “ You don’t know just how much I do,” he thought. “ Since you mentioned food, what are we having for dinner?”, she asked. “ I told you chicken and rice.” “ Are you cooking it in the oven or on top of the stove?” “ On top of the stove.” “ I prefer that you cook it in the oven.” “ Doing that dries it out.” “ Not if you know what you’re doing.” “ Well since you know more than me get up off of the couch and come here and cook.” “ I knew you’d say that. You always infer that my illness is just a figment of my imagination. Someday I hope you have and experience the pain I have each and every day.” “ You have no idea just how much pain you give me and have given to me day after day, month after month, year after year. You miserable bitch of a woman!”, he thought. Herbert selected a large pot with a lid placed the previously cooked chicken in the pot, added a raw, peeled onion, salt, and black pepper and placed it on top of the stove. “ I hear you, Herbert. I know exactly what you’re doing. You’re cooking the chicken on top of the stove. Sure. Do it your way. Always thinking of yourself. Not what I would like.” Ignoring Ethel’s complaining Herbert went again to the pantry and removed a jar of wax beans. These he would have with his supper. “ Herbert! I have to go to the bathroom.” “ Then go. Who’s stopping you?” “ I need help. I’m unsteady on my feet.” “ Alright, I’m coming.” “ Don’t sound so pathetic. All I’m asking for is for you to help me to the bathroom. “ Here, lean on me,” said Herbert. Once Ethel was in the bathroom and the door was closed Herbert went back to the kitchen and began peeling potatoes. Once again he was interrupted when Ethel called, “Herbert? The toilet is stopped up again.” “ You use too much toilet paper. I’ve told you about that before,” said Herbert in anger. “ Oh. Now it’s my fault. Not the fault of the toilet or the old plumbing system of this house. I cause the toilet to malfunction. The last time it overflowed when I flushed it. Me  I’m to blame.” “ Go sit on the couch and get out of my way,” he said. “ Gladly. At least there I get some comfort and relief.” “ That’s more than I get,” he thought.                                                     Chapter Three Alberta   By the time that Herbert got to the faculty lunch room he found Alberta already seated at a table. “I’m sorry for being late. I had a student who needed information on metamorphoses,” said Herbert. “ Please don’t fret Herbert. I just got here myself. Now, sit down,” Alberta replied. Herbert took a seat at the table then opened the brown, paper bag containing his sandwich. “And, how are you today Alberta,” he asked. “ Fine, and you?” “ The same. Always the same.” “ You sound very melancholy. Is there something wrong?” “ Nothing that you should be concerned about. How is your mother?” “ Also fine. Herbert, I need an answer to whether or not you are going to escort me to the concert.” “ You know how I feel about protecting your reputation.” “ Please, we’ve been through with that bit of conversation for some time.”” “ Very well. Your persistence overwhelms me. What time shall I call on you the night of the event?” “ Don’t come to the house. I shall take the trolly and meet you in front of the Academy Of Music.” “ Fine, if that’s what you want.” “ I do. Now that that’s settled. I brought you a piece of cake that I baked. I hope you like chocolate.” “ I do, actually.” ************* Alberta Collins, young, attractive and intelligent had been raised by just her mother after the death of Alberta’s father. As a result, she grew up under the system of rules of the Edwardian theory of proper ways of a young lady. First, was chastity which necessitated being properly being chaperoned when in the presence of young men. Second, was the need for manners. Third, was learning the ways of operating a household when it came time for marriage. In these things, Alberta had been well schooled. When it came to education she saw herself unlike the young women of her time. Others were content to marry and more or less become the property of their husbands. They were satisfied, allowing their husbands to make all or nearly all of the decisions regarding her life. Not so when it came to Alberta. She saw herself not a subservient to men or an equal. In her mind she was superior. It was not she that went to the homes of young men to begin a courtship. No, young men came to her and she delighted knowing just how disappointed they were when she refused their proposals. Yet, it was older men that she fancied. Older men were more mature, set in their ways and in some cases, educated. Alberta was educated having graduated from high school and then Normal School. She had prepared herself for a profession in which she could perform for many years. At the same time, she was confident, knowing that she was much more qualified than many of her male counterparts at the school. Deep inside she resented the fact that some of the teachers at the high school operated under a mere high school diploma. One such individual was Herbert Dingledine. Often she would watch him as he sat alone at a table in the faculty lunch room eating a sandwich brought from home as he read a newspaper. She noticed that the newspaper was not the same every day and realized that in all probability the man was reading discarded papers left on the trolly car by people each morning. She also noticed that he had a habit of stroking his mustache after each bite of sandwich or sip of tea as if he was afraid that it had changed shape or color. He was married and from what she could determine not happily. To her, he presented himself to be the perfect object for her venture. She would seduce him. Not sexually, but mentally. She wanted him to want her, to need her, to want to be with her constantly. He would become her subordinate, doing what she said, what she ordered. Alberta smiled to herself as she watched him from across the faculty lunch room. On the evening of Friday, November sixteen, 1900 Herbert Dingledine stood in front of the Academy Of Music, located at Broad and Locust Streets in Philadelphia. A cool, night, autumn breeze gently blew issuing a warning that winter was on the way. As each trolly car stopped and discharged passengers Herbert looked anxiously, searching for the sight of Alberta Collins. From time to time he removed his pocket watch from his vest pocket, noted the time then replaced it, only to check the time again. Finally, he saw her. She crossed the street and upon seeing him waved a hand. When she stood in front of him she asked, “Have you been waiting long?” “ No,” he answered with a lie. “ Good, then let’s go inside. I want to get seats as close as possible near the front row in the balcony,” she said. Herbert smiled. Alberta was attired in a black, wool suit consisting of a skirt and jacket, white blouse and a black straw hat with feathers. “ Ethel has a suit just like Alberta’s. It cost me almost thirteen dollars,” he thought. “Then I suggest we go inside,” he said, delighted when she took his arm. They were able to find two seats in the second row of the balcony and once seated and comfortable Alberta reached up with two hands and removed her hat by first removing the long, hat pin. As she did Herbert read the program. He was happy to learn that one of the numbers to be played by the orchestra was Rimsky-Korsacov’s Flight Of The Bumble Bee. He had heard the tune played on a record player and was amazed at the sound of the violins portraying the sound of a bee in flight. After that the orchestra would perform, playing, Scheherazade. Something Herbert had not heard before. Reading the program he learned that the music was in relation to the Tales Of a Thousand And One nights. He looked forwards to hearing it. After the concert, the couple made their way out of the balcony onto the lobby and then, outside. Alberta turned and said, “Thank you, Herbert, for escorting me.” “ Actually, the pleasure was all mine. Thank you for inviting me. Now, if I may, I’d like to escort you home.” “ Thank you, no. As I mentioned, my cousin, a member of the orchestra will see me home. I will wait for him here.” “ Then, may I wait with you?” “ Of course. He’ll be easy to find in the crowd. He’ll be carrying a cello in its case.” “ In that event, I believe he is approaching as we speak.” “ Ah yes. Herbert, allow me to introduce you to my cousin Andrew,” said Alberta. Herbert shook hands with the man and said, “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you sir. May I also say how much I and I assume we, enjoyed the concert.” “ Glad you enjoyed it,” said Andrew.” “ It must be a difficult score to play,” Herbert continued. “ Actually there is much cello in the Sinbad And The Vessel Is Lost. Duplicating the sound of a storm is what is required in our section,” Andrew related. “ I see. Well, in any event, the concert was superb. Now, that you are here to escort Alberta home I bid you both a good night,” said Herbert as he tipped his hat. When Herbert arrived home it was nearly ten o’clock in the evening. He quietly entered the living room expecting to see Ethel in her usual position on the sofa. To his surprise she wasn’t there. He stood silently for a moment listening. Soon he detected the sound of her soft snoring. She was in bed and asleep. On the following Monday morning, he looked forward to seeing and talking with Alberta at lunch. Much to his disappointment upon his arrival in the lunch room, he saw that Helen Morris, a history teacher sat at the table with Alberta. Not knowing what to do he stood in silence looking at her and at the same time held his brown paper bag containing his sandwich. He saw an empty table and turned to walk to it when he heard Alberta call, “Mister Dingledine, won’t you join us?” He turned with a questionable look on his face, then forcing a smile, said, “Of course. I don’t want to interrupt anything,” as he approached the table. “ You won’t be. Sit down and have your lunch. I’m sure you know Miss Morris,” said Alberta. “ Yes of course. How are you, Miss Morris?” “ Fine Mr. Dingledine and may I ask how you are and also your wife, Ethel?”, asked Helen. “ Ethel I’m afraid is poorly, but then again its been said that she has a delicate condition,” he replied. “ Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that Mister Dingledine. Surely looking after a woman in declining health must be burdensome”, said Alberta all the while enjoying Herbert’s discomfort in speaking about his wife. “ One does what one has to do,” Herbert responded. “ I find it sad that our youth and vitality leaves us too soon. Leaving us aging and depending on someone else to take care of us,” said Alberta looking directly at Herbert. “ I assume that you’re referring to the situation with your mother,” said Helen. “ Of course,” Alberta answered. “ Well, I must leave you two. I have things t do before my next class. It was nice seeing you Mister Dingledine, said Helen Morris. Dingledine rose out of his chair as Helen got up and left. He sat down again and slowly reached into the paper bag for his sandwich. “Well Herbert, soon it will be Thanksgiving and then Christmas. Time is rushing by, don’t you think?” “ Yes, yes indeed.” “ Have you decided on what you will give your wife for Christmas?’, asked Alberta. “ Yes, a bed jacket.” “ I see. You must think that it’s appropriate” “ Yes, I do.” “ I must mention something Herbert and I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. You see, the school will be closed for the holidays. That means I won’t be able to see you. As your friend I want you to know that I worry about you. My question is how will I know how you are during that time?” “ Why do you worry about me?”, he asked. “ Herbert, I’m sure by now that you know that you and I have a certain kind of friendship. May I suggest something?” “ Certainly.” “ Will you meet me on Saturdays?” “ Of course. Where?” “ The Public Library.” “ On Chestnut Street?” “ Yes, silly. It’s the only one.” “ I have heard that it is not very clean there,’ he said. “ I said meet me. We don’t have to stay.” “ Fine. Then I’ll leave everything else up to you.” “ Of course, as it should be,” said Alberta with a smile. On certain Saturdays, those always selected by Alberta, Herbert would leave the house and take the trolly to Chestnut Street. There he waited patiently for her to arrive. When she did they would then proceed to one of the many museums in the city.Again, it would Alberta who selected just which museum they would attend for the day. One day it could be the Philadelphia Museum of Art, the Franklin Institute or The Pennsylvania Museum of fine Art. In her way of thinking it would not be too unusual for two teachers from the same school to be seen together. They could always claim that they were researching either art or science for a curriculum for the high school. After their day together Herbert would race back to the library and remove and sign for Darwin’s Theory Of Evolution. Carrying the book home he would convince Ethel that he had spent the day doing research for the purpose of improving his lesson plans. She never questioned him. Usually, each evening after Alberta saw to her mother's needs she would bathe and dressed in her nightgown and robe would then sit in the parlor and either read or listen to music played on the phonograph. She preferred classical music, but on occasion listened to such recordings as Arthur Collin’s ( no relation) “Hello My Baby.” Other evenings she would sit quietly in a rocking chair and think. Deep in thought, she would plan her next move on Herbert Dingledine. “ I must become more daring, exhibit more of my charms. Perhaps I will accidentally expose an ankle. Still, I must maintain my position as a young lady. I must not be too obvious. I want him to want me, want me so bad that it causes him heartache,” she thought. On their next, Saturday meeting the couple walked past the hanging paintings. Alberta stopped in front of the painting, “The Huntsman And Dogs’, by Winslow Homer. She slowly turned her head, first to the left, then to the right. Seeing that no one else was about she said in a low voice, “Herbert, I’m afraid that we must stop seeing each other.” “ Why?”, asked Herbert. “ Because you see in my opinion there is no future for us.” “ Of course there is Alberta.” “ How? You’re married and I see no movement on your part to get a divorce.” “ I’ll figure something out. Just give me time.” “ You have had plenty of time. Let me ask you. Do you love me?” “ Of course dear one. Keep in mind that I’m married to a sickly woman. I’m certain that one of the conditions of a divorce would be that she is well taken care of in the final decree. That would probably mean giving her the house and a weekly income.” “ Is that so bad? We have my house. Right now it’s mother’s, but eventually, I will inherit it. We can live very nicely there. “ You know what my weekly salary is, don’t you?” “ I’m sure that we could manage.” “ I’ll think of something.” “ You say you will, but somehow I don’t think you will.” “ Believe me, Alberta, we’ll be together just as soon as I can get rid of Ethel.” Alberta smiled, “ Alright Herbert, do it soon. I’m getting older each and every day. I want a husband and children. You do want children, don’t you Herbert?” “ Of course dear one. Of course.” “ Fine. Now, I fancy a light lunch with a cup of tea. Come, we’ve seen enough art for one day.” After a day out Alberta returned home. When she entered the parlor she was met by her mother. “How was your day dear?”. Asked her mother. “ Fine mother.” “ A young man called for you while you were out.” “ Really, who?” “ A Mister Alistair. Homer Alistair.” Alberta stood thinking for a moment trying to remember the name and attempting to connect the name with a face. Then, she remembered. The young man was a substitute teacher who had taught at the high school a few times replacing members of the faculty who were either ill or not able to teach on any particular day for any reason. As she recalled, Alistair was tall, muscular and had dark hair. He was clean shaven and handsome. Still, he wasn’t what she wanted in a man. To her, he was too young. Good looking young men did not have the patience or the will to do as they were told by a young woman. Young, single men could play the field. She wanted a man who wanted her, desired her, needed her and was willing to do anything just to be accepted and gain her love. She wanted a man like Herbert Dingledine. At present, she enjoyed the game she was playing. She was winning the game. That evening she sat in the rocker, this time in the dark. There were times when she enjoyed the darkness. This was one of those times. Darkness had the illusion of aiding sorcery, something that unknown to others Alberta studied from time to time. It was the reason that made her want to control men, older men. Right now, she was in control of Herbert. He was bending to her will. Soon, very soon, he would bow to her wishes. He would divorce his wife, be forced to give her everything. Then, practically destitute he would be forced to come to her. It would be on her terms. When he was finally broke of finances, property, and reputation she would turn him away. By then he would have nothing left to offer her, only his love. She could find love anywhere and anytime she wanted it. She smiled to herself in the dark.                                                                                 Chapter Four Death   On a Saturday when Alberta made no plans for them Herbert sat in his living room reading. Across from him seated on the sofa, Ethel watched him. “So, you’re staying home on a Saturday. What’s wrong? Is the brothel closed?,” she asked. Herbert looked at her astonished that she would ask such a thing. “I don’t know what you are talking about and I certainly don’t visit brothels,” he answered. “ Don’t lie to me. I know you’re whoring around. You leave here on Saturday mornings and come back smelling of Lily Of The Valley. I do not use fragrance, so you can’t say you picked up the aroma from me.” “ Ethel, you’re being foolish.” “ Foolish am I? You forget that I know how long it takes you to develop a lesson plan. This one that you’ve been working on has taken almost two months. I might be ill, but I’m not stupid.” “ For you to even suggest such a thing is not only wrong  but it’s insulting.” “ Hogwash!” “ Have it your way, but if I was being unfaithful I would have plenty of reason to do it. You aren’t the most romantic woman in Philadelphia.” “ Here we go again. You, making the demands of a husband. I will not be a slave to your depravity.” “ Depravity? All I want is the normal relations between a husband and his wife.” “ Sure, you’d like to see me die in childbirth, wouldn’t you?” “ Woman, I don’t care how you die. I just want you to die,” he thought. “ Ethel, I’ve heard enough. Think what you want, even if you’re wrong. I’ll be outside in the shed.’ “ Fine, run away like the weak individual you are. Just make sure that you’re back in time to make supper and put down more poison at the back door.” Still angry, Herbert opened the door to the shed. There he had an old kitchen chair that he used when he had to sit and work on a project. He took a seat and began to think. “ What a terrible life I lead. A shrew for a wife. One that stands in my way of happiness , perhaps with another woman. A woman who shares my interests in the arts, music, theater, literature, with the same religion. I’m stuck with a woman who does nothing from morning to night, except whining about her imagined health problems. If she were really ill from all of the sicknesses she has claimed over the years she would have been dead by now. Oh, how I wish she were.” His thoughts were interrupted when he heard his name called. “Herbert, nice to see you home on a Saturday at last. What have you been up to recently?’, said John Kramer, leaning over the fence. “ Hello, John. To tell you the truth I’ve been at the library on Saturdays doing research for a new lesson plan I have in mind. How have you been?” “ Not too bad. How’s Ethel?” “ The same, always the same.” “ So, what brings you out to the shed. Your garden days are over until Spring,” said Kramer. “ Just rearranging things and taking inventory. I have to buy more Paris green,” Dingledine answered. “ Does that stuff really work?” “ So far it has, I use Bergers. It’s supposed t be the best.” “ In my opinion poison is poison.” “ Yes, but I think there are different kinds and strengths. I want to be sure that it works.” “ Did it solve all of your problems?”, asked Kramer. “ Almost, not quite. You know Ethel. She needs more.” “ Well, good talking to you Herbert.” “ Stay well John.” After spending two hours in the shed doing nothing more than killing time Herbert looked at hs pocket watch, noticed the time and decided that it was time to begin preparing the evening meal. He closed and locked the shed door then made his way to the backdoor. He entered the laundry room and then the pantry. In the pantry, he removed a Mason jar filled with green beans and a jar of yellow beans. He then carried both into the kitchen. “ It’s about time you came inside and got supper ready. It’s not going to cook itself, you know,” said Ethel loudly. “ It’s early yet. Besides, what I have in mind won’t take long,” he answered. “ What are we having, may I ask?” “ Pork chops, boiled potatoes and string beans.” “ You say string beans. I hope to heaven that you mean green beans when it comes to me.” “ Naturally.” “ I didn’t hear you mention biscuits.” “ I didn’t make biscuits.” “ Why not?” “ First of all I didn’t think of biscuits and second of all I don’t have time to make them.” “ You could have taken the time to make them. No, you have to sit out there in your shed doing God only knows what. Two hours, that’s how long you were out there. Two hours that could have been spent making and baking biscuits. You know I like biscuits, but do you care? I don’t think so Herbert.” “ You’ll just have to be satisfied with bread and butter. Anyway, I usually make biscuits for the Sunday meal. I’ll make them for you tomorrow.” “ Oh no. I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way just to please me. Forget it. I'm used to going without.” “ Tell me please, just what do you go without? I wait on you hand and foot. I cook your meals, clean the house and even make the bed in the morning before I go to work. On my way home from work I do the shopping. If I’m not buying groceries I’m at the pharmacy purchasing headache powders, lotions or lineaments. You’re either constipated or have diarrhea. I have to spend time telling the druggist that you either need something to make you shit, or to stop it. Headaches, pains, upset stomach, dizziness, you have them all. Funny, your doctor has never once diagnosed one particular disease that you’re suffering from. And, speaking of doctors, you’ve had three different ones in two years.” “ They were inferior.” “ I’ll tell you what’s inferior, your mental state.” “ Well, if you don’t think I’m I’ll, try this. I’m sick of explaining everything to you. Just call me when supper is ready.” Forty minutes later Herbert said in a loud voice, “Dinner is ready.” “ I’ll be there as soon as I can. I just hope that I don’t fall in my weakened condition,” said Ethel.” “ I hope you don’t fall either. As fat as you are I’d have to replace the floor boards.” “ Oh, you’re cruel Herbert Dingledine, cruel.” “ Just sit down and eat.” “ Very well. Pass me the green beans.” It was shortly after midnight when he heard Ethel call to him. In a daze while half asleep he realized that she wasn’t in bed. “What’s wrong?”, he asked. “ I can’t see. Everything is a blur. My fingers and toes are numb and I’ve been on the toilet since ten o’clock.” “ Here we go again. It’s nothing new for you Ethel. Your vision is always blurred. That’s why you have three pairs of eyeglasses which may I say never work.” “ Herbert, please don’t scold me. I’m sick really sick. I don’t know what’s wrong.” Herbert got close to her and took a good look. This time she appeared different. First of all, she was wet from perspiration. Her lips were blue an indication that she wasn’t receiving enough oxygen. “Can you make it back to bed?”, he asked. “ I’ll try.” “ Here, let me help you,” he said putting his arm around her waist. As he did he noticed her trembling, something she had never done before. With her in bed again he noticed her difficulty in breathing. He knew what he had to do.”I’ll be right back Ethel. I have to wake the Kramer's and have them call for an ambulance.” “ Hurry Herbert. Please hurry.” Still dressed in his nightshirt, Herbert raced next door and began banging on Kramer’s front door with his closed fist. “John! John! Wake up. I need you! I need you to call for an ambulance! Ethel’s very sick.” Herbert saw the light go on, but it seemed like hours before John Kramer opened his front door. “Ethel, you say? What’s wrong?”, asked Kramer. “ She’s not breathing very well. Please call an ambulance. You have a telephone. I don’t.” “ Very well, just calm down. I’ll call. You go back to the house and stay with your wife.” “ I will John. I will. Please ask them to hurry.” ******************** Hours later Herbert paced back and forth in the hospital lobby. He was confused. Wanting her to live meant continuing to live with her in the same manner. Wanting her dead was unchristian, something that he might face later in the hereafter. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a voice say, “Mister Dingledine?” Herbert turned to see a man dressed in a white surgical gown. “Yes?”, said, Herbert. “ Mister Dingledine. We did everything we could in an attempt to save your wife. I’m sad to tell you that we lost her.” “ My wife is dead?’, asked Herbert. “ Yes, sir. You have my deepest sympathy.” “ Herbert fought the smile trying to form on his lips and hoped that the doctor didn’t notice. “Do you know what caused her death?”, asked Herbert. “ Right now it appears to be the result of botulism. Do you know what she had to eat last?” “ Pork chops, potatoes and green beans, bread and butter and coffee.” “ I assume that at this time of year the beans were canned, not fresh.” “ That’s correct. I canned them myself,” said Herbert. “ Yet, you didn’t seem to be affected”, said the doctor.” “ I didn’t have the green beans.” “ I see. Well, with your permission we will run some tests in order to make a determination. We’ll let you know of our results. Should you need anything, records or anything feel free to call me. “I’m Doctor Francis Pittman.” “ Thank you, doctor. First, I have to make arrangements for my wife’s funeral.” “ Of course. I understand.” Three days later on a cold, winter, February morning Herbert stood at Ethel’s graveside. He watched as the undertaker's staff, acting as pallbearers placed the coffin then walk away. Father Holmes then began to speak. “I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord; he that believeth in me, though he be dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.” As Father Holmes spoke Herbert stood deep in thought. “ He was free. He was single again, able to come and go as he pleased. Ethel’s voice would not be heard again. Her complaints, her whining, her imaginary ills. It was all gone. Now, there is a chance for a new life. I can marry again, sire children, travel if I so desire. With Alberta, I can sell the house I live in and pocket the money, put it in the bank, have a nest egg for both of us. I can’t wait to see her and tell her of my plans.” Herbert returned to work on a Monday morning. When he did he accepted the condolences from the members of the faculty. For some strange reason, Alberta did not offer words of comfort. Instead, she simply said, “How are you, Herbert?” “ Fine. I must speak with you, Alberta. I have so much to tell you,” he said. “ Herbert, lower your voice. People will hear us and make assumptions,” said Alberta. “ Let them. don’t you understand, I’m free.” “ We will talk later, but not here in school.” “ Then, where and when?”, he asked. “ I will let you know. In the meantime, we will keep our liaison private, as it has always been.” “ I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand.” “ Good, now we will meet in the lunchroom as usual. I want you to act as though you are still saddened by the loss of your wife. Not as a suitor after my attention. Do you understand?” “ Yes, Alberta.” On Saturday afternoon Herbert took the trolly and got off at the stop nearest to the street where Alberta lived. Single now, there was no need to sneak around or have meetings at the library or museums. He walked briskly to the house, climbed the three steps to the porch and knocked lightly on the front door. A few minutes later Alberta opened the door and looked at him. “Good afternoon Alberta,” he said “ Hello, Herbert. Please, come in. Give me your hat. We can sit and talk in the parlor,” she said. “ Excellent. I have so much I want to tell you,” he replied. “ Before you do, may I offer you a cup of tea?” “ No. No, thank you.” “ Very well. Now have a seat and tell me what’s on your mind,” she instructed. “ Before I do may I ask, where is your mother?” “ Visiting her sister. We are quite alone.” “ In that case, I shall begin. As you know the death of Ethel leaves me free now to marry. All you have to do love is announce our engagement and set a date for the wedding.” “ I shall do no such thing!” “ Why not?” “ Marrying so quick after your wife’s death would indicate that we had been having an affair while she was alive.” “ So what? Actually in a way we were.” “ But never intimate. Keep in mind that people would assume that we were.” “ Alberta, I don’t care. Marry me.” Herbert, I suggest that you have a mourning period before we do anything.” “ Fine and just how long would you suggest?” “ At least a year.” “ A year?” “ Certainly. That way our being together would appear to be natural. I would be seen as the young woman who offers and gives comfort to a man who had lost his wife. You, on the other hand, would be seen as a man looking to fill the void in his life by marrying again. Actually, you would be seen as a suitor.” After Herbert left Alberta sat alone thinking. “ Things have changed. I never expected that his wife would die. Now, he’s free, independent, able to make decisions, decisions that I might not necessarily like. The death has not only freed him of Ethel it has also made him potentially free from me. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. I could go along with seeing him, but there is no adventure in doing it. I enjoyed the surreptitious meetings, because of the danger of being seen together. That will not be the same now. There is no danger, no thrill. It’s all gone.” Herbert walked into the saloon. As he did he enjoyed the feeling of being free, able to stop and have a cold beer without having to explain just why he had the smell of stale beer and cigar smoke on his person. The ten cents he paid for a beer in Ethel’s mind could have been used to pay for her medications, medications that never worked. He took a sip of beer from the glass then placed it on top of the bar. Reaching into his rear pocket he removed a clean handkerchief then used it to blot the foam that had adhered to his mustache. He looked around, saw other men, mostly working men. Some sat at tables, others, like him stood at the bar. When no one was watching, he lifted one foot and placed it on the brass rail. After he did, he suddenly felt manly. It had been a long, long time since he had that feeling before. Now, he didn’t feel different or weak. Ethel’s death was as if someone had lifted a tremendous burden from his shoulders. He was free and he enjoyed being free. “Bartender? Another draft please,” he ordered.                                                                           Chapter Five Investigation   It was on a warm, April morning that Herbert Dingledine decided that he could finally begin work on his next spring garden. The first thing he had to do was spread compost over the garden area and then till it into the ground. He walked to the shed, unlocked the padlock and opened the shed door. Then, putting on his gardening gloves took a pitchfork, placed it in the wheel barrel and pushed it out to the place where he wanted to work. Then he spent the next two hours spreading and tilling. As the sun grew higher in the sky the temperature of the air increased causing him to perspire. He stopped. Leaning on the pitchfork and using his handkerchief wiped the sweat from his brow and the inside of his hat, paying attention to the leather hatband. “ Mister Dingledine?” Herbert turned to the sound of an unfamiliar voice. He saw the head of a man standing on his property. “ Yes, can I help you?”, asked Herbert. “ I hope so. I’m Detective Sergeant Frank Bernhardt of the Philadelphia Police Department,” said the man showing his badge. “ What can I do for you?” “ I’d like to ask you a few questions.” “ About what?” “ The death of your wife, Ethel.” “ Fine, what would you like to know?” Bernhardt looked around then said, “This isn’t a very good place for us to talk. May we go inside the house?” “ Certainly, come this way.” The Detective followed Herbert through the back door, into the pantry, kitchen and finally, the living room. “Have a seat, anywhere,” said Herbert. “ Thank you. Now then, it has come to our attention that your wife, Ethel died in the hospital as a result of what appeared to be food poisoning at the time,” said Bernhardt. “ That’s correct. As a matter of fact that’s what I was told by the attending physician,” Herbert replied. “ I believe the doctor also told you that test would be conducted just to affirm his decision, correct?” “ Yes, as I recall he did.” “ And, have you received any reports regarding ant further tests?” “ No, not as yet.” “ Well, Doctor Pittman is convinced that the cause of your wife’s death was the ingestion of bad, green beans.” “ Yes, that’s correct. As a matter of fact, he asked me if I had green beans for supper.” “ Did you?” “ No, I don’t like them.” “ Yes, I know. It seems that you prefer yellow beans or so I’ve been told.” “ I do. I do indeed. I take it that you’ve spoken to Doctor Pittman.” “ Speaking of green beans, I noticed as we came through your pantry that the shelves a full of Mason jars containing vegetables.” “ Yes, gardening is one of my hobbies. Cooking and preserving is another.” “ Would you be so kind as to give me a jar of your green beans? I would like to perform tests on them,” said Bernhardt. “ For botulism?” “ Of course.” “ Certainly. I’ll go get it for you now.” “ And, perhaps a jar of the yellow beans.” “ As I said, I ate the yellow beans. They seem fine.” “ Like you, I enjoy yellow beans.’ “ Then take a jar with my compliments” On Monday, at ten o’clock in the morning, Sergeant Bernhardt sat in the office of Samuel Jennings, Principal of the high school where Herbert was employed. “Thank you for seeing me Mr. Jennings. Allow me to tell you exactly why I’m here. A member of your faculty, a Mr. Herbert Dingledine recently lost his wife. Her death was either accidental or perhaps something else happened to her. Unfortunately, my job is to ascertain the facts. I hope you understand.” “ I do indeed. However, when it comes to Herbert Dingledine may I say that he is an exceptionally, excellent teacher. He is always on time, presents his lesson plans to the head of the science curriculum and spends time with his students, in particular, those that might be failing.” “ How is he regarded by other members of the faculty?’, asked the Sergeant. “ As far as I know, very well. I know that he is very friendly with Miss Alberta Collins. She is an English teacher here.” “ Friendly, you say,” said Bernhardt as he wrote Alberta’s name in his notebook. “ Oh yes. They often have lunch together in the faculty lunch room. Other times Herbert has helped Alberta with her lesson plans.” “ Help her how. She teaches English. He teaches biology.” “ As I recall, they toured the various art museums searching for artwork related to Shakespeare. Alberta planned to include Shakespeare’s plays in her classroom. Such things as a painting of Ophelia or The Winter’s Tale would be a type of teaching aid, you see.” “ Yes, of course. Well, thank you very much, Mr. Jennings. You have been a great help,” said Bernhardt. “ You’re welcome, sir. I trust that Mr. Dingldine is in no trouble with the law,” “ That’s not for me to determine sir. Thank you again.” The following Saturday, Frank Bernhardt knocked on the front door of the home owned by Harriet Collins. “Alberta! Someone's at the door,” she said loudly. “ I’ll get it mother,” said Alberta as she made her way to the entrance She opened the door and saw a tall man with a heavy, brown mustache, dressed in a brown suit and wearing a tan derby. “Yes?” she asked. “ Miss Alberta Collins?” “ Yes?” “ Sorry to bother you, Miss. I’m Sergeant Frank Bernhardt of the Philadelphia Police Department. I’d like to ask you some questions if I may,” he said showing his badge.” “ About what, may I ask?” “ About a Mister Herbert Dingledine.” Alberta stepped out onto the porch, closing the front door behind her. “Sergeant, I’d be glad to answer any questions you may have about Mister Dingledine, but I’m afraid your questions along with my answers might upset my mother. Could we do this another time?” “ Certainly Miss. Here is my card. Call me at headquarters and we can set up a meeting. We can meet at the location you choose or at headquarters. Your choice.” “ Thank you for being so understanding,” said Alberta. “ My pleasure.”’ At two PM the following Saturday Frank Bernhardt walked into a place called, Lilly’s Tea Room. When he did he quickly scanned the people seated at tables with his eyes. He saw Alberta Collins sitting at a corner table in the rear of the room. He slowly walked towards her as he removed the derby from his head. He stopped, looked at her and said, “Thank you for meeting with me.” Alberta smiled. “Please sit down.” Bernhardt took a seat and when a young waitress appeared next to their table said, “Just coffee for me, cream and sugar.” “ That’s odd, a robust man such as you I would think that you would prefer your coffee black,” said Alberta. “ I must confess to having a sweet tooth, as they say.” “ I see, now just what do you wish to know about Mister Dingledine?, she asked. Bernhardt smiled. “Let’s start with the relationship between the two of you, he said. “ Platonic at best,” she answered. “ Really, I’ve been told that you and he have lunch together at the same table nearly every day at school.” “ He is a member of the faculty. All of us eat at the same time. Us sharing a table means absolutely, nothing.” “ Possibly to you, not so to others. There is even the possibility of an amorous liaison between you two.” “ I can’t imagine where or how you could make such a conclusion.” “ Well, the fact that you and Herbert Dingledine had meetings at the public library on certain Saturdays and toured the local museums together points in that direction.” “ Sergeant, I’ll have you know that I am a respectable, young lady. Mister Dingledine at one time was married. His wife died recently. Nonetheless, I assure you there was nothing remotely inappropriate in our relationship.” “ The fact that his wife died recently is why I’m here talking to you today.” “ What do you mean? It’s been said that his wife died from a case of botulism.” “ I know what’s been said. Now, tell me and believe me, what you say to me will be kept confidential. Tell me, was there any romantic notions on the part of Herbert Dingledine towards you?” Alberta blushed. “Well, I must admit that he did attempt to woo me. Like I said. I am a lady.” Bernhardt smiled. “Please explain the word, woo.” “ Very well. He more or less attempted to become a suitor. I must admit that at first I was flattered. However, due to the fact that he was a married man I resisted his advances.” “ Yet, you chose to keep his friendship.” “ Yes.” “ Why? Most women would be insulted by such actions from a married man.” “ I, I, I guess I felt sorry for him,” Alberta stammered. “ I see. Well, I think we’ve talked enough for one day. I’ll be in touch if I need to talk to you again. Now, then give me the check. Your tea and crumpet is being paid for by the Philadelphia Police Department.” ******************   Two weeks later Detective Sergeant Frank Bernhardt sat at his desk reading a laboratory report. “ Analysis of blood, hair and tissue samples from the deceased, Ethel Thompson Dingledine, submitted, examined and tested produced the following: All samples tested revealed a large amount of arsenic-containing copper. It is possible that the subject, Ethel Thompson Dingledine ingested low amounts of arsenic over a period of time resulting in her eventual death. Tests conducted of the canned string beans,(green) resulted in small traces of arsenic being found. Examination of the jar containing string beans, (yellow) found no traces of arsenic. Tests were also conducted for the presence of botulism. These tests were negative.” Bernhardt smiled. “ So, it appears that the little man got tired of waiting for his wife to either divorce him or die. His affair with Alberta Collins gives him a motive. Actually, Alberta knows more than she’s telling. I’ll work on her later. Right now, I need to find the source of the arsenic. I’ll get a search warrant.”, he thought. Two days later Herbert stood in the sunshine in his backyard as police detectives after searching his home then began searching his tool shed. “I’ve got it!” said a detective, to Sergeant Bernhardt. The Sergeant walked to the doorway of the shed and took a green, cardboard container of Berger’s Paris Green, marked poison. He then walked back to where Herbert stood watching. “ What can you tell me about this,” asked The Sergeant. “ I use it to kill garden pests, rats, and mice,” said Herbert. “ Well, for the time being, I have another use for it,” said Bernhardt. “ Such as?”, asked Herbert. “ Such as evidence in accordance with your wife’s death.” “ What are you inferring, Sergeant?” “ Not a thing sir. Any inference about your wife’s death will come from the County Prosecutor, not from me.” After the police left. Herbert tossed his copy of the search warrant onto the kitchen table. “ A search warrant? Of all things. It’s the same as accusing me of being responsible for Ethel’s death. Me, the one who waited on her hand and foot. Sure, she was a constant pain in the ass and I certainly wished her dead many times, but I would never kill her. After all, my plan was To seek a divorce when the time was right. That way I would have been free legally to marry Alberta. Divorce was never mentioned because Ethel died before I could discuss it with her. Even the doctor at the hospital said her death appeared to have been caused by food poisoning. Now, the police are generalizing. I believe that they are manufacturing evidence to be used against me. Am I afraid? No, because I didn’t do anything. My only transgression was in seeing Alberta. Still, no infidelity took place. Basically, I did nothing wrong. Nothing at all,” he thought. The next day Herbert stood helplessly in the faculty lunch room. Alberta sat having lunch with Tom Fisher and Margaret Binder. She ignored him completely pretending he wasn’t even in the room. With his feelings hurt he made his way to a table in the far end of the room. There he sat and tried to eat his sandwich. He could only manage to take a few bites, then soon learned that he had lost his appetite. He placed the rest of the lunch back into the brown paper bag, got up and as he was leaving tossed the bag into the garbage container. Faculty members were required to work on campus from eight o’clock in the morning until four PM. At three forty-five PM, Herbert made his way out of his classroom, then the school building he then walked swiftly to the corner of the street knowing that Alberta would arrive there and wait for the trolly to take her home. At four fifteen he saw her approaching, walking slowly using one hand to raise the hem of her skirt in order not to get it soiled from the sidewalk. When she saw him, she stopped. Then, with a bothered look on her face approached him. “Herbert? What are you doing here?”, she asked. “ I need to speak with you.” “ We have nothing to say.” “ Alberta, how can you say such a thing? What has happened? Did I do something wrong? If so please tell me so I can rectify the situation.” “ To tell you the truth Herbert, I don’t know what you did or what you’re doing. I do know that whatever it is it brought the police to my home. They questioned me Herbert. Questioned me about you and us. They seem to know about our meeting at the library and the museums. How could they know that Herbert? How?” “ Very simple. Mr. Jennings told them about us visiting art museums seeking paintings in relation to your Shakespeare lesson plan. He told me right after the detective left the building.” “ Why didn’t you tell me?” “ I didn’t want to upset you. Besides what we did was innocent.” “ You and I know that, but others may think differently.” “ Then let them.” “ It’s not as easy for a woman Herbert. I have my reputation to protect.” “ And I appreciate that Alberta. Haven’t I always behaved like a gentleman when I’m with you?” “ Yes, still, with the police asking questions about the two of us it places me in a precarious position.” “ How so?” “ You were married at the time. Remember?” “ I’m single now.” “ Please Herbert. Right now I’m very confused. Here comes my trolly. Goodby.” Late that night Herbert sat alone in the dark living room. Deep in thought, he wondered just what had gone wrong with his relationship with Alberta. “ She is not the same. Why? I’ve searched my mind repeatedly in an attempt o find the cause of her indifference. Is it because of the police questioning her? What difference does that make? We’re both adults and as I have reasoned before, nothing out of the ordinary ever took place. She knows that. Then, why has she pushed me away? At one time she told me that we had to wait a year. I disagreed but gave in to her requests. Now, she’s different. Why?”                   Chapter Six Theodore Henderson   Herbert Dingeldine sat on a cot with his back against a brick wall. He stared at a cockroach that attempted to climb the partition across the jail cell only to see it go up approximately three feet then lose it’s footing and fall to the concrete floor. Then, it would try to climb again. The sound of footsteps caused Herbert to turn his head. Then, he saw the Turnkey who stood unlocking the cell door. “Alright Dingledine, get up. Your lawyers here to see you,” said the Turnkey. “ Lawyer? I don’t have a lawyer. Even if I did I couldn’t pay him. I don’t know what this is all about,” he thought as he walked to the now, open jail cell barred door. He followed the Turnkey down a hallway and as he did he glanced at the cells on both sides of the hall, seeing most of them empty. Others held prisoners, arrested for various crimes. Near the end of the hallway, the jailer stopped and opened the door and said, “Here is your client sir. Just call for me when you’re finished.” “ Thank you, officer,” the man replied. Herbert stood looking at a tall, handsome, slim man. He judged him to be in his mid-thirties. He was attired in a dark blue suit, white shirt, collar and black tie. The man was clean shaven. “Mister Herbert Dingledine?” “ Yes?”, Herbert answered weakly. “ My names is Theodore Henderson, Attorney At Law. I have been appointed by the court to represent you.” “ I see. Forgive me, but I have no idea why I’m here or even why I was arrested. They’re accusing me of killing my wife. Something that I didn’t do.” “ We’ll discuss that part of your case in just a while. Right now, be advised that I have read the indictment against you. I have requested that you post bail. That request was denied by the court. That means, unfortunately, that you must remain here in the city jail until such time your case is brought up on the judge's calendar. “ Now, let’s get to the facts. I want you to know that anything you tell me is protected under the law as a lawyer, client privilege. So, Herbert, let me warn you. My job is to represent you in court and to convince a jury of twelve men that you are innocent. In order to do that I must know everything. We, you and I can not be subjected to any surprises by the prosecution. So now, I’ll come right to the point. Did you kill your wife, Ethel Thompson Dingledine? “ No, sir. I did not.” “ Very well. I have not had the time to read and go over the State’s case. I assure you that I will. Once I know what and why they’re accusing you of this crime then and only then can I prepare your defense. Unfortunately, while I’m doing that you must sit and wait here in jail. My only advice to you sir is be confident in the fact that I am working in your best interest. Do you have any questions?” “ No, not at the moment. I’m sure that right after you leave a thousand questions will come to mind,” Herbert replied. “ Well then, try to remember them. It was nice meeting you Herbert,” said Henderson extending his hand in friendship. “ Thank you, sir. Thank you for coming.” “ My pleasure. Turnkey!” Henderson called. ************** Ten days passed and then Herbert met with his attorney again. Herbert? How are they treating you?’, asked Henderson. “ Fine. I'm used to bathing nightly. Here, I get a shower once a week. The food is bad. Breakfast consists of a hard boiled egg. Dry toast and a cup of black coffee. This morning, my hard boiled egg had no yolk. There’s no such thing as lunch. Supper usually is either beef or lamb stew and very little meat, may I say.” “ Good to know. The next time I come I’ll bring you a sandwich. What would you like?”, asked Henderson. “ Corn-beef would be nice,” Herbert answered. “ On rye, of course.” “ Of course.” “ Now then, I’ve read the state’s case against you. The indictment is that you with Malice a Forethought did willfully and premeditate the death of your wife, by poisoning her with arsenic. At the same time, I read the laboratory reports indicating that the tests conducted on the green, string beans that you prepared and fed to your wife contained traces of arsenic. At trial, the prosecutor will attempt to convince the jury that you deliberately fed your wife contaminated beans knowing full well that arsenic would build up in her body and eventually kill her.” “ How could I possibly know such a thing?’, asked Herbert. “ The State will bring out the fact that you are a biology teacher, knowledgeable in chemistry and chemical results, including poisons,” Henderson explained. “ But, I’m not.” “ I know that the members of the jury don’t. Believe me, they’ll take that information and hold it against you.” “ It’s not right.” “ Neither are the charges against you. Now, I also have a list of witnesses that the State will call to testify on their behalf. I want to know your relationship with each of the witnesses. First is, John Kramer.” “ John? He’s my next door neighbor,” said Herbert. “ Does he like or dislike you?’ “ As far as I know, we’re friends. Not bosom buddies, but friendly neighbors.” “ Alright, Next, is The Reverend, Richard Holmes.” “ Father Holmes? He’s my priest. How could he possibly be a witness against me?’, asked Herbert. “ That’s what I’d like to know. Then, there’s Doctor, Francis Pittman.” “ He was the doctor on duty the night that Ethel died.” Other than treating her what else did he have to do with you?” “ As I recall, he told me that in his opinion Ethel had died of botulism and I seem to recall a brief conversation on green beans and yellow beans.” “ And, this I’m afraid has to be discussed. Alberta Collins. “ Alberta and I started off as colleagues. We both teach at high school. She teaches English. I teach biology. Over a period of time, we soon had a sort of attraction for each other. This grew into, let’s say, a romantic liaison.” “ Were you intimate with her?” “ Sexually? No. As a matter of fact, we did nothing more than her taking my arm when we were out and about.” “ Out and about where?” “ Concerts, museums, art museums mostly.” “ No intimate dinners or meetings?” “ No, Alberta made all the plans for our get together. We never actually dined as I recall.” “ Finally, Detective Sergeant Frank Bernhardt.” “ He is the officer that investigated and arrested me, as far as I know.” “ Alright. Alberta Collins. Let’s go back to her. My question and the question that will be in the mind of the men on the jury is, what was your intentions in dealing with Alberta. For instance, as a man did you plan to seduce her?” “ No, of course not. Alberta is a lady and I a gentleman. I would not and never had any such an idea as seduction.” “ Then, marriage perhaps?” “ Yes. I did propose.” “ Did she accept?” “ Yes and no. She said for us to wait one year. That time would be spent with me mourning the passing of Ethel. At the same time, she would be seen as a dear friend consoling a widower with the two of us falling in love.” “ It appears as though this Alberta is very clever,” said Henderson. “ Really? I’ve always seen her as being intelligent. Not clever. “ Be that as it may. I would like to turn now to the subject of arsenic. Do you? I should say did you have any arsenic in the house?” “ In the house? No.” “ The reason why I ask is that in doing a bit of research I found that such a thing a certain green, flossed wallpaper not only contained the arsenic poison known as Paris green but gives off invisible vapors that are deadly.” “ We do not have flossed wallpaper,” Herbert answered. “ What about sheets of green fly paper?” “ No, none.” “ Alright, now I want you to think and think hard finding a way that traces of arsenic could possible been placed in your canned, green beans.” “ Herbert sat for several minutes deep in thought, then said, “ I’m sorry. I can’t explain how arsenic contaminated the beans.” “ Alright. I want to check the inside of your home and also the garden. I need your keys.” “ My keys, billfold, belt and shoelaces were taken from me. I don’t know where they’re at.” “ I’ll ask for them. If there’s no other way, I’ll force myself in if I have to,” said Henderson. ******************* Three days later Theodore Henderson walked slowly through Herbert Dingledine’s home. Going room to room he looked carefully for anything or any signs of Paris green. Finding none he then went through the pantry into the laundry room and finding himself at the back door, unlocked it and stepped outside. He looked briefly at the now brown and dry remains of a vegetable garden. Then, stopping at the shed, unlocked the padlock, removed it and stepped inside. There he found tools, cans of paint, and garden tools. On a shelf attached to a wall he saw a small bag of rock salt and after looking closely he found no signs of Paris green. “ Of course not. The police took it as evidence,” he thought. After securing the shed again he walked through the backyard. Reaching the back door he entered, closed the door behind him and wiped his feet on the small throw rug on the floor. He started for the pantry. Then, he stopped. “The rug ? Of course. Anyone walking through the garden in particular or the backyard would come in contact with the Paris green put down by Herbert. Entering the house they would naturally and normally wipe their feet on the rug. Therefore, if I’m right, the rug has to have Paris green residue,” he thought to himself. With a smile on his face, Henderson made his way to the bedroom. There in the closet were the dresses and skirts worn by Ethel Dingledine. Henderson removed a blanket from the bed then collected the woman’s clothing wrapping them in the blanket. Next, he took a clean sheet went to the back door, picked up the throw rug and like the clothing wrapped the rug in the sheet. With two bundles, one in each hand he left the house, locking the door behind him. It was two days later when Herbert met with Henderson. “ How are they treating you?’, asked Henderson. “ As if I’m a convicted murderer. Other than that not too bad.” “ Good. I went through your house and shed. I might have found something that is favorable to your case. Right now I need something from you?”, said, Henderson.” “ Such as?” “ Such as a lock of your hair.” “ My hair? What on earth for?” “ To see if you, in fact, have arsenic in your system.” “ I can tell you right now, that I don’t. I feel fine.” “ Good, feeling fine at the moment means nothing. Hold still,” said Henderson approaching with a pair of scissors. Back at his office Theodore Henderson looked at his private investigator, Maximilian Taylor. “Max, I want you to take these bundles to Axentic Laboratory, across town. Here is a list of the things I want them to look for. Also in this envelope is a hair sample. With that, I want them to look for traces of arsenic.” “ Is that all?’, asked Taylor. “ No, on the way back stop at the high school and interview people that are friendly towards Dingledine and will make good character witnesses. After that go and see Doctors, Paul Wentworth, David Atkins and Harry Brentwood. Those are the doctors that treated Ethel Dingledine at one time or another. I want to know what they treated her for.” “ You know that they’ll claim doctor-patient privilege,” said  Taylor. “ Of course. Threaten them with a subpoena. Don’t tell them that I intend to subpoena them anyway.” “ On the way.”, said Taylor picking up the two bundles. ************ With plenty of time to think Herbert sat on his jail cell cot trying to remember things, incidents or events. “ How could poison get into the green beans? When I used the Paris green I always washed my hands thoroughly using Fels-Naptha soap. At the same time all of the vegetables that I picked I washed. There’s no way Paris green could be on or in the string beans. Unless, unless I was negligent. Could I have been so at a time when arguing with Ethel, which was most of the time?” Possibly, but even then I’m sure I washed the beans correctly. Wait, negligent? Accidental? The only accident I can recall in relation to green beans is coming in through the back door with a basket full, then tripping and spilling them on the floor and rug. Still, I picked them up and washed them . I must tell Henderson about that, not that it matters. I did wash the beans.” Then as the hours and days passed by Herbert began to become despondent. One day, alone in his cell he began to reflect back on his life and his problem. “ Me. Why me? What have I ever done to deserve this? I’m being treated like an animal, a caged animal. I am no killer, no murderer. I am innocent. I never planned to kill Ethel. I had nothing to do with her death. Yet, here I sit accused. My life in itself was nothing to brag about. Sure I had a job, no, a profession that I enjoyed, even though the pay was insufficient, Still, for someone who worked only one hundred and sixty days a year it was enough, I suppose. At the same time, I see many others that I know wealthy and secure. They take a vacation to the seashore in summer, send their children to summer camps. They buy season tickets for the opera and orchestra season. I can’t even afford a phonograph. The good book does say, that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than a wealthy man to enter heaven. In my opinion, a poor man gets a needle in the eye,” he thought. Three weeks later Theodore Henderson sat at his desk reading the results of the test performed by Axenic Laboratory. He smiled, then reached for the telephone on his desk. “Operator?” said a female voice. “ Number five nine two,” said Henderson. “ One moment please.” After a ring, a female voice came on the line. “Hello?” “ Hello, beautiful.” “ Teddy, oh. it’s been a while. How are you?” “ Fine. Listen, Diane. I need a favor.” “ And?” “ I might need you to testify as an expert witness in a case I’ll be defending in court.” “ About what?” “ Women’s fashion.” “ I see. Well, I am a designer, so I suppose I fit the category. Still, I wouldn’t call myself an expert.” “ As I recall, you are expert in several things.” “ Teddy, you are a devil. Tell you what. I’ll be your witness, for a price of course.” “ Name it.’ “ Dinner.” “ Before or after you testify?” “ Both.” “ Are you free tomorrow evening?” “ Darling, nothing’s free. However, I’ll see that I have no other engagements. “ Fine any particular place you would like to dine?” “ The Valley Green Inn. This time of the year they might light the fireplace. I want to be near the fire.’ “ I’ll see what I can do. Personally, I think you’re hot enough.’ “ You rascal you. Call for me at seven.” “ It’s a date.”                                                               Chapter Seven The Prosecution   At ten AM, Monday morning, January 14, 1901, Herbert Dingeldine sat next to his lawyer, Theodore Henderson. Behind him were two, armed guards. Dressed in a suit, with shirt, collar and tie Herbert had the appearance of exactly what he was, a small frail man who was a school teacher. This was the impression Henderson wanted to make when the men on the jury first saw his client. As a result, it was no surprise that as the twelve men selected to be the jury entered the courtroom each one took a long, serious look at Herbert. “ I feel as though I’m sitting here naked,” said Herbert to Henderson. “ Get used to it. Edsel Sawyer will not only try to disrobe you in front of the jury but flay you alive,” Henderson answered. “ ALL RISE!”, came the words, loud and clear from the bailiff. Herbert stood. His legs were weak, his mouth dry. He was frightened, intimidated by the size of the courtroom and the fact that he was about to go on trial. The result could be his death. “ HEAR YE! HEAR YE! COURT IS NOW IN SESSION! HIS HONOR THE JUDGE, PHINIOS FLOWERS PRESIDING!” Herbert watched as the judge stepped up to the bench, took his seat and after picking up the gavel, struck the wooden block and said, “You may be seated.” The judge looked down at the papers that had been set before him, turned one or two pages then turned to the jury and said, “It is my duty to instruct both the jury and those in attendance that I will at no time allow any interference in these proceedings. Any outburst, cries or any like sounds made by anyone that interferes with due process allowed to the defendant will be considered by the court as contempt of court. Now, gentlemen of the jury. You have been selected to hear and evaluate all evidence presented by the Prosecutor, Mister, Edsel Sawyer, representing the State of Pennsylvania, in the County of Philadelphia. At present, he sits at the table to the right. At the other table located to the left sits the defendant, one Herbert Dingledine along with his attorney, one Theodore Henderson. Each counselor at law will address you with their opening remarks. Mister Sawyer will tell you exactly why the State of Pennsylvania has preferred criminal charges against Mister Dingledine. When Mister Sawyer is finished Mister Henderson will address you, informing you exactly why the State of Pennsylvania is wrong. You, the members of the jury will then after hearing, seeing and evaluating all evidence produced at this trial, will be asked to render a verdict. Most important, and I can not emphasize it enough is the fact that at this time, the defendant, Herbert Dingledine is to be considered innocent until proven guilty. Now, if there are no questions. Mister Sawyer you may give your opening remarks.” Edsel Sawyer stood and said, “Thank you, your honor. Gentlemen of the jury. First, I would like to thank you for doing your civic duty in serving on this panel. The judge has told you what he expects you to do in this trial. I now will give you the information on just why, the State of Pennsylvania has indicted the defendant, Herbert Dingledine for the premeditated murder of his wife, one Ethel Thompson Dingledine. I, make that we, we will offer evidence, evidence from experts on such things as chemical analysis, statements made by the defendant to witnesses, people who are now witnesses for the state. We will also show motive for the defendant's actions. When you have heard all such evidence and the testimony of witnesses I will address you once again. I will ask you to render a verdict of guilty of murder in the first, degree. Thank you.” Judge Flowers said, “Mister Henderson.” Theodore Henderson stood and walked slowly to the jury box. Once in front of the jury he said, “Good morning. Now, let’s face it, other than his honor, mister Sawyer and myself who has to be here, none of you are too happy about being away from your places of employment, home or family. Unfortunately, the legal system in the United States requires that any defendant has the right to be judged by his peers. You then are Mister Dingeldine’s peers.` Mistakes are made every day by every one of us. Your mistake might have been opening the mail and finding that you have been selected for jury duty. Be that as it may, I will show during these proceedings that mistakes were made by the State, their analysis of evidence the testimony of their witnesses and the weak interpretation of the law. Thank you.” Judge Flowers said, “Mister Sawyer you may proceed.” “ Thank you, your honor. The State of Pennsylvania calls Doctor Francis Pittman.” Herbert watched as the doctor took the stand, raised his right hand and was sworn, to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth. Sawyer, standing a few feet from the doctor asked, “Doctor, do you recognize the defendant?” “ Yes, sir.” “ Would you please say his name.” “ I know him as Herbert Dingledine.’ “ Have you seen the defendant before today?” “ Yes, sir.” “ Where?” “ At the hospital, where I was on duty.” “ Under what circumstances?” “ We had admitted his wife to the emergency room.” “ Emergency, you say. What was the emergency? “ The patient appeared to be suffering from poison.” “ OBJECTION, CONJECTURE., “ said Henderson loudly. “ Sustained. Doctor you may not use the word appeared or seemed to be,” said Judge Flowers. “ Allow me to ask you then, did you as the attending physician make a diagnosis of the victim, Ethel Dingledine?”,asked Sawyer. “ I did.” “ And what was your decision?” “ Originally, that the patient had died caused by botulism.” “ You use the word, originally, did you have an afterthought?” “ Yes.” “ When?” “ I would say, about ten days or two weeks later.” “Why?” “I had the hospital pathology department run tests on the stomach contents of the patient. They informed me that they found traces of arsenic on and in the partly digested green beans the patient had consumed at supper.” “ Did you inform the defendant of these findings?” “ No.” “ Why not?” “ I had told Mister Dingledine that I intended to conduct tests. After that I waited for him to contact me. He never did.” “ I see. Who did you contact, doctor?” “ The Philadelphia Police Department.” “ I see. Thank you doctor. No further questions your honor.” “ Mister Henderson, you may cross examine.” “ Thank you, your honor. Doctor Pittman would you tell the court the appearance and demeanor of my client on the night in question? “ Here appeared to have pulled his trousers and suit coat over his nightshirt. His demeanor I would say was that of a worried man.” “ When you say worried. Could it be that he was worried for his wife?” “ Possibly” “ Objection. The witness can not possibly know exactly what caused the defendant to worry if in fact he did at all.” said Sawyer. “ Sustained.” "You said that you had the pathology department at the hospital conduct test on the stomach contents of Ethel Dingledine. Did they also test her blood?" "No sir." “ No further questions,” said Henderson. “ Mister Sawyer,” said the judge. “ The State calls one Mildred Kramer.” “ Henderson looked at the list of witnesses and did not see the name, Mildred Kramer. Permission to approach the bench.” he said. “ Granted”, the judge replied. Both attorney’s then stood before Judge flowers. “I fail to find the name of Mildred Kramer on my list of witnesses. Under the rules of discovery I am entitled to an accurate list of evidence and witnesses, “ said Henderson. “ Your honor. This is merely an oversight. I intend to show the mental state of the victim prior to her demise, nothing more,” said Sawyer. “ I object,” said Henderson. “ Overruled. I’ll allow her to testify then decide on the validity of her testimony. Let’s proceed,” said Flowers. After walking back to their respected tables, Edsel Sawyer said, “The State calls, Mildred Kramer.” Herbert leaned over and whispered in Henderson’s ear. Mildred took the oath then sat down. “Mrs. Kramer do you know the defendant, Herbert Dingledine?,” asked Sawyer. “ Yes sir.” “ How so?” “ He is my next door neighbor.” “ And how long has he been your neighbor?” “ I’d say eight or nine years.” “ And, do you or did you know Ethel Dingledine?” “ Yes sir.” “ For about the same amount of time?” “ Yes sir.” “ Then may I assume that the two of you held conversations with each other?” “ Rarely, Ethel was practically a recluse.” “ But you did talk once in awhile.” “ Yes.” “ Would you tell the court words said to you be Ethel Dingldine sometime last fall.” “ Yes sir. I was hanging wash on the clothesline when I happened to see Ethel standing in her backyard. I asked her how she was.” “ And, what was her answer?” “ She said, Herbert is trying to kill me, or words to that effect.” “ Thank you. No further questions. “ Mister Henderson,” said the judge. “ Mrs. Kramer. Do you remember the statement you gave to members of the Philadelphia Police Department?,” asked Henderson. “ Yes.” “ What you actually said on the day you spoke with Ethel Dingledine was that Ethel said to you, Herbert wants me dead. Do you recall her saying that to you?” “ Yes.’ “ Not Herbert is trying to kill me?” “ No.” “ Now then on that particular day, did you or did you not tell Herbert Dingledine about what Ethel had to say to you?” “ Yes.” “ What else did you say?” “ As I recall, I said I believe that Ethel is crazy, or words to that effect.” “ Thank you. No further questions. “ The court will recess for thirty minutes,” said the judge. Henderson placed his hand on Herbert’s shoulder and said, “ Things are going well. Go with the guards they’ll bring you back when it’s time.” Forty minutes later the judge called the court into session. “ Mister Sawyer,” said Judge Flowers. “ Thank you your honor. The State calls John Kramer.” After Kramer being sworn and seated Sawyer began his questioning. “Mister Kramer, the court and jury has heard the testimony of your wife, Mildred. As a result there is no need to go over the same questions as to how long you have known the suspect and so on. Instead sir I want you to remember a certain conversation you had with the defendant on a particular day. Do you recall a conversation?” “ Yes sir, I do. It was on a Sunday afternoon,” said Kramer. “ And, what was said?” “ Herbert said that he had to dig beets for his wife’s supper because she wouldn’t eat green beans.” “ Were those his exact words?” “ No, now that you mention it, I believe he used the word insist. He said and I remember that he said, My wife insists that she wants beets. I insisted that she eat the green beans,” said John Kramer. “ No further questions,” said Sawyer. “ Mister Henderson,” said the judge. “ Mister Kramer, what else do you recall about that day?,” asked Henderson. “ Nothing in particular,” “ What day of the week was it?” “ As I recall, it was a Sunday.” “ Sunday you say. Knowing Herbert Dingledine as you do, would you consider him to be a Pius man?” “ I wouldn’t say Pius. I know he went to church on Sundays.” “ How do you know that?” “ I see him leave the house every Sunday on his way to church.” “ And, how is he dressed? “ Always a suit, clean shirt and collar and of course his hat. On Sundays he sometimes wears a fedora.” “ Now, on that particular Sunday, did you find anything strange or unusual?” “ Yes, Herbert seldom worked in his garden on Sundays. As I recall I questioned him as to why he was working in his garden on the Sabbath.” “ And, what was his reply?” “ What I have already said, he had to dig beets for his wife’s supper.” “ Was he agitated?” “ I would say so.” “ No further questions,” said Henderson. “ Mister Sawyer,” said Flowers. “ Permission to redirect, your honor,” said Sawyer. “ Without objection’, said the judge. “ Hearing no objection Sawyer asked, “What else do you remember about that conversation?” “ Basically, I recall knowing that Herbert and his wife had argued that I said, women you can’t live with them and you can’t live without them.” “ And what was Mister Dingledine’s reply?” “ Something like, I’d rather live without them and the sooner the better.” “ Do you recall any similar conversations?” “ Yes.” “ Please, tell the court.” “ I recall seeing Herbert in his backyard. I asked him what he was doing and he said putting down poison. I asked him why and he said, “There’s never too much for Ethel.” “ Objection, counsel is leading the witness. I ask that his testimony be stricken from the record,” said Henderson. “ On what basis?’, asked the judge. “ The fact that the State willfully and knowingly directed the witness to the State’s desired answer.” “ Overruled. Counsel should know that a leading question is permissible on cross examination,” ruled Judge Flowers. “ No further questions, your honor,” said Sawyer. “Call Alberta Collins,” said Sawyer. Herbert watched as Alberta walked to the witness stand. She was attired in a light, blue suit. White blouse with a lace collar. On her head was a black hat with a blue feather. Instead of wearing her hair tied back in a bun she allowed it to flow down upon her shoulders revealing her curls. She took the oath and was seated. “ Good morning Miss Collins. It is a bit late in the day, but still morning. Now, I have several questions to ask you pertaining to your knowledge of the defendant, Herbert Dingledine. “Do you know such a man?” “ Yes sir.” “ Do you see him here in court?” “ Yes sir.” “ Would you point to him please.” “ There, sitting at that table. That is Herbert Dingledine,” said Alberta pointing to Herbert. “ Let the record show that the witness has identified one, Herbert Dingledine, defendant. Now then, my next question Miss Collins is, how do you know the defendant?” “ We are both teachers at the high school.” “ I see. Could you describe your relationship?” “ Yes, in a word, platonic.” “ I see, with platonic you mean without passion.” “ I do.” “ On your part or on the part of Herbert Dingledine?” “ My part.” “ I see. And Mister Dingledine?” “ I can only assume that he viewed our relationship differently.” “ How so?” “ He went out of his way to be near me. Many times he asked me to join him in such things as dinner dates, theater, concerts, art museums, things like that.” “ Did he ever mention his wife, Ethel to you?” “ Yes.” “ In what way?” “ As I recall there were times when his wife’s health was mentioned, but I can’t recall exactly when or what was said.” “ But, he did tell you that he was married?” “ Oh yes.” “ Then, over time how was his demeanor towards you?” “ I would say that he became something of a stalker.’ “ A stalker you say? How so?” “ I enjoy touring our local museums, art museums mostly. I began noticing that no matter where I went Herbert was always there bidding for my attention.” “ Allow me to move ahead a bit Miss Collins. After the death of his wife, what was mister Dingledine’s attitude towards you?” “ I believe that he changed from being a stalker to wanting to be suitor.” “ A suitor. Did he propose marriage?” “ Yes.” “ I take it then that you turned him down?” “ Yes.” “ No further questions,” said Sawyer. “ Mister Henderson?”, asked the judge. “ No questions at this time your honor, but I reserve the right to cross examine at another time.” said Henderson. “ So be it. All witnesses will return to this court tomorrow,” Flowers replied.                                                       Chapter Eight The Defense   The next morning, Tuesday, January 15, 1901 court convened. “Mister Henderson?”. Asked Judge Flowers. “ Thank you your honor. The defense calls Alberta Collins.” Alberta entered the court room. This day she was attired in a dark, maroon colored suit, white blouse and on her head was a black straw hat with two red feathers. Judge Flowers looked at her and said, “Miss Collins the court considers you sworn. You may be seated. Counselor?” Henderson walked from his assigned table and to where Alberta sat. “Good morning, Miss Collins,” he said. “ Good morning,” she replied. “ Now, forgive me, but as a bachelor, I’ve always had a curiosity of just how long it takes a lady to do her hair. For example, you and with your permission, you do have lovely, curls that seem to just flow down from your head and face to your shoulders. Could you tell me how much time you give to doing your hair?” “ Objection, immaterial,” said Sawyer. “ Your honor, if I may, I will introduce through cross examination the fact that the witness has been coached and told to dress and prepare to testify in a manner other then her normal self.” “ Overruled,” “ Thank you, your honor. Miss Collins, answer my question please, Henderson said. “ Actually I spend perhaps thirty minutes before going to bed brushing and combing my hair. In the morning, naturally I comb and brush again. I do nothing particularly special.” “ You are a teacher of English at the high school?” “ That’s correct. “ In the classroom do you wear your hair just as it is styled at the moment?” “ No, I wear it combed back and then in a bun.?” “ A bun. Interesting. The question I’m having is which is the real Alberta Collins? Are you the prim and proper teacher or the sweet little young woman who reminds the gentlemen on the jury of their daughters and granddaughters?” “ Objection,”said Sawyer. “ I withdraw my question your honor.” “ Very well. Be careful in the future Mr. Henderson. The jury will disregard counsel’s question and the witness answer,” said the judge. “ Do you like music?”, asked Henderson. “ Yes.” “ Did you or did you not attend the opening concert of the Philadelphia Orchestra on the evening of Friday, November 16, 1900?” “ I did.” “ With who?” “ Herbert Dingledine.” “ Now, how did that come to be? Surely you knew at the time that Mr. Dingledine was a married man.” “ I did. However, at the same time I invited him out of friendship and at the same time I was chaperoned.” “ Chaperoned, you say?” “ Yes”. “ By whom?” “ My cousin, Andrew Cummings.” “ How convenient. Was he also your chaperone on the days you met Herbert Dingedine at the City Library, the Franklin Institute, the Philadelphia Museum of Fine Art or the Philadelphia Museum of Art?” “ No. That was different. “ Different how?” “ At the time of the concert it was in the evening. At the library and museums it was broad daylight. I was out and about with people who could vouch for my reputation.” “ Still, you were with a married man.” “ Yes, but a fellow educator. One who was assisting me with a school project.” “ What sort of project?” “ I intended to teach a course on Shakespeare. Associating fine artwork with his plays.” “ I see. Do your students enjoy the course?” “ No. I haven’t done it yet.” “ You haven’t done it yet. Could you tell the court just how many times you met Mr. Dingledine at the City Library and then left the library to tour the mentioned museums?” “ I have no idea.” “ No idea you say? Who, may I ask, had the idea to meet on Saturdays and may I add the Saturdays that you picked and chose and start those Saturdays at the City Library?” “ I don’t remember.” “ You don’t remember. Let me refresh your memory. It was you Miss Collins. You made the plans, all of the plans.` you planned the concert evening and all of those Saturdays, pulling Herbert Dingledine deeper and deeper in a situation that you not only created, but enjoyed. You liked to control him, have him do what you wanted him to do.” “ That’s not true.” “ Isn’t it true that on each working school day you and Mr. Dingledine share the same table in the faculty lunch room?” “ Yes.” “ Did Herbert Dingledine propose or suggest that the two of you marry after the death of his wife?” “ Yes.” “ What was your answer?” “ Naturally I refused.” “ You refused. Did you not say that the two of you should wait until a year. That way it would appear that there had been nothing between the two of you prior to the death of Edith Dingledine?” “ No.” “ Miss Collins, allow me to remind you that you are under oath. Perjury is a severe crime. Your honor I have no further questions and may I add, no use for this witness.” “ You are excused Miss Collins. You may step down. Mr. Henderson you may call your next witness,” said Flowers. “ Thank you your honor. The defense calls, Doctor Philip Brentwood.” Doctor Brentwood, a short, rotund man with a red face took the oath and was seated. Henderson went to him and said, “Doctor I’ll be brief. Did you as a physician treat the deceased, one Ethel Dingedine at any time during your practice?” “ Yes I did.” “ Now, at any time did you find any abnormalities regarding her medical condition? “ No, none whatsoever.” “ Would you say that she was a hypochondriac?” “ I would say that many of her ills were imaginary.” “ Thank you doctor. No further questions.” “ Mr. Sawyer?’, asked Judge Flowers. “ No questions your honor.” “ You may continue, Mr. Henderson. “ The defense calls Wilbur Shilling,” said Henderson. Wilbur Shilling walked slowly to the witness stand. He appeared to be shy, intimidated by the fact that he was going to be under oath and afraid of making any mistakes in his testimony. He was sworn and took his seat. “ Good morning Mister Shilling. Please tell the court your place of employment and position sir,” said Henderson. “ I am employed as an analytical chemist at Axentic Laboratory here in Philadelphia,” said Shilling. “ By analytical, does that mean being about to determine the make up of things such as ingredients in animal or plant life as well as inorganic matter?” “ Generally speaking, yes.” Henderson walked over to the evidence table and pointed to two bundles. One wrapped in a blanket the other in a white bed sheet. Pointing to them he said, “I now direct your attention to what the court refers to as exhibit A 1001 and B 1002 do you recognize these items sir?” “ Yes.” “ How so?” “ They were presented to our laboratory with a request to analyze any and all chemical ingredients that might be found in the items.” “ What were the items?” “ A, gray, throw rug and several women’s skirts and dresses.” “ And, what were your findings?” “ Both the rug and the skirts and dresses contained substantial amounts of arsenic.” “ Arsenic you say. Are you sure?”, asked Henderson. “ Sir, I’m positive.” “ What else did you examine?” “ A specimen of human hair belonging to reportedly one, Herbert Dingledine.” “ And what was your conclusion following that test?” “ That Mister Dingledine has been exposed to and has acquired arsenic which is now in his system.” “ Thank you Mr. Shilling. Your witness,” said Henderson “ Mr. Shilling, isn’t it rare that one might acquire arsenic, by inhaling dust containing the poison?”, asked Sawyer. “ Yes sir.” “ No further questions. questions.” “ Thank you Mr. Shilling, you are excused.’ said Flowers. “ The defense calls, Miss Diane Beck,” said Henderson. All eyes in the court room followed Diane Beck as she walked slowly through the room to the witness stand. She was dressed in a pastel, afternoon dress, and a wide, hat to match. Since it was winter, she carried a fur coat on her arm. She took the oath and sat down. Henderson approached her. “ Good morning, Miss Beck,” he said. “ Mister Henderson,” she replied. “ Please tell the court, your present position.” “ I am a fashion designer of women’s wear.” “ Then I can assume that you are successful.” “ My designs are in the most fashionable boutiques in Boston, New York and here in Philadelphia.” “ Pardon me if I appear ignorant, but I have no concept of women’s fashion. What dictates it?” “ Two things. The morals of society and Paris, France.” “ Really? Could you explain what morals have to do with fashion?” “ Certainly. Currently, the morals of our society require that the length of a woman’s skirt must cover her foot. If not her foot at most, her ankle.” “ I see. Is there a problem with that?” “ Yes, what society fails to realize is that women with the required hem length then are susceptible to collecting dust, dirt and germs as they walk the sidewalks of cities. For instance, tobacco sputum on sidewalks an in the street could possible be carrying the causes for tuberculosis or other diseases. The woman collects these germs and transports them to her home where upon it is possible that sickness occurs as a result.” “ Objection. The witness has no background or experience as a health worker. Her testimony is conjecture,” said Sawyer. “ Sustained. The statements made by the witness will be stricken,” said Flowers. “ Allow me to rephrase my question Miss Beck. Does the hem length of a woman’s dress or skirt present a hazard of any kind in your opinion?” “ The greatest hazard is tripping, stepping on or catching the hem on a foreign object.” “ I see. Now you mention Paris. What does Paris France have to do with hem length, diseases, Paris shortening the hem length etc.?” “ The fashion designers of Paris see the need to raise the hemline in women’s fashions for the reasons I have previously attested to. It is rumored that the new, future Paris creations will raise the hemline by two inches.” “ So, in your opinion, as a professional designer of women’s fashion would the raising of the hemline by two inches allow the skirt or dress of a woman to pass over sidewalks, lawns and in particular rugs without touching them?” “ In my opinion, yes.” “ Thank you Miss Beck. No further questions,” said Henderson. “ Mr. Sawyer, cross?” “ No questions your honor.” “ Mr. Henderson.” “ Call Doctor Frederick Lentel,” said Henderson. “ The people in the courtroom, including the members of the jury watched as a man of medium height and weight walked towards the witness stand. The man was immaculately dressed wearing a black suit, white shirt, collar, tie and gray colored spats covered his shoes. Henderson waited until the man was sworn and seated. He then said, “Good day Doctor Lentel.” “ Good day sir,”Lentel replied. “ For the record please inform the court of your profession and current employment.” “ I am am professor of pharmacology at the University Of Pennsylvania.” “ I see and would you define, pharmacology please.” “ Pharmacology is a branch of medicine and biology that is concerned with drug action. More specifically, it is the study of interactions that occur between a living organism and chemicals that affect normal or abnormal biochemical function.” “ I see, and what are the uses today of arsenic, Doctor?” asked Henderson. “ Primarily, it is used in what is called Fowlers solution which is used for the treatment of psoriasis. Other uses in the past have been the treatment for syphilis.” “ Any other uses, Doctor?” “ It is used as a pesticide.” “ A pesticide, you say. Now then, can arsenic dust such as that contained in the product, Paris green by absorbed by humans?” “ Certainly, either by ingesting or inhaling it.” “ In your profession career are you familiar of this happening to victims of arsenic poisoning?” “ Yes. Originally Paris green was manufactured as a green pigment in paint and dyes. Flossed, green wallpaper and women’s apparel were dyed with the product. It was later found that fumes or vapors cast off of both caused the inhalation of arsenic thus creating, poisoning. This is caused by the degradation caused by moisture and mold which then produces arsine. Arsine is a lethal, toxic gas.” “ I see. Then, is it possible that Paris green dust collected on the hem of a woman’s skirt and stored indoors, say in a closet result in the same manner as the dyed wallpaper?”. Asked Henderson. Doctor Lentel took his time in answering, then said, “I find it conceivable, under certain conditions.” “ What conditions?” “ Moisture and mold.” “ Thank you Doctor. No further questions,” said Henderson. “ Mr. Sawyer you may cross,” said Judge Flowers. “ Doctor Lentel, isn’t it also true that Paris green can be ingested, say by placing it in a jar of string beans?,” asked Sawyer. “ Certainly,”said Lentel. “ No further questions,” Sawyer replied. “ You are excused Doctor,” said Flowers. “ The court will be in recess for thirty minutes,” said the judge as he banged his gavel. “ All rise,” called the bailiff . Henderson turned to Herbert and said. “Right now things are looking good. The chemist and Doctor Lentel made an impression with the jury. that’s the good news. The bad news is Alberta. She came across as the victim of unwanted advances from a married man. Sawyer will use that as your motive to kill Ethel. We’re not out of the woods yet. Now, don’t worry. Let me do the worrying. Go with the guards and relax.” When court reconveined Henderson stood and said, "Call Sergent Frank Bernhardt." Frank Bernhardt walked slowly to the witness stand, in his hand he carried his derby. He stood raised his hand and was sworn in as a witness. "Sergeant please tell the court just how long you have been a member of the Philadelphia Police Department," said Henderson. "Fifteen years." "Were you assigned during that time to investigate the death of one, ethel Thompson Dingledine?" "Yes sir." "And during that time during your investigation did you request labortory test and analysis of products taken from mister Dingledine's home?" "I did." "I show you now a copy of the police report submitted by you to be added to the case file pertaining to the case of Ethel Thompson Dingledine. Is this in fact your report?" "Yes sir." "Good. Please read the report to the court." Bernhardt held the paper in two hands, lowered his head and read aloud, "analysis of blood, hair and blood samples taken from the deceaased, Ethel Thompson Dingledine, submitted examined and tested produced the following: All samples tested revealed large amount of arsenic containing copper. It is possible that the subject, Ethel Thmpson Dingledine ingested low amounts of arsenic over a period of time, resulting in her eventual death." "Thank you Sergeant. no further questions." "Mister Sawyer?, asked Flowers. "No questions your honor.                                                                   Chapter Nine Closing Arguments   On Monday, January 28, 1901 at ten o’clock AM court convened. Judge Flowers looked down from the bench and said, “Mister Sawyer, you may proceed.” “ Thank you your honor, the State rests.” said Sawyer. “ Very well. Mister Henderson?”, asked Flowers. “ The Defense also rests your honor,” said Henderson. “ Very well. I assume that both council are prepared to close?” “ Yes sir,” said Sawyer. “ Yes’, said Henderson. “ Very well, Mister Sawyer, you may proceed. “ Thank you, your honor,” said Sawyer as he then turned and approached the jury. “Gentlemen of the jury. For the past few weeks and sometimes long days in this courtroom you have sat and listen to the testimony of witnesses. The State of Pennsylvania has produced witnesses, witnesses that have told you that the deceased, Ethel Thompson Dingedine died from arsenic poison. You have heard testimony from one Mildred Kramer that the deceased before her death in a conversation stated that her husband, Herbert Dingledine was and I repeat, was trying to kill her. Then you heard testimony from one John Kramer who stated under oath that in a conversation with the defendant on a Sunday said, that Herbert Dingledine was visibly upset because he had to dig beets for his wife’s supper because she wouldn’t eat the green beans he wanted to serve her. Also, when it came to putting down the pesticide, later identified as Paris green, an arsenic poison, when asked about it the defendant replied, and I quote, “There’s never enough for Ethel.” Then there is the night that Ethel Dingledine was rushed to the hospital. There, she was diagnosed originally as suffering from botulism or if you prefer, food poisoning. You heard Doctor Pittman testify that he told the defendant that he intended to conduct further tests to determine the exact cause of death and that Herbert Dingledine could contact him for the results of those tests. The defendant never. I repeat, never lifted a finger to inquire on the results of Doctor Pittmans further examinations. I ask you now. Why? Wouldn’t an innocent man worried about his wife, a wife who died in the hospital follow through with questions, questions of what did she actually die from? Certainly, but the defendant didn’t need to know the results of those test. Why? Because he knew the cause of Ethel Dingldine’s death. The cause was arsenic, arsenic contained in the Paris green pesticide he used in his garden and yard and placed in her green beans. Now then, you may ask yourself, why? Why would a man in his mid-thirties, a man with a reputation as an excellent teacher of biology at the local high school commit such an act? The answer gentlemen is simple. The excellent teacher, the man who went to church each and every Sunday, the man who worked in his garden was , no make that is, a lecherous, married man pursuing a young, attractive woman. In spite of Alberta Collins rejecting his advances, he continued to vie for her attention. He proposed marriage. She refused. Still he deliberately placed himself in her company. May I add the fact that this conduct continued until it ended on the day of his arrest. You have heard statements made about Miss Collins and Mister Dingledine having surreptitious meeting at the City Library and various museums within the city. You have also heard the explanation given by Miss Collins. She, according to her testimony considered her association with the defendant as, I believed she used the word, platonic. Be that as it may, ask yourself this. Would a married man meet with a young, attractive, single woman on Saturdays, continually attending museums, seeing the same things over and over and not get tired or bored? Not if seduction was on his mind gentlemen. Not if seduction is on his mind. The infatuation the defendant had with Alberta Collins is the motive he needed to want to kill his wife, Ethel Thompson Dingledine. As a result, I submit to you, that after hearing all of the evidence that you must now find the defendant, Herbert Dingledine guilty of pre-meditated murder. Thank you.” “ Mister Henderson?’, Asked Judge Flowers. Theodore Henderson rose slowly from his chair and then walked to where the jury sat. He looked at them for a time then began to speak. Gentlemen, I want you to look long and hard at the defendant, one Herbert Dingledine. Why? Because anyone of you could become what he is, a defendant accused wrongly of murder. We are not talking about a man facing a violation of a city ordinance, or in fact a misdemeanor. We are talking about a man charged with a capitol crime. One that warrants the death penalty. Herbert Dingledine is and has been a victim of circumstances. I ask you to dwell on the word circumstances, because of all the evidence produced by the State of Pennsylvania has been and is, what is referred to as, Circumstantial Evidence. Circumstantial, not concrete or exact mind you, but evidence that can by anyone with a reasonable mind can be explained away. I will now offer to you those explanations. Let me begin first with the prosecutions claim that Herbert Dingledine deliberately poisoned his wife Ethel with arsenic. All of you heard the testimony of Mister Wilbur Shilling who stated under oath that the rug taken from the floor at the back door of the Dingledine’s home and the dresses of Ethel Dingledine had and still does contain the poison, arsenic. At the same time, Mister Shilling also testified that a sample of Mister Dingledine’s hair examined and tested likewise contained the poison, arsenic. Now, I ask you gentlemen. Would a reasonable man intent on murdering his wife with arsenic deliberately ingest the poison himself? Of course not. The question then presents itself. How did Herbert Dingledine receive and obtain arsenic in his body and what Wilbur Shilling stated, system?” The answer is quite simple. Herbert Dingledine and may I say at the urging of his wife put down large amounts of the pesticide, Paris green at and near the backdoor of his home. Why?” Because his wife complained of seeing rodents in the backyard. Now then, we know that the defendant went in and out of the rear door of his home particularly when working in his garden. When he did he did exactly what anyone of us would do. He wiped his feet on the rug inside the back door. On the soles of his shoes was the residue or if you will, dust, Paris green dust, arsenic dust. We know that Ethel Dingledine at least on one occasion went out the backdoor into her yard to converse with Mildred Kramer. The question then arises, how many other times did she enter And exit the backdoor and/or enter the backyard? No one knows. What we do know is that Wilbur Shilling stated under oath that he discovered the poison, arsenic on the hems of Ethel Dingeldines skirts and dresses. Now, in addition Doctor Frederick Lentel testified that an accumulation of arsenic under the right conditions can break down and form the toxic gas, Arsine. I want you to think gentlemen. Think of the same bedroom you share with your wife. As you lay in bed her dresses, her skirts hanging in the closet near you contain arsenic, arsenic that under he right conditions can be absorbed into your body, your system. That, gentlemen is exactly what happened to Herbert and Ethel Dingledine. Now, I know what’s on you minds. The beans, the green string beans. How did arsenic get into the mason jar of preserved green beans? With your indulgence I will explain. Mister Dingldine is a confirmed, gardener. He is a man who takes pride in not only growing his vegetables but as with another hobby enjoys cooking and preserving. Near the end of the growing season he went to his garden and picked green beans. It was an ample harvest. He gathered the beans placing them in a basket. He then carried the basket to the rear door of his home, opened the door entered and tripped. When he tripped he dropped the basket of beans which spilled upon the rug on the floor next to the backdoor. That rug gentlemen, as you now know contained arsenic. Therefore, the beans coming in contact with the arsenic resulted in trace elements of the poison adhering to the vegetables. Did Herbert Dingledine wash those beans? Certainly. However, two questions arise. Did he know there was arsenic on the beans and did he wash and rinse them enough? The answer to both is no. The result then was he cooked and canned the beans. At a later date, perhaps months later he served at the request of his wife, green beans. We admit there were traces of arsenic found in the partly digested green beans found in Ethel Dingledine’s stomach. But, I submit to you that those traces found by the hospital pathologist did not result in her death. Instead I offer you this hypothesis. The traces of arsenic in the green beans combined with the amount of arsenic already in Ethel Dingledine’s body came together to create the lethal amount necessary to kill her. In short her death was inevitable, but accidental. You have heard Mr. Sawyer tell you about motive. He indicted that the motive Herbert Dingledine had for killing his wife was his attraction for one Alberta Collins. Was the defendant infatuated with Miss Collins? Yes, he was, but removing himself from his marriage could be obtained by a simple divorce. There was no need to murder his wife in order to be free to marry Alberta Collins. There is no crime here gentlemen. If there is, then the accused should be Alberta Collins. Why? Because it was she that intentionally loured Herbert Dingeldine into a liaison of her choosing. It was she that began that involvement by inviting him to a concert. It was she that decided on which Saturdays they would meet. It was she that picked the time and places, such as the City Library and the museums and it was she that in after all consideration probably committed perjury on the witness stand while under oath. Now then, allow me to give you a lesson in the law. In order for a crime to have been committed two essential elements must be present. The first is intent. The second is the act. In the case of Herbert Dingledine there was no intent to kill or murder his wife. At the same time he took no action to do so. So, with the absence of both the intent and the act no crime could possibly be committed under the laws of the State of Pennsylvania. Therefore, I ask you to confer and then render a verdict of, not guilty. Thank you.” “ The jury will now retire, meet and discuss, hopefully reaching a decision and verdict. Court in the meantime will be in recess,” said Judge Flowers. “ What do you think?’, asked Herbert of Henderson. “ To be honest, right now it could go either way. I will tell you this, The longer they deliberate, the better it is for us. Now, go back to the holding area and don’t fret. There’s nothing more that we can do,” Henderson replied. *************** At noon the next day Edsel Sawyer and Theodore Henderson lunched together at a small restaurant located across from the courthouse. “Well, this is the second day that the jury has been out. I’d have to say that it’s beginning to look mighty good for you Ted,” said Sawyer. “ I want to hear the foreman stand and tell me before I count on it,”Henderson replied. “ Well, whatever the outcome allow me to congratulate you on a fine defense,” said Sawyer. “ Thank you. You are a tough representative for the State.” “ I will say that if you do lose, you’ll know why, won’t you?” “ Yes, Alberta Collins.” “ Absolutely, she stuck it to him,” said Sawyer. “ Same old story. A man loses not only his head over a woman but everything he has in the world, reputation, money, property, friends and for what? A woman who like a cat playing with a mouse finally gets tired of him and kills him. Only this time Alberta’s letting the State of Pennsylvania do the killing,” said Henderson. A uniformed bailiff entered the restaurant walked up to their table and said, “Gentlemen, the jury is in.” Both attorney’s got up immediately, left the restaurant and walked quickly to the courthouse. It took twenty minutes before the court was called to order. Henderson waited for Herbert to be brought into the room. When he arrived he took a seat in the chair at the table. Once situated, the men of the jury filed into the jury box. Judge Flowers then said, “Mister foreman, have you reached a verdict?” “ We have your honor.” “ Please pass your verdict to the bailiff ." As this was being done, Herbert sat in silence watching. He saw Judge Flowers receive the piece of paper from the bailiff. Still, he was unable to detect any kind of expression on the judge’s face. Then, the Judge spoke. "The defendant will rise and face the jury. Both Herbert and Henderson stood. “ Mister Foreman. Have you reached a verdict?” judge Flowers asked again. “ We have your honor.” “ And, what is you verdict?” “ We find the defendant, Herbert Dingledine guilty as charged.” “ Say all of you?”, asked Flowers. “ Yes sir.” “ The defendant will now face the bench.” Herbert turned and watched and listened to the judge. “Herbert Dingledine you have been found guilty of murder in the first degree by a jury of your peers. It is the sentence of this court that you will be transferred to the Eastern State Penitentiary where you will be held until the date of your execution, the punishment of which is hanging by the neck until dead. Do you have anything to say to this court.?” “ Yes sir. I didn’t kill my wife. I’m innocent.” “ May the Lord have mercy upon your soul. Court is adjourned.   “ All rise!,” called the bailiff. “ Keep your chin up. I’ll file a motion to appeal,” said Henderson. Herbert smiled. “Well you know where I’ll be,” he said.                                     Chapter Ten Eastern Penitentiary   Herbert Dingledine smiled when he saw Theodore Henderson. “How have you been?” he asked his lawyer. “ Fine Herbert, what about you?” “ Peachy. The guards allowed me to have a deck of playing cards. When I get bored I play solitaire.” “ Good. The reason I’m here is to let you know that I’ve exhausted all appeals. Each court I petitioned during the past year found no cause to overturn your conviction and give us a new trial. I was counting on perjury by Alberta, but the courts didn’t see it my way. In short, a warrant for your execution has been issued by the governor. They intend to hang you on June 13, 1902 said Henderson.” “ Hey, at least you tried. Thank you,” Herbert replied. “ Is there anything you need?” “ Dingledine laughed. “A hacksaw, a hundred feet of rope and a three hour head start. Seriously, there’s nothing I need.” “ Well then, I’ll say good by.” “ Good by friend and you were and are my friend.” “ That’s for sure. That’s for sure,” said Henderson shaking hands and then walking away. “ Ted?.” Herbert called. Henderson stopped and turned around. “Yes?” “ What day of the week is June the thirteenth?” “ It’s a Friday.” Herbert laughed. “That figures.” The early days of June, 1902 went by quickly. Herbert had one more visitor, the Reverend, Holmes. Holmes sat on a stool in Herbert’s cell and said, “ Would you like me to pray with you?” “ No Father. That won’t be necessary. You see, I’m innocent. I did not kill Ethel. I know it and God knows it.I will admit that I wanted her dead, but I didn't kill her. I don’t need prayer or confession. I will not descend into hell after I die. I spent ten years in hell and if anyone should ever ask you about hell, it’s right here on earth. No Father, I’ll walk right through the pearly gates. No one will stop me.” At ten o’clock in the evening of Friday, June 13, 1902 guards entered Herbert’s cell. They had him stand. When he did he was placed in a straightjacket which then immobilized his arms and hands. He was then led out of his cell. As he walked along the long hallway he became aware of the sounds of footsteps, his, the wardens and the guards. “ Are these the last sounds I’ll be hearing? How much further do we have to go? Ah, here we are, a door. Now, what? Oh, people, many people. Why? Of course, witnesses. They’re here to see me die. Whats’ that sound? Thump, Thump, Thump, Thump. It’s my heart beating. Nothing more. Steps, now I have to climb steps. The guards are helping me. Good, it’s difficult to climb steps with your arms secured to your sides. There’s that sound again,thump, thump. My heart beat, telling me I’m still alive. Wait, they're making me stand at a particular place. Must be the trap door. They’re removing my eyeglasses. Now I can’t see, everything is a blur. They’re placing a hood over my head. Now, a noose. They're tightening it, placing a kno t behin d my ear. A new sound, thumpity, thumpity, thumpity, the heart is beating faster. Wait, I’m falling, falling. CRACK!               Publication Date: February 21st 2017 https://www.bookrix.com/-shibashi

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Gabby Estrada A.K.A Trixie Delight The night my daddy murdered me My name is Zack I am three, My eyes are swollen. . .I cannot see. I must be stupid,I must be bad, What else could have made daddy so mad? I wish I was better,I wish I weren't ugly, Then maybe mommy would still want to hug me. I can't do a wrong,I can't speak at all, or else I'm locked up all day long. When I awake I am alone, The house is dark my folks aren't home. When my mommy comes home I'll try and be nice, Maybe I'll get one whipping tonight. I hear a car my daddy is back, I hear him curse,then he calls Zack. I try and hide from his evil eyes, I am so afraid,I start to cry. He finds me weeping,calls me ugly words, He says it's my falt he suffers from work. He slaps and hits me and yells some more, I finally get free and run for the door. He's already locked it,so I start to bawl, He takes me and throws me against a hard wall. I fall to the floor with bones nearly broken, And my daddy continues with more bad words spoken. "I'M SORRY!"I scream,but it's to late, His face has been twisted into a unimaginable shape. The hurt,the pain again and again, Oh lord have mercy or please let it end! He finally stops and heads for the door, While I lay there on the floor. My name is Zack,I am three, Tonight my daddy . . .murdered me. Publication Date: July 5th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-gabbygirl1234

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Branique McKnight A nigga A nigga 2 a men A NIGGA A IM BOOSIE AND THIS BOOK IS ABOUT ME RITE NOW IM A MEN BUTT WE TALKIN BOUT WHEN I WAS A BITCH NIGGA. I WAS GROWING UP A I WAS A BITCH NIGGA WIT A BIG DICK AND HARRY BALLS. Text: XDDFG Images: DCDFSDF Editing: DFDFDF Translation: DDFFFFFFFFFF F F F F F F F F FF FF F F F F F F FF F F F F F F F F FFF FF F F F FF F F F F F FF All rights reserved. Publication Date: May 29th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-boosietharealest

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Deborah Cheeseboro Werewolves vs. Vampires Only real men sparkle in the sunlight this book is dedicated to the gothic group and i just wanted to let you know i luv ya Publication Date: June 16th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-princess2259.books

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Sir Arthur Conan Doyle The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax "But why Turkish?" asked Mr. Sherlock Holmes, gazing fixedly at my boots. I was reclining in a cane-backed chair at the moment, and my protruded feet had attracted his ever-active attention. "English," I answered in some surprise. "I got them at Latimer's, in Oxford Street." Holmes smiled with an expression of weary patience. "The bath!" he said; "the bath! Why the relaxing and expensive Turkish rather than the invigorating home-made article?" "Because for the last few days I have been feeling rheumatic and old. A Turkish bath is what we call an alterative in medicine--a fresh starting-point, a cleanser of the system. "By the way, Holmes," I added, "I have no doubt the connection between my boots and a Turkish bath is a perfectly self-evident one to a logical mind, and yet I should be obliged to you if you would indicate it." "The train of reasoning is not very obscure, Watson," said Holmes with a mischievous twinkle. "It belongs to the same elementary class of deduction which I should illustrate if I were to ask you who shared your cab in your drive this morning." "I don't admit that a fresh illustration is an explanation," said I with some asperity. "Bravo, Watson! A very dignified and logical remonstrance. Let me see, what were the points? Take the last one first--the cab. You observe that you have some splashes on the left sleeve and shoulder of your coat. Had you sat in the centre of a hansom you would probably have had no splashes, and if you had they would certainly have been symmetrical. Therefore it is clear that you sat at the side. Therefore it is equally clear that you had a companion." "That is very evident." "Absurdly commonplace, is it not?" "But the boots and the bath?" "Equally childish. You are in the habit of doing up your boots in a certain way. I see them on this occasion fastened with an elaborate double bow, which is not your usual method of tying them. You have, therefore, had them off. Who has tied them? A bootmaker--or the boy at the bath. It is unlikely that it is the bootmaker, since your boots are nearly new. Well, what remains? The bath. Absurd, is it not? But, for all that, the Turkish bath has served a purpose." "What is that?" "You say that you have had it because you need a change. Let me suggest that you take one. How would Lausanne do, my dear Watson--first-class tickets and all expenses paid on a princely scale?" "Splendid! But why?" Holmes leaned back in his armchair and took his notebook from his pocket. "One of the most dangerous classes in the world," said he, "is the drifting and friendless woman. She is the most harmless and often the most useful of mortals, but she is the inevitable inciter of crime in others. She is helpless. She is migratory. She has sufficient means to take her from country to country and from hotel to hotel. She is lost, as often as not, in a maze of obscure pensions and boardinghouses. She is a stray chicken in a world of foxes. When she is gobbled up she is hardly missed. I much fear that some evil has come to the Lady Frances Carfax." I was relieved at this sudden descent from the general to the particular. Holmes consulted his notes. "Lady Frances," he continued, "is the sole survivor of the direct family of the late Earl of Rufton. The estates went, as you may remember, in the male line. She was left with limited means, but with some very remarkable old Spanish jewellery of silver and curiously cut diamonds to which she was fondly attached--too attached, for she refused to leave them with her banker and always carried them about with her. A rather pathetic figure, the Lady Frances, a beautiful woman, still in fresh middle age, and yet, by a strange change, the last derelict of what only twenty years ago was a goodly fleet." "What has happened to her, then?" "Ah, what has happened to the Lady Frances? Is she alive or dead? There is our problem. She is a lady of precise habits, and for four years it has been her invariable custom to write every second week to Miss Dobney, her old governess, who has long retired and lives in Camberwell. It is this Miss Dobney who has consulted me. Nearly five weeks have passed without a word. The last letter was from the Hotel National at Lausanne. Lady Frances seems to have left there and given no address. The family are anxious, and as they are exceedingly wealthy no sum will be spared if we can clear the matter up." "Is Miss Dobney the only source of information? Surely she had other correspondents?" "There is one correspondent who is a sure draw, Watson. That is the bank. Single ladies must live, and their passbooks are compressed diaries. She banks at Silvester's. I have glanced over her account. The last check but one paid her bill at Lausanne, but it was a large one and probably left her with cash in hand. Only one check has been drawn since." "To whom, and where?" "To Miss Marie Devine. There is nothing to show where the check was drawn. It was cashed at the Credit Lyonnais at Montpellier less than three weeks ago. The sum was fifty pounds." "And who is Miss Marie Devine?" "That also I have been able to discover. Miss Marie Devine was the maid of Lady Frances Carfax. Why she should have paid her this check we have not yet determined. I have no doubt, however, that your researches will soon clear the matter up." "MY researches!" "Hence the health-giving expedition to Lausanne. You know that I cannot possibly leave London while old Abrahams is in such mortal terror of his life. Besides, on general principles it is best that I should not leave the country. Scotland Yard feels lonely without me, and it causes an unhealthy excitement among the criminal classes. Go, then, my dear Watson, and if my humble counsel can ever be valued at so extravagant a rate as two pence a word, it waits your disposal night and day at the end of the Continental wire." Two days later found me at the Hotel National at Lausanne, where I received every courtesy at the hands of M. Moser, the well-known manager. Lady Frances, as he informed me, had stayed there for several weeks. She had been much liked by all who met her. Her age was not more than forty. She was still handsome and bore every sign of having in her youth been a very lovely woman. M. Moser knew nothing of any valuable jewellery, but it had been remarked by the servants that the heavy trunk in the lady's bedroom was always scrupulously locked. Marie Devine, the maid, was as popular as her mistress. She was actually engaged to one of the head waiters in the hotel, and there was no difficulty in getting her address. It was 11 Rue de Trajan, Montpellier. All this I jotted down and felt that Holmes himself could not have been more adroit in collecting his facts. Only one corner still remained in the shadow. No light which I possessed could clear up the cause for the lady's sudden departure. She was very happy at Lausanne. There was every reason to believe that she intended to remain for the season in her luxurious rooms overlooking the lake. And yet she had left at a single day's notice, which involved her in the useless payment of a week's rent. Only Jules Vibart, the lover of the maid, had any suggestion to offer. He connected the sudden departure with the visit to the hotel a day or two before of a tall, dark, bearded man. "Un sauvage--un veritable sauvage!" cried Jules Vibart. The man had rooms somewhere in the town. He had been seen talking earnestly to Madame on the promenade by the lake. Then he had called. She had refused to see him. He was English, but of his name there was no record. Madame had left the place immediately afterwards. Jules Vibart, and, what was of more importance, Jules Vibart's sweetheart, thought that this call and the departure were cause and effect. Only one thing Jules would not discuss. That was the reason why Marie had left her mistress. Of that he could or would say nothing. If I wished to know, I must go to Montpellier and ask her. So ended the first chapter of my inquiry. The second was devoted to the place which Lady Frances Carfax had sought when she left Lausanne. Concerning this there had been some secrecy, which confirmed the idea that she had gone with the intention of throwing someone off her track. Otherwise why should not her luggage have been openly labelled for Baden? Both she and it reached the Rhenish spa by some circuitous route. This much I gathered from the manager of Cook's local office. So to Baden I went, after dispatching to Holmes an account of all my proceedings and receiving in reply a telegram of half-humorous commendation. At Baden the track was not difficult to follow. Lady Frances had stayed at the Englischer Hof for a fortnight. While there she had made the acquaintance of a Dr. Shlessinger and his wife, a missionary from South America. Like most lonely ladies, Lady Frances found her comfort and occupation in religion. Dr. Shlessinger's remarkable personality, his whole hearted devotion, and the fact that he was recovering from a disease contracted in the exercise of his apostolic duties affected her deeply. She had helped Mrs. Shlessinger in the nursing of the convalescent saint. He spent his day, as the manager described it to me, upon a lounge-chair on the veranda, with an attendant lady upon either side of him. He was preparing a map of the Holy Land, with special reference to the kingdom of the Midianites, upon which he was writing a monograph. Finally, having improved much in health, he and his wife had returned to London, and Lady Frances had started thither in their company. This was just three weeks before, and the manager had heard nothing since. As to the maid, Marie, she had gone off some days beforehand in floods of tears, after informing the other maids that she was leaving service forever. Dr. Shlessinger had paid the bill of the whole party before his departure. "By the way," said the landlord in conclusion, "you are not the only friend of Lady Frances Carfax who is inquiring after her just now. Only a week or so ago we had a man here upon the same errand." "Did he give a name?" I asked. "None; but he was an Englishman, though of an unusual type." "A savage?" said I, linking my facts after the fashion of my illustrious friend. "Exactly. That describes him very well. He is a bulky, bearded, sunburned fellow, who looks as if he would be more at home in a farmers' inn than in a fashionable hotel. A hard, fierce man, I should think, and one whom I should be sorry to offend." Already the mystery began to define itself, as figures grow clearer with the lifting of a fog. Here was this good and pious lady pursued from place to place by a sinister and unrelenting figure. She feared him, or she would not have fled from Lausanne. He had still followed. Sooner or later he would overtake her. Had he already overtaken her? Was THAT the secret of her continued silence? Could the good people who were her companions not screen her from his violence or his blackmail? What horrible purpose, what deep design, lay behind this long pursuit? There was the problem which I had to solve. To Holmes I wrote showing how rapidly and surely I had got down to the roots of the matter. In reply I had a telegram asking for a description of Dr. Shlessinger's left ear. Holmes's ideas of humour are strange and occasionally offensive, so I took no notice of his ill-timed jest--indeed, I had already reached Montpellier in my pursuit of the maid, Marie, before his message came. I had no difficulty in finding the ex-servant and in learning all that she could tell me. She was a devoted creature, who had only left her mistress because she was sure that she was in good hands, and because her own approaching marriage made a separation inevitable in any case. Her mistress had, as she confessed with distress, shown some irritability of temper towards her during their stay in Baden, and had even questioned her once as if she had suspicions of her honesty, and this had made the parting easier than it would otherwise have been. Lady Frances had given her fifty pounds as a wedding-present. Like me, Marie viewed with deep distrust the stranger who had driven her mistress from Lausanne. With her own eyes she had seen him seize the lady's wrist with great violence on the public promenade by the lake. He was a fierce and terrible man. She believed that it was out of dread of him that Lady Frances had accepted the escort of the Shlessingers to London. She had never spoken to Marie about it, but many little signs had convinced the maid that her mistress lived in a state of continual nervous apprehension. So far she had got in her narrative, when suddenly she sprang from her chair and her face was convulsed with surprise and fear. "See!" she cried. "The miscreant follows still! There is the very man of whom I speak." Through the open sitting-room window I saw a huge, swarthy man with a bristling black beard walking slowly down the centre of the street and staring eagerly at he numbers of the houses. It was clear that, like myself, he was on the track of the maid. Acting upon the impulse of the moment, I rushed out and accosted him. "You are an Englishman," I said. "What if I am?" he asked with a most villainous scowl. "May I ask what your name is?" "No, you may not," said he with decision. The situation was awkward, but the most direct way is often the best. "Where is the Lady Frances Carfax?" I asked. He stared at me with amazement. "What have you done with her? Why have you pursued her? I insist upon an answer!" said I. The fellow gave a below of anger and sprang upon me like a tiger. I have held my own in many a struggle, but the man had a grip of iron and the fury of a fiend. His hand was on my throat and my senses were nearly gone before an unshaven French ouvrier in a blue blouse darted out from a cabaret opposite, with a cudgel in his hand, and struck my assailant a sharp crack over the forearm, which made him leave go his hold. He stood for an instant fuming with rage and uncertain whether he should not renew his attack. Then, with a snarl of anger, he left me and entered the cottage from which I had just come. I turned to thank my preserver, who stood beside me in the roadway. "Well, Watson," said he, "a very pretty hash you have made of it! I rather think you had better come back with me to London by the night express." An hour afterwards, Sherlock Holmes, in his usual garb and style, was seated in my private room at the hotel. His explanation of his sudden and opportune appearance was simplicity itself, for, finding that he could get away from London, he determined to head me off at the next obvious point of my travels. In the disguise of a workingman he had sat in the cabaret waiting for my appearance. "And a singularly consistent investigation you have made, my dear Watson," said he. "I cannot at the moment recall any possible blunder which you have omitted. The total effect of your proceeding has been to give the alarm everywhere and yet to discover nothing." "Perhaps you would have done no better," I answered bitterly. "There is no 'perhaps' about it. I HAVE done better. Here is the Hon. Philip Green, who is a fellow-lodger with you in this hotel, and we may find him the starting-point for a more successful investigation." A card had come up on a salver, and it was followed by the same bearded ruffian who had attacked me in the street. He started when he saw me. "What is this, Mr. Holmes?" he asked. "I had your note and I have come. But what has this man to do with the matter?" "This is my old friend and associate, Dr. Watson, who is helping us in this affair." The stranger held out a huge, sunburned hand, with a few words of apology. "I hope I didn't harm you. When you accused me of hurting her I lost my grip of myself. Indeed, I'm not responsible in these days. My nerves are like live wires. But this situation is beyond me. What I want to know, in the first place, Mr. Holmes, is, how in the world you came to hear of my existence at all." "I am in touch with Miss Dobney, Lady Frances's governess." "Old Susan Dobney with the mob cap! I remember her well." "And she remembers you. It was in the days before--before you found it better to go to South Africa." "Ah, I see you know my whole story. I need hide nothing from you. I swear to you, Mr. Holmes, that there never was in this world a man who loved a woman with a more wholehearted love than I had for Frances. I was a wild youngster, I know--not worse than others of my class. But her mind was pure as snow. She could not bear a shadow of coarseness. So, when she came to hear of things that I had done, she would have no more to say to me. And yet she loved me--that is the wonder of it!--loved me well enough to remain single all her sainted days just for my sake alone. When the years had passed and I had made my money at Barberton I thought perhaps I could seek her out and soften her. I had heard that she was still unmarried, I found her at Lausanne and tried all I knew. She weakened, I think, but her will was strong, and when next I called she had left the town. I traced her to Baden, and then after a time heard that her maid was here. I'm a rough fellow, fresh from a rough life, and when Dr. Watson spoke to me as he did I lost hold of myself for a moment. But for God's sake tell me what has become of the Lady Frances." "That is for us to find out," said Sherlock Holmes with peculiar gravity. "What is your London address, Mr. Green?" "The Langham Hotel will find me." "Then may I recommend that you return there and be on hand in case I should want you? I have no desire to encourage false hopes, but you may rest assured that all that can be done will be done for the safety of Lady Frances. I can say no more for the instant. I will leave you this card so that you may be able to keep in touch with us. Now, Watson, if you will pack your bag I will cable to Mrs. Hudson to make one of her best efforts for two hungry travellers at 7:30 to-morrow." A telegram was awaiting us when we reached our Baker Street rooms, which Holmes read with an exclamation of interest and threw across to me. "Jagged or torn," was the message, and the place of origin, Baden. "What is this?" I asked. "It is everything," Holmes answered. "You may remember my seemingly irrelevant question as to this clerical gentleman's left ear. You did not answer it." "I had left Baden and could not inquire." "Exactly. For this reason I sent a duplicate to the manager of the Englischer Hof, whose answer lies here." "What does it show?" "It shows, my dear Watson, that we are dealing with an exceptionally astute and dangerous man. The Rev. Dr. Shlessinger, missionary from South America, is none other than Holy Peters, one of the most unscrupulous rascals that Australia has ever evolved--and for a young country it has turned out some very finished types. His particular specialty is the beguiling of lonely ladies by playing upon their religious feelings, and his so-called wife, an Englishwoman named Fraser, is a worthy helpmate. The nature of his tactics suggested his identity to me, and this physical peculiarity--he was badly bitten in a saloon-fight at Adelaide in '89--confirmed my suspicion. This poor lady is in the hands of a most infernal couple, who will stick at nothing, Watson. That she is already dead is a very likely supposition. If not, she is undoubtedly in some sort of confinement and unable to write to Miss Dobney or her other friends. It is always possible that she never reached London, or that she has passed through it, but the former is improbable, as, with their system of registration, it is not easy for foreigners to play tricks with the Continental police; and the latter is also unlikely, as these rouges could not hope to find any other place where it would be as easy to keep a person under restraint. All my instincts tell me that she is in London, but as we have at present no possible means of telling where, we can only take the obvious steps, eat our dinner, and possess our souls in patience. Later in the evening I will stroll down and have a word with friend Lestrade at Scotland Yard." But neither the official police nor Holmes's own small but very efficient organization sufficed to clear away the mystery. Amid the crowded millions of London the three persons we sought were as completely obliterated as if they had never lived. Advertisements were tried, and failed. Clues were followed, and led to nothing. Every criminal resort which Shlessinger might frequent was drawn in vain. His old associates were watched, but they kept clear of him. And then suddenly, after a week of helpless suspense there came a flash of light. A silver-and-brilliant pendant of old Spanish design had been pawned at Bovington's, in Westminster Road. The pawner was a large, clean-shaven man of clerical appearance. His name and address were demonstrably false. The ear had escaped notice, but the description was surely that of Shlessinger. Three times had our bearded friend from the Langham called for news--the third time within an hour of this fresh development. His clothes were getting looser on his great body. He seemed to be wilting away in his anxiety. "If you will only give me something to do!" was his constant wail. At last Holmes could oblige him. "He has begun to pawn the jewels. We should get him now." "But does this mean that any harm has befallen the Lady Frances?" Holmes shook his head very gravely. "Supposing that they have held her prisoner up to now, it is clear that they cannot let her loose without their own destruction. We must prepare for the worst." "What can I do?" "These people do not know you by sight?" "No." "It is possible that he will go to some other pawnbroker in the future. In that case, we must begin again. On the other hand, he has had a fair price and no questions asked, so if he is in need of ready-money he will probably come back to Bovington's. I will give you a note to them, and they will let you wait in the shop. If the fellow comes you will follow him home. But no indiscretion, and, above all, no violence. I put you on your honour that you will take no step without my knowledge and consent." For two days the Hon. Philip Green (he was, I may mention, the son of the famous admiral of that name who commanded the Sea of Azof fleet in the Crimean War) brought us no news. On the evening of the third he rushed into our sitting-room, pale, trembling, with every muscle of his powerful frame quivering with excitement. "We have him! We have him!" he cried. He was incoherent in his agitation. Holmes soothed him with a few words and thrust him into an armchair. "Come, now, give us the order of events," said he. "She came only an hour ago. It was the wife, this time, but the pendant she brought was the fellow of the other. She is a tall, pale woman, with ferret eyes." "That is the lady," said Holmes. "She left the office and I followed her. She walked up the Kennington Road, and I kept behind her. Presently she went into a shop. Mr. Holmes, it was an undertaker's." My companion started. "Well?" he asked in that vibrant voice which told of the fiery soul behind the cold gray face. "She was talking to the woman behind the counter. I entered as well. 'It is late,' I heard her say, or words to that effect. The woman was excusing herself. 'It should be there before now,' she answered. 'It took longer, being out of the ordinary.' They both stopped and looked at me, so I asked some questions and then left the shop." "You did excellently well. What happened next?" "The woman came out, but I had hid myself in a doorway. Her suspicions had been aroused, I think, for she looked round her. Then she called a cab and got in. I was lucky enough to get another and so to follow her. She got down at last at No. 36, Poultney Square, Brixton. I drove past, left my cab at the corner of the square, and watched the house." "Did you see anyone?" "The windows were all in darkness save one on the lower floor. The blind was down, and I could not see in. I was standing there, wondering what I should do next, when a covered van drove up with two men in it. They descended, took something out of the van, and carried it up the steps to the hall door. Mr. Holmes, it was a coffin." "Ah!" "For an instant I was on the point of rushing in. The door had been opened to admit the men and their burden. It was the woman who had opened it. But as I stood there she caught a glimpse of me, and I think that she recognized me. I saw her start, and she hastily closed the door. I remembered my promise to you, and here I am." "You have done excellent work," said Holmes, scribbling a few words upon a half-sheet of paper. "We can do nothing legal without a warrant, and you can serve the cause best by taking this note down to the authorities and getting one. There may be some difficulty, but I should think that the sale of the jewellery should be sufficient. Lestrade will see to all details." "But they may murder her in the meanwhile. What could the coffin mean, and for whom could it be but for her?" "We will do all that can be done, Mr. Green. Not a moment will be lost. Leave it in our hands. Now Watson," he added as our client hurried away, "he will set the regular forces on the move. We are, as usual, the irregulars, and we must take our own line of action. The situation strikes me as so desperate that the most extreme measures are justified. Not a moment is to be lost in getting to Poultney Square. "Let us try to reconstruct the situation," said he as we drove swiftly past the Houses of Parliament and over Westminster Bridge. "These villains have coaxed this unhappy lady to London, after first alienating her from her faithful maid. If she has written any letters they have been intercepted. Through some confederate they have engaged a furnished house. Once inside it, they have made her a prisoner, and they have become possessed of the valuable jewellery which has been their object from the first. Already they have begun to sell part of it, which seems safe enough to them, since they have no reason to think that anyone is interested in the lady's fate. When she is released she will, of course, denounce them. Therefore, she must not be released. But they cannot keep her under lock and key forever. So murder is their only solution." "That seems very clear." "Now we will take another line of reasoning. When you follow two separate chains of thought, Watson, you will find some point of intersection which should approximate to the truth. We will start now, not from the lady but from the coffin and argue backward. That incident proves, I fear, beyond all doubt that the lady is dead. It points also to an orthodox burial with proper accompaniment of medical certificate and official sanction. Had the lady been obviously murdered, they would have buried her in a hole in the back garden. But here all is open and regular. What does this mean? Surely that they have done her to death in some way which has deceived the doctor and simulated a natural end--poisoning, perhaps. And yet how strange that they should ever let a doctor approach her unless he were a confederate, which is hardly a credible proposition." "Could they have forged a medical certificate?" "Dangerous, Watson, very dangerous. No, I hardly see them doing that. Pull up, cabby! This is evidently the undertaker's, for we have just passed the pawnbroker's. Would you go in, Watson? Your appearance inspires confidence. Ask what hour the Poultney Square funeral takes place to-morrow." The woman in the shop answered me without hesitation that it was to be at eight o'clock in the morning. "You see, Watson, no mystery; everything above-board! In some way the legal forms have undoubtedly been complied with, and they think that they have little to fear. Well, there's nothing for it now but a direct frontal attack. Are you armed?" "My stick!" "Well, well, we shall be strong enough. 'Thrice is he armed who hath his quarrel just.' We simply can't afford to wait for the police or to keep within the four corners of the law. You can drive off, cabby. Now, Watson, we'll just take our luck together, as we have occasionally in the past." He had rung loudly at the door of a great dark house in the centre of Poultney Square. It was opened immediately, and the figure of a tall woman was outlined against the dim-lit hall. "Well, what do you want?" she asked sharply, peering at us through the darkness. "I want to speak to Dr. Shlessinger," said Holmes. "There is no such person here," she answered, and tried to close the door, but Holmes had jammed it with his foot. "Well, I want to see the man who lives here, whatever he may call himself," said Holmes firmly. She hesitated. Then she threw open the door. "Well, come in!" said she. "My husband is not afraid to face any man in the world." She closed the door behind us and showed us into a sitting-room on the right side of the hall, turning up the gas as she left us. "Mr. Peters will be with you in an instant," she said. Her words were literally true, for we had hardly time to look around the dusty and moth-eaten apartment in which we found ourselves before the door opened and a big, clean-shaven bald-headed man stepped lightly into the room. He had a large red face, with pendulous cheeks, and a general air of superficial benevolence which was marred by a cruel, vicious mouth. "There is surely some mistake here, gentlemen," he said in an unctuous, make-everything-easy voice. "I fancy that you have been misdirected. Possibly if you tried farther down the street--" "That will do; we have no time to waste," said my companion firmly. "You are Henry Peters, of Adelaide, late the Rev. Dr. Shlessinger, of Baden and South America. I am as sure of that as that my own name is Sherlock Holmes." Peters, as I will now call him, started and stared hard at his formidable pursuer. "I guess your name does not frighten me, Mr. Holmes," said he coolly. "When a man's conscience is easy you can't rattle him. What is your business in my house?" "I want to know what you have done with the Lady Frances Carfax, whom you brought away with you from Baden." "I'd be very glad if you could tell me where that lady may be," Peters answered coolly. "I've a bill against her for a nearly a hundred pounds, and nothing to show for it but a couple of trumpery pendants that the dealer would hardly look at. She attached herself to Mrs. Peters and me at Baden--it is a fact that I was using another name at the time--and she stuck on to us until we came to London. I paid her bill and her ticket. Once in London, she gave us the slip, and, as I say, left these out-of-date jewels to pay her bills. You find her, Mr. Holmes, and I'm your debtor." "I MEAN to find her," said Sherlock Holmes. "I'm going through this house till I do find her." "Where is your warrant?" Holmes half drew a revolver from his pocket. "This will have to serve till a better one comes." "Why, you're a common burglar." "So you might describe me," said Holmes cheerfully. "My companion is also a dangerous ruffian. And together we are going through your house." Our opponent opened the door. "Fetch a policeman, Annie!" said he. There was a whisk of feminine skirts down the passage, and the hall door was opened and shut. "Our time is limited, Watson," said Holmes. "If you try to stop us, Peters, you will most certainly get hurt. Where is that coffin which was brought into your house?" "What do you want with the coffin? It is in use. There is a body in it." "I must see the body." "Never with my consent." "Then without it." With a quick movement Holmes pushed the fellow to one side and passed into the hall. A door half opened stood immediately before us. We entered. It was the dining-room. On the table, under a half-lit chandelier, the coffin was lying. Holmes turned up the gas and raised the lid. Deep down in the recesses of the coffin lay an emaciated figure. The glare from the lights above beat down upon an aged and withered face. By no possible process of cruelty, starvation, or disease could this wornout wreck be the still beautiful Lady Frances. Holmes's face showed his amazement, and also his relief. "Thank God!" he muttered. "It's someone else." "Ah, you've blundered badly for once, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said Peters, who had followed us into the room. "Who is the dead woman?" "Well, if you really must know, she is an old nurse of my wife's, Rose Spender by name, whom we found in the Brixton Workhouse Infirmary. We brought her round here, called in Dr. Horsom, of 13 Firbank Villas--mind you take the address, Mr. Holmes--and had her carefully tended, as Christian folk should. On the third day she died--certificate says senile decay--but that's only the doctor's opinion, and of course you know better. We ordered her funeral to be carried out by Stimson and Co., of the Kennington Road, who will bury her at eight o'clock to-morrow morning. Can you pick any hole in that, Mr. Holmes? You've made a silly blunder, and you may as well own up to it. I'd give something for a photograph of your gaping, staring face when you pulled aside that lid expecting to see the Lady Frances Carfax and only found a poor old woman of ninety." Holmes's expression was as impassive as ever under the jeers of his antagonist, but his clenched hands betrayed his acute annoyance. "I am going through your house," said he. "Are you, though!" cried Peters as a woman's voice and heavy steps sounded in the passage. "We'll soon see about that. This way, officers, if you please. These men have forced their way into my house, and I cannot get rid of them. Help me to put them out." A sergeant and a constable stood in the doorway. Holmes drew his card from his case. "This is my name and address. This is my friend, Dr. Watson." "Bless you, sir, we know you very well," said the sergeant, "but you can't stay here without a warrant." "Of course not. I quite understand that." "Arrest him!" cried Peters. "We know where to lay our hands on this gentleman if he is wanted," said the sergeant majestically, "but you'll have to go, Mr. Holmes." "Yes, Watson, we shall have to go." A minute later we were in the street once more. Holmes was as cool as ever, but I was hot with anger and humiliation. The sergeant had followed us. "Sorry, Mr. Holmes, but that's the law." "Exactly, Sergeant, you could not do otherwise." "I expect there was good reason for your presence there. If there is anything I can do--" "It's a missing lady, Sergeant, and we think she is in that house. I expect a warrant presently." "Then I'll keep my eye on the parties, Mr. Holmes. If anything comes along, I will surely let you know." It was only nine o'clock, and we were off full cry upon the trail at once. First we drove to Brixton Workhoused Infirmary, where we found that it was indeed the truth that a charitable couple had called some days before, that they had claimed an imbecile old woman as a former servant, and that they had obtained permission to take her away with them. No surprise was expressed at the news that she had since died. The doctor was our next goal. He had been called in, had found the woman dying of pure senility, had actually seen her pass away, and had signed the certificate in due form. "I assure you that everything was perfectly normal and there was no room for foul play in the matter," said he. Nothing in the house had struck him as suspicious save that for people of their class it was remarkable that they should have no servant. So far and no further went the doctor. Finally we found our way to Scotland Yard. There had been difficulties of procedure in regard to the warrant. Some delay was inevitable. The magistrate's signature might not be obtained until next morning. If Holmes would call about nine he could go down with Lestrade and see it acted upon. So ended the day, save that near midnight our friend, the sergeant, called to say that he had seen flickering lights here and there in the windows of the great dark house, but that no one had left it and none had entered. We could but pray for patience and wait for the morrow. Sherlock Holmes was too irritable for conversation and too restless for sleep. I left him smoking hard, with his heavy, dark brows knotted together, and his long, nervous fingers tapping upon the arms of his chair, as he turned over in his mind every possible solution of the mystery. Several times in the course of the night I heard him prowling about the house. Finally, just after I had been called in the morning, he rushed into my room. He was in his dressing-gown, but his pale, hollow-eyed face told me that his night had been a sleepless one. "What time was the funeral? Eight, was it not?" he asked eagerly. "Well, it is 7:20 now. Good heavens, Watson, what has become of any brains that God has given me? Quick, man, quick! It's life or death--a hundred chances on death to one on life. I'll never forgive myself, never, if we are too late!" Five minutes had not passed before we were flying in a hansom down Baker Street. But even so it was twenty-five to eight as we passed Big Ben, and eight struck as we tore down the Brixton Road. But others were late as well as we. Ten minutes after the hour the hearse was still standing at the door of the house, and even as our foaming horse came to a halt the coffin, supported by three men, appeared on the threshold. Holmes darted forward and barred their way. "Take it back!" he cried, laying his hand on the breast of the foremost. "Take it back this instant!" "What the devil do you mean? Once again I ask you, where is your warrant?" shouted the furious Peters, his big red face glaring over the farther end of the coffin. "The warrant is on its way. The coffin shall remain in the house until it comes." The authority in Holmes's voice had its effect upon the bearers. Peters had suddenly vanished into the house, and they obeyed these new orders. "Quick, Watson, quick! Here is a screw-driver!" he shouted as the coffin was replaced upon the table. "Here's one for you, my man! A sovereign if the lid comes off in a minute! Ask no questions--work away! That's good! Another! And another! Now pull all together! It's giving! It's giving! Ah, that does it at last." With a united effort we tore off the coffin-lid. As we did so there came from the inside a stupefying and overpowering smell of chloroform. A body lay within, its head all wreathed in cotton-wool, which had been soaked in the narcotic. Holmes plucked it off and disclosed the statuesque face of a handsome and spiritual woman of middle age. In an instant he had passed his arm round the figure and raised her to a sitting position. "Is she gone, Watson? Is there a spark left? Surely we are not too late!" For half an hour it seemed that we were. What with actual suffocation, and what with the poisonous fumes of the chloroform, the Lady Frances seemed to have passed the last point of recall. And then, at last, with artificial respiration, with injected ether, and with every device that science could suggest, some flutter of life, some quiver of the eyelids, some dimming of a mirror, spoke of the slowly returning life. A cab had driven up, and Holmes, parting the blind, looked out at it. "Here is Lestrade with his warrant," said he. "He will find that his birds have flown. And here," he added as a heavy step hurried along the passage, "is someone who has a better right to nurse this lady than we have. Good morning, Mr. Green; I think that the sooner we can move the Lady Frances the better. Meanwhile, the funeral may proceed, and the poor old woman who still lies in that coffin may go to her last resting-place alone." "Should you care to add the case to your annals, my dear Watson," said Holmes that evening, "it can only be as an example of that temporary eclipse to which even the best-balanced mind may be exposed. Such slips are common to all mortals, and the greatest is he who can recognize and repair them. To this modified credit I may, perhaps, make some claim. My night was haunted by the thought that somewhere a clue, a strange sentence, a curious observation, had come under my notice and had been too easily dismissed. Then, suddenly, in the gray of the morning, the words came back to me. It was the remark of the undertaker's wife, as reported by Philip Green. She had said, 'It should be there before now. It took longer, being out of the ordinary.' It was the coffin of which she spoke. It had been out of the ordinary. That could only mean that it had been made to some special measurement. But why? Why? Then in an instant I remembered the deep sides, and the little wasted figure at the bottom. Why so large a coffin for so small a body? To leave room for another body. Both would be buried under the one certificate. It had all been so clear, if only my own sight had not been dimmed. At eight the Lady Frances would be buried. Our one chance was to stop the coffin before it left the house. "It was a desperate chance that we might find her alive, but it WAS a chance, as the result showed. These people had never, to my knowledge, done a murder. They might shrink from actual violence at the last. The could bury her with no sign of how she met her end, and even if she were exhumed there was a chance for them. I hoped that such considerations might prevail with them. You can reconstruct the scene well enough. You saw the horrible den upstairs, where the poor lady had been kept so long. They rushed in and overpowered her with their chloroform, carried her down, poured more into the coffin to insure against her waking, and then screwed down the lid. A clever device, Watson. It is new to me in the annals of crime. If our ex-missionary friends escape the clutches of Lestrade, I shall expect to hear of some brilliant incidents in their future career." Publication Date: May 7th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.doyle

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-sir-arthur-conan-doyle-my-friend-the-murderer/

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle My Friend the Murderer "Number 481 is no better, doctor," said the head-warder, in a slightly reproachful accent, looking in round the corner of my door. "Confound 481" I responded from behind the pages of the _Australian Sketcher_. "And 61 says his tubes are paining him. Couldn't you do anything for him?" "He is a walking drug-shop," said I. "He has the whole British pharmacopaae inside him. I believe his tubes are as sound as yours are." "Then there's 7 and 108, they are chronic," continued the warder, glancing down a blue slip of paper. "And 28 knocked off work yesterday--said lifting things gave him a stitch in the side. I want you to have a look at him, if you don't mind, doctor. There's 81, too--him that killed John Adamson in the Corinthian brig--he's been carrying on awful in the night, shrieking and yelling, he has, and no stopping him either." "All right, I'll have a look at him afterward," I said, tossing my paper carelessly aside, and pouring myself out a cup of coffee. "Nothing else to report, I suppose, warder?" The official protruded his head a little further into the room. "Beg pardon, doctor," he said, in a confidential tone, "but I notice as 82 has a bit of a cold, and it would be a good excuse for you to visit him and have a chat, maybe." The cup of coffee was arrested half-way to my lips as I stared in amazement at the man's serious face. "An excuse?" I said. "An excuse? What the deuce are you talking about, McPherson? You see me trudging about all day at my practise, when I'm not looking after the prisoners, and coming back every night as tired as a dog, and you talk about finding an excuse for doing more work." "You'd like it, doctor," said Warder McPherson, insinuating one of his shoulders into the room. "That man's story's worth listening to if you could get him to tell it, though he's not what you'd call free in his speech. Maybe you don't know who 82 is?" "No, I don't, and I don't care either," I answered, in the conviction that some local ruffian was about to be foisted upon me as a celebrity. "He's Maloney," said the warder, "him that turned Queen's evidence after the murders at Bluemansdyke." "You don't say so?" I ejaculated, laying down my cup in astonishment. I had heard of this ghastly series of murders, and read an account of them in a London magazine long before setting foot in the colony. I remembered that the atrocities committed had thrown the Burke and Hare crimes completely into the shade, and that one of the most villainous of the gang had saved his own skin by betraying his companions. "Are you sure?" I asked. "Oh, yes, it's him right enough. Just you draw him out a bit, and he'll astonish you. He's a man to know, is Maloney; that's to say, in moderation;" and the head grinned, bobbed, and disappeared, leaving me to finish my breakfast and ruminate over what I had heard. The surgeonship of an Australian prison is not an enviable position. It may be endurable in Melbourne or Sydney, but the little town of Perth has few attractions to recommend it, and those few had been long exhausted. The climate was detestable, and the society far from congenial. Sheep and cattle were the staple support of the community; and their prices, breeding, and diseases the principal topic of conversation. Now as I, being an outsider, possessed neither the one nor the other, and was utterly callous to the new "dip" and the "rot" and other kindred topics, I found myself in a state of mental isolation, and was ready to hail anything which might relieve the monotony of my existence. Maloney, the murderer, had at least some distinctiveness and individuality in his character, and might act as a tonic to a mind sick of the commonplaces of existence. I determined that I should follow the warder's advice, and take the excuse for making his acquaintance. When, therefore, I went upon my usual matutinal round, I turned the lock of the door which bore the convict's number upon it, and walked into the cell. The man was lying in a heap upon his rough bed as I entered, but, uncoiling his long limbs, he started up and stared at me with an insolent look of defiance on his face which augured badly for our interview. He had a pale, set face, with sandy hair and a steely-blue eye, with something feline in its expression. His frame was tall and muscular, though there was a curious bend in his shoulders, which almost amounted to a deformity. An ordinary observer meeting him in the street might have put him down as a well-developed man, fairly handsome, and of studious habits--even in the hideous uniform of the rottenest convict establishment he imparted a certain refinement to his carriage which marked him out among the inferior ruffians around him. "I'm not on the sick-list," he said, gruffly. There was something in the hard, rasping voice which dispelled all softer illusions, and made me realize that I was face to face with the man of the Lena Valley and Bluemansdyke, the bloodiest bushranger that ever stuck up a farm or cut the throats of its occupants. "I know you're not," I answered. "Warder McPherson told me you had a cold, though, and I thought I'd look in and see you." "Blast Warder McPherson, and blast you, too!" yelled the convict, in a paroxysm of rage. "Oh, that's right," he added in a quieter voice; "hurry away; report me to the governor, do! Get me another six months or so--that's your game." "I'm not going to report you," I said. "Eight square feet of ground," he went on, disregarding my protest, and evidently working himself into a fury again. "Eight square feet, and I can't have that without being talked to and stared at, and--oh, blast the whole crew of you!" and he raised his two clinched hands above, his head and shook them in passionate invective. "You've got a curious idea of hospitality," I remarked, determined not to lose my temper, and saying almost the first thing that came to my tongue. To my surprise the words had an extraordinary effect upon him. He seemed completely staggered at my assuming the proposition for which he had been so fiercely contending--namely, that the room in which he stood was his own. "I beg your pardon," he said; "I didn't mean to be rude. Won't you take a seat?" and he motioned toward a rough trestle, which formed the head-piece of his couch. I sat down, rather astonished at the sudden change. I don't know that I liked Maloney better under this new aspect. The murderer had, it is true, disappeared for the nonce, but there was something in the smooth tones and obsequious manner which powerfully suggested the witness of the queen, who had stood up and sworn away the lives of his companions in crime. "How's your chest?" I asked, putting on my professional air. "Come, drop it, doctor--drop it!" he answered, showing a row of white teeth as he resumed his seat upon the side of the bed. "It wasn't anxiety after my precious health that brought you along here; that story won't wash at all. You came to have a look at Wolf Tone Maloney, forger, murderer, Sydney-slider, ranger, and government peach. That's about my figure, ain't it? There it is, plain and straight; there's nothing mean about me." He paused as if he expected me to say something; but as I remained silent, he repeated once or twice, "There's nothing mean about me." "And why shouldn't I?" he suddenly yelled, his eyes gleaming and his whole satanic nature reasserting itself. "We were bound to swing, one and all, and they were none the worse if I saved myself by turning against them. Every man for himself, say I, and the devil take the luckiest. You haven't a plug of tobacco, doctor, have you?" He tore at the piece of "Barrett's" which I handed him, as ravenously as a wild beast. It seemed to have the effect of soothing his nerves, for he settled himself down in the bed and re-assumed his former deprecating manner. "You wouldn't like it yourself, you know, doctor," he said: "it's enough to make any man a little queer in his temper. I'm in for six months this time for assault, and very sorry I shall be to go out again, I can tell you. My mind's at ease in here; but when I'm outside, what with the government and what with Tattooed Tom, of Hawkesbury, there's no chance of a quiet life." "Who is he?" I asked. "He's the brother of John Grimthorpe, the same that was condemned on my evidence; and an infernal scamp he was, too! Spawn of the devil, both of them! This tattooed one is a murderous ruffian, and he swore to have my blood after that trial. It's seven year ago, and he's following me yet; I know he is, though he lies low and keeps dark. He came up to me in Ballarat in '75; you can see on the back of my hand here where the bullet clipped me. He tried again in '76, at Port Philip, but I got the drop on him and wounded him badly. He knifed me in '79, though, in a bar at Adelaide, and that made our account about level. He's loafing round again now, and he'll let daylight into me--unless--unless by some extraordinary chance some one does as much for him." And Maloney gave a very ugly smile. "I don't complain of _him_ so much," he continued. "Looking at it in his way, no doubt it is a sort of family matter that can hardly be neglected. It's the government that fetches me. When I think of what I've done for this country, and then of what this country has done for me, it makes me fairly wild--clean drives me off my head. There's no gratitude nor common decency left, doctor!" He brooded over his wrongs for a few minutes, and then proceeded to lay them before me in detail. "Here's nine men," he said; "they've been murdering and killing for a matter of three years, and maybe a life a week wouldn't more than average the work that they've done. The government catches them and the government tries them, but they can't convict; and why?--because the witnesses have all had their throats cut, and the whole job's been very neatly done. What happens then? Up comes a citizen called Wolf Tone Maloney; he says, 'The country needs me, and here I am.' And with that he gives his evidence, convicts the lot, and enables the beaks to hang them. That's what I did. There's nothing mean about me! And now what does the country do in return? Dogs me, sir, spies on me, watches me night and day, turns against the very man that worked so very hard for it. There's something mean about that, anyway. I didn't expect them to knight me, nor to make me colonial secretary; but, damn it! I did expect that they would let me alone!" "Well," I remonstrated, "if you choose to break laws and assault people, you can't expect it to be looked over on account of former services." "I don't refer to my present imprisonment, sir," said Maloney, with dignity. "It's the life I've been leading since that cursed trial that takes the soul out of me. Just you sit there on that trestle, and I'll tell you all about it, and then look me in the face and tell me that I've been treated fair by the police." I shall endeavor to transcribe the experience of the convict in his own words, as far as I can remember them, preserving his curious perversions of right and wrong. I can answer for the truth of his facts, whatever may be said for his deductions from them. Months afterward, Inspector H. W. Hann, formerly governor of the jail at Dunedin, showed me entries in his ledger which corroborated every statement Maloney reeled the story off in a dull, monotonous voice, with his head sunk upon his breast and his hands between his knees. The glitter of his serpentlike eyes was the only sign of the emotions which were stirred up by the recollection of the events which he narrated. ***** You've read of Bluemansdyke (he began, with some pride in his tone). We made it hot while it lasted; but they ran us to earth at last, and a trap called Braxton, with a damned Yankee, took the lot of us. That was in New Zealand, of course, and they took us down to Dunedin, and there they were convicted and hanged. One and all they put up their hands in the dock, and cursed me till your blood would have run cold to hear them--which was scurvy treatment, seeing that we had all been pals together; but they were a blackguard lot, and thought only of themselves. I think it is as well that they were hung. They took me back to Dunedin Jail, and clapped me into the old cell. The only difference they made was, that I had no work to do and was well fed. I stood this for a week or two, until one day the governor was making his rounds, and I put the matter to him. "How's this?" I said. "My conditions were a free pardon, and you're keeping me here against the law." He gave a sort of a smile. "Should you like very much to get out?" he asked. "So much," said I, "that unless you open that door I'll have an action against you for illegal detention." He seemed a bit astonished by my resolution. "You're very anxious to meet your death," he said. "What d'ye mean?" I asked. "Come here, and you'll know what I mean," he answered. And he led me down the passage to a window that overlooked the door of the prison. "Look at that!" said he. I looked out, and there were a dozen or so rough-looking fellows standing outside the street, some of them smoking, some playing cards on the pavement. When they saw me they gave a yell and crowded round the door, shaking their fists and hooting. "They wait for you, watch and watch about," said the governor. "They're the executive of the vigilance committee. However, since you are determined to go, I can't stop you." "D'ye call this a civilized land," I cried, "and let a man be murdered in cold blood in open daylight?" When I said this the governor and the warder and every fool in the place grinned, as if a man's life was a rare good joke. "You've got the law on your side," says the governor; "so we won't detain you any longer. Show him out, warder." He'd have done it, too, the black-hearted villain, if I hadn't begged and prayed and offered to pay for my board and lodging, which is more than any prisoner ever did before me. He let me stay on those conditions; and for three months I was caged up there with every larrikin in the township clamoring at the other side of the wall. That was pretty treatment for a man that had served his country! At last, one morning up came the governor again. "Well, Maloney," he said, "how long are you going to honor us with your society?" I could have put a knife into his cursed body, and would, too, if we had been alone in the bush; but I had to smile, and smooth him and flatter, for I feared that he might have me sent out. "You're an infernal rascal," he said; those were his very words, to a man that had helped him all he knew how. "I don't want any rough justice here, though; and I think I see my way to getting you out of Dunedin." "I'll never forget you, governor," said I; "and, by God! I never will." "I don't want your thanks nor your gratitude," he answered; "it's not for your sake that I do it, but simply to keep order in the town. There's a steamer starts from the West Quay to Melbourne to-morrow, and we'll get you aboard it. She is advertised at five in the morning, so have yourself in readiness." I packed up the few things I had, and was smuggled out by a back door, just before daybreak. I hurried down, took my ticket under the name of Isaac Smith, and got safely aboard the Melbourne boat. I remember hearing her screw grinding into the water as the warps were cast loose, and looking back at the lights of Dunedin as I leaned upon the bulwarks, with the pleasant thought that I was leaving them behind me forever. It seemed to me that a new world was before me, and that all my troubles had been cast off. I went down below and had some coffee, and came up again feeling better than I had done since the morning that I woke to find that cursed Irishman that took me standing over me with a six-shooter. Day had dawned by that time, and we were steaming along by the coast, well out of sight of Dunedin. I loafed about for a couple of hours, and when the sun got well up some of the other passengers came on deck and joined me. One of them, a little perky sort of fellow, took a good long look at me, and then came over and began talking. "Mining, I suppose?" says he. "Yes," I says. "Made your pile?" he asks. "Pretty fair," says I. "I was at it myself," he says; "I worked at the Nelson fields for three months, and spent all I made in buying a salted claim which busted up the second day. I went at it again, though, and struck it rich; but when the gold wagon was going down to the settlements, it was stuck up by those cursed rangers, and not a red cent left." "That was a bad job," I says. "Broke me--ruined me clean. Never mind, I've seen them all hanged for it; that makes it easier to bear. There's only one left--the villain that gave the evidence. I'd die happy if I could come across him. There are two things I have to do if I meet him." "What's that?" says I, carelessly. "I've got to ask him where the money lies--they never had time to make away with it, and it's _cached_ somewhere in the mountains--and then I've got to stretch his neck for him, and send his soul down to join the men that he betrayed." It seemed to me that I knew something about that _cache_, and I felt like laughing; but he was watching me, and it struck me that he had a nasty, vindictive kind of mind. "I'm going up on the bridge," I said, for he was not a man whose acquaintance I cared much about making. He wouldn't hear of my leaving him, though. "We're both miners," he says, "and we're pals for the voyage. Come down to the bar. I'm not too poor to shout." I couldn't refuse him well, and we went down together; and that was the beginning of the trouble. What harm was I doing any one on the ship? All I asked for was a quiet life, leaving others alone and getting left alone myself. No man could ask fairer than that. And now just you listen to what came of it. We were passing the front of the ladies' cabin, on our way to the saloon, when out comes a servant lass--a freckled currency she-devil--with a baby in her arms. We were brushing past her, when she gave a scream like a railway whistle, and nearly dropped the kid. My nerves gave a sort of a jump when I heard that scream, but I turned and begged her pardon, letting on that I thought I might have trod on her foot. I knew the game was up, though, when I saw her white face, and her leaning against the door and pointing. "It's him!" she cried; "it's him! I saw him in the court-house. Oh, don't let him hurt the baby!" "Who is it?" asked the steward and half a dozen others in a breath. "It's him--Maloney--Maloney, the murderer--oh, take him away--take him away!" I don't rightly remember what happened just at that moment. The furniture and me seemed to get kind of mixed, and there was cursing, and smashing, and some one shouting for his gold, and a general stamping round. When I got steadied a bit, I found somebody's hand in my mouth. From what I gathered afterward, I concluded that it belonged to that same little man with the vicious way of talking. He got some of it out again, but that was because the others were choking me. A poor chap can get no fair play in this world when once he is down--still, I think he will remember me till the day of his death--longer, I hope. They dragged me out on to the poop and held a damned court-martial--on _me_, mind you; _me_, that had thrown over my pals in order to serve them. What were they to do with me? Some said this, some said that; but it ended by the captain deciding to send me ashore. The ship stopped, they lowered a boat, and I was hoisted in, the whole gang of them hooting at me from over the bulwarks, I saw the man I spoke of tying up his hand, though, and I felt that things might be worse. I changed my opinion before we got to the land. I had reckoned on the shore being deserted, and that I might make my way inland; but the ship had stopped too near the Heads, and a dozen beach-combers and such like had come down to the water's edge and were staring at us, wondering what the boat was after. When we got to the edge of the surf the cockswain hailed them, and after singing out who I was, he and his men threw me into the water. You may well look surprised--neck and crop into ten feet of water, with sharks as thick as green parrots in the bush, and I heard them laughing as I floundered to the shore. I soon saw it was a worse job than ever. As I came scrambling out through the weeds, I was collared by a big chap with a velveteen coat, and half a dozen others got round me and held me fast. Most of them looked simple fellows enough, and I was not afraid of them; but there was one in a cabbage-tree hat that had a very nasty expression on his face, and the big man seemed to be chummy with him. They dragged me up the beach, and then they let go their hold of me and stood round in a circle. "Well, mate," says the man with the hat, "we've been looking out for you some time in these parts." "And very good of you, too," I answers. "None of your jaw," says he. "Come, boys, what shall it be--hanging, drowning, or shooting? Look sharp!" This looked a bit too like business. "No, you don't!" I said. "I've got government protection, and it'll be murder." "That's what they call it," answered the one in the velveteen coat, as cheery as a piping crow. "And you're going to murder me for being a ranger?" "Ranger be damned!" said the man. "We're going to hang you for peaching against your pals; and that's an end of the palaver." They slung a rope round my neck and dragged me up to the edge of the bush. There were some big she-oaks and blue-gums, and they pitched on one of these for the wicked deed. They ran the rope over a branch, tied my hands, and told me to say my prayers. It seemed as if it was all up; but Providence interfered to save me. It sounds nice enough sitting here and telling about it, sir; but it was sick work to stand with nothing but the beach in front of you, and the long white line of surf, with the steamer in the distance, and a set of bloody-minded villains round you thirsting for your life. I never thought I'd owe anything good to the police; but they saved me that time. A troop of them were riding from Hawkes Point Station to Dunedin, and hearing that something was up, they came down through the bush and interrupted the proceedings. I've heard some bands in my time, doctor, but I never heard music like the jingle of those traps' spurs and harness as they galloped out on to the open. They tried to hang me even then, but the police were too quick for them; and the man with the hat got one over the head with the flat of a sword. I was clapped on to a horse, and before evening I found myself in my old quarters in the city jail. The governor wasn't to be done, though. He was determined to get rid of me, and I was equally anxious to see the last of him. He waited a week or so until the excitement had begun to die away, and then he smuggled me aboard a three-masted schooner bound to Sydney with tallow and hides. We got far away to sea without a hitch, and things began to look a bit more rosy. I made sure that I had seen the last of the prison, anyway. The crew had a sort of an idea who I was, and if there'd been any rough weather, they'd have hove me overboard, like enough; for they were a rough, ignorant lot, and had a notion that I brought bad luck to the ship. We had a good passage, however, and I was landed safe and sound upon Sydney Quay. Now just you listen to what happened next. You'd have thought they would have been sick of ill-using me and following me by this time--wouldn't you, now? Well, just you listen. It seems that a cursed steamer started from Dunedin to Sydney on the very day we left, and got in before us, bringing news that I was coming. Blessed if they hadn't called a meeting--a regular mass-meeting--at the docks to discuss about it, and I marched right into it when I landed. They didn't take long about arresting me, and I listened to all the speeches and resolutions. If I'd been a prince there couldn't have been more excitement. The end of all was that they agreed that it wasn't right that New Zealand should be allowed to foist her criminals upon her neighbors, and that I was to be sent back again by the next boat. So they posted me off again as if I was a damned parcel; and after another eight-hundred-mile journey I found myself back for the third time moving in the place that I started from. By this time I had begun to think that I was going to spend the rest of my existence traveling about from one port to another. Every man's hand seemed turned against me, and there was no peace or quiet in any direction. I was about sick of it by the time I had come back; and if I could have taken to the bush I'd have done it, and chanced it with my old pals. They were too quick for me, though, and kept me under lock and key; but I managed, in spite of them, to negotiate that _cache_ I told you of, and sewed the gold up in my belt. I spent another month in jail, and then they slipped me aboard a bark that was bound for England. This time the crew never knew who I was, but the captain had a pretty good idea, though he didn't let on to me that he had any suspicions. I guessed from the first that the man was a villain. We had a fair passage, except a gale or two off the Cape; and I began to feel like a free man when I saw the blue loom of the old country, and the saucy little pilot-boat from Falmouth dancing toward us over the waves. We ran down the Channel, and before we reached Gravesend I had agreed with the pilot that he should take me ashore with him when he left. It was at this time that the captain showed me that I was right in thinking him a meddling, disagreeable man. I got my things packed, such as they were, and left him talking earnestly to the pilot, while I went below for my breakfast. When I came up again we were fairly into the mouth of the river, and the boat in which I was to have gone ashore had left us. The skipper said the pilot had forgotten me; but that was too thin, and I began to fear that all my old troubles were going to commence once more. It was not long before my suspicions were confirmed. A boat darted out from the side of the river, and a tall cove with a long black beard came aboard. I heard him ask the mate whether they didn't need a mud-pilot to take them up in the reaches, but it seemed to me that he was a man who would know a deal more about handcuffs than he did about steering, so I kept away from him. He came across the deck, however, and made some remark to me, taking a good look at me the while. I don't like inquisitive people at any time, but an inquisitive stranger with glue about the roots of his beard is the worst of all to stand, especially under the circumstances. I began to feel that it was time for me to go. I soon got a chance, and made good use of it. A big collier came athwart the bows of our steamer, and we had to slacken down to dead slow. There was a barge astern, and I slipped down by a rope and was into the barge before any one missed me. Of course I had to leave my luggage behind me, but I had the belt with the nuggets round my waist, and the chance of shaking the police off my track was worth more than a couple of boxes. It was clear to me now that the pilot had been a traitor, as well as the captain, and had set the detectives after me. I often wish I could drop across those two men again. I hung about the barge all day as she drifted down the stream. There was one man in her, but she was a big, ugly craft, and his hands were too full for much looking about. Toward evening, when it got a bit dusky, I struck out for the shore, and found myself in a sort of marsh place, a good many miles to the east of London. I was soaking wet and half dead with hunger, but I trudged into the town, got a new rig-out at a slop-shop, and after having some supper, engaged a bed at the quietest lodgings I could find. I woke pretty early--a habit you pick up in the bush--and lucky for me that I did so. The very first thing I saw when I took a look through a chink in the shutter was one of these infernal policemen standing right opposite and staring up at the windows. He hadn't epaulets nor a sword, like our traps, but for all that there was a sort of family likeness, and the same busybody expression. Whether they followed me all the time, or whether the woman that let me the bed didn't like the looks of me, is more than I have ever been able to find out. He came across as I was watching him, and noted down the address of the house in a book. I was afraid that he was going to ring at the bell, but I suppose his orders were simply to keep an eye on me, for after another good look at the windows he moved on down the street. I saw that my only chance was to act at once. I threw on my clothes, opened the window softly, and, after making sure that there was nobody about, dropped out onto the ground and made off as hard as I could run. I traveled a matter of two or three miles, when my wind gave out; and as I saw a big building with people going in and out, I went in too, and found that it was a railway station. A train was just going off for Dover to meet the French boat, so I took a ticket and jumped into a third-class carriage. There were a couple of other chaps in the carriage, innocent-looking young beggars, both of them. They began speaking about this and that, while I sat quiet in the corner and listened. Then they started on England and foreign countries, and such like. Look ye now, doctor, this is a fact. One of them begins jawing about the justice of England's laws. "It's all fair and above-board," says he; "there ain't any secret police, nor spying, like they have abroad," and a lot more of the same sort of wash. Rather rough on me, wasn't it, listening to the damned young fool, with the police following me about like my shadow? I got to Paris right enough, and there I changed some of my gold, and for a few days I imagined I'd shaken them off, and began to think of settling down for a bit of rest. I needed it by that time, for I was looking more like a ghost than a man. You've never had the police after you, I suppose? Well, you needn't look offended, I didn't mean any harm. If ever you had you'd know that it wastes a man away like a sheep with the rot. I went to the opera one night and took a box, for I was very flush. I was coming out between the acts when I met a fellow lounging along in the passage. The light fell on his face, and I saw that it was the mud-pilot that had boarded us in the Thames. His beard was gone, but I recognized the man at a glance, for I've a good memory for faces. I tell you, doctor, I felt desperate for a moment. I could have knifed him if we had been alone, but he knew me well enough never to give me the chance. It was more than I could stand any longer, so I went right up to him and drew him aside, where we'd be free from all the loungers and theater-goers. "How long are you going to keep it up?" I asked him. He seemed a bit flustered for a moment, but then he saw there was no use beating about the bush, so he answered straight: "Until you go back to Australia," he said. "Don't you know," I said, "that I have served the government and got a free pardon?" He grinned all over his ugly face when I said this. "We know all about you, Maloney," he answered. "If you want a quiet life, just you go back where you came from. If you stay here, you're a marked man; and when you are found tripping it'll be a lifer for you, at the least. Free trade's a fine thing but the market's too full of men like you for us to need to import any." It seemed to me that there was something in what he said, though he had a nasty way of putting it. For some days back I'd been feeling a sort of homesick. The ways of the people weren't my ways. They stared at me in the street; and if I dropped into a bar, they'd stop talking and edge away a bit, as if I was a wild beast. I'd sooner have had a pint of old Stringybark, too, than a bucketful of their rot-gut liquors. There was too much damned propriety. What was the use of having money if you couldn't dress as you liked, nor bust in properly? There was no sympathy for a man if he shot about a little when he was half-over, I've seen a man dropped at Nelson many a time with less row than they'd make over a broken window-pane. The thing was slow, and I was sick of it. "You want me to go back?" I said. "I've my order to stick fast to you until you do," he answered. "Well," I said, "I don't care if I do. All I bargain is that you keep your mouth shut and don't let on who I am, so that I may have a fair start when I get there." He agreed to this, and we went over to Southampton the very next day, where he saw me safely off once more. I took a passage round to Adelaide, where no one was likely to know me; and there I settled, right under the nose of the police. I'd been there ever since, leading a quiet life, but for little difficulties like the one I'm in for now, and for that devil, Tattooed Tom, of Hawkesbury. I don't know what made me tell you all this, doctor, unless it is that being lonely makes a man inclined to jaw when he gets a chance. Just you take warning from me, though. Never put yourself out to serve your country; for your country will do precious little for you. Just you let them look after their own affairs; and if they find difficulty in hanging a set of scoundrels, never mind chipping in, but let them alone to do as best they can. Maybe they'll remember how they treated me after I'm dead, and be sorry for neglecting me, I was rude to you when you came in, and swore a trifle promiscuous: but don't you mind me, it's only my way. You'll allow, though, that I have cause to be a bit touchy now and again when I think of all that's passed. You're not going, are you? Well, if you must, you must; but I hope you will look me up at odd times when you are going your rounds. Oh, I say, you've left the balance of that cake of tobacco behind you, haven't you? No; it's in your pocket--that's all right. Thank ye, doctor, you're a good sort, and as quick at a hint as any man I've met. A couple of months after narrating his experiences, Wolf Tone Maloney finished his term, and was released. For a long time I neither saw him nor heard of him, and he had almost slipped from my memory, until I was reminded, in a somewhat tragic manner, of his existence. I had been attending a patient some distance off in the country, and was riding back, guiding my tired horse among the boulders which strewed the pathway, and endeavoring to see my way through the gathering darkness, when I came suddenly upon a little wayside inn. As I walked my horse up toward the door, intending to make sure of my bearings before proceeding further, I heard the sound of a violent altercation within the little bar. There seemed to be a chorus of expostulation or remonstrance, above which two powerful voices rang out loud and angry. As I listened, there was a momentary hush, two pistol shots sounded almost simultaneously, and with a crash the door burst open and a pair of dark figures staggered out into the moonlight. They struggled for a moment in a deadly wrestle, and then went down together among the loose stones. I had sprung off my horse, and, with the help of half a dozen rough fellows from the bar, dragged them away from one another. A glance was sufficient to convince me that one of them was dying fast. He was a thick-set burly fellow, with a determined cast of countenance. The blood was welling from a deep stab in his throat, and it was evident that an important artery had been divided. I turned away from him in despair, and walked over to where his antagonist was lying. He was shot through the lungs, but managed to raise himself up on his hand as I approached, and peered anxiously up into my face. To my surprise, I saw before me the haggard features and flaxen hair of my prison acquaintance, Maloney. "Ah, doctor!" he said, recognizing me. "How is he? Will he die?" He asked the question so earnestly that I imagined he had softened at the last moment, and feared to leave the world with another homicide upon his conscience. Truth, however, compelled me to shake my head mournfully, and to intimate that the wound would prove a mortal one. Maloney gave a wild cry of triumph, which brought the blood welling out from between his lips. "Here, boys," he gasped to the little group around him. "There's money in my inside pocket. Damn the expense! Drinks round. There's nothing mean about me. I'd drink with you, but I'm going. Give the doc my share, for he's as good--" Here his head fell back with a thud, his eye glazed, and the soul of Wolf Tone Maloney, forger, convict, ranger, murderer, and government peach, drifted away into the Great Unknown. I cannot conclude without borrowing the account of the fatal quarrel which appeared in the column of the _West Australian Sentinel_. The curious will find it in the issue of October 4,1881: "Fatal Affray.--W. T. Maloney, a well-know citizen of New Montrose, and proprietor of the Yellow Boy gambling saloon, has met with his death under rather painful circumstances. Mr. Maloney was a man who had led a checkered existence, and whose past history is replete with interest. Some of our readers may recall the Lena Valley murders, in which he figured as the principal criminal. It is conjectured that during the seven months that he owned a bar in that region, from twenty to thirty travelers were hocussed and made away with. He succeeded, however, in evading the vigilance of the officers of the law, and allied himself with the bushrangers of Bluemansdyke, whose heroic capture and subsequent execution are matters of history. Maloney extricated himself from the fate which awaited him by turning Queen's evidence. He afterward visited Europe, but returned to West Australia, where he has long played a prominent part in local matters. On Friday evening he encountered an old enemy, Thomas Grimthorpe, commonly known as Tattooed Tom, of Hawkesbury. "Shots were exchanged, and both were badly wounded, only surviving a few minutes. Mr. Maloney had the reputation of being not only the most wholesale murderer that ever lived, but also of having a finish and attention to detail in matters of evidence which has been unapproached by any European criminal. _Sic transit gloria mundi!_" Publication Date: May 14th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.doyle

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BS Murthy Prey on the Prowl - A Crime Novel "It is not the aim of this painful confession to earn sympathy or reprieve for myself as I am looking forward to the gallows to end my burden of living. after my ventures into those adventures, surely an act of murder is no mean an adventure, now I seek death that deals with the unknown as it is the biggest adventure of life," so says the arraigned to the magistrate. Who could have poisoned Ranjit the realtor, Shakeel the Inspector, Pravar the criminal and Natya his accomplice? Well the needle of suspicion tilted towards Pravar that was till he perished with his mate, but then who was the one? Could it be Radha under the scanner for her role in the death of her husband Madhu and his mistress Mala, Pravar's sister? Or was it Ranjit's spouse Kavya, who owing to Stockholm Syndrome, takes to Pravar her kidnapper. As these deaths by poisoning puzzle Dhruva, Radha, who worms her way into his life, avers that Kavya had the motive and the means to kill her spouse, her paramour and his wife Prey on the Prowl - A Crime Novel Prey on the Prowl – A Crime Novel BS Murthy ISBN 81-901911-4-4 Improved Edition © 2021 BS Murthy Original copyright © 2014 BS Murthy Cover design of Gopi’s water color painting by Lattice Advertisers, Hyderabad.     Self Imprint  F-9, Nandini Mansion, 1-10-234, Ashok Nagar, Hyderabad – 500 020    Other books by BS Murthy – Benign Flame – Saga of Love  Jewel-less Crown - Saga of Life Crossing the Mirage – Passing through youth Glaring Shadow - A stream of consciousness novel Of No Avail: Web of Wedlock (A Novella) Stories Varied -  A Book of Short Stories Onto the Stage – Slighted Souls and other stage and radio plays Puppets of Faith: Theory of Communal Strife Bhagvad-Gita: Treatise of self – help (A translation in verse) Sundara Kãnda - Hanuman’s Odyssey (A translation in verse)    Agenda for Revenge Chapter 1 : Prey on the Prowl Chapter 2 :  Shakeel’s Fixation Chapter 3 : Ranjit’s Predicament  Chapter 4 : Rags to Riches Chapter 5 : Dhruva’s Dilemma  Chapter 6 : The Gatecrasher Chapter 7 : Operation Checkmate Chapter 8 : Foul on Pravar  Chapter 9 : Stockholm Syndrome Chapter 10 : An Aborted Affair Chapter 11 : Psyche of Revenge Chapter 12 : Victim of Trust Chapter 13 : Backyard of Life Chapter 14 : Cuckoo’s Nest Chapter 15 : ‘Untried’ Crime Chapter 16 : Kavya’s Quagmire Chapter 17 : Murders to Mislead Chapter 18 : The Other Woman  Chapter 19 :  Shakeel’s Demise Chapter 20 : A Perfect Murder Chapter 21 : Deaths in Spandan Chapter 22 : Arraigned in Remand Chapter 23 : Depressing Discovery Chapter 24 : The Red Herring Chapter 25 : Wages of Abuse Chapter 26 : Decoding the Crime Chapter 27 : A Poignant End     Dedicated to all those women, whose loving glances have made my life’s journey a joyous sojourn.     Chapter 1 Prey on the Prowl   That June evening, the crimson sun gave in to the dark monsoon clouds to let them end its long summer reign over the Deccan skies. What with the thickening clouds thundering in triumph, Detective Dhruva woke up from his siesta, and by the time he moved into the portico of his palatial bungalow at 9, Castle Hills, the skies had opened up to shower its sprawling lawns. It was as if the eagerness of the rainfall matched the longing of the parched soil to receive its fertile mate in an aroma of embrace, and in the ensuing echoes of that seasonal union, the roots of the garden plants devoured every raindrop, that is, even as their leaves shed the overburden to accommodate the new arrivals. In that setting, as Dhruva, impelled by all that, stood engrossed, Raju, the housekeeper, fetched him a plateful of hot pakodas, which, facing the spatter, he began to savor, and before he had finished with the snack, Raju returned with a mug of steaming Darjeeling tea for him. Soon, as the refreshed sun resurged to warm up the leaves, even as the satiated roots let the bounty go down the drain; done with the beverage, the detective picked up the sachet of lanka pogaku to roll a cigar, and then as he reached for the cigar lighter, the rainbow, in its resplendent colors, unfolded in the misty skies. However, when he began puffing away at the exotic cigar, as if dispelled by its strong scent, the dissipated clouds began disappearing from the horizon. Having savored the cigar to the last puff, as he stubbed the butt and stepped out onto the lush green wet lawn, Dicey, the Alsatian, followed him, as if to leave its own footprints on the damp canvas in its master’s tracks. Then, even as the rainy clouds began regrouping in the skies, he covered the garden to caress every croton and coleus as he would his pet. But when it portended downpour, Raju led Dicey into the portico and the detective headed towards the study to pick up the half-read Crimes Digest of the month.   But yet again, as it was a downpour, Dhruva reached the first-floor window, standing by which, he thought that it was akin to the urge of an assassin to revisit the scene of the crime, for a review of the same. Amused by his analogy, he thought the sky was at obliterating its earlier footprints on the earth, but when it ceased raining and it turned murky, as if mourning the loss of its resplendence, he too began immersing himself in the dark world of crime the Digest pictured, even as Raju let the pet do the patrolling of the premises. Soon though, Dicey began barking at the gate, again inducing Dhruva to reach to the window, through which he saw a sensuous woman, tentative at the half-open Iron Gate of his mansion. Enamored of her attractive face and desirous of her middle-aged frame, as he stood rooted, the pet sprang up to the gate, forcing the tantalizing trespasser to beat a hasty retreat. No less affected by her sensual gait in her retreat, the detective lost his eyes to her, until she went out of his sight, but readily alive to her loss, he cursed himself for not sticking to the portico. Thus, obsessed with her, though, inexplicably, he rushed to the gate, only to see her turning the bend, even as Inspector Shakeel came into view on his Bajaj Pulsar. When the cop greeted the detective, feeling lost, he forced himself to hug him, even as his pet leapt up to the visitor in welcome; however, as Raju took away Dicey, wondering aloud what made him scarce, for nearly three months then, Dhruva led Shakeel into the portico. So, as the cop began to detail how he had reached the dead-end of a double murder investigation on hand, the detective closed his eyes, as if to avoid reading the script from his body language.    Chapter 2 Shakeel’s Fixation       That day, when Shakeel entered the Saifabad Police Station, he was greeted by the echoes of the boots-in-attention but as he stepped into his cabin, as if calling stand-at-ease, the telephone had started ringing. However, after attending the Circle Inspector’s call, as he opened the dak folder, the Head Constable Karim, carrying the news of a double murder, rushed up to him. “Where was it?” asked Shakeel. “Last night sir at 13, Red Hills,” said Karim.  “Are you sure about our jurisdiction?” asked Shakeel, who was newly posted there.  “Very much, sir,” said Karim unable to hide his irritation as if the question questioned his procedural knowledge. “Who’re the dead?” “Man and his mistress, sir.” “What if it’s a suicide pact?” “No sir, they could’ve been poisoned by the man’s wife.”  “What makes you think so?”  “Pravar told me, sir?” “Who’s he by the way?” “He’s the dead woman’s brother, sir.” “What else did he say?” “He said that Radha the murderess is on the run ever since.” “Let me see how long she can evade me,” said Shakeel, getting up. “Not long enough, sir,” said Karim stepping aside.  When the duo entered the drawing room of that dwelling at 13, Red Hills, Pravar had drawn their attention to two empty glasses and a half-empty Teacher’s Scotch bottle on the teapoy, with kaara boondi for company. When Shakeel surveyed the scene there, Pravar ushered them into the adjacent bedroom, where Madhu and Mala lay dead on a double cot bed. Soon, as the forensic squad, present by then, was at work, providing Radha’s photograph to Shakeel, Pravar made out a case of her poisoning the couple. Leaving the corpses to Karim’s care, when Shakeel returned to the police station with the suspect’s photograph, he was surprised to find her there ‘to aid the investigation’. But in spite of her pleas of innocence, Shakeel, influenced by Pravar’s assertions, could not but see her hand in the double murder, and so arraigned her as the sole suspect. Not only that, even though his sustained custodial interrogation failed to crack her, believing in her guilt, so as to extracting her confession, he brought every police trick up his sleeve into play, including the third degree, but to no avail. Eventually however, he had to set her free, owing to the judicial intervention, but yet he failed to free himself from his sense of failure to pin her down to the murder of her man and his mistress. As he was cut up thus, seeing Dhruva’s ad in The Deccan Chronicle for a ‘lady sleuth to assist him' , he had a premonition that she might try to secure the position to insulate herself. So as to preempt her move, he had set out that evening to 9, Castle Hills, even in that inclement weather. While Dhruva was grappling with that sum and substance of Shakeel’s recollection of the bygone incident, the cop said in a lighter vein that if she were to come under the detective’s wings, it could as well portend a romantic opening for him in his middle-age.  “When you began, I too thought that a murderess on the run makes an ideal prey to any womanizing cop like you that is from what I’ve heard of you” said Dhruva jocularly; and then assuming a serious look he wanted to know from the cop if he had noticed a pretty woman at the bend. But picking up Shakeel’s blank look, Dhruva said in jest that he had expected the cop to have an eye for women, if not an ear to the underworld. And to Dhruva’s light-hearted banter, Shakeel said that though he fancied himself as a womanizer, from what he had heard about him, he was no match to him. Dismissing all that as exaggerated hearsay, the detective led the cop into the study, where the latter poured out the problems the death of Madhu, and Mala posed to the investigation. On Pravar’s account, Madhu was hell-bent on divorcing Radha and that would have left her in the dire stairs; won’ that be an enough motive, apart from her rivalry with the other woman, to poison her man and his mistress. Never mind her alibi that she was away with her friend when the illicit couple drank the poisoned liquor to their death, won’t her possible means to poison the drink make her the prime suspect. So her motive to murder them made it an open-and-shut case; there was no difficulty in guessing that after somehow poisoning the drink, she might have picked up a quarrel with them as an excuse to leave them in a huff. But yet for Shakeel, her alibi had become a big hurdle for him to cross over to pin her down, more so as she withstood the sustained interrogation and came out clean in the lie-detector test as well! Unable to hide his admiration for the unknown woman, when Dhruva said as to how such a steely woman could have allowed herself to be so ill-treated, Shakeel said what if, as a wounded tigress, she prowled on its prey in the garb of a lamb. With the detective evincing a keen interest in the perplexing case, the relieved cop savored the hot pakodas that Raju had fetched, all the while detailing his investigation that led him nowhere. However, when he ended his account by stating that the old guard, Appa Rao, told him that Radha reminded him of Mithya, whom Dhruva could not bring to book, the detective, with a perceptible change in his demeanor, dismissed it as learning curve. But as Shakeel persisted with the topic, Dhruva said that it was better they skipped it for it involved a dead woman, and when Raju served them some Darjeeling tea, he changed the topic to the politics of the day that was after committing himself to solving the intriguing case.  Long after Shakeel had left him, Dhruva, having delved into his memory bank, was at fathoming the perplexing present. Could the trespasser be the murderess after all! But then, given his focus on her, surely, if indeed it were she, Shakeel wouldn’t have failed to spot her from a mile, even though the weather was foggy for a proper sight. And in spite of her compelling face, he himself might fail to recognize her if he were to espy her again before the contours of her exquisite frame would have turned hazy in his memory. Was it possible that she was indeed innocent save Shakeel’s silly theories; if it were indeed Radha, what had brought her to his gate; did she, as the cop thought, came to seduce him so as to stall Shakeel’s future maneuvers? If it were so, why should she have been so tentative to begin with only to beat a hasty-retreat in the end? Could she be as ingenuous as Mithya though she seemed as seductive; would history repeat itself after all? Well, only time would tell; he thought. Even as he seemed to love the idea of the trespasser being the alleged murderess, a restive Dicey went up to him making him wonder whether it sensed his distraction from its dead mistress. Soon though, he changed into his shorts and took the pet for a stroll in the twilight, by which time the drains got cleared to let the roads wear a fresh look to glisten under the newly lit streetlights. However, as the roadside trees were set to dry up themselves, the pet and its master got wet, and with the chilly winds too making it uneasy for them, as Dicey turned its tail homewards, Dhruva led it home, where Raju said that someone was waiting for him in the anteroom.    Chapter 3 Ranjit’s Predicament                   As Dhruva stepped into the anteroom, he came face to face with a handsome man with an anxious face that bore the apprehensions of one who feared for the life and limb of a dear one. When the visitor introduced himself as Ranjit, the owner of the Oasis Builders, assessing the middle-aged man as self-assured, Dhruva gave him a questioning look. But as Ranjit said that he came to seek his help in freeing Kavya, his thirty-six-year-old wife, kidnapped that very afternoon, Dhruva said in jest that he was not in cohorts with the kidnappers. Hiding his irritation, as Ranjit told him that his ad for a ‘lady sleuth’ had led him to the Castle Hills, Dhruva in wonder led him into the study, where Raju fetched them some steaming tea.  Ranjit said that he lives with his childless spouse in the Spandan, their bungalow in Jubilee Hills; while he is an engineer, she has a L.L.B. added to M.A. in English, and yet at his behest, she remained a homemaker for he was averse to a working wife. Of late though,   having become a bored housewife, as she was keen on becoming  a criminal lawyer, he didn’t stall her from enrolling at the Bar, and yesterday, as she chanced to see Dhruva’s ad for a ‘lady sleuth’, she felt that a short stint as his ‘assistant’ could come in handy in her career pursuit as a criminal lawyer. Aware though he was about the hazards such an occupation posed, as there was no way of stopping her for once she makes up her mind, there was no going back for her, damn the consequences. So, on the way to his office, he posted her application for the post that very morning, of course, without visualizing that by the evening, he would be seeking the advertiser’s help in rescuing the applicant from her kidnappers! But as Ranjit said that he was unable to fathom the vicissitudes of fate, the unexpected development made Dhruva ponder over the imponderables of life. As for the details, Ranjit said that as Kavya’s Alto was in the garage, she telephoned him after lunch to know if he could spare his Audi for her to reach her friend’s place by three-thirty; but given his own hopping schedule of the day, he asked her to be on her own by hiring an auto. Nevertheless, when it started raining heavily by three, he thought it fit to send her his car, so he tried to reach her over phone but as he failed to connect with the land line as well as her mobile, he called up her friend, who told him that she hasn’t reached there yet. When he realized that Kavya didn’t make it there even at four, he rushed to Spandan , only to find a ransom note slipped in through the main door, which warned him not to approach the cops. However, saying that as Dhruva was fresh in his mind, he came to seek his help regardless, Ranjit handed over the missive to him, which read:  Ranjit ji , ensure your presence tomorrow evening at the Tanesha statue on the Tank Bund from four to six in dark trousers and a white shirt to convey your consent to pay three-crore rupees in thousand denominations (less luggage, more comfort, for us all) to reclaim your wife.  Thereafter, you have only  four days to exchange your black money with your bright wife; so whenever you are ready with the money for the barter before the deadline that is, be present at the Tanesha between five and eight in the evening (mind the dress code) to take further instructions. But beware of involving the khakis as that would only fetch you your wife’s body bag; it’s no empty threat as you have her testimony hereunder. Also be warned, if you carry any mobile phone with you, we will take the booty as well as your wife over your dead body. Yours expectantly, Your wife’s captor Testified by Sd/- Kavya Ranjit When Ranjit confirmed that it was Kavya’s signature in that otherwise unsigned note, as Dhruva secured it and said that they may better alert the cops, Ranjit said sarcastically that for that instead of coming to the Castle Hills, he could have directly gone to the Jubilee Hills Police Station. But as Dhruva sternly retorted that he saw a case to apprehend him as the prime suspect in his wife’s kidnap, Ranjit lost his cool and demanded an explanation for the accusation. By way of response, the detective said nonchalantly that since there was no way for Ranjit to receive the ransom note with his wife’s signature on it, within an hour or so after her alleged kidnap, he should be put under the scanner above all else. Unnerved though by the proposition but appreciating Dhruva’s mental acumen and eye for detail, Ranjit confessed that preoccupied with his official chores, he not only failed to track Kavya’s whereabouts after his call to her friend at four but also reached home late in the evening, and added that he just tried to test the waters before he entrusted the case to him. As though to outsmart Ranjit, Dhruva turned naughty and said that since Kavya’s signature was genuine, it indeed was a good news; but as Ranjit seemed lost at the comment, lest he should take him for a cynic, Dhruva explained that if it were a forgery, it would have meant that the captors were out to barter her body for the booty. Then Ranjit, who remained apprehensive, said what if Kavya was bumped off after having obtained her signature, Dhruva had assured him that the kidnappers were no morons to harm her as he wouldn’t part with a farthing until he had ensured that she was kicking and alive. However, as Ranjit expressed his fears about his wife’s possible molestation in captivity, Dhruva assured him that when a man kidnaps a woman for ransom, his lure for money would act as her chastity belt; moreover, as the handwriting in the missive betrayed a feminine slant, the captor was either a woman or a male with a female accomplice, possibly a lover; if the kidnapper were to be a woman, then there may be no violation but for a lesbian aberration, and were it to be a man-woman enterprise, then any male enthusiasm for Kavya’s possession would have to contend with the female proclivity of his accomplice to stall the same; whatever, the idea of kidnap could be to collect ransom from the man and not to molest his wife.   When Dhruva wanted to know Ranjit’s financial position to pay the ransom, just in case its inevitable, he said that he came to seek his help as he did not have so much money to cough up, and that prompted Dhruva to say in jest that he was no moneylender; but as Ranjit offered to pay him half a million to bust the kidnappers,       Dhruva said that it might come in handy as and when he handled the cases of the ‘hand to mouths’. At that as Ranjit offered to take Dhruva to the Spandan , but in an auto for he made it to the Castle Hills by changing into a couple of them via a circuitous route, patting him for his presence of mind, Dhruva led him to his Esteem, and on their way to the Jubilee Hills in the snarling traffic, Ranjit narrated his life and times with his wife.    Chapter 4 Rags to Riches     Kavya, a child prodigy, was the only offspring of a financially hard-pressed couple from Kovvur, on the banks of the Godavari. As her parents went to lengths to groom her well, she began to live up to their expectations, and that prompted them to shift to Hyderabad to cater to her big-ticket talent. While her father became a clerk in a real estate firm, her mother took to catering for a couple of working women’s hostels, she strained her every nerve to top the school. But coinciding with her entry into the college, her father ventured into the real estate business, which by the time of her graduation in arts, grew into Oasis Builders.   Soon, her parents made her marriage their dining table-talk; her mother, wanting her daughter to have a better start than she herself had, was bent upon a well-heeled groom, but her father, still smarting from the snubs of his poor-groom days, vowed to give her hand to ‘a promising nobody with a potential to become somebody’, as he put it. Un-enamored of riches, as Kavya sided with her father, he soon zeroed in on Ranjit, and bowled by his looks, she batted for him against her mother’s objections. However, in deference to her mother’s wishes, she married Ranjit in Lord Balaji’s precincts at Tirupathi, but sadly, in the return journey, as her parents were killed in a road mishap, the Oasis Builders too landed in the groom’s ownership lap. By the time Ranjit finished the recap of his life and times with Kavya, as they reached Road No. 69 in the Jubilee Hills that leads up to the Spandan, Dhruva brought the Esteem to a halt at the street corner. Letting Ranjit go down the desolate road, and wanting to be alerted on the mobile just in case, the detective stayed back to see if anyone waited in the wings. When it was all clear, Dhruva followed suit by focusing his torch all the way on the road, and entering the compound, he observed the rain-drenched pathway and said that Kavya had left home when it was still raining, and might have unwittingly hired an auto-rickshaw, lying in wait for her.   Then stepping into the Spandan proper and having scanned the insides, when Dhruva wanted to see Kavya’s photograph, Ranjit handed him her photo album; and struck by her stunning features stunning looks, he felt that they could be the portrayals of her fabulous persona. While envisioning the poise of the vivacious woman, who would have become his assistant in the normal course, the detective wondered whether her kidnapping would be the loss of his lifetime. But when the impropriety of holding on to the album dawned on him, he handed it back to Ranjit with the assurance that she would be back in her man’s arms before he started missing her.   Soon, revealing the opening moves of the Operation Checkmate to set Kavya free from her kidnappers, and leaving Ranjit thereafter, Dhruva called up Shakeel, on his mobile, wanting him to set the informers behind the usual suspects. However, as the cop broached the topic of Radha, recalling the mysterious trespasser, the detective wondered if the temptress was indeed a murderess and whether she would ever venture into 9, Castle Hills or not might as well lie in her destiny.  Back home, after a quick shower, with his favorite Old Monk with Thums Up for company, Dhruva began working on various moves of the endgame, and soon succeeded in affecting a mental checkmate of Kavya’s captors. But, the thought that she may not have any stomach left for the risky endeavors of a sleuth made him feel like he was back to square one in his quest for a capable hand. However, after an unappetizing dinner as he retired to bed thinking about both the women in the same vein, he wondered if the woman ‘at the gate’ was indeed Radha, and felt that it was difficult to imagine her as a murderess. He thought; if only Shakeel had showed him her photograph that Pravar gave him, and wondered why he failed seek it himself? But feeling that it won’t behoove well to ask for it afresh, he cursed his lack of the presence of mind, but nevertheless thought that maybe, as a seductress, Radha could rival Mithya but there could be no temptresses like Kavya for sure. Besides, won’t Kavya be an invaluable asset even if she were half as cerebral as her husband pictured her? When it suits him to have either Kavya or Radha to assist him, what a bonus it could be if both of them joined him. Won’t it be real fun with both of them around but given the attendant jealousies, it could as well be a hard grind for him. But then, after all this mess, would she like to join him? What with the myriad thoughts about them continued to storm his head; he had a disturbed sleep that long night.    Chapter 5 Dhruva’s Dilemma     Waking up early and finishing his chores readily, Dhruva found himself in the portico, fixing his stare at the gate, though wondering at his obsession for an unknown dame, possibly a murderess. Having had his breakfast there itself, and weary after a long vigil thereafter, as if he became wiser to the hopeless wait, he retreated into his study and  lost himself in fine-tuning the Operation Checkmate of Kavya’s captors. So, when Raju appeared at the lunch-time, he wanted to have his meal in the study itself; and after his prolonged siesta, grabbing the mail that was fetched to him, he found the expected application from Kavya and an unexpected letter from one Radha Rani, C/o. Begumpet Post Office.     ‘How ingeniously inviting; is she the alleged murderess?’ he thought having read the latter. ‘But then Shakeel was referring to her as Radha and not as Radha Rani; maybe he gave a damn to the superfluous Rani, akin to the vainglorious suffix of Devi; but sans the suffix, could this Radha be the real one or merely her namesake? Isn’t the duality of the possibility intriguing, but whoever it is, can she be as good as Mithya where it matters? But of what avail her eagerness if she were to be a plain thing; why won’t she spare me the perils of attraction in the portals of proximity. At any rate, for man’s peace of mind the serene presence of an un-alluring dame serves better than the flirty tempest of a desirable woman. But then, sans the tumult of the heart, can there be life in life; oh, how the absence of woman is killing!’ Given her eagerness for the job, Dhruva felt that waiting for his reply, Rani could be right up there at the post office, and so he penned a call-letter post-haste and hurried Raju on the errand wondering what the future had in store for him. However, seeing Raju’s back, as he readily picked up Kavya’s post, he was amused at his fickle mindedness for having given precedence to an unknown woman over someone he fancied.  ‘Added to the stream of boldness, isn’t there a strain of rashness to Kavya’s persona?’ he thought folding her letter. ‘If not for the fiasco, wouldn’t she have filled the gap that Mithya’s death had created in his professional life? Why foreclose the option, as all it takes is to see that my interview call greets her on her return to her Spandan, and who knows, after the dust settles down, she may not be averse to answer my call. Whatever, Ranjit should be cautioned not to let her know about my involvement in the Operation Checkmate for even if I were to click with Radha, nay Rani, why shouldn’t Kavya provide the second string to my investigative bow? What if I fall in love with her as well; so what, that would be the second one to the Cupid’s thing, what a welcome prospect that could be? But then, why place the cart before the horse, or horses to be precise, when life would take its own course anyway.’    When the clock struck four, attired in black trousers and a white shirt - Dhruva thought of dressing like Ranjit, and be present nearby the Tanesha statue every day till the D-day to let Kavya’s captors take him to be a regular -  he stepped out of his abode to step into an auto. Soon reaching the Tank Bund, and alighting from it at the Nannaya statue, he walked up to the nearby Siddhendrayogi’s; and finding Ranjit at the Tanesha’s, he himself settled nearby on the lush green lawns where with a book in hand, and seemingly engrossed in it, he kept a hawk’s eye on the traffic and the passers-by alike. Then around five, a white Maruti Zen, driven by a twenty-something guy, slowed down as it neared the Tanesha from the Ranigunj side, and before it was six, as that car of Karnataka registration made two more rounds in like fashion, Dhruva thought the one at the wheel could be the driving force behind Kavya’s kidnap. Since the suspect came alone to pick up Ranjit’s signal of consent, the detective reasoned that his accomplice, possibly the woman who penned the ransom note, might have held back holding Kavya in captivity. Though he suspected that the Zen could be a stolen one, yet he called up Shakeel to pass on the vehicle number, after which, he left the scene leaving Ranjit alone. Back home, as Dhruva awaited Rani’s expected arrival, Shakeel came to him seeking his helping hand to close in on an inter-state counterfeit-note racket that came to the fore just then. Though he was disinclined to leave home lest he should miss out on Rani, if she were to show up, yet his proclivity to face professional challenges got the better of his need for courting the woman he enamored; so, briefing Raju as to how to deal with her, in case she turned up, he accompanied the cop to the Saifabad Police Station. After burning a lot of midnight oil at the police station along with the cop, the detective developed a blueprint of the Operation Moolah for the former to fine-tune its logistical aspects; and thereafter as he reached home, fearing that he might have missed the date with Rani, Raju informed him that none came to see him.  ‘How I hoped this woman would fill in the void; am I flattered to be deceived?’ he thought in all disappointment. What with his obsession for Rani that accentuated the pain of his year-long loneliness occasioned by Mithya’s death growing by the hour; he became pensive thinking that she might have developed second thoughts about joining him. Soon though, as his thoughts insensibly turned to Kavya, he felt that had Oscar Wilde espied her, perhaps he might have paraphrased his smoking quote as an ode to her - the perfect example of a perfect beauty - and began to wonder what would have happened had she, instead of being kidnapped, made it to 9, Castle Hills. Thus he spent the rest of the night imagining the possibilities till his tiredness induced him into a deep sleep.   Chapter 6     The Gatecrasher   While Dhruva was still lounging in his bed, as Raju announced the arrival of a middle-aged woman, wondering whether it could be Rani, he asked him to make her feel at home in the study before he could meet her there. Thereafter, as Dhruva took his sweet time to put his best foot forward, Raju began lifting him to the skies before her, but when he heard approaching footsteps, he left the scene to make way for his master’s entry. Sensing the import of the moment, even as she stood up in all eagerness, realizing at the threshold that she was the one he was craving for, ogling at her unabashedly as he turned ecstatic in his approach, enamored of him, she turned coy, making him all the more covetous. What’s more, as he advanced towards her, bowled by his masculinity, and as if to quench their common thirst in the sands of lust, she too rushed to him as one would towards an oasis in a desert. So, while he opened his arms impulsively, parting her lips sanguinely, she sank into his arms amorously, and as if to cement their union, he closed in on them passionately. Then, induced by his ardency, though her femininity came to the fore, and his dream came true, she unlocked his lips, as if to regain her breath. Thereby, as he crooned into her ears that ever since he saw her at the threshold of his domain, he had a premonition that she would come back to him, averring that she just tried to test the waters before venturing into the whirlpool of his life, she reached for his lips all again. Then, gripping her in his ardent embrace, when he asked her if she was Radha, the alleged murderess, having crooned into his ear that she was Rani the man-eater, she bit it coquettishly. Writhing in pain, as he told her that he fell in love with her as Radha the killer, she said alluringly that she came for the kill and so he was better be on guard against her ambush. But feigning alarm, as he withdrew from her, taking his arm enticingly, as if to reassure him, she said that he might as well banish Radha from his mind and engage her with single-mindedness; and as he hugged her endearingly, smug in his embrace, she said coyly that she craved for a live-in with him. Then as he told her in jest that he needed to take the consent of Raju and his wife Vimala, who attended on him, she said teasingly that she would beseech them to ‘let her in’ so that she could ‘let him in’. When he told her that it shouldn’t be a hassle for Raju was a retired constable who was ever devoted to him, she said in half jest that she hoped to be blessed with a like devotion from his master; and as if to demonstrate his intent, going down on his knees and hugging her at her declivity, he assured her more of it. Thus enthralled by his romanticism, as she lifted him to her bosom, he led her into his bedroom, where, giving herself in coition, she goaded him on to their orgasm. After a sensually fulfilling time followed by a sumptuous lunch, when he went into his siesta, she left for her dwelling to fetch her belongings. And for his part, waking up at three, he left for the Tank Bund, and as soon as he sat with a book in hand at the Tanesha statue to monitor the moving vehicles, he cited a blue Santro slowing down; noticing that it was the same guy who made rounds in the white Maruti Zen the other day, he could discern his puzzled look at finding a different character in the stipulated dress code there. However, at five, after making a couple of rounds, as the explorer sped away towards Ranigunj, the intruder in satisfaction left the place to reach home in anticipation.    Back home, as the thrill of finding Rani-in-wait seemed so reminiscent of his times with Mithya, he told her how he looked forward to her filling the emotional void in his lonely life. When she teased him that after having had his fill with her, he might as well be craving for a refill with his dream girl Radha, leading her to the liquor-cabinet, he told her that she might as well fathom his mind by keeping him high.  Saying that she was a game for it, she opted for the ‘ladies’ Gin when he offered her ‘manly’ Rum, and having had a couple of drinks they ate Vimala’s ‘spicy’ preparations with great relish only to rush into his bedroom. What with her company affording him a regular night for the first time after Mithya’s demise; he had gone into deep sleep thinking about the regular day to follow.   Waking up late and having had an exhilarating day with the doting live-in, in the evening, he took her along with him to the Tank Bund, where she strolled around the place and he sat near the Tanesha, waiting for the rigmarole to begin. When the guy, this time in the white Maruti Zen, slowed down near him, he could clearly see that he was puzzled by his presence that day as well. However, after making a couple of rounds, as that chap drove away for the day, Dhruva joined Rani and took her for a boat-ride in the abutting Hussainsagar. Though she wanted to hear about the nitty-gritty of the Operation Checkmate in the making, so as not to spoil their joy-ride, he said that she might as well see the drama unfold itself on the D-day the next day.    Chapter 7 Operation Checkmate     When it was 4 P.M the D-day, though Dhruva was raring to go, Rani was in no hurry to desert her dressing table; but when he began hurrying her, as she hastened down the stairs, she slipped on the staircase. Even though she said that she was fine, yet he drove her to the Hyderabad Nursing Home, where the doctor ruled out even a hairline fracture, but ignoring her pleas to be taken along with him, he sent her home with Raju, whom he brought along with them. Shortly thereafter, reaching the nearby Tank Bund, he quickly made it to the Siddhendrayogi statue, and seeing the white Maruti Zen in the parking bay, he realized that the game was on though there was none to be seen around. But even before he could settle down on the lawns aside the majestic statue, Ranjit drove his Audi into the same parking bay, and alighting from his car with two bulging travel bags, and visibly nervous, he passed by Dhruva towards the nearby Tanesha statue. Soon, beginning in trickles, as people started flocking to the place to occupy vantage points on the sprawling lawns as well as on the tank-side benches, as if on cue, a handful of fast food vendors descended upon the scene to spread all over; even as they were trying to induce those present to taste their recopies, the toy -wallahs, who followed them, did not lag behind in tempting the kids with fancy playthings. When a fast food vendor, apparently in disguise, posited his chaat basket near the Tanesha statue, seeing him ill at ease in the calling, Dhruva knew that he was indeed the one to be marked. As the sun began to set on the Hussainsagar Lake, the vendor went up to Ranjit and preparing some chaat , he began chitchatting with him; soon, handing over the stuff in a paper-plate to Ranjit, the imposter, on the sly, passed on his mobile to him. With a satisfied look on his face as Ranjit unzipped both the travel bags, elated, the guy took away the mobile from him, and having connected it to someone; he gave it back to Ranjit, who seemed relieved as he held it to his ear. But as Ranjit tended to hold on to it, the guy snatched it away from him, and waited in the wings without taking his eyes off him. Soon, when it got a little darker, he signaled to Ranjit to go down the staircase in the backside that led to the road below; so when Ranjit picked up the luggage and ventured into the vault of that staircase, the guy called someone on his mobile; and abandoning his wares as is where, as he too followed suit, Dhruva reached for his mobile. Shortly thereafter the detective noticed a young woman, her face hidden in the pallu of her sari , emerge from the staircase and walk towards the Maruti Zen, and discerning the excitement in her nervous gait, he knew that she was the accomplice of Kavya’s captor. However, arraigning her was not a part of the Operation Checkmate , he let her drive away in the white Maruti Zen; moreover, without espying her visage, yet he had experienced an unusual empathy for her. Soon thereafter, as Ranjit too passed him by with Kavya, his eyes followed her all the way to the Audi; what with her glowing persona and pleasing poise, even in that dull setting, appealed to his romanticism, he could not help but divine her provocative figure in her evocative gait; and finding her enchanting in her state of confusion, he began wondering how enticing she could be in the moments of her excitation. So, when Shakeel called him to inform him about the capture of the kidnapper, he was still under the mesmeric spell of Kavya’s ethereal charms that paled his photographic visualizations into insignificance. However, the breaking news from Shakeel that the culprit turned out to be Pravar diverted his mind to the mysterious Radha, the suspected murderess. Amazed though at the development, he turning business-like, wanted the cop to send someone to pick up Pravar’s chaat basket, whatever be its forensic worth; and waiting for a constable to come to pick up the thing, he called up Rani to enquire about the state of her ‘leggy self’. Learning that she was jumping like a jack and was eager for the news, as he apprised her of the developments, she blamed him for having deprived her thrill of participation; and having cajoled her; he said in half jest that he hoped she would not hold it against him to deny him the thrill of their nocturnal indulgences.    Chapter 8 Foul on Pravar    On reaching home, and seeing Rani at the gate, Dhruva could realize how eager she was to hear it all from the horse’s mouth. So, as if to drive home his empathy at her having missed to see the exciting race, lighting his cigar, he began his narrative in the portico, and she said that in the excitement of it, the aroma of the lanka pogaku was more exhilarating than ever. Ending his move with the rescue of the captive, he said that for the checkmate of the captor, they have to wait for Shakeel to come on air at 9.      So, tuning into TV9, they began having their drinks; and in time, Shakeel was seen on the screen along with a handcuffed youth, whom he named as Pravar, the kingpin of the fake-note racket that he had busted that evening. As Karim laid some bundles of thousand-rupees notes on the table before a dazed Pravar, Shakeel boasted that the police would catch the other members of the gang sooner than later. “I don’t believe a word of that cop, why his body language spoke all lies,” said Rani “Given the stock of the khakis, you can’t be faulted,” said Dhruva. “But I’ll fault you,” she said coyly, “if you default in telling the truth.”    “What struck me in the ransom note was the kidnappers’ choice of the rendezvous that too at a time when it gets crowded the most,” he said, switching off the TV and lighting a fresh cigar. “Maybe the idea was to enable the kidnappers to spot the cops in the mufti , if any, but still, it was risky as the police could lay in wait for them on either side of the Tank Bund. Wouldn’t have the kidnappers taken that into account? It only suggested that they could hit upon a foolproof plan to facilitate the Operation Exchange . But why were they specific that Ranjit should wait near the Tanesha statue; surveying its environs, I could see a nearby vaulted staircase that led to the roadside Maisamma temple down below.” “When we were in Gaganmahal, I used to use the stairs for my morning walks on the Tank Bund,” she said reminiscently. “How I wish I had met you then,” he said. “Why, it’s better late than never,” she said. “But not in the affairs of heart; thank god we have aligned before it was too late to write home about it,” he said squeezing her hand. “Well, given the location of the staircase, it wasn’t difficult to visualize the envisaged plan of exchanging the maal for the moolah; even as the male captor would deal with Ranjit on the Tank Bund, his female accomplice would hold Kavya on the road below, usually desolated at that hour. And once Ranjit is made to go down the staircase with the ransom, Kavya could be led up for the operation exchange midway with the violators blocking the way both ways. Even if someone happened to use the staircase then, the Ranjits could be silenced with advance threats, and what is more, the double entry or exit, as the case may be, affords the kidnappers a two-way get-away in the escape vehicles, one parked on the Tank Bund, and the other stationed nearby Maisamma Temple.” “Isn’t it foolproof?” said Rani, “But how come they came a cropper.” “No denying that but ironically it’s the brilliance of the plan that betrayed their idea behind it,” said Dhruva. “Initially I thought of freeing Kavya, by arraigning her captor without her partner on the Tank Bund getting wind of it but as you know, by then, Shakeel laid his hands on those fake notes in the Operation Moolah though the culprits gave him the slip. I don’t know why, but I got a naughty idea; what if the fake money was clothed as ransom amount and the kidnapper pictured as the kingpin of the counterfeit racket? Though Shakeel was excited at that prospect, yet he was afraid of the pitfalls, and it took a great deal of effort on my part to make him fall in line.”  Though Rani admired him for his ingenuous idea, Dhruva said that on second thoughts, he felt that it was morally reprehensible and conceptually unethical; and turning remorseful as he said that, given a chance, he would not repeat it for sure, she told him that the episode brought to the fore her own guilt in her cynical enterprise, and like him, she too would not like to repeat it. Puzzled by her mane and manner, though he pressed her to confide in him, but smiling sweetly, she said that he might as well wait for she was not running away from him right then. At that, he said in jest that he would break her legs to stop her from leaving him, and she reminded him coquettishly that she was within his arms reach, so even as he took her into his arms, he received a call from Shakeel. Complimenting him for the finesse in the execution of the Operation Checkmate , though the detective invited him to exchange notes, the cop excused himself as he had to rush to his native place to see his ailing mother.   Chapter 9 Stockholm Syndrome    Next day, when Ranjit reached 9, Castle Hills, Dhruva was playing shuttle badminton with Rani in its backyard, and as Raju announced his arrival, Dhruva playfully told Rani that he would like to flaunt her before the visitor. Turning coquettish, she told him that she had no eyes for any other man, and not to be outdone, he said that had she been there on the Tank Bund the other day, Ranjit would have lost his eyes for her, thereby putting Pravar in a fix. She said joyously that though she was flattered, she was eager to know how Kavya could have spent the time with her captors, and he told her that she better eavesdrop as he closeted with her man. Chiding him for wanting to spoil her morals, she got into the swimming pool, and he went into the study to meet the visitor. Dismissing his apologies for having kept him waiting, Ranjit lost no time in blaming him for the fake-notes mess he had created for him, though falling short of demanding compensation for the damage caused. Turning apologetic for not having taken him into confidence, the culprit explained to the aggrieved that had he been privy to the plan, he would have probably fumbled in handling Pravar, and that would have put his wife’s life at risk. However, Ranjit bemoaned that Kavya was cut up with him for playing foul with Pravar for he treated her fairly in her captivity. At length, cajoled by Dhruva that all that would come to a pass, Ranjit placed the Kavya-cards on the table - in the pouring rain, around three that day, she stepped out of the Spandan    wondering how to hire an auto; what a hassle it was in Hyderabad as the auto- wallahs tended to veto the savaaris. So, when a youth drove his auto straight up to her, thinking it was a Godsend, she got into it, and to spare herself the spatter, she gratefully accepted his offer to unwind the Rexene windshields. Not long after they turned the bend, as a well-drenched young woman was beckoning for an auto, he asked her if she would like to accommodate the hapless lass, out of humanitarian consideration, she consented to his proposition. However, the next thing that she could recall was that she woke up in an alien place with the pair around, who, after introducing themselves as Pravar and Natya, began to press her to disclose her man’s monitory worth. Though she kept mum initially but as he warned her that she better revealed that before he forced her to tell about her man’s manly worth as well, she retorted that it was unbecoming of a man to trick a woman on the sly. But when he asked Natya to leave him alone to enable him to assess her womanly worth, afraid of rape, she agreed to cooperate. When he thought of a ransom of five-crore rupees, she told him that he might forget about it; and even as he scaled it down to three-crores, yet as she protested, but he told her that she might count her days if her man was not prepared to cough up even that much.  While confining her in the guestroom of at desolated house on the outskirts, and having warned her against any misadventure, they took turns to guard her, lest she should give them a slip. Though Pravar was younger to her by twelve years, but whenever she was alone with him, she was ever in fright that he might turn eager for her; and during the nights, though he was fast asleep on the floor, holding the rope that tied both her hands, keeping an eye on him, lying on the cot, she used to keep awake all night. However, he always tried to win her sympathy by picturing his wayward life, and Natya too went out of her way to earn her goodwill by catering to her every need. So, when she told him that once freed, she might practice law, he said jocularly that if only she took his briefs, he would ensure that her wallet bulged like a pregnant womb. Well, his semantics only helped aggravate her lurking fear of rape that was at the back of her mind all the while - that was the long and short of Kavya’s ordeal of a kidnap. Asked about his rendezvous on the Tank Bund, Ranjit said that after verifying the ransom money and ensuring that there were no khakis around in the mufti ; Pravar let him talk to Kavya on the mobile phone. Later, followed by Pravar, as Ranjit was half way down the staircase, he saw Natya leading Kavya up the steps, and after the operation exchange , as Natya ascended the stairs; Pravar descended the vault with the booty. Moved by his concern for her, though his wife thanked him all the way to the Spandan, but seeing Shakeel implicate Pravar in the fake-note case in that TV presser, she became so furious that she wanted an explanation from him. When he told her that he had no inkling about it at all, she saw it as a dirty trick of the police to serve their own ends, and he tried to pacify her by saying that, in either case, Pravar had to serve the sentence. However, maintaining that it was no justification for such falsification, she said that Pravar used to joke about her carrying his briefs and wondered aloud what if she took up his case.  While Ranjit lamented that he was at a loss to understand Kavya’s inexplicable behavior, cautioning him not to let her ever get wiser to the nuances of her rescue act, Dhruva counseled him to keep his cool while she got over her nerves. But harping on how the misadventure had upset his mate, Ranjit wondered of what avail it all was, and thus having put her rescuer on the back foot, he extricated himself from his commitment by handing the latter a cheque for a paltry twenty-thousand. Measuring Ranjit’s meanness in that meager amount, yet the detective told him to call on him if he ever needed any help, and as an after-thought enquired about the fate of his call letter to his wife. Glad for being saved from playing the blame game, Ranjit said that having read it, without a comment, his wife had tucked it in her handbag. Seeing Ranjit’s back, as Dhruva turned pensive, Rani, failing to enliven him with her coquetry, nevertheless, managed to cajole him into breaking his silence; he said that he was worried that the foisted case on Pravar might end up hurting Kavya in wayward ways; and urged by Rani to elaborate his conjecture, he elucidated the intriguing aspects of the ‘Stockholm Syndrome’. “It’s a psychic state in which the kidnapped turn sympathetic to their captors after they are freed,” he said. “It is said that the survival instinct activates the defensive mechanism in the captives to let them identify themselves with the captors to ward off possible violence against them. In that state of emotional stress and physical duress, accentuated by a sense of helplessness dominated by fear, the captives magnify small acts of kindness by their captors. Wonder how I failed to factor that!”  “What an irony is that!” said Rani.  “Courtesy those four days in Pravar’s captivity, apparently her latent sympathies for the underdogs resurged,” he said pensively. “Maybe, she came to identify herself more with her depraved captor rather than with her mean man, who came to enjoy her father’s bequeath by default.”  “I’ve heard of a story, fact, or fiction I can’t say,” said Rani. “Seeing a murderer being paraded to the gallows, it was love at first sight for a girl, and what’s more, she wanted to marry him before he was hanged, and so begged the king to spare his life; my memory fails me at that.”  “Dear, it’s all about the perplexities of human psychology,” said Dhruva. “Coming back to Kavya, it is possible that in Ranjit’s move to deny Pravar the ransom, she could have seen the propensity of the rich to deprive the poor. Now that Pravar was falsely implicated, her sympathy for him would have acquired weird emotional wings as well; and given Ranjit’s presumed deceitfulness towards Pravar, she might begin to lean towards her ex-captor even more. What is more, where it all might lead her to, her fate only would know; how I wish she wouldn’t become another Patty Hearst; you may know that Hearst even became an accomplice of her captors to assist them, of all things, in bank robberies. May God forbid that to Kavya, but the silver-lining is that Hearst could come out of her psychic aberration to disown her gory association. Maybe, as I created the mess, I may have to clear it up as well.”   Chapter 10 An Aborted Affair   When Rani proposed a trip to Ooty to let him bide his time as she did his bidding, Dhruva pitched in for ‘train journey’, but as she wanted to ‘air dash’ so as not to ‘lose time’, they boarded an Indian Airlines flight that very evening. Upon landing at the airport, on their way to a star-hotel, even as the serene surroundings of the hill resort refreshed his mind, her innate romanticism too insensibly enamored his heart; and once ensconced in the hotel suite, making it their love nest, they rarely ventured out of it. Soon, amidst the ‘time of their lives’, Ranjit him rang up to lament over the ugly turn of the events in his vexatious life. Kavya went to the Cherlapalli jail to apologize to Pravar for what had happened, and as the culprit played up to her psyche by exaggerating his plight, she became obsessive about earning him a reprieve, and disregarding his objection, she took up her ex-captor’s vakalat, making him wonder where all that would lead her to; so he was at a loss as to how to wean her away from that vagabond. Dismayed at the unforeseen development, Dhruva said that it was better that Ranjit kept his cool for the best course of action seemed to be inaction then; he also advised him to leave her alone until she got over her obsession for any hurdles he might place in her way could only buttress her resolve to surmount them, leading her to a disastrous end. Though he tried to shore up Ranjit’s spirits, he himself was saddened that the beauty he coveted has come under the emotional grip of the beast of his own creation, he couldn’t warm up even to Rani he began to love. However, as he began to resign himself to her fate, making it a double jeopardy for him, soon, a furious Shakeel rang him up to recount how Kavya had hauled him over the coals in the court hall on Pravar’s account. She urged the judge to take note of the fact that Pravar was a petty thief and not a mafia don as is being made out by the police, and drove home the point that as he was the sole accused, it was inconceivable that he single-handedly ran a multi-crore fake-notes racket. Besides, arguing that Shakeel had foisted a false case on her client; she suggested that the cop could’ve seized the booty while the bootleggers gave him the slip, or who knew, he might have let them off at the behest of the powers that be; so to cover up his lapses, and to earn some false laurels, he made Pravar the fall guy.   That was not all, she produced Natya in the court, who sensationally revealed that not only Kavya had stayed with Pravar and her for four days prior to his arrest but also she accompanied them to the Tank Bund in the very car in which the fake currency notes were allegedly found by the police. She also swore that having parked the car nearby Maisamma Temple, all three of them went up to the Tank Bunk to relax and recreate, and at some point, as Kavya complained of headache, Pravar went down to fetch the Saridon tablets kept in their car, and it was then that he was apprehended by the police to foist the fake-notes case on him. And that stunned all, including the judge. What with Natya having come up trumps in the intense cross-examination that followed, there was no way the public prosecutor could have pulled the rug from under her feet as no case of kidnap was registered against Pravar or her. As the judge was quick in passing strictures against Shakeel, making him curse Dhruva for once, he nevertheless asked the public prosecutor to seek time for further investigation. Thus when the judge ordered the release of Pravar on bail, all applauded Kavya’s sterling performance, and as a grateful Pravar thanked her no end, an appalled Ranjit led her out of the court hall. Then, a dumbfounded Dhruva had to strain every nerve to convince Shakeel that their failure was owing to the ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ that he had failed to factor in while fashioning the Operation Checkmate ; and having vented his anger against Kayva, the cop stunned the detective by revealing, as if as an afterthought, about Pravar’s damning admission, during the interrogation, of having poisoned his sister and her lover, and vowed to book him for the double murder. However, seeing the futility of apprehending Pravar, based on his confession in police custody, for any novice of a lawyer could induce the court to set him free for want of evidence, the detective advised the cop to better guard himself against the wounded Pravar. Nursing his self-inflicted wounds thereafter, and having realized that his meaningless obsession with Radha failed his investigative logic in heading towards Pravar, Dhruva felt ashamed of his professional incompetence. That his ill-conceived idea to bring the fake notes into the ransom play has come to derange Kavya and embarrass Shakeel has only added to his depressive feeling. Thus, with the damage done and his pride dented, he showed no inclination to return to action, though the cop was ever on the phone to goad him to be back soon.   However, as Rani was all-eager to make the best of their sojourn, in the euphoria of their whirlwind romance that rolled days and nights into one, time seemed but a fleeting moment of their passion. So, when he sought her hand in marriage, she sought to excuse herself, and perplexed by her inexplicable rebuff, he became unrelenting in his pleas; but as she disclosed that she was a married woman, he was aghast beyond belief. Nonetheless, bowled by her charms, though he insisted that she divorce her man to adorn his life, she remained unmoved, and devastated by her refusal to yield, he demanded to know what prompted her to become such a heartless flirt. Rani’s parents hailed from Waltair, where she graduated in arts; after which as she moved over to Hyderabad, she met Ramesh, to whose advances she had readily yielded; but realizing the gravity of her transgression, she goaded him to regularize their irregular union. While he wanted time to sort out things with his parents, who were averse to their union on caste considerations, her parents were in a hurry to give her hand to Satish, who they thought was a suitable boy in every way. So, as Ramesh continued to dilly dally even though she ran out of excuses to spurn Satish’s hand, she forced the issue with her lover, who revealed that he was already a married man; and shaken to the core, she married the latter to repair her life as his wife. What with Satish’s charm and wit inducing warmth in her jilted life, she soon got over the bitterness of her betrayed past; so they had been reaping the fruits of their conjugation, well past the seven year itch, though without laying the seeds of it, which was the only hitch in their blessed match. Maybe to make up for that lacking, as Satish got obsessed with his career to the exclusion of all else, she came to bear the brunt of her barrenness; and what’s worse, three years back, he developed an ambition to start a mega venture of his own, which only turned their home into his office in the offing. So, as courted his career with passion, keeping her libido in the cold, she began entertaining the idea of an extramarital affair. When she made up her mind to spice up her life in a liaison, as she recalled Ramesh’s trickery, her erotic idea came to acquire a vengeful edge, inducing her to develop an urge to play a la Ramesh with a man to get even with him in the man’s world. It was then that she recalled the cop who had put her cousin Ashok’s murder under the carpet, over which he led his murderess wife to the altar, and that motivated her to avenge the foul play. But when she came to know that Mithya the killer was no more and her cop lover became Detective Dhruva, she came to see him as an ideal target for her sexual revenge as well. While she was upbeat at that thought, coinciding with Satish’s exploratory visit to the U.S for a business tie-up, appeared Dhruva’s ad for an assistant lady sleuth; it was her idea to incite his curiosity by loitering at the gate that rainy day as a prelude to taking him into her revengeful arms. But soon, lost in his passion, she lost her appetite for revenge, and as he began to love her too, she developed an urge to bear his child; so she would have loved to make love to him until she had missed her periods, but as her man was due by the weekend; it was time she ended her sojourn with him, but for all she knew, their child might well be in the offing. Aghast at that, as a despaired Dhruva begged her to divorce her man and marry him; she said that she would rather stick to her husband than tie up with a philanderer like him. Even though he vouched for his eternal fidelity, as she didn’t yield on the emotional ground, so as to turn her around, he played up to her ego by praising her beauty and brains no end. But unmoved still, as she said that he being a ladies’ man, there wouldn’t be any dearth of desirable mates for him, he begged her not to make it a sudden death to his ardor and continue their liaison till he could master his emotions.    Still remaining unrelenting, as she said that it was no way to make the best of the hoped for change in her life, he retorted by saying that she was being cruel to him; and yet maintaining that it was part of life, she told him that he would be able to put all that behind him as soon as he fancies some dame.   Chapter 11 Psyche of Revenge   When a dejected Dhruva returned home alone that evening, Raju informed him that some Radha came to see him in the morning. What with the lost love and his hurt ego haunting him, he thought no more of petticoat chasing, even if it were the coveted Radha, whom, after Shakeel’s revelation, he came to pity as well, so he thought. Whatever, to catch up with the lost time and to get back to the brass-tacks of his business, he invited the cop to review the Operation Checkmate afresh over a couple of drinks. Lying in wait in mufti near Maisamma temple, said Shakeel sipping ‘Teachers’ on the rocks, he sighted the earmarked Santro, driven by a young woman. After she brought the vehicle to a halt, nearby the roadside shrine, he alerted the patrol parties stationed at all the exit points. When he was nearly tired of keeping focus on the target in that dim light, he saw the woman alight from the car along with Kavya, whom she readily led into the vaulted staircase abutting the in-built temple. Shortly thereafter, he had seen a familiar looking figure emerge from the staircase with the handbags that he himself had arranged for the Operation Checkmate . While the guy was about to get into the Santro, a Skoda passed him by, and in the flash of its headlights, he was surprised to realize that he was none other than Pravar himself. However, when the rogue steered the car towards the Ramakrishna Mutt Road, he had alerted the patrol party in wait near the Dharna Chowk , and by the time, he himself joined them, they had already nabbed the stunned culprit. But it was his own turn to be shocked, when, during interrogation, Pravar revealed his hidden hand in the unresolved double murder of Madhu and Mala.    Sparing the cop with his barbs for once, the detective wanted a picture of the captor’s background to bring the captive’s perturbed psyche to the foreground. So began Shakeel to sketch Pravar’s skewed past. Mala was ten when Pravar was born, and soon thereafter, as their mother became sickly, their father took to drinking, further denting their family’s meager resources. What with a drunkard father to contend with, a sickly mother to attend to and a younger sibling to provide for, Mala began to mature more than her age. However, when her brother was ten, their father kicked the bucket, and shortly thereafter, thanks to her good looks and a relative’s good samaritanism, Suraiah, a measly clerk in the civil works department, came into her life as her man. Just the same, she was discomfited as he turned out to be utterly miserly, for she believed that a paisa well-spent was far more worthy than a horded rupee, but soon, as her mother too died, making her brother an orphan, her husband, in spite of his reservations, had to accommodate him in their home. Pravar was fourteen then.     Sadly, that arrangement didn’t auger well for Pravar as he was torn between his sister’s affection and his brother-in-law’s resentment to his presence in the house, which turned him into a schizophrenic: while his physical proximity to her insensibly induced in him a sub-conscious sexual affinity with her, her marital closeness with the man he abhorred inexorably bred a sexual jealousy in him. And that made him an awkward being , perturbing Mala and annoying Suraiah but attracting Rajan, a hardened criminal, who took him under his tutelage. As his wayward ways that followed made his brother-in-law take jibe at his sister, it further fuelled his subconscious oneness with her; but when his nemesis died in a road mishap, with no rival to her affections, he began to dote upon her like never before, which suited her as well, for it catered to her innate need for male attention. In time though, as she was absorbed in the department on compassionate grounds, she began leaning towards Madhu, her enamored boss, and for its part, destiny that scripts its acts in life’s plays with some denouement in mind, enabled Rajan to trick a young Natya into eloping with him. And that proved to be a double jeopardy for Pravar; bitten by Natya’s charms, even as he was eying her, seeing it as a travesty of his devotion to Mala, he was beset by qualms. But soon though, further accentuating his mental distress, as Mala became Madhu’s keep, and seeing her dote on the new man in her life, he was truly depressed. Soon, as Madhu reduced his young son Raghu into Mala’s errand boy, Pravar took up cudgels with his sister on the boy’s behalf, but perceiving that was the privilege of a mistress, she paid a deaf ear to his protestations.  As a result, he came to identify himself more and more with the hapless boy, and that made him resent her liaison with the tormentor even more.   However, at length, abetted by him, when Raghu rebelled, an irate Madhu said that for all he knew, he could be a bastard, and humiliated thus, as the hapless boy committed suicide on the railway tracks; Pravar felt that Madhu had no right to live, and so also his sister, who was no less callous either. What’s worse, he came to perceive Radha as a cock-pecked wife, unmindful of her son’s plight, and that evaporated the sympathy he felt for her as a neglected wife, owing to his sister’s trespass into her marital life. So, strangely, it was his sense of righteousness that steeled Pravar’s heart against the disparate trio. Thus, even as he was morally low, the lifting of prohibition, ending the bootlegging in the State, had hurt him monetarily as well. It was then that Rajan thought of wriggling out of the tight spot through the extortions from kidnappings. But what with the dangerous pursuit emboldening him even more, Pravar developed the nerve to kill, and waited for the opportune moment as by then Madhu started mixing his women by taking Mala home. So, he worked on a plan to eliminate the three of them without soiling his hands that developed the skill to tamper with bottle seals in his bootlegging days.  Being aware that under Madhu’s influence, Mala took to drinking, he presumed that Radha must be a habitual drinker too, so he poisoned a bottle of Teacher’s Scotch, and waited for the day that Madhu and Mala gloated over as their Union Day. So on that U-day, he presented the ‘bottle of death’, sans his fingerprints, to Mala for their cynical celebration with the lost out wife. When Mala said that Radha was ‘no game for that’, he said in jest that they might as well leave the dregs for her to rue later, and true to his word, he implicated Radha by poisoning Shakeel’s mind about her involvement in the double murder.  As Mala’s death ended Pravar’s emotional divide, so his passion for Natya came to rule his heart, and being bolder for the double murder, he plotted to eliminate Rajan to usurp his woman, and waited for the right opportunity, which presented itself soon enough. That midnight, the three of them were in wait at a secluded spot in Shamirpet to collect a hefty ransom from a businessman, whose kid they kidnapped the day before. While Rajan and Pravar waited for the father at the exchange site, holding the kid, Natya positioned herself at a safe distance. When the father met them with the ransom amount, Pravar went up to Natya to fetch the kid for the barter; but on the way back to her with the booty, he shot his benefactor dead, which he pictured it to her as a police action, and the cops too publicized it as such to score a few Brownie points of ‘law and order’. Having split the booty with Natya and thus having gained her trust, he induced her to marry him, after which, even though she urged him to give up his wayward ways, as he desisted, being too far down the road of crime by then; she had no choice but to keep pace with him. Thus while he planned the next kidnap, wiser for the possible police action while collecting the ransom in a secluded location, he conceived the ingenuous rendezvous on the busy Tank Bund with its sparsely used staircase to the road below. What with Natya playing her part to perfection, they almost pulled it off, but only fell short owing to Dhruva’s uncanny foresight into their plan though without any hindsight.         Chapter 12 Victim of Trust   Next day, waking up earlier than usual, Dhruva began sipping his bed-coffee in the portico, thinking about the inimical twists and turns in Radha’s chequered life; and had a gut feeling that it was she, who came to see him the other day. Even as his newfound empathy for her, coupled with his earlier fascination, seized him with an urge to see her, Dicey began to bark; so glancing at the gate, and seeing a fascinating woman, he readily lost his heart to her, but having been bitten once and thinking it’s better to be twice shy, though she approached him seductively, he subdued himself consciously. Just the same, when she introduced herself, he couldn’t resist holding out his hand to her, but as she offered her services to him, he wanted to have her resume before he made up his mind. Radha was the only child of her parents, who pampered her much beyond their middle-class means. Studious and methodical, she even excelled at her studies that is relatively speaking, and seemed to be well on the way to become a Chartered Accountant after her parents’ dreams. However, when she crossed eighteen, her life went awry for she lost her heart to a handsome newcomer in their locality, whose identity she preferred not to reveal, for the world was small after all. What with love ruling her head, fuelled by his wooing, she failed to apply her mind at her studies to end up at the bottom of the class, and her father, who had all along entertained visions of seeing her in the chartered mould of ‘Brahmaiah’, was aghast at her poor academic showing. When he sought her explanation about her low scores, she showed him her lover’s letters vouching eternal devotion to her, and that left him with no choice but to approach the boy’s father, who roundly blamed her for enticing his son, and outraged by the slur, her father asked her to break up with him. However, as her lover assured her that he would prevail over his parents in the end, blinded by love and guided by fate, she carried on with him on the sly, but as her escapades came to her father’s notice, he strictly restricted her movements, and started looking for a match for her. So, she eloped with him when she was barely nineteen and they got married in a temple; while her disgusted father disowned her, his unreconciled parents began weaning him away from her. However, the fortuitous presence of an aunt of her childhood friend in that town afforded her some badly needed succor and support. Soon, however, as he came to wilt under the emotional blackmail of his parents, his will to stick to her through thick and thin began to wane, and thus, even as she was hard-pressed to hold him, his father upped the ante by pitting his mediocre life with her against the rosy future as the son-in-law of a well-heeled man with a vivacious daughter. While the parent-induced insecurity played upon his mind, the envisaged beauty of the bride-to-be proved to be an appetizer for his lust, so he came to perceive her as a drag on his promising life. As if the prospect of losing him was not nightmarish enough, she missed her periods, regardless of which, he deserted her heartlessly, and that sealed her fate. Thus, left in the lurch, as she burnt her bridges with her parents, so in desperation, she returned to her native to contact that friend, her full-soul mate, and her half-namesake, but in vain. Then seeing a twitch on Dhruva’s brow, she thought that some namesake of hers might have stirred his heart before, and he, staring at her, wondered what if she were to jilt him like half-namesake. When she learned that her friend, having married in the meantime, moved out of town by then, Radha resumed the recap of her life and times; she turned to an elderly man she knew from her childhood days to help her find a job. But as he tried to snare her into a relationship, which made her realize the pitfalls of a single woman in the man’s world, swallowing her pride, as a prodigal daughter, she returned home to her parents’ subdued welcome. However, as she was keen to bear her child, which proposition her mother supported, her father had to find a groom for her on a war footing, and that brought Madhu, an Engineer in the Civil Works Department, into her life. While Madhu jumped at the prospect of marrying her, as she found him not to her liking, she began dragging her feet, her father told her either to abort her child or wed that Engineer. With the lurking danger her bulging belly posed, she bowed her head to let Madhu tie the knot, and he, blinded by her beauty, not only turned blind to her reticence in their nuptial bed but also failed to grasp the import of the early arrival of her son, Raghu; whom she came to dote upon, more out of a sense of guilt than an affection for the man who fathered him; but somehow Madhu was never enamored of him, though not out of any suspicion.   However, it took the seven-year itch for her man to get wind of her conjugal indifference towards him, and that hurt his ego and crushed his heart; well, she always knew that she had to involve her body and mind to save the nuptial tie, and yet she couldn’t bring herself around to obey the dictates of cohabitation. Maybe vexed with her cold embrace, Madhu sought to pep up his sex-life with the prostitutes, fetched by his bribe money, and even as she thought that life couldn’t get worse than that, fate had other indignities in store for her.  When someone from his department died in an accident, Mala, his widow, with a brother to support, was absorbed on compassionate grounds; and he lost no time in ingratiating with her, picturing himself as a neglected husband, deprived of woman’s affections and all. Succumbing to his falsity, owe be to the vulnerable woman, she entered into an illicit relationship with him, ironically buttressed by his ill-gotten money. Thereafter, while he lavished his attention on her, as if to add insult to the injury, he forced Raghu to run errands for her, and when she chided him for reducing his own son as a valet of his keep; he implied that she herself being so cold to him; her boy, for all he knew, could be a bastard. Worried about her boy’s future in that situation, when she raked her brains to save him, she thought of his biological father, who so cruelly ditched her to hitchhike with a moneyed dame. However mean he might have been, she thought, with the means at his disposal, won’t he put their boy in some boarding school or the other? So she tried to locate him, more out of desperation than in hope, and managed to meet him, though after a long haul, but as she pictured their son’s plight, he painted himself as a lovelorn, paying the price for his betrayal in his wife’s cold bed, which left him childless in their wedlock. As he managed to light her old flame, in spite of his desertion, and with no love lost for her spouse; she had no qualms in sleeping with him, hoping to prop up their son. At the end of a weeklong rendezvous in which he overwhelmed her with his passion, she set aside her past bitterness and asked him to take her as his second wife to give their son his due. But lo, the bastard made her feel ashamed of herself; what cruelty to say that she was a first grade maal all right, but she should’ve known that even for a second wife, she was a third rate slut. When she retorted, what if she told his wife about their connection, he warned her that she might as well forget about her future whatever little it might have held for her, for he would engage a supari to eliminate her without anyone ever getting wiser about it. How disgusted she was with the man she once loved and compromised with again, she only knew. However, things came to a head when Raghu questioned Madhu as to how he could reduce his own son as an errand boy of his mistress; not only her man callously retorted what proof he had of his own paternity but also rubbed salt on her son’s paternal wound with the adage that while maternity was a fact, paternity was only a faith. Given Raghu’s premature birth, he asserted that he never thought that he was indeed his father, and unable to bear the humiliation, her boy committed suicide on the railway tracks. Madhu though saw in the tragedy an opportunity to slight her further, and so he began bringing Mala home, as a prelude to a ménage a trios, as he put it. But deciding to call a spade a spade, she sought divorce, to which, he was averse, as his sexual interest in her, by then, had resurged, as a byproduct of his passion for his mistress. Moreover, adding insult to injury, he said that not counting alimony; a house maid could be more expensive than a wife, but as she refused his demands for threesome orgies, he further debased himself as a wife-beater. When she was all set to press for divorce regardless, tragedy struck her that fateful evening; as he tried to force her to drink with him and his mistress, as she refused to oblige, he necked her out of the house in a fit of rage, forcing her to turn to a friend for shelter, since her parents were dead and gone by then. But the next day, when a neighbor informed her on her mobile that Madhu and Mala died of poisoning and the police were on the lookout for her, she rushed to the Saifabad Police Station to clear her name, only to be locked-up by the Inspector as the main suspect. Oh, how he had abused her, she only knew, oh, what a diabolical character he was! Though that cop failed to book the real culprit to date, she always had a hunch that Pravar, Mala’s awara brother, would have been behind the murders, and so with a little detective work, she gathered that he became an object of ridicule because of his sibling’s conduct and that all taunted him on that score. That could have been a motive for him to eliminate the illicit couple, but whatever it was, she was certain that the drink the couple drank to their death was poisoned by Pravar, who had a criminal background to boot, though not on the scale that the police tried to picture on the TV screens in the fake-notes case. While it all smelled fishy, the other day she chanced to see Dhruva’s ad in an old issue of Eenadu, which prompted her to reach him. Finishing her tale of woes and looking into his eyes desirously, she said enticingly that she hoped that at last, her hopes won’t turn out to be dupes after all, and that he would set things right for her while she herself assisted him in his endeavors. Since Radha’s version jelled with Shakeel’s account, Dhruva felt it was indeed a poetic justice that Pravar, who tried to implicate her in a murder she didn’t commit, found himself in the dock for a crime that he had nothing to do with. Besides, he felt that her experience with her lover illustrate that even as love emanates from sexual union, in spite of it, lust remains barbarian. While she looked at him in hope, he asked her what she thought could have been behind her lover’s refusal to part with a penny being in a position to do so; she said that in hindsight it was clear to her that besides being a mean-being, he was money-minded as well. Moreover, the way he used and abused a trusting woman indicates how despicable he was.  When he extended his hand to her in anticipation, as she held it a little longer, he recalled Ranjit’s twenty-thousand dole against the promised half- a million bonanza.    Chapter 13 Backyard of Life   The next day, when Radha reported for work, Dhruva led her into his study to throw open his library of crime, as he put it that included the collections on Holmes, Mason et al for her to pore into, and as she was engrossed with the former, Raju went up to her to usher her to join his master at the dining table. But as she reached him with the lunchbox she brought along with her, Dhruva said that the perquisites included free lunches, and smiling coyly, she said that she won’t mind working extra time if she could’ve free dinners as well. While Radha came to spend long hours at 9, Castle Hills, Dhruva lost no time in initiating her to drinks with Gin and Sprite as he had his Old Monk with Thums UP. When he asked her if his smoking a cigar was any bother for her, she said that having savored the smell of pogaku in his breath, she was all-eager to have a feel of its smoke as well. So, as he lit his lanka , maintaining that she enjoyed its aroma, she wondered whether he could make rings out of its smoke, the way Pran does in the movies. So, as he exhibited his prowess at it, she wanted an encore, and he too goaded her to repeat her booze. While he was mixing a drink for her, she said that but for her abstinence then, her fate would have been tied up with the illicit couple, and added that to usurp their properties, Pravar might have aimed at poisoning three of them with the same drink. At length, what with Radha’s seductive balm soothing his jilted wound, and her eagerness to come ever closer to him dissolving his resolve to be tightlipped, Dhruva appraised her how Pravar was fixed in the fake-notes case. When she said that maybe the dubious means justified the deserving end, he told her that Pravar had already confessed to the cop about his nefarious role in the double murder, though it was of no avail to book him for that. Saying that just the same she was glad to hear that, she said cheers all again, and clinking her glass with his own, he told her that he saw a possible role for her in tackling the peculiar challenges Kavya’s psychic aberrations the Stockholm Syndrome might pose in Pravar’s case. By the time Raju was ready to serve them dinner, Radha had a drink too many, and as Dhruva led her to the dining table by her waist, he was struck by her silken skin. However, after a sumptuous dinner, when she said that she would like to go home, he suggested that she better stayed back for the night, at which she turned coy and said that it might be risky. When he said that though a ladies’ man, yet he was a gentleman, and having had a hearty laugh at that, she said that what she meant was about the risk he ran in her nocturnal company. Meeting his flummoxed look with her lowered eyelids, she told him that she heard that a man lets a woman into his house only as a prelude to letting her into his heart. Elated at her advance, he told her that he was not the one to shy away from such a welcome prospect, and she coyly reminded him about the proverbial camel that took over the tent when it was allowed only to cool its head. Saying that his heart and hearth were too big for any to fill them, he cajolingly led her into Mithya’s room, and as he enabled her onto the mahogany cot, she pulled him into her ardent embrace to anoint herself as the reigning queen of 9, Castle Hills. Next morning, ushering in a new era in his life, as she served him bed-coffee; he caught her hand and said that she was hotter in his arms than the steamy thing in his hand. Turning coquettish, she said that she knew his ardor would keep her ever eager, and watched him joyously as he savored the strong coffee; when he took her into his ardent embrace, she entwined with him amorously. After breakfast, with him in tow, she went to her Red Hills house to fetch her wardrobe as a prelude to let her transport herself into his life. So, feeling at home in his house on their return, and later seeing him eating her preparations greedily at lunch, she said coyly that she had some dessert to serve as well; while he played innocent, she pushed him all the way to Mithya’s room that by then, she had already made her own. Later, breaking up his siesta before her, he went into the study to check the mail, and began reading a letter in Rani’s hand that read.   Dear deadly: I’m glad that your child is taking shape up in my womb, and it’s no blackmail. As I thought he would, my man came around. But if I were to be widowed when I still have it in me, you can count on my availability that is if you need me then, and God forbid, should fate orphan our offspring, I hope 9, Castle Hills’ gates are ever open for it. Love, You know who. Seeing the smudged defacement of the postal stamp on the envelope, he saw the irony of his only progeny being in anonymity, and secured the letter in the chest of drawers. When Radha came to serve him some steamy tea, finding him morose, she said playfully that she was disappointed that even the newness of her charms was of no avail to enliven him; and as he took her into his arms, as if to underscore her position in his life, she told him gravely that not all his virility would help her as she underwent hysterectomy, and added in jest that she wondered how he yet failed to father Mithya’s child. When he told her that Mithya had had a couple of miscarriages, as she wanted to know more about her life, he said that she would have that by and by. However, when she said in half-jest that as she waited  for a peep into Mithya’s past, what if he took her to the backyard of his life, so he led her there, saying mockingly that it was no Garden of Eden.   Possibly a lovechild, he was abandoned at the gates of an orphanage in Devarakadra, and an ayah there named him Dhruva for she felt that he shone like the North star. When it was time to put him in school, since none knew his surname, the headmaster lent the village name to it to make him Dhruva Devarakadra; but as he showed some prowess at catching the kitchenware- thieves at the orphanage and retrieving the ‘lost’ pencils from the wrong boxes at the school, he became Detective Dhruva to all. Thanks to a Good Samaritan, who funded his higher education, he graduated in humanities and joined the police department to have a hands-on-experience in dealing with crimes.   While his ignorance about his caste and creed made him blissfully immune to pride and prejudice, and despite the deprivation of parental love, he managed not to carry any emotional baggage. Maybe to retrieve the lost ground of affection, he coveted women’s love and so courted the desirable with some luck in between. Though he made a mark at his work, owing to his lacking a caste identity, none knocked at his door to invite him to lead their daughter to the altar. However, thanks to the women who fancied him, he didn’t miss much that way, to talk about which to a lady may not be chivalrous for a man; though all that changed when Mithya came into his life; but her untimely death brought him back to square one. Saying she would strive to make good Mithya’s irreparable loss, as she embraced him ardently, as if to draw comfort from it, he rested his head on her ample bosom.    Chapter 14 Cuckoo’s Nest          Next day, when Raju announced Ranjit’s arrival, Dhruva said jocularly that Radha might as well meet Mr. Interval, but she told him mischievously that it pays to retain his Ace of Hearts in case the stakes were raised. Leaving her with a pleased look, Dhruva reached the study to find a downcast Ranjit, who said that Kavya had come under Pravar’s spell, and sadly, he had every reason to believe that she was carrying on with him. As Ranjit bemoaned how his upright wife chose to have an affair with a hardened criminal, Dhruva said that he should bear with it all till she got over her aberration induced by the Stockholm Syndrome. Assuming the role of a psychiatrist, the detective tried to convince the cuckold that he should be considerate to his unfortunate wife, while he himself would strain every nerve to get her out of her paramour’s emotional clutches.      While Dhruva was closeted with Ranjit in the study, Radha went about arranging her things in Mithya’s room and found the main cupboard ajar. Wondering whether it was Dhruva’s idea to let her gain access to his wife’s wear, she opened it and came across scores of embroidered saris in an impressive wardrobe. Unable to resist the temptation to find out how Mithya’s blouses would go on her, she wore one and as it was well-suited, she wore a matching sari , and reached for the full-length mirror. While she sized up herself in Mithya’s attire, she tried to envision Dhruva’s reaction, which gave her a strange sense of fetishism, and drawn by the amazing collection of saris and dresses lying in the cupboard, one by one, she pulled them out, and found at the bottom, a false bottom. Gaining access to the secret shelf, and overawed by the exquisite jewelry lying therein, in ornate boxes, she couldn’t stop wondering about the quality of the gems and the beauty of the workmanship. And finding a framed picture of a young girl, who seemed to be Mithya’s daughter, she could not help but compare it with her mother’s life-size picture on the wall, and felt that both exuded a charm of their own.  When Raju informed her about Ranjit’s departure, she joined Dhruva in the study, and he briefed her about Kavya’s affair with Pravar, at which she wondered at the ways of life, and said that it could be awful for the husband. While Dhruva was at a loss as to how to redeem himself by freeing Kavya from Pravar’s hold before she became his crime-mate as well, she said that they should bring Natya into play to gauge Kavya’s mind, and that would enable her to keep a vigil on Pravar, her own bête noir . Agreeing that they should think of a ploy to bring Natya emotionally closer to her, they toyed with many an idea before he came up with a plan involving Shakeel. When he was about to ring up Shakeel, she said jocularly that he should summon an ambulance as well for the cop might suffer a stroke by seeing her in his house; and patting her for her naughtiness, he said that he would ask the cop to come in an ambulance itself. When Shakeel came as promised, she received him in the portico as planned and before the guest could recover from the shock of her presence, the host jolted him further by introducing her as his assistant in a live-in. Leading Shakeel into the drawing hall, Dhruva joked that it made sense that the cop made up with her as his future admissions into 9, Castle Hills have to be only through the proper channel. When Radha extended her hand to Shakeel saying that they better let bygones be bygones, Dhruva goaded him to make a new beginning with his old suspect. Over drinks that they had together, as she showed no traces of bitterness towards him, Shakeel began to feel at ease, and when Dhruva stressed upon the need to involve her in pinning Pravar and laid the blueprint to bring Radha and Natya together. Thereafter, ending up befriending her, the cop left them wondering how his premonition about her coming closer to the detective came true. So, that day, when Natya was about to step out from the department stores in the A.C. Guards; a woman constable picked her up for an alleged shoplifting and packed her off to the lock-up of the Saifabad Police Station. Soon, Natya had Radha for company, supposedly locked up for her road rage, and as Radha feigned to take Shakeel to task for having booked her for nuts, impressed with her élan, Natya was drawn towards her. When Radha was about to ring up Dhruva asking him to speak to Shakeel, Natya pleaded with her to take up her case as well, and having been freed thereafter, Radha led Natya to her Red Hills abode, kept under lock and key, and succeeded in cultivating her young heart; as expected Natya spilled the beans on her wayward life and Radha not only solicited her about the need to reform Pravar for her own good but also  convinced her about the need to keep him out of the loop as they together worked towards that end, and the latter swore that she would act as directed.    Chapter 15 ‘Untried’ Crime   That day as Dhruva was away with Shakeel and was not expected till late in the night, Radha began scanning Mithya’s closets to delve deeper into her past. Not finding any sleazy stuff therein, as she was about to give up on spying, she located a false bottom in the dressing table that led her to many unusual items. Elated at the discovery as she rummaged the shelf, she found Mithya’s jottings in a leather-bound book, leafing through which, she came across a story-like entry, Untried Crime, which read thus: That was when Mithya’s life was under siege; she faced the unwelcome prospect of divorce, lo, owing to her own infidelity. Barely turned twenty-eight, as she was not for losing the good things of life her well-heeled man afforded her, she began planning a perfect murder of him and her paramour. So, leaving no lose ends for the cops to tie her up to the killings, she made discreet enquiries about the Inspector of the Saifabad Police Station, the one most likely to turn up for questioning her. What with his reputation as an Ace of Crime Detection increasing her sense of challenge, she spied upon him in a burka, and finding him manly and handsome, she fell for him. So, she kept track of him, and struck by his élan and enamored of his mien, she even turned covetous, which give an erotic edge to her criminal cunning.   That night, after seeing the end of both her men and having anonymously alerted the police about the double murder, she expectantly waited for Dhruva to turn up at her bungalow, the gates of which she deliberately kept ajar, and when he knocked at the main door, she received him in lingerie. “Sorry for my rather scanty cladding,” she said alluringly. “I’m Inspector Dhruva,” he said unable to take his eyes off her hourglass frame. “I’m Mithya,” she said coquettishly, extending her hand invitingly. “Mrs. Ashok I suppose,” he said, grabbing it greedily. “Yes, I’m Mithya Ashok,” she said leading him into the drawing room. “Do you know the whereabouts of your husband?” he asked looking into her eyes. “Why, he’s aboard the Godavari Express,” she said affecting concern. “Are you sure about that?” “You know I’m his wife, don’t you?”  “Can’t there be secrets between the spouses?” “Have you come to know of any mistress of his or what?” she said mockingly. “Maybe he would’ve been better off in her bed, if he had any but….” “You mean, better off than in mine?” she said interrupting him “I’ve to get into both to know about that,” he said naughtily, “but sadly he’s no more.” “In that case, can’t you imagine the possibilities?” she said winking at him. “It’s no joke, he was possibly murdered,” he said observing her demeanor. “You mean, in the running train!” “No, it’s in your A.C Guards’ house.” “Wonder how he landed there!” she said feigning surprise. “But who could have killed him?” “Who’s Dilip?” “Has he killed him?” “Better answer my question.”    “He’s my errand boy, don’t mind his age,” she said smilingly. “Is that all?” “I know privacy is the first victim in crime investigation, don’t I?” she said coquettishly.  “Don’t mistake me, it’s a routine question.” “Well, to tell you the truth, I am carrying on with him.” “But I don’t think he’s of your class.” “Why that should bother you at all?” “Sorry but surely your man would’ve been concerned about that.” “You are spot on,” she said taking his hand. “Know that I offered to divorce him.” “Are you in love with Dilip?” “Didn’t you hear me say that I am carrying on with him?” “When did you last see him?” “I was with him till ten.” “Where it was?” “Where Ashok was murdered that is going by your statement.” “You mean that you three were there.” “Are you implying a threesome or what?” she said laughingly. “You know I am not privy to your sexual proclivities,” he said not to be outplayed at his favorite game. “Given a chance, I won’t withhold any from you,” she said not to be undone. “You may keep that on hold and...” “If you put me on hold, I can hang on in hope,” she said turning bold. “Maybe by the rope,” he said mocking sympathy. “Don’t worry on that count,” she said nonchalantly. “Misplaced though, your confidence is admirable,” he said unable to hide his admiration. “Cerebral though isn’t it a misplaced compliment,” she said coyly adjusting her lingerie. “Could be but how Ashok was in the wrong place?”  “How am I to know that?” “Maybe you could guess.” “I’ve no clue on earth.” “What if Dilip too is dead.” “Oh God, did they kill each other?” “I haven’t said Dilip was dead,” he said and as she was startled a little, he added, “didn’t you give away the clue to the case?” “Brush up your grammar boy, it was but my question,” she said recovering. “Then, ‘yes’ is my answer,” he said bowled by her smartness. “So, I’ve lost my man and my paramour at once.” “What a double jeopardy it is, I’m really sorry.” “Why be sorry dear as I’m doubly free,” she said taking his hand. “I guess you’ve some way to go before that,” he said holding it.  “Going by your demeanor, I don’t think so,” she said squeezing his hand. “Why not follow me there?” “Can’t you spare me all that now?” “So be it but don’t fail to turn up at the mortuary tomorrow.” “Where it is?” “Sorry for the slip, it’s at the Gandhi Hospital.” “Don’t I see you’re enamored,” she said winking at him.  “I will wait for you there by ten in the morning,” he said in embarrassment. “Thank you for being a considerate cop,” she said taking his hand all again. “Maybe you could’ve revealed more,” he said enjoying the touch. “How unfair to say that without giving me scope?” she said feigning to be offended. “You’re impossible ma’am; good night.” “Sweet dreams,” she said adjusting her lingerie to part-bare her boob.  While she waved at him amorously, perplexed at her audacity and perturbed by his attraction, he left her half-heartedly.   ‘Stabbed in the abdomen, as Ashok lay dead in the sofa, how it was that Dilip’s medulla oblongata had hit the edge of the chair opposite?’ Dhruva began reviewing the murder scene on his way home. ‘Won’t the empty Bagpiper bottle, broken glasses, and the scattered bhujiya indicate a drinking brawl, possibly over Mithya that led to their killing each other? But is it as simple as that? Was there Mithya’s hidden hand behind all that? Why not take her finger prints?’ The next day as Mithya reached the mortuary, Dhruva obliged her to leave her finger prints, having which, he was lost in the elegance of her slender fingers that was not lost on her either; so, pleased with herself she turned coquettish and said how she wished that he would let her put them for better use in time. Distracted though by her seductive manner, yet he was able to discern that her demeanor turned cold as she saw Dilip’s body, and that she looked contemptuously at Ashok’s corpse, which made him think that she had no love lost for either of them. Moreover, when he noticed the steadiness of her hand as she recorded her statement and the coolness in her face as she was all set to take away Ashok’s body in the ambulance, he felt that she had the nerve of a killer. If anything, when she told enticingly that she knew he would visit her again in vardi but he was welcome even in mufti, he was amazed as well as irritated by her audacity. But while getting into her sedan that followed the ambulance as she winked at him invitingly, seeing in her a femme fatale of the first order, he waved her off wondering whether she was the murderess after all; and as if to chase his thoughts, leaving the chores of handling Dilip’s body to Appa Rao his deputy, he headed straight to the forensic laboratory. The post-mortem report confirmed the instantaneous deaths of both men and Mithya’s fingerprints were found all over the place and that put Dhruva in the contemplative mode. ‘Stabbed in the abdomen by Dilip if Ashok died instantaneously, how he could have pushed away Dilip with such a force that his medulla oblongata took the hit?’ he began to analyze. ‘Even if Ashok had extraordinary reflexes to push away Dilip upon being attacked, the latter’s grip on the knife would have ensured that it was pulled out of his frame, which was not the case. So, as Dilip couldn’t have died being pushed by Ashok for he died instantaneously after being stabbed; were it possible that Mithya murdered Dilip in cold blood after abetting him to stab Ashok to death? Was not the informer too an anonymous woman! Was it all Mithya’s handiwork then?’  Soon after Ashok’s obsequies were over, Dhruva called on Mithya at 9, Castle Hills. “What brings you here dear?” she greeted him heartily. “Why can’t you guess?” “Where the need as your urgency shows?” she said winking at him. “You are mistaken,” he said, hiding his embarrassment. “Oh! I thought you are a game,” she said, feigning disappointment.  “You may know that custodial interrogation is a different ball game,” he said assuming a grave demeanor. “Then you have to go to hell to interrogate both of them?” she said smilingly, ushering him into her house. “Not a bad idea if a femme fatale can lead me there.” “If you think I’m one, I would lead you to heaven instead,” she said enticingly. “Tempting though…,” “What’s the hesitation then?” she said moving closer. “Thanks to your finger prints on the murder weapon, I have to lead you to the lock-up,” he said dramatically taking her hand. “What a discovery!” she said without taking her hand out of his. “Well, it was I who prepared the salad besides mixing drinks for Dilip and me. Wonder how you had missed my finger prints on the Bagpiper bottle and those two glasses.” “Whither gone the third glass?” he said releasing her hand. “I haven’t heard of two drinking out of three glasses, have you?” she said smilingly. “But Ashok’s viscera showed that he too drank.” “Don’t you see that scoring for me as it clearly indicates that they quarreled to death after drinking to the dregs,” she said triumphantly. “When Ashok died readily, who could’ve killed Dilip?” he said with a probing look. “I know Ashok has quick reflexes, possibly he might’ve pushed away Dilip before he died,” she said with a poker face. “Why wouldn’t have Dilip pulled out the knife when pushed?”  “It’s puzzling isn’t it?” she said smilingly.  “What if someone was there to ensure that both died?” “Eminently possible, but don’t you think it’s too thin a thread to hang me with?” she said mockingly. “Could the criminal and the informer be the same?” “We could discuss all that and more if you stay on for dinner,” she said invitingly, taking his hand. “Not now, maybe some other time,” he said making a move. “You may know that you’re always welcome,” she said pressing his hand. “Looks like you’re a tough nut to crack,” he said pressing her hand. “Oh!’ she feigned pain. “I’m sorry,” he said releasing her hand. “Why, isn’t it precious to hold?” she said extending her hand enticingly. “That’s what is disturbing,” he said waving her goodbye.  “That’s the charm of life,” she said, blowing a kiss at him.                        Bowled though by her charms, as her daredevilry affronted his professional ego, hell-bent on pinning her down, he reviewed the case for possible loopholes, and finding none, he thought that he should play ball with her in her own court. That evening when Dhruva reached 9, Castle Hills in mufti, Mithya in light pink voile sari, was in the lawns with Dicey, her new acquisition, and having greeted him heartily, she warmly led him into the drawing room to flirt with him openly. Soon, as they had a binge of booze sitting together in that wide sofa, finding her at her evocative best, he realized how vulnerable he was to her peculiar persona. But as he remained tentative, teasing him at his unease, before cozying up to him by drawing closer to him, she revealed her riveting allures by degrees, and unable to resist her charms, as he conceded his erotic ground to her, she induced him to lay the foundations for an amorous edifice through necking and petting. When she proposed dinner to let them satiate their palates as a prelude to satiating their libidos, following her to the dining table, as he took to bottom pinching, she said coyly that she wouldn’t be granting him an out-of-turn favor. Saying that he would wait for its turn, yet as he busied himself at her bottom, she said that he could have his way both ways but as per protocol. After a hearty meal followed by pan, she led her into the lawn to let him puff away at his cigar, as she enjoyed its aroma, and as he stubbed the butt, hugging him ardently and reaching for his lips, she kissed him fervently, inducing in him the urge to surge in. Thereby, leading him indoors, she stripped him in the drawing room and pulled him into the bedroom only to push him onto her sprawling mahogany bed for their erotic exertions. At length, lying in his arms in satisfaction, she opened her secretive mind to him. “I know what brought you into my bed, and as quid pro quo, I’ll satisfy your curiosity,” she said coyly. “It was Dilip’s idea to eliminate Ashok and I went along with it, not to acquire a rich widow tag, but to avoid the divorcee card. With inputs from Dilip, I worked out a plan to slow-poison Ashok, as and when he embarked on a journey by train and as I was all set, it dawned on me that in all suspicious deaths, the spouse would readily come under the scanner, so I realized that to save my skin, I should get rid of Dilip as well. Moreover, eager to step into Ashok’s shoes, Dilip was getting too big for his boots, and to give a spin to Ashok’s death, before arranging that fateful meeting to untangle the love triangle, I booked a berth for him on the Godavari Express. The rest as you know is mystery.” “Isn’t it a loss to the crime history?” he said fondling her. “Why not we together create history,” she said invitingly. “It’s my curiosity to measure up the cop who would turn up for my questioning that made me appraise you on the sly; even as your looks surged my sexual passion, your manner induced a sense of belonging in me. Believe me; my urge to make a new beginning with you fuelled my desire to be freed of both of them even more; that way, my man, you are an abettor of the crime. Whatever, in the wake of the murders, breathing down my neck, you’ve charmed me with your mind as well, and now with your lovemaking, you’ve increased my craving for being your wife. You know, all this is for your ears only and not for my trial for sure; try acting funny and you stand accused - of torture and rape - haven’t you left enough evidence behind – on both counts.” “What to make of you?” he said in exasperated admiration.  “Yours if you please,” she winked at him. “What if I let you loose,” he said contemplatively. “Why not enslave me.” “That’s resisting the irresistible.” “If you can ignore my past, I won’t let you regret making me your wife, it’s my promise,” she said pleadingly taking him in her embrace. “I know your value to my life but let me think it over,” he said disarmingly. “Won’t you come tomorrow?” she said reaching for his lips. “You haven’t left me as yet,” he said. When he reached for his dress after she released him, she pulled out the tape recorder from his pocket.   “Let this be my keepsake of our first-time,” she said dangling it before him. “Oh, you are impossible!” he said taking her into his arms. However, after the dust has settled down, he led me into our marvelous wedlock.    Amazed at what she read, Radha thought that Mithya could have been a temptress in the Cleopatra mold and wondered what would have happened had she poisoned her men.    Chapter 16 Kavya’s Quagmire   When Radha took Dhruva to cloud nine, as if to bring him back to the mundane setting, Dicey got seriously indisposed; though he was gratified to see her tending the pet like her own child, when it succumbed to the mysterious ailment in a week’s time, he was truly downcast. While it took him quite a while to recover from his loss, courtesy Natya, Radha could cover a lot of Pravar’s ground into which Kavya had ventured deep that she mapped for Dhruva over drinks one evening.   After securing his bail, Kavya was wont to spend long hours with Pravar to work out their defense strategy. In that process, even as he was charmed by her suaveness, she was discomfited by his outrageous manner, yet she put up with him so as to atone herself for Ranjit’s foul on him. However, she readily struck a chord with Natya, who was all empathy for her, for her sympathy for them, but her proximity made Pravar fantasize about the mature woman, and it was only time before he turned obsessive of possessing her, by means fair or foul. What with her misplaced samaritanism blinding her vision, Kavya mistook his advances as manifestations of his exaggerated gratitude for her, and Natya, though quick to sense his ill-intentions, yet failed to caution her, for the fear of losing her support, all the while pleading with him not to scandalize their benefactor. Yet, in time, he pressed her to pander to his whim by bringing around Kavya, and as she refused, he threatened to end his life, which made Natya see the merit in the adage of ‘yielding to the temptation as a way of avoiding it’. So, reckoning that he would get over his obsession for her rival only in her possession, willy-nilly, Natya became his accomplice to trick Kavya into his bed. Thereafter, as per the script, Pravar faked suicide, ostensibly to save their benefactor from his passion for her, and Natya played upon Kavya’s sympathy for him to try to woo her for him. So, distressed at the development and embarrassed to the core, Kavya was at a loss as to know how to handle her unrequited love. Were she to shun him altogether, it would amount to her rescinding his vakalat, and with Shakeel braying for his blood, wouldn’t that mean throwing him to the wolves? Why abandon him after all the hard work and on the verge of success? However, to overcome her predicament, she thought of putting sense into his deranged head that it was not proper to covet a woman old enough to be his elder sister. Though she strived to put sense into his head to put an end the nonsense, he reiterated his resolve to end his life if she were to fail to yield to his raging passion that was killing him any way. Thereby, Kavya saw no way out to save her honor but by cold-shouldering him, hoping that he would get over his obsession for her in time, and so kept away from him, but soon as her unrelenting lover faked suicide yet again, she was thrown into a dilemma - if she gave in to him, she would be unfaithful to Ranjit, but should Pravar take the plunge, that would fail her mission. What with her obsession for justice coupled with her empathy for him tilting the scales, she could hold no more, and as he began to overwhelm her with his youthful urges, she felt as if her life was under siege in their liaison. Soon, as Pravar tended to ignore Natya, she insisted parity to make it an equitable love triangle, but with his ardency for her ever on the raise, he began pestering her to leave her man to make it a ménage a trois for them. As that’s how things stood as per Natya’s brief, Dhruva blamed himself for Kavya’s fall, and Radha felt the only way to rescue her was to nab Pravar, he said that he would talk to Shakeel to handle him. So, as he reached for his mobile, he received a call from him, by then shifted to the Jubilee Hills Police Station. The cop said that around six in the evening, he received a call from Kavya, informing him that Ranjit lay dead at home; so he rushed to Spandan to take stock of the situation. He learned from her that Ranjit had left for his office at ten and, as was her wont, she too went out after lunch, but on her return, finding him dead in his bed in the master bedroom, she felt it could be a cold-blooded murder. However, he saw nothing amiss in the house and there were no injuries on the body, all of which pointed out to a possible heart attack, but yet he moved the body for post-mortem, and sounded his informers to pick up in the grapevine. While Dhruva became pensive, Radha said that she knew for long that it was in the coming; after all, didn’t Natya tell her that Pravar was hell-bent to have Kavya all for himself? Surely, adept at the art of poisoning, he would have done in Ranjit to gain Kavya’s undivided affections. However, Dhruva told her not to jump the gun; for all he knew, he could have as well committed suicide, unable to bear the ignominy of being a cuckold or for that matter, he might have died even of heart attack, stressed as he was by his wife’s infidelity. But as Radha insisted that it could have been Pravar’s way of grabbing Kavya and her property as well, Dhruva maintained that time only would tell whether there was a foul play and they better waited for the post-mortem report.   Next evening, Shakeel came to tell Dhruva that by all indications Ranjit’s death was owing to poisoning and that Kavya got an anticipatory bail for herself making him wonder whether she had a hand in the sordid affair. Then Dhruva told him that she was no fool to soil her hands with her husband’s blood, as it won’t be beyond her to know that she would become the prime suspect in the case that too given that she had a paramour to boot. But Radha maintained that it was apparent that Pravar, keeping Kavya in the dark, would have poisoned Ranjit, and it made sense to apprehend him forthwith for extracting his confession and be done with it. Then Shakeel, as if as an afterthought, said that of late, whenever Kavya was away, a burka- clad woman was seen visiting Ranjit, which made Dhruva say whether it was a woman in burka or women in burka. At that the cop said that he thought as much, but the neighbors were certain that it was only one woman that Ranjit was receiving for some time then. When Radha interjected by saying, what if the woman in burka was Natya, Pravar’s red herring, to mislead the police; Shakeel said that it was not a bad line of investigation. However, Dhruva cautioned him not to oversimplify matters but wide-scan Ranjit’s present and deep-delve into his past as his death by poisoning that pointed towards Pravar’s hand raised the possibility of a hidden hand behind his murder. At that Shakeel said that the foolhardiness of the criminal impulse always puzzled him but Dhruva reasoned that even as the calling of crime clouds reason, its execution itself impairs caution, imperiling the cover up. As for the victims of crime, he said, what one would say about the credulity of a cuckold, who would have thrown caution to the winds by indulging in a drinking binge with his wife’s paramour? Or can any explain the stupidity of a philanderer who walks into his death trap laid by the man he has been cuckolding? How such dig their own graves! Though Shakeel wanted him to make it to the Spandan along with him, Dhruva felt that his premature association with the investigation of the case would jeopardize his future involvement in it. However, while the cop saw merit in what the detective had said, as Radha insisted that their strip to the crime spot might yield the keys to Pravar’s tricks, Dhruva said that they better stayed on the sidelines as Shakeel kept the main course. But after seeing Shakeel’s back, as Radha wondered whether the cop was equal to the task, the detective hoped that by dawn, they might yet see the case in some fresh light for there may be something more to that than met the eye.    Chapter 17 Murders to Mislead   Next morning, after Radha had gone out to meet Natya, as Dhruva was wondering how Ranjit’s death might have affected Kavya’s relationship with Pravar, Raju informed him that a woman came to see him; irritated though about the intrusion into his reverie, he, nevertheless, headed towards the anteroom. Seeing Kavya seated therein, even as he was immobilized at the threshold, struck by his enamored demeanor, she stuck to her seat; but when he walked up to her, as if out of trance, waking up to the reality, she got up in greeting, and as he gesticulated at her to be seated, she reposted herself confusedly. Though he readily sensed the import of her visit and the possibilities it portended, yet he acquired a questioning look, and pulling out his call letter from her handbag, she held it out to him. Perusing it as a ruse to hide his excitement, when he told her in the end that they could begin the interview, she said that the purpose of her visit was to seek his assistance but not to offer her services. While he feigned surprise at that, outlining the circumstances that brought her to him, she sought his help in unraveling the mystery of her husband’s death. When he wanted to know if she had any suspect in mind, she said that if it were the case, instead of coming to 9, Castle Hills, she would have gone to the Jubilee Hills police station. Bowled by her sense of humor, he said that he wished he had half her wit, and thanking him for the compliment, she said she banked on her gut feeling that he could outwit the killer. Seeing his inclination, when she offered to take him to her place in her car, reckoning that with her at the wheel, he would be able to assess her better, he went with her idea, and on their drive to Spandan, watching her closely all the way, he came to the view that her visage suggested that she could be innocent. As if reading his thoughts, she asked him if he really believed that she was not involved in her husband’s murder as the cops thought she was. Pleased with her forthrightness, he said that though personally he believed she might not have had any hand in the murder, he would not be worth his salt as a detective if he took her at the face value. Satisfied with his approach but yet wanting to test his mettle, she asked him if he cared to tell her about any intriguing murder that he might have solved. Sensing her intention, he said that her query made him recall a case in cracking which, Mithya, his late wife, played a prominent role. But as she acquired a grave look for form’s sake, he said that it was her sudden death a year back that prompted him to release that ad. At that, she wondered whether he would have selected her, even if she had called on him at the right time, he said that, if only she were inclined, time still beckoned her. While she kept quiet, as a prorogue to his narrative, he asked her if she could recall the serial killings of some middle-aged women in the Langar Hauz area that shook the Hyderabadis five years back. Nodding her head in the right direction, she said that she was aware of the intriguing murders but there was no news about it later. Mithya viewed those mysterious murders from the kaleidoscope of liaisons; he began to recap; so she rented a portion in the Langar Hauz as an estranged wife and gathered the details of the cheating husbands and wives through the grapevine. But as he was disinclined to pursue that investigative course for the list didn’t carry the nerves of a killer, shifting her gossiping gear to reach the abused women, she came to know about the peculiar relationship between Ramya a young woman and Haritha, her middle-aged step-mother owing to the unusual will and testament that bound them.  Shortly before his death that was twenty years back, Ramya’s father bequeathed his entire property to her, five-years then, and made Haritha, his childless second wife, her guardian. Besides adding insult to his wife’s injury, he stated in his will that if his widowed was to wed again, she would cease to be his daughter’s guardian, and all that goes with it. Further venting his apathy towards his young wife, he willed that as and when his daughter becomes a mother, his widow would be only entitled to a meager pension, and should his daughter die barren, then the orphanage he named gets it all. Finally, as if to protect his progeny from his wife’s presumed ill-will, he willed that if his daughter and her heirs were to die before his wife’s death, for whatever reason, all his assets would then go the said orphanage. Well, as that Will underscored mistrust and spelled malice, Mithya cultivated the young Ramya, who in a moment of weakness made her privy to the untenable arrangement her father’s will ushered in her life. Widowed, at barely thirty and seeing the death-knell of a will, Haritha was seethed with a hapless rage, but in time, applying her mind to browbeat the imposition, she thought of an ingenious solution to bypass its nefarious proposition. Accordingly, she convinced Ramya, six then, about the need of a male in the house for their protection, and got her married to the sixteen-year old Rahul, however, with an eye on him. However, having come of age, when Ramya, realized that her man was her stepmother’s lover, Haritha sought to palliate her by letting Rahul consummate their marriage. But soon, turning eager to have her husband all for herself, Ramya tried to wean him away from her stepmother’s grip, though unsuccessfully, but once her youth blossomed into womanhood that coincided with the oldie’s weaning charms, Rahul started leaning towards his wife. At that, a peeved Haritha began throwing tantrums at them to rob their newfound marital bliss, which drove Rahul into his wife’s exclusive fold.  Thus thrown out of the unethical love triangle that left in the lurch, the embittered woman turned even more cynical and began to menace the young couple at every turn. So Mithya thought that the random killings in the neighborhood could have been their prelude to target their nemesis under their shadow, and to get to the bottom of it, as she worked on Ramya’s presumed guilt. So, at length, Ramya confided in her that Rahul had reckoned that if they randomly kill a couple or more of the middle-aged women to start with, unless caught in the act, for the lack of any motive, none would ever suspect their involvement in those murders, and in time, if they hit their real target, under the smokescreen of those murders, the police would treat that as yet another of the same serial. Thus, having laid the path for Haritha’s last journey, when they were all set to strike at her, she was struck with the terminal cancer, thereby rendering the youngsters remorseful of killing those innocents, so, in a way, even after her cancerous death, Haritha continued to torment them. Saying in conclusion that as Mithya felt that the couple, having been the victims of subterfuge, deserved a fresh lease of life, he had agreed to put a lid on the case that his department anyway closed as unsolved, and when he wanted to know how she felt about it all, she said that she was at a loss to form an opinion. But as he averred that the discretion to arraign an errant or not, lent charm of being a private detective, she told him that she hoped that he would not abuse his prerogative in the case on hand.   Chapter 18 The Other Woman     When they reached Spandan , while he recalled his earlier visit there, she led him in to give a free rein to scan her dwelling, but as he entered the master bedroom, unable to take his eyes off from the wedding photograph on the wall, he said that she looked divine in her bridal attire. Then, as she flung herself onto the bed while sobbing, he apologized for his indiscretion, and affected by his empathy, she was impelled to confide in him tearfully. Ranjit was mean and selfish besides being secretive and so she could never bring herself to love him, but just the same, she remained faithful to him until Pravar came into her orderly life to lead her astray. It all began in the wake of her kidnapping when she started pitting the mean core of her partner’s soft manner against the sublime inner of her captor’s savage nature. So, when the inspector foisted the fake-notes case on the hapless boy, her empathy for him prompted her to take up the cudgels on his behalf, which he mistook as a sign of her weakness for him, and after his suicide attempts, she shamefully yielded to him to save his life. Oh, how her life began pushing her to the precipice of vice thereafter she only knew, but surely her husband could have got wind of her affair, and to spite her, he might have got into a liaison with some woman, strangely to his own undoing, which, besides adding to her guilt, has made her even more vulnerable than ever.          At that, overwhelmed by empathy for her, he made her privy to the psychics of the ‘Stockholm Syndrome’, and helped her grasp the aberrations that led her into that messy affair. So, shocked and relieved in the same vein after seeing her dark past in a fresh light, she involuntarily clutched at his hand. Then holding her hand, he said how come her husband, whom he had apprised about it, failed to share the same with her, and surprised at that, she asked him when it was, but realizing his slip and wanting to avoid any premature disclosure; he said that it was when he came to seek his counseling on account of her disturbing affair. After pondering for a while, when she sought his psychiatric help to put her odd past behind her, he assured her that he would help her to bring her life back to normality. Thanking him, as she said that she would count on him, moved by her faith in him, he said that he would never let her down, and gratified no end; she said that she believed she met the right man at long last. At that, as if to augment her belief, he hugged her tentatively, and asked her, given Pravar’s motive for the gainful murder, what she thought about his possible role in her husband’s death, she said that he had an alibi in her. But when he said what if Pravar had induced Natya, or involved some other woman, to do the job for him; looking at him adoringly, she said mischievously that it was for him to probe the matter and nab the murderess.  When he wanted to know who was the other woman in her husband’s life, she said that though she knew that, of late in her absence, he was receiving some woman at home, who took care not to leave any clues about her secret visits; but the neighbors had told her that she always came in a burka . However, from the smell of the things in the house, she was certain that woman was with him before he was poisoned. When he asked her why she didn’t catch her man red-handed with her, bowing her head, she said that she thought she had no moral right to do so. Then he took her hand, as if to convey his admiration for her sensitivity and she clasped it as though to convey her gratitude for his understanding. In time, as he got up to leave, she offered to drive him home, but he said that though that would enable him more of her company, yet he wouldn’t want her to drive an extra meter in Hyderabad’s maddening traffic. Thanking him for his consideration and seeing him off at the gate and mulling over his gestures of interest and his words of concern for her, she espied him as he walked down the lane as if in reluctance. What with her self-worth getting a boost with his enamored attentions, she craved to have more of the same, and soon, as he looked back at her, pleased with herself, she waved at him all the way.  Hiring an auto and reaching home in Kavya’s thoughts, while briefing Radha about his visit to Spandan , he discerned a perceptible change of color in her demeanor, which he attributed to the human proclivity for sexual insecurity. So, when she sought to probe his mind, he put the ball in her court with her ‘Pravar might have used Natya to poison Ranjit’ theory, but she said that on second thoughts, she was more inclined to view that as the handiwork of Pravar-Kavya combine for they had a shared motive as well as the common means to commit the crime. Wanting to have something concrete rather than her conjecture, as he said that they better waited for Shakeel’s report about Ranjit’s past, she asked him to caution the cop for he could be high on Pravar’s hit-list, and added that Kavya can be expected to aid and abet the brat for she too bore a grudge against him.    What with Radha bringing him back to square one, Dhruva wondered whether Kavya’s confession was but a red herring, but reckoning that when the ill motives of the natural suspects to commit a crime are an open secret, someone with a hidden agenda might be tempted to use that as a camouflage for his subterfuge, he saw the need to enlarge the scope of the investigation well beyond the apparent suspects.   Chapter 19 Shakeel’s Demise   That early dawn, waking up to the first ring tone of his mobile, so as not to disturb Radha lying beside him, Dhruva switched it off readily, and moving out of the bedroom, he realized that the call was from Shakeel’s cell. When he returned the call, as he was kept on hold for long, he dialed the residential number and found that too was ever engaged; however, soon, ending the stalemate, Shakeel’s son got him on the mobile. Shocked at learning that the cop had died in his sleep, he was dumbfounded, and recovering, he wondered whether he too went the Ranjit’s way. Then, recalling Radha’s fears for Shakeel’s life, he looked at her instinctively, and finding her in a serene sleep, as he set out to visit the bereaved, he told Raju to inform her about the tragedy as she woke up. When he reached Shakeel’s house in Chatrinaka, he had to wade through the milling crowd to make it to the corpse, not only to pay his respects to the departed soul but also to unearth the clues, if any, to his death, even as it transpired that it was business as usual for the deceased on the day of his demise. Even though all thought that he could have died of a stroke and he found nothing incriminating, yet insisting upon a post-mortem and having assured to stand by the family through thick and thin, the detective left them. However, on reaching home, when he aired his apprehensions about the death, as Radha voiced her suspicions about Pravar’s possible involvement in it, he wondered what if he targets Kavya next, piqued at her possible indifference towards him. If he indeed had seen Ranjit’s end to own her, would he pardon her for ditching him? Had he avenged himself on Shakeel for his foisting a false case on him, would he go soft on his lady-love for being hard on him? Isn’t sexual hurt a compelling impulse to commit crime, and hadn’t the cop sketched him as cunning and ruthless; but still, why place the cart before the horse; let the post-mortem report arrive, so averred the detective to her. The next evening, when Dhruva reached the Chatrinaka Police Station, as he was given to understand that the as the forensic tests confirmed that Shakeel’s death too was owing to poisoning, he was truly worried about Kavya’s safety, and so as to have a word with her, he readily drove down to her Spandan . Though she received him warmly, feeling embarrassed by his enamored look, she instinctively became tentative, but when he managed to camouflage his ardor, she impulsively regained her poise, and revealed that probing Shakeel’s death, just then the police came to inquire about her whereabouts the other day. So, when he wanted to have her take on the probability of Pravar avenging himself on the cop, she said that, on and off, he was wont to rage for revenge, when she used to urge him to desist from such thoughts. However, after her husband’s death, as she turned cold towards him, he begged her not to desert him for he might go berserk all again, but sick and tired of her shameful association with him, she was firm not to yield to him anymore, come what may. So, who knew, he could have killed the cop hoping that she would reach up to him to renew her counseling, so be it, but there was no way she would succumb to him ever again. At that, while he espied her with empathy, saying that she felt miserable carrying the cross of her weird past, as she broke down, he told her as that brat was not worthy of her thoughts, it made no sense for her in suffering on his account. Then, as she looked at him with hope, he unraveled Pravar’s criminal background, as etched by Radha and sketched by Shakeel, which prompted her to say that she felt even more wretched for having carried on with such a character. Moved by the radiance of her visage in her repentance, as he was impelled to take her into his arms as if to feel her soul, driven by her sense of emptiness, she insensibly sank into his chest as though for her solace. However, when he reiterated the need for her to let bygones be bygones for the sake of her future, she confessed to him in remorse that she reduced herself to be his accomplice in crime as well. Though he said that was quite understandable, shamed by her recollections, she withdrew herself, but goaded by him to off-load her guilt, she briefed him about her life and crimes with that brat.   By the time he kidnapped her, he was a rank broke, having splurged all the booty, acquired through a boy’s kidnap, for Natya’s endearment, and what with that farce of a ransom in her case having ended in the confiscation of the stolen cars as well, he had nothing left to fall back upon. So, she was constrained to provide succor and support to the hapless couple but while he was initially content with living on her doles, however, after he won her over, he came to seek more and more from her, but her man, as if on cue, curtailed her access to the family purse, and that forced her to play ball with him at extortions. Why, it was her cynical idea that with right tactics, he could make the corrupt to cough up part of their ill-gotten money, with none of them going to town about it for fear of further trouble. At that, he proposed that they might conduct fake tax raids with forged identities, but she reckoned that, sooner than later, it would only land him in one gaol or the other as someone at some stage was bound to call his bluff. So, when he said what to make out of her non-starter of an idea, she told him that with her brains and his brawn, they could yet make it workable; what with her contacts in the department, she would be able to prepare the profiles of the high-end tax evaders for him to pick up the faint-hearted from amongst them. But still, if someone were to act out of character, yet there was no way he would go to the police to report against him, and if only he would keep his greed at bay, it might as well be a smooth sailing for him. Then, benumbed by shame, she paused for a while, but as if driven by his empathy, she resumed, saying that her plan did work to her peculiar excitement, which made her realize that her heart after all had a criminal beat in it. When he gently pressed her shoulder, as if to convey his understanding of the human frailties, she said that she abhorred the darker side of her nature; and even as he reached out for her hand, she ran inside in despair, and he stayed back to let her overcome her remorse in solitude.   However, smelling some gas and rushing into the kitchen, as he saw her picking up the gas-lighter, he grabbed it from her and closed the cylinder valve, after which, crying inconsolably, she sank into his arms, but as he led her to the verandah for fresh air, she withdrew from him in self-remorse. Shortly thereafter, having led her back into the drawing room, even as he was at a loss to understand as to how to calm her, she told him that she could not bear the very thought of leading life with a foul soul in a polluted body. Taken aback at her self-remorse, he pleaded with her not to feel so low, and told her that it was only a matter of time before she regained her self-worth; and as if to demonstrate his belief in his prophesy, he was impelled to embrace her to inject hope in her through his ardent kissing, and as though she had already realized her mettle, she soon lent passion to her tongue to deep kiss him for long. However, when she withdrew her lips and presented her sparkling eyes to him as if to enable him espy her rejuvenated self, elated at that, he enlaced her ardently as though to cherish her rejuvenated persona. However, as though to carry forward the moment, when he proposed that she may put up in his house, where with the Rajus in attendance, she would have Radha, his companion, for company, thanking him profusely, as she hesitated to go with him, as if to show her the way, he took her hand, and cajoled by him, she packed up some essentials. Thus, when Kavya stepped into 9, Castle Hills, seeing her body language, Radha realized that she had a formidable rival to contend with, and reckoned that it might not help her cause if she were to cut up with him on her score. However, while reviewing Shakeel’s demise with her, when Dhruva wondered whether it had any connection with Ranjith’s death, she asserted that she could see Kavya’s extended hand in both the murders. But before she could elaborate upon that, he received a call informing him that the day he died, Shakeel was seen with a woman in burka, and as he shared that news with her, she said that it too could have been a case of Pravar’s poison at work under Kavya’s burka ; why, she had Natya’s word that having reduced herself as his vassal, she became his partner in crime no less. Then, warning her not to jump to hasty conclusions, he told her it was not wise to go by Natya’s words alone for she could have grouses against her rival to her man’s affections, and added that she should’ve learned about that from her own experience; wasn't it Shakeel’s over-reliance on Pravar’s account that caused her so much grief; so why repeat the mistake to Kavya’s hurt as well? However, she reminded him how Kavya had given a  clean chit to her paramour in her husband’s murder, and added that it was for him to decide whether she faked that suicide attempt, a la Pravar , to gain his sympathy, or if she was only feigning remorse over their liaison just to evade his investigative radar.   But as he maintained that his gut feeling was that Kavya was innocent, and her change of heart was genuine, she said, half in jest, that his fondness for attractive women tended to fudge his judgment about them. However, making light of her remark, he said that she was free to keep a watch on her suspect, and she told him smilingly that it would be far better for her if he kept his eyes off the charming guest. Then, as he came up with a repartee that her own allure had already blinded him, she retorted by saying that what if her rival uses her rare sex appeal as a laser to restore his vision.      Chapter 20 A Perfect Murder   Soon, Dhruva had noticed that while Radha seemed to have reconciled to his affection for Kavya, for her part, Kavya, having taken to Radha’s peculiar charm, even became emamored of her. So, guided by Dhruva’s counseling and buttressed by Radha’s camaraderie, as Kavya recouped from her trauma sooner than expected, she thought it fit to go back to Spandan . However, Dhruva maintained that he was not so naïve as to put his client’s life at risk; and Radha too chipped in by saying that until the venom behind the poison was identified, it was as well that Kavya stayed away from her place . But when Radha added jokingly that she might deem it as a protective custody; Kavya said in half jest that she would like to earn her freedom by lending them her helping hand at catching the culprits. Bemused by their bonhomie, as he told Kavya that in the normal course, she would have been senior to Radha; she said that she bore no grudge against her mate on that score. Meaning business, as he wanted Kavya to start gathering Ranjit’s past, she said for that she would have a lot of ground to cover, as her in-laws were ever on the move that is until they died two years back. While he felt that probing his immediate past might save much of that bother, for the impulse of a recent hurt would’ve a stronger urge for revenge, she said that she has a hunch that his premarital life might hold the key to his undoing, and thus it was as well that she delved deep into his distant past. What with Dhruva seeing merit in her supposition, Kavya left them in search of her husband’s past, where he happened to stay, when they got married. Soon thereafter, Radha said to Dhruva that Natya told her that she feared for the worst as Pravar was mad at the loss of his lady-love, and added as that the poor girl bore the brunt of his frustration, her vengeful man can be expected to avenge himself on Kavya sooner than later. What was worse, Radha averred that he might force the hapless lass to be an accomplice in the crime, and lamented at her fate that first let her fall into Rajan’s criminal hands only to lead her into Pravar’s vicious grip; and if only she could help her get out of the rut and put her on track under his care. At that, recalling the empathy that girl had induced in him that evening on the Tank Bund, as Dhruva told her that he would strive to end the Pravar menace. Radha said that she would love to see him effect a course correction in Natya’s deranged life, even as he brought Kavya’s derailed life back on the tracks. But he said that given that Ranjit’s killer was still at large, and as Kavya’s life too could be imperiled, she may have to wait a while for him to shift his focus onto Pravar and meanwhile she should apply her mind as to how to nab him. However, when she wanted to know whether Ranjit’s murder could be a perfect murder, he said that he was not sure about that yet, but to her poser about ‘what is a perfect murder’, he theorized that even when backed by the circumstantial evidence, if an irrefutable motive and an inalienable gain from the crime fail to nail the suspect, then it’s a perfect murder. Then as she wondered aloud whether such was in the realms of possibility at all, he detailed the immaculate plan and its meticulous execution of a murder that he reckoned as conceptually perfect  That was when he was the Station House Officer of the Saifabad Police Station; one morning, a young and beautiful woman, introducing herself as Neha, lodged a missing person complaint as Murali, her husband, failed to return home the previous night, and said that she feared something untoward could have happened with him. When he asked her whether she could think of anyone who could be inimical to him, she said sobbingly that he was his worst enemy, and after some persuasion, she narrated her tale - burdened by debts, ever since her husband wound up his automobile business, he became a cynic that is besides being an alcoholic; somehow, he convinced himself that a poor man’s spouse was rich men’s prey. So, suspecting her fidelity, he began alleging that she slept with all and sundry, and unable to bear the humiliation, she tried to commit suicide with an overdose of sleeping pills, but sadly for her, she couldn’t die, but rattled by that, he became remorseful and started talking in terms of ending his own life; and it was his psychological imbalance and the hazards of drunken driving that came to plague her. When he asked for Murali’s photograph, she handed him one. But the next day, she came to inform him that her husband had returned only to remain more depressed than ever before, and even though she urged him to take it easy, he was still harping on his past; what’s worse he says that he had no right to live. So, moved by her predicament, as Dhruva sounded sympathetic, she thanked him for his empathy, and said that she would try to persuade him to consult a psychiatrist. Believing that that she deserved better and thinking that if only he met her as a miss, he wished her well and bade her good bye.   However, shortly thereafter, one evening in the police club, he heard a colleague say that only recently, at a desolate level crossing, not far off from Hyderabad, a man’s body was retrieved from his car, accidentally crushed on the railway tracks, so much for the railway safety! Moreover, as the graphologist confirmed that the writing in the suicide note found in the victim’s wallet matched his handwriting, and as the post-mortem report too indicated a drunken death, the case was closed as there was no reason to proceed further. But as crime would have it, it readily occurred to him, what if Neha’s missing person complaint then was but a red herring, so he thought it fit to delve into her life and times, and as he gathered in the grapevine that Murali, suspecting her fidelity, was wont to ill-treat her, he could smell the rat. So, out of professional curiosity, he unofficially involved himself in the case, and upon closer scrutiny of the suicide note it became apparent to him that it was an odd tear-out from a foolscap paper and its tone and tenor suggested that possibly it could be a part of some story penned by the deceased. However, such a possibility amused him for muse or no muse, these days; all are at writing fiction, which, besides inundating the world of letters, made it difficult for the readers to separate the literary grain from the wordy chaff. Whatever, were it not possible that Neha, having laid her hands on a manuscript containing that suicide thing, possibly returned by some magazine house, prepared the script for her husband’s end with it; so he went round the publishing houses, in one of which, an assistant editor readily recalled the queer story with that suicide pitch, the manuscript of which was returned to the sender only recently. With the needle of suspicion so firmly tilted towards her murderous hand, he confronted her with that damned evidence. Owning up her guilt, a teary-eyed Neha told him how it all started – since long, her husband began treating her merely as a sexual bowl, that too when he could not get hold of some whore or the other, and adding insult to injury, whenever he laid her, he made it a point to make that clear to her. How mean men can become to demean women, she lamented, and slighted thus, she seduced Mohan, his close friend, for sex as well as self-esteem. However, as her man got wind of their affair, he calibrated his responses cunningly; on one hand he started sponging on Mohan at the pain of breaking up with him, and on the other, he began scheming to ruin his marriage by estranging his wife from him. So, not wanting to be the cause of Mohan’s marital ruin, she alerted him to Murali’s designs; she even offered to end their affair; but afraid of Murali’s potential for mischief, Mohan thought of silencing him by a supari , but fearing that the foolhardy of a third party could spell trouble for both of them, she chartered the course of that murder, as by then she had that fatal manuscript in her hand.    So, on that fateful day, she induced her man to drink to the hilt, and when he pissed out, for an alibi, she joined Mohan waiting at the Odeon, which they left as soon as the movie began. Thereby reaching home on the sly, she got her husband into her car for him to have fresh air at the city’s outskirts, so she made it to the earmarked place with him in their car, while Mohan followed in his vehicle. There, steering her car onto the desolate railway tracks, and making Murali sit in the driving seat and sitting beside him to ensure that he stayed put, she awaited the scheduled train to speed in, and upon citing it, got down from it to witness the good riddance of their bad rubbish. Soon, when it was all over for Murali, as Mohan drove in from a nearby hiding place, proud of that perfect murder, they drove back to the city to begin life afresh as man and his secret wife. While Radha wondered how Neha’s concern for her paramour’s wife motivated her to murder her own man, Dhruva saw it merely as Mohan’s means to ward off his ill-will and Neha’s escape route from his cruel ways. Besides, isn’t the nature of the species to devour others for the sake of self-preservation? So he buried the murder in the coffin of suicide. Admiring his empathy for the ‘preys on the prowl’, she sank into his arms saying that it would appear as if without some divine hand to guide it, there could never be a perfect murder, and added that should things mundane ever make it imperfect, maybe, the culprit could still count on him.   Chapter 21 Deaths in Spandan   That morning, when Kavya returned to Dhruva’s ‘think of the devil’ welcome and Radha’s ‘what’s the news’ query, Raju greeted her with a cup of hot filter coffee. However, as Radha began exhorting Kavya to lead her to the leads that she might have laid her hands on, Dhruva would have none of that for he felt that, like it’s not wise to mix drinks, it’s imprudent to mix their leads. What with her enthusiasm reined in thus, as Radha kept mum, he led Kavya into the sprawling lawns to have a first-hand account of her fact-findings. Kavya told him that her guesswork at Guntur took her to an old woman, who, having recognized Ranjit from his old photographs she carried, recalled that years back; he lived with his young wife nearby. Leave alone him, even she didn’t mix with any, save Shyamala, an aunt of her childhood mate Rani; so all suspected that, having eloped, they were covering their tracks. But soon, as he vanished, leaving her in the lurch, the entire neighborhood was agog with ‘I told you so’, and when she too left shortly thereafter, no one knows where, the grapevine only grew with more rumors. Anyway, that was so long ago, and she was not sure whether even Shyamala knew more about that girl’s elopement that went awry. However, when Kavya wanted to contact Shyamala, the old woman said that she had been to the U.S to help her daughter deliver, and thanks to the six-month cap, she could be back home anytime.      Capping her trip, Kavya informed him, though she gave his c/o address to that woman to write to her on Shyamala’s return, maybe, she need to go there after some time to catch up with her. When he wanted to know about the reverse queries from the oldie, she told him smilingly that luckily, she was more of a transmitter than a receiver, as otherwise it would have been well nigh impossible for her to make any headway. Thereafter, leaving the women to their ways, and reaching his study, he recalled Radha’s intriguing description of her childhood friend as ‘full-soul mate and half-namesake’, and thought what if Shyamala’s niece turns out to be her long lost friend; won’t it mean that Ranjit’s deserted wife was none other than she herself. If so, what an irony it would be that unknowingly, Kavya had stumbled upon her husband’s long shadow over the very woman rivaling her for his affections! But yet, out of consideration for her rival’s position in his life, she subdues her emotions for him generated in that burst of their passion; why, was he any less constrained in reining in his raging desire as it’s inappropriate to woo a widow in her mourning. Yet, when the time is ripe to court her, as it can never be a case of either/ or of these fascinating women, there’s no other way for him but ménage a trios with them. That evening, when Radha proposed that the apprentice should celebrate her maiden foray with three cheers over drinks and as Kavya said that she was a game for it, Dhruva said in half jest that the senior might rue her move for the junior may outwit her. Then, mixing drink for them, as Radha said in jest that it may pay to keep the other woman high, especially when the stakes were high, Kavya retorted smilingly that she would oblige her to make good her lost time. Thus, after a couple of drinks, as if to make good her promise, a tipsy Kavya wanted to have a third binge, but even though he was against it, yet as she insisted for a large, Radha broke the deadlock by mixing a small one for her. So, when Raju came to announce dinner for them, Radha said bottoms up, Dhruva stubbed his cigar, and Kavya sipped the last dreg.   Towards the evening the next day, when the threesome were playing rummy, Raju said that Inspector Simon, who replaced Shakeel at the Jubilee Hills Police Station, came to see him. By then having learned that the newcomer was advised by all to avoid him as Shakeel had bungled up the fake-notes case at his behest, Dhruva sensed that his was no friendly visit. So, stepping into the anteroom tentatively and having greeted the visitor warmly, he enquired in jest whether he came to the Castle Hills for sightseeing; but when the cop said, rather tersely, that he was there to question Kavya about the mysterious deaths  in her Spandan , Dhruva knew it was no joking time. Evan as Dhruva led him into the study, Simon said that informed about foul smell in her house, they broke open its main door in the morning and found therein the decomposed bodies of a young couple. With no traces of any bodily injuries or any signs of forcible entry into the premises, prima facie, it appeared that they might have died in a suicide pact. But when he was told that the dead were not the inmates, and it was only recently that the house owner died mysteriously, he decided to personally investigate the matter. As if it’s not puzzle enough that the house was found locked from inside even as the housewife was not residing in it for quite a while, the assertion of a chowkidar in the locality that he had seen a burka- clad woman enter the house four days back made the case all the more intriguing. Since the neighbors were unaware of the housewife’s whereabouts, he enquired at the Jubilee Hills Post Office and came to know that her letters were being redirected to 9, Castle Hills, which should explain his rather unwelcome visit. When Dhruva broke the shattering news, shocked beyond belief, Kavya wanted to go to Spandan to see it all for herself, but Simon said that first she should try to identify the dead at the Gandhi Hospital. So, led by Simon, and accompanied by Dhruva and Radha, she made it to the hospital, where in its mortuary; she could identify the dead as Pravar and Natya. However, while Simon was recording Kavya’s statement, Radha wanted Dhruva to have a last look at Natya, but preferring to retain her pallu- covered face for a memory, he desisted from seeing her decomposed body. Soon, let off after her assurance to cooperate in the investigation, a perplexed Kavya was led out of the police station by Dhruva and Radha. Upon reaching home, saying that she was too dazed to comprehend the situation as Kavya rushed into her room; left alone with Radha, as Dhruva, reviewed the stunning development with her; she told him that there were questions for Kavya to answer after all. Given that she only had the house key, if not Kavya in burka, who could have led the ill-starred couple into her house? Besides, who would benefit the most with their end than her? After all, was she not craving to begin life afresh, and was it possible with them around her? Moreover, Natya had vouchsafed that Kavya had a cunning mind with criminal impulses; maybe her going to Guntur was a means to acquire an alibi. As if to free himself from Radha’s brainwash, Dhruva rushed to the Jubilee Hills Police Station to confabulate with Simon, who said that prima facie Kavya remained the sole suspect and revealed that he had also asked his men to review the dossier on her husband’s murder to bring her under the scanner. Then Dhruva assured him that even though she was his client, if he ever scented her criminal hand behind the murders, he didn’t intend to hold her brief for sure. When Simon said that he hoped he would not hinder his investigation as well, assuring him of his bona fide, Dhruva said that he better took him to the Spandan for a second opinion in cracking the case. On their way, Simon said that as there were no signs of the deceased having moved about in the house, it can be said that they could have died shortly after they got in, at which Dhruva wanted to know whether the door key was found in the house. Then the cop said that it was not traced in spite of a thorough search, for after snaring them in, Kavya could have left with it on the sly. Moreover, as the Godrej lock was any way self-locking, the deceased, known to her any way, wouldn’t have bothered much, even if she had told them that she wanted to take away the key with her for whatever reason. Besides, it was apparent that the kitchen was in disuse for quite a while and the remnants of the packed food found in the dustbin would clearly imply that the couple were there hardly for a day at the most before they met their end.   When they reached the Spandan , as the guard on duty opened the main door for them, Simon said that, as the police had to force open the door, the Godrej lock in situ was damaged, which he had substituted any way. However, as they got into the house, closing the main door behind them, the detective noticed that it was shorn of its door bolt, so he asked the cop whether he had seen it in its position when they first came in. When the cop confirmed that there was none even then, detective had drawn his attention to the telltale marks of its having been in place until very recently; and then, having scanned the damaged Godrej lock with his magnifying glass, he turned his attention to the drawing room and done with it, he got into the guest room, where a burka was laid on the clothesline. Having picked up the garment, and finding neither tailor’s label nor dhobi mark on it, the detective had noted its measurements with a tape that he had brought along, at which, as the cop said there were some more of such in the attached toilet of the master bedroom; seeing that burkas could hold the key to the murders, he tallied them all with the one found in the guestroom. When Dhruva turned his attention to the empty wardrobe in the master bedroom, Simon said that as they failed to trace the keys in the house; they broke it open, but found nothing worthwhile therein. However, when asked by Dhruva whether the absence a burka in the wardrobe was recorded in the police panchanama , Simon said though it was not done, he would make good the lapse in his case diary; at that, the detective suggested that he should also record the fact of the missing main door bolt that’s beside sending the original Godrej lock for forensic examination. Then, as Dhrva began scanning the ground around the guest room window, when Simon said that it was not a case of forcible entry through it; the detective told him that he was in fact looking for signs of an easy passage from there to the main door.    Shortly thereafter, when Dhruva said that he had nothing more to look for there, Simon led him back to the police station, where they spent some investigative time together.   Chapter 22 Arraigned in Remand   That evening, closeting with a nonplussed Kavya, when Dhruva asked her about her house keys, telling him that after her husband’s death, she got the old Godrej lock replaced with a new one, she pulled out one from her purse, and informed him that she kept the other two with a bunch of cupboard keys in her bank locker along with her jewelry. Then when he asked her what for she got the main door bolt removed while replacing the door lock, apparently surprised, she said that it was very much intact even as he led her out of her house to bring her into his that day. Finally, he asked her what made her to leave her burkas on the clothes-line in the master bathroom, she swore that she never wore a burka all her life, and wondered what it was all about. At that, holding her in his reassuring arms, he detailed his findings at Spandan that pointed towards a conspiracy against her, and said that still there was no need for her to lose sleep about that. However, at length, taking hold of that Godrej key for his safekeeping, he bade Kavya good night with sweet dreams. The next morning, as she volunteered to show him the other keys, as Dhruva drove her to the Andhra Bank in the Jubilee Hills, greeting her warmly; the manger wondered why she became so scarce of late. When she told him the purpose of her visit, he helped her complete the formalities, and after that, she led Dhruva to her locker, from which she retrieved two Godrej keys with a bunch of other keys that she entrusted to him, Thus having left the bank, as they got into the car, though she looked at him in hope, he said that if the post-mortem report were to come up with some foul play, she can count on Simon to arrest her and press for her custodial interrogation. When she lamented how her past came to haunt her, folding her in his arms, as if in protection, he said that she better obtained an anticipatory bail, before he could bail her out of her predicament. However, she said that she better subjected herself to the due process of law to come clean for she was confident of defending herself in the court. Then, in all admiration, pressing her more closely to him, he assured her that he would get to the bottom of the crime for truth to prevail. However, updating all the murders so to help her fashion her arguments to avoid remand, he dropped her at their place, and headed to the forensic laboratory with those keys.    However, even before an eager Radha could have a word with Kavya; armed with an arrest warrant and accompanied by a woman constable, Simon had descended upon 9, Castle Hills, and led away Kavya to the Jubilee Hills Police Station for questioning for the post-mortem had revealed that the couple had died of poisoning. The next day, Dhruva and Radha reached that Nampally Sessions Court well before Simon had produced Kavya before Purushottam Rao, the magistrate, upon which her searching look met Dhruva’s reassuring stare. Then, Jeevan Reddy, the Public Prosecutor, recapped her life from the time of her self-confessed association with the errant couple till their death in Spandan . While Kavya heard him impassively, turning eloquent, he stated that she could have murdered her man at the behest of her lover, who would have brooked no rival to him in her bed, and, later tired of the ruffian; she murdered him in cold blood, so as to get out of the rut she willy-nilly got into. Hence, it was immaterial whether she had a motive or not to murder Natya, as, if left alive, she would have exposed the accused to get the noose. So, as it a case of her neck or Natya’s, her choice should be clear as sky, even to a novice of a defense lawyer.    What can be more incriminating against the accused, Reddy exhorted, than the very fact that she has had an intimate relationship with all those who died after consuming some slow-acting poison in her house? Besides, there was an eyewitness to testify that a burka- clad woman had entered the house the day the young couple could have been poisoned, who else it could but the accused. The prosecutor further asserted that as the circumstantial evidence pointed towards the involvement of the accused in the murder of not only Pravar and Natya but also Ranjit, her husband, her custodial interrogation was imperative in cracking both the cases. Thereby averring that if let loose, she would be able to tamper with whatever little evidence that could have been left to implicate her, and by way of the final nail on her bail coffin, he had insinuated that she had misused the anticipatory bail granted to her in her husband’s murder case by killing her paramour and his companion; so he sought police custody of her for a fortnight at the least. Permitted by the court to argue her own case, Kavya owned up the facts of her life as brought out by the prosecution, but pointed out that the Public Prosecutor seemingly suffers from a selective amnesia as he had conveniently forgotten that the self-same poison also killed Inspector Shakeel, and that he too was last seen with a burka- clad woman. Why not the woman, who poisoned Shakeel, was the one who had committed the crimes in Spandan, in her proven absence from it? Since she had no acquaintance, much less a motive to kill the cop, the police should have looked elsewhere for the killer of what appeared to be interconnected crimes. When she reminded the court that logic was a double-edged sword that cuts both ways, Reddy said peevishly that she would have killed Shakeel too to advance such an argument; but the magistrate, by no means amused with that wondered why the police failed to pursue that line of investigation since the identity of the burka- clad woman, last seen with the cop, was relevant to the investigation of the other two cases. As a tamed Reddy said that he had no more to add, the magistrate opined that while the accused at large might hamper the investigation, it was not a fair proposition either to interrogate her without any compelling reason, but at the same time as he has to take the public interest also into account, he ruled that Kavya might remain in the judicial custody for four weeks, before which the police should produce prima-facie evidence, if any, against her, failing which she would be entitled to seek a regular bail thereafter.  Thanking the magistrate for his fair order, when Kavya submitted that any police presence in her precincts was inimical to her public image, Simon volunteered to withdraw the guard forthwith.    Chapter 23 Depressing Discovery        While Simon took Kavya to the Chanchalguda Jail in his jeep, Dhruva, in his Esteem, drove Radha straight to the Spandan , reaching which he led her in after collecting the door key from the guard on duty. Though she alerted him to a heap of burkas on the clothesline in the attached toilet of the master bedroom, seeing him seemingly unenthused, she proposed that she might wear one of them to have a feel of it. Saying in jest that even that tent-of-a-garment might fail to hide the alluring features of her hourglass frame, he let her take him around the bungalow before he led her out of it. Getting into the car, though she reminded him about the burkas on the clothesline and jocularly thanked him for not having put her through the choking regimen, as he failed to respond, she became anxious, and asked him what was bothering him. However, he merely said that he was wondering how breathless women could be in a burka before they get habituated to it, and kept mum pensively thereafter.   Dropping her at home, he headed towards the forensic laboratory, where he learned that while the main door key retained by Kavya had traces of wax on it; the other two retrieved from the bank locker were never in usage. Beset with the mixed feelings the findings induced in him, he then drove to the Jubilee Hills Police Station to know what the original Godrej lock had to reveal. Revealing that the lock didn’t show any signs of tampering, when Simon said that the very fact had tilted the needle of suspicion back towards Kavya, Dhruva told him that for the very reason he could see her un-involvement in the crime coming to the fore, and though probed further by the cop, the detective preferred to keep his cards close to his chest. However, over drinks that evening with him, Radha said that luckily for Kavya, the court didn’t reckon her motive to murder Shakeel though it was apparent that she didn’t take it kindly to him for having falsely implicated Pravar in the fake-notes case, and owing to the Stockholm Syndrome, wasn’t it her wont to identify his detractors as her enemies. Besides, aided by Dhruva, having shed the Pravar blinkers, and being enamored of him in turn, were it not possible that she might have thought of erasing her past by eliminating the couple to usher in a new romance in her life? Saying what if her theories emanated from the Rival Syndrome, he told her that she might as well wait for the answers until he cut the Gordian knot to free her rival under siege, and added in jest that in the meantime, she better reined in her raging jealousy. At that turning coy, she told him that her own future seemed to be under siege by his empathy for her rival, and as he made light of her remark, she said that she was afraid she was no match to Kavya in every which way. Then he told her jocularly that to keep up her spirits; he would like to keep her on high, and as she said that she was a game for it, turning away Raju whenever he came to fetch them for dinner, he goaded her to get really drunk. However, later seeing her in slumber, he wondered if he was far too indulgent towards Kavya, and thought, in the same vein, whether he became untowardly suspicious of Radha. Thus torn between the woman he made his own and the woman he was enamored of, he resolved to see the former’s place for whatever it might have in store for the latter’s fate. So, sneaking out of Radha’s bed and asking Raju to keep a watch on her, Dhruva set out on his nocturnal mission to her Red Hills house. Having gained entry into her house with one of the assorted keys he carried and opening the cupboard with another one, he rummaged through its contents and found her old photograph with a teen that seemed to be Rani his child bearer, staring at which, he turned nostalgic. However, as he broke open the locker of her steel almirah, he was depressed at finding a bottle of some potion along with two crudely made keys resembling those of Spandan’s Godrej lock. Not able to believe what he had seen, he looked for burkas, just in case, and finding none, he left the place with those keys and a sample of the potion. Thus, reaching home in a dilemma as to how to handle Radha, he relieved Raju from his vigil on her, and having secured the evidences and sneaking into her bed, as if to read her mind, he began espying her in a serene sleep. Maybe, she had a reason to see Pravar’s end, but didn’t she seem to be fond of Natya? Surely, she bore a grudge against Shakeel, but was it Ranjit who had jilted her then? Was it really the case? If so, won’t these bits and pieces jell well to form an inimical whole? Bogged down by myriad thoughts about his companion’s motives for those murders, he had a disturbed sleep. Next morning though as she served him bed coffee, seeing her demeanor, he found it hard to picture her as a murderess, but during their breakfast, he saw a change of color in her when she received a call on her mobile. Saying that her friend had a tiff with her husband, as she left in a huff so as to rush out to help, it was clear to him that it was the anticipated call about the burglary in her house; after all, didn’t deliberately keep the main door ajar for some neighbor to smell the rat. Thus, with the ever-expanding ‘volume of evidence’ against her, he rushed to the forensic laboratory with the keys and the sample potion he collected from her house, only to return forthwith to wait for her return. Shortly thereafter, when she returned, regaining her composure, he asked her what came out of her counseling, and she dismissed that as a false alarm as her friend’s husband was a regular wife-beater, and added in jest that he only thrashed her a little more than usual. While she said that she was at a loss to see her friend was averse to divorcing him, he said women in an abusive relationship tend to perceive themselves as martyrs, and so it’s very hard to pull them out of their self-defeating groove into which they willy-nilly push themselves so as to live in a psychic state of bliss. That evening, when Dhruva reached the forensic laboratory, he was informed that the potion was indeed a slow acting poison like the one that caused the deaths under investigation and those keys were but crude imitations of Spandan’s Godrej door key. What with the incriminating evidence in hand, he felt like confronting Radha with it, but, on second thoughts, he realized that she was bound to dismiss them as his plants to implicate her for saving his Kavya. Besides, there was no way to link her to the murders without a compelling motive to kill each one of them; after all, the public prosecutor had failed to persuade the court for Kavya’s custody, notwithstanding mounds of circumstantial evidence against her, backed by irrefutable motives to kill Ranjit and Pravar, if not Shakeel and Natya. What was worse, the court might infer that Kavya, even in judicial custody, was trying to influence justice by aiding and abetting him; as that won’t do any good for her cause; it’s better to bide his time till he collected the missing links to complete the chain of evidence against Radha.    Chapter 24 The Red Herring   With Kavya in judicial custody, Simon had redoubled his efforts to pin her down to the murders, but seeing no scope for a breakthrough, he thought it was an idea to ascertain the goings on in her camp. Thus, that evening, having made it to 9, Castle Hills, and finding Dhruva with Radha in the portico, he told him that he wanted to have a private talk with him. Then, saying that Radha being his confident and companion, he should not hesitate to open up in her presence, Dhruva suggested that they can as well discuss matters over some drinks.    Then, when they sat down for drinks, Simon said that as Dhruva could be aware, the media, dubbing the crimes as ‘poison murders’ has already started ridiculing the police for their failure to nab the culprits, and then lamented how all the clues to Kavya’ culpability came to naught. And yet, he said that he had a hunch that she, with her exposure to law and her acquaintance with a criminal could be a readymade   murderess, and with a little bit of luck, he might stumble upon the required evidence to nail her to have the last laugh. Wondering whether he was directing his shot at him, the detective told him that he should not mistake his own empathy for his client as his constraint to shield her; and assured the cop that he would not lose a moment in alerting him if ever he found any worthwhile evidence against her. Lauding Dhruva for his professional ethics, when Simon said that he was hopeful of laying his hands on some damning stuff or the other against her, sooner than later; the detective opined that if a criminal investigation were to be driven by an urge to fix someone, whom we want to see as the guilty one, then that would only end up being in the no- man’s-land. At that, as Simon admitted, maybe, it was wrong to club all the murders, Dhruva averred that thanks to the media, as all are aware that a   burka- clad woman could have poisoned Ranjit; what if someone else thought of eliminating Shakeel in a like fashion to make it seem as a sequel to it; and if anything, the cumulative publicity of both these murders would have encouraged yet another to adopt the same tactic to do away with Pravar, if not Natya, who, being his companion, might have become an unintended victim. Then, agreeing that maybe it was the right approach to de-link the deaths, after a couple of drinks, though Radha wanted him to stay for dinner, Simon took leave of them.   However, when only four days were left of Kavya’s judicial remand, as the cop wanted to get it extended by another fortnight, the public prosecutor told him that unless they presented a compelling case for her continued detention, the court was bound to grant her an unconditional bail at the scheduled hearing. Thus, as Simon was reconciled to Kavya’s release, as the telephone operator told him that just then a woman rang up to inform that a vital clue of the ‘poison murders’ could be obtained at 9, Castle Hills. Though excited at that, yet he wondered whether it was fair to raid Dhruva house after he gave his word to alert him, if ever he finds anything against her; but, maybe, he was oblivious of the inimical clue as he would not have pried upon Kavya, his client, and a guest at the same time. So, it’s obvious that Radha had stumbled upon some vital clue; surely, she wouldn’t have alerted him on a wrong lead; why would she compromise herself by embarrassing the detective? So, as it can’t be a false alarm, it made a case for the raid; more so, was it not his police dharma to act on specific leads? Next morning, when Simon descended upon 9, Castle Hills, with a search warrant, Dhruva said that he didn’t think there were any skeletons in his cupboards and yet the cop was welcome to do have his way. But apologizing for the embarrassment, and saying that, to start with, he would only confine himself to Kavya’s room in absentia, Simon began his search for unknown evidence. At length, what with a bottle of some potion found on the floor beneath Kavya’s cupboard, as an elated Simon signaled the end, Dhruva insisted that he would like to retain a sample of the same for its validation; so after the formalities of signing the papers and sealing the samples were completed, the cop left with one of the samples to the forensic lab.    However, having watched it all from the sidelines and wondering why Dhruva was not perturbed as expected, as Radha said where all that would lead Kavya to, he told her that he was certain that the arm of her destiny would overpower the hidden hand of adversity. So, unable to comprehend his conviction about Kavya’s innocence and his confidence of her redemption, she withdrew into her room, but finding him morose even when they were having lunch together, she said in jest what if she substituted Kavya in jail to see if she can enliven him at home, and in repartee, he said what if the jailor, lost to her allure, loses the key of her cell as well. For once, not amused by the turn of his phrase, she tried to study his visage to probe his mind, but confronted by a poker face, she thought better of it, and so retired to her room. After his siesta, while Dhruva was waiting for Simon’s call, Raju delivered him the mail that contained one from Rani, which made him expectant for it seemed to contain some photograph, which he thought could be that of their lovechild. But as it turned out to be an old snap of Radha with Ranjit, even as he initially felt relieved for Kavya’s sake, for long, he remained sad on Radha’s account. However, after a while, he read Rani’s letter that sealed Radha’s fate. My Man: Having fathered my child what else are you but ‘my man’. Even as I sat at the table to pen a ‘Thank You’ note to you for having blessed me with your Xerox Boy, I received a letter from my Shyamala auntie to inform me that while she was out of the country, some Kavya had been to her place in Guntur to ascertain the whereabouts of Ranjit, who once ditched my friend Radha. Since that Kavya wanted the information to be posted to your address, maybe she’s the Operation Checkmate wife of the very man who ditched my friend, whom you could be nursing now under your investigative wings (or more!). So be it, but coming to the point, while I was still in Waltair, my childhood friend Radha - she was wont to say that I am her half-namesake and full-soul mate - having eloped with her neighbor Ranjit to Guntur, sent me their wedding photograph, just in case (attached herewith); so I put her to my Shyamala auntie there for whatever it was worth. Later I came to know from my auntie that having been deserted by him, she returned to Waltair, but by then as our family had shifted to Hyderabad; I lost contact with her. However, had I heeded to your suggestion to meet Kavya’s man that day in (y)our place, maybe I would have known if he’s the one who ditched my friend; also I’m beginning to wonder whether Radha the alleged murderess you were so obsessed with, is indeed Radha, my friend. But still, if my inputs are of any use to you, I would feel that I’ve contributed to your cause, which may recompense you for my entry into your life on a false note; as for your entry into me, as I’ve told you, it’s not only fulfilling but fruitful as well. Now I’ve come to believe that it’s not fair on my part to deny your fatherly need to see how your son looks like, so I shall send our boy’s photograph, as, and when, his features begin to show your resemblances. Ever Yours, Rani Seeing that photograph all again, he saw the irony of life and the hand of destiny in the affairs of man for unwittingly Rani had provided the means that undo her own friend. Then wondering how the one-time friends, unknown to each other, had converged on him to serve their own ends, he reminisced the time he spent with both of them. Soon though, stirred by the finding, when Dhruva reached the Jubilee Hills Police Station, Simon received him with a sheepish look as the ‘poison’ he seized from Kavya’s room turned out to be an inane solution. Thus, shamed by the fiasco, as the cop apologized, the detective, who came to trust him by then, briefed him about his housebreak into Radha’s Red Hills house, and theorized the aftermath thus: He was quick to realize that Radha would shift the deadly thing into 9, Castle Hills, for its safekeeping though that could also spell Kavya’s doom. So, unknown to Radha, he replaced the bottle with a similar one with that harmless look-alike potion. What with Kavya’s release on hand, Radha cynically planted the ‘fake thing’ beneath her cupboard and induced the police to look for it, which was heinous and unpardonable; and to say the least, her malicious intent to send an innocent to the gallows, eclipses all her murderous acts put together.  Then, as Dhruva concluded with the parody on the adulterated liquor - the Scotch you drink is not the Scotch you think – and said that the bottle that Radha planted beneath Kavya’s cupboard ‘did not contain the poison she thought it contained’; Simon’s face acquired the look of a devout. Wiser for his reverses though, as the cop wanted the proof of Radha having possessed the ‘real thing’ before he acted against her, the detective gave him the original bottle of poison that was bound to contain her fingerprints. However, as Simon still remained skeptical about her motive to murder Ranjit, Dhruva showed him her wedding photograph with Ranjit, who jilted her. Then, on their way to the forensic laboratory, Dhruva unraveled the story of Radha’s life abused by Ranjit, scandalized by Pravar, and brutalized by Shakeel.    Chapter 25 Wages of Abuse   Next day, as Simon reached 9, Castle Hills, with a woman constable in tow to apprehend Radha, as if on a cue, Dhruva kept away from the scene. When Radha, who remained haughty, wanted to know what were the charges brought against her, Simon informed her that she was being arraigned on the charge of  murdering Ranjit, Shakeel, Pravar and Natya, in that order. Stunned though by the unexpected turn of the events, as she remained cool and wanted to know what evidence he had against her, the cop said that her fingerprints were found on the bottle containing the poison that was traced in the victims’ viscera. While she was still reeling from the shock of his disclosure, rattling her further, when he showed her the damning photograph of hers with Ranjit, seeing that her game was up, she asked him whether Dhruva was privy to all that. Then, as the cop revealed that it was the detective who had gathered all the evidences against her, a shattered Radha offered to surrender.   When Simon produced her in the court, as Dhruva kept himself away, Radha said that she was willing to confess to her crimes, and the magistrate allowed her to record her statement. I, Radha, w/o late Madhu, r/o 13, Red Hills, Hyderabad, she began to dictate calmly, confess to having willfully poisoned not only Ranjit but also Shakeel, Pravar and Natya. I am aware that this averment, being made on my own volition, could be used against me in the impending trial, and I have no reservations on that count for it is not my intention to evade the rightful sentence. Moreover, the aim of this painful confession is not to earn sympathy or reprieve for myself as I am looking forward to the gallows to end my burden of living. After all, following my those adventures, an act of murder is no mean an adventure, now I seek death, the most formidable adventure of life for it forays into the unknown. When Ranjit ditched me, though I was pregnant with his child, I blamed only myself for having blindly yielding to him and then naively eloping with him. But his later day refusal to help the hapless Raghu, the child I bore for him, that too after using me all again, induced in me an enduring hatred for him. So, I came to see him as the cause of my fall and began to abhor him with all my heart and soul; and as Madhu, the man I married, started humiliating my boy, calling him a bastard, my bitterness to the deserter only increased. Then, when my son, unable to bear the slights, committed suicide on the railway track, how I wished that Ranjit met with the same fate; but how I were to know that a worse fate awaited me.    Pravar, who had poisoned his sister Mala and Madhu, who kept her, had succeeded in misleading Shakeel into believing that it was my handiwork, and that set me on a ruinous course. Oh, failing to make me sign on the dotted line for his credit of cracking the case, somehow the cop developed an urge to humiliate me; so on the pretext of collecting vital clues, he was wont to take me out of the jail to rape me at gunpoint. Worse still, he began sharing me with the magistrate to prolong my judicial custody, and how I endured the ordeal before I was let out on bail that was after both of them had had their fill, I only knew. When I saw that live coverage of the telecast, in which Shakeel claimed that Pravar was the kingpin of the counterfeit racket, though I felt the latter got his just deserts, I was seized with an urge to avenge against the former. Then, guided by the hand of the combined destiny - of the prey and its hounds – so it seems, I chanced to see Detective Dhruva’s ad for an assistant lady sleuth. Thus, sensing that a stint with him may lead me to the avenues of avenge, maybe rendering me vulnerable to the detective’s charms, a welcome prospect for a single woman anyway, I ventured into his amorous arena to get even with my tormentors. However, when I saw him, it was love at first sight for me and as he too was enamored of me, I wanted to forget about the past and build my future with him. But how I were to know that afflicted by the Stockholm Syndrome, Kavya would be pushing Ranjit back onto my anvil of avenge that too in tow with Pravar, and if anything, as my proximity to the detective brought the cop too under my radar, I found myself drawing the triangle of revenge. Then, as if their destiny of death had beckoned me, I laid my hands on that potion of slow-acting poison; but how I were to know in that my fate too played foul with my life that I was recasting in the mould of love! Just the same, my criminal need for a guinea pig to test the potency of that poison and to calibrate the right dosage to seal their fate made Dicey the first victim of my vengeance. When I heard about Kavya’s affair with Pravar, I gloated over her fall for it would hurt Ranjit no end before I could bring about his end; so seized with an urge to see the turmoil of a cuckold, I contrived to meet him, and as he came to beg me to forget the past and grant it to him again, I led him up the garden path. Oh, what a vicarious pleasure I used to derive in sexually torturing him before I ended it all for him with that fatal dose! But by then, as my love for Dhruva began to rule my heart and soul, thereby quenching my thirst for revenge, I forgave Shakeel and forgot about Pravar. But at Dhruva’s behest, as Shakeel began probing Ranjit’s past, I saw the need to catch him before he caught me, if only not to lose my love and he too fell into my trap when I invited him to share some clues to tie Kavya’s hands with Ranjit’s murder. So when we met in my Red Hills house, I induced him to have some drinks with me, and he readily agreed, maybe hoping that the rendezvous could end up in my bed, only to be dead in his own bed. What with my old wounds thus opened up, I wanted to plant my kiss of death on the ‘malicious magistrate’ too, but to my peculiar disappointment, I came to know that by then the blackguard was dead and gone. While Ranjit’s death removed the bitterness of my past, Shakeel’s end threatened my future for Dhruva started believing in Kavya’s innocence and began leaning towards her. Beset by jealousy, as I was bugged to keep her away from him, it occurred to me that if Pravar were to be poisoned in her house, it would be hard for him not to suspect her hand in it. So, having accessed her door key from her handbag to make the duplicates, I raked my brains for a plan that would have spared Natya and yet snared Pravar into the Spandan. How badly I wanted to tend her as my daughter being Dhruva’s woman, but failing to conceive any escape route to her, sadly I had to sacrifice her as I did Dicey before. So, when Kavya left for Guntur to probe into Ranjit’s past, I made Natya believe that while she herself was away for an alibi, Kavya had arranged a supari for them. Then, I convinced her that the safest place for them to hide was the Spandan , and, so, she led Pravar, and sadly, herself as well, to their poisonous end. So, when Natya came to collect the key to their deathtrap, I made her wear a burka and gave her the poisoned food for dinner, promising to fetch them breakfast the next morning.  But in spite everything, as Dhruva put his stakes on Kavya, I was torn between my old sexual jealousy and my new lesbian libido. However, when it became clear that it was a question of her neck or my neck, I sought to implicate her with the ‘poison bottle’, and to my dismay, he saved the day for her by replacing it with some impotent potion. Maybe, what really spoiled the show for me was Ranjit’s old photograph with me, and it’s as though he had avenged himself for his death at my hands, never mind, while alive, he murdered me emotionally. Was it a poetic justice in a prosaic way, I would never know!      So finished Radha in tears as those present could barely hold theirs, and as she signed her confessional statement, the magistrate ordered her judicial custody, and Kavya’s unconditional release.      Chapter 26 Decoding the Crime             When Simon led Kavya back to 9, Castle Hills, finding Dhruva in the portico, she rushed to him as though to dispel his pensiveness, and the cop, handing him a copy of Radha’s confessional statement, went into the anteroom to allow them a free reign on their emotions.  Discerning myriad emotions in his demeanor as he read it, as if to share his feelings, Kavya nestled her head on his shoulder, but as he had finished with it, seeing him overwhelmed with grief, she exhorted him to be strong, so that he could be of strength to the hapless woman. Thanking her for reminding him of his duty, he wanted her to read it herself, and in turn, having finished it in tears; she sank into his chest only to wet his shirt, even as he wetted her head. Holding each other thus, for log, they cried for the woman, whose fate hanged in the criminal balance. However, in time, when he wished that she pleaded Radha’s case in the court as well, she said that though she would have loved to do that, yet she felt that besides making herself tense for it involved her rival’s life and death, it could cause unease in the arraigned for the same reason. Patting her in apparent appreciation, he rang up Prativadi, the feted defense lawyer, after which he fetched Simon to join them. When the cop wanted to know how and when the detective came to suspect the culprit, Kavya said that the recap might as well help him unwind himself but as Dhruva felt that his narrative might embarrass her as well, she assured him, notwithstanding Simon’s presence, there was no way she would be sore on that score as she came to treat her past as a bad dream. Dhruva began the recap by saying that he felt guilty when he heard that Kavya developed a soft spot for Pravar, believing that Ranjit was hand in glove with Shakeel in foisting the fake-notes case on him. But when Ranjit said that he suspected she became close to the criminal, he realized that she was a victim of the ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ induced psyche, and he suffered from remorse, as the misfired idea was his. Pausing to have a look at her, and seeing her surprised look, his demeanor became dull, but as she laid her hand on him with love-filled eyes, holding her hand, he resumed the recap. His focus had always been to wean Kavya away from Pravar before his inimical influence proved to be her undoing, but what made it worse for him was he had no way to prevent her anticipated fall in that brat’s company, and the murder of her husband, in which, possibly she might have had a hand, only added to his misery.   However, when she came to seek his help to nab her husband’s killer, he was not sure whether she came with a red herring or not, but when he saw her sense of purpose, he was inclined to believe her, (he looked at Kavya as she fondly caressed his hand) in spite of Radha’s averments about her likely guilt. While Kavya’s remorseful confession, in the wake of Shakeel’s death, reinforced his belief in her innocence, Radha’s pointers to Kavya’s guilt tended to dent her credibility though he was unable to see how Shakeel could have eaten from either Natya’s or Kavya’s hand, not to speak Pravar’s. Why, it would have been far more easy for Pravar to bring in his, or Rajan’s, revolver into play, and that seemingly ruled out his involvement in Shakeel’s murder and Kavya’s too by extension. Radha’s innuendoes that he could have been blinded by Kavya’s allure didn’t help either and being pulled apart emotionally by two superb women he came to admire; it was as if he was truly sundered on the investigative ground. But it was the murder of Pravar and Natya in the Spandan that reinvigorated his investigative mind; why, in every way, it was an extraordinary murder, though Radha tended to picture it as a cut and dry case of Kavya’s culpability; there was no denying that Kavya had the motive as well as the means to commit the crime, never mind her alibi, as Guntur was but a six-hour drive from there.   When Simon told him that the deceased ate packed food, the plot only got thickened, though it wouldn’t have been hard for Kavya to lure the duo into her house, but would it have been easy for her to make them eat the poisoned stuff without herself sharing it with them? Was Kavya as naive as not to know that lying in her house, the duo’s dead bodies would surely point their fingers at her role in their death? Why shouldn’t she have poisoned them in their own den even if she wanted to murder them out of foolhardy? Whatever such a course was far easier for her, right, but what if Pravar, spurned by her, developed a suicidal urge to hurt her? True, one’s psychic impulse for suicide stems from the obsessive desire to inflict emotional injury upon the one, who was the cause of one’s hurt, but how he got the door key. What if Kavya in their bonhomie give him one of the keys, but then, why none was found in the Spandan after their death. With the lock being unhampered, it was evident that the ill-fated couple was snared into the dwelling, but why would Kavya have them there to implicate herself? When he realized that Kavya had only one door key with her, and the other two were in the bank locker, which she did not access ever since she came to stay with him, it was apparent that her hands were clean. What about the burka- clad woman, a common factor in all the murders? He was certain that it was a woman and not a man in the burka; didn’t Godse give up the idea of donning a burka to assassinate Gandhi realizing that man can’t hide his gait behind it? Why burkas in the Spandan were lying in the wrong place, normally Natya could have hung hers on the clothes-line of the guest room’s bathroom and not in that of the master bedroom’s toilet? Given that the talk about some burka- clad woman behind the poison murders was thick in the air, it made no sense for Kavya, if she were behind it all, not to get rid of them; so they were clearly planted to derail the investigation, what’s more, it confirmed that the intruders had access only to the main door key and not that of the cupboards, the right place for their stacking. When he noticed that the main door bolt was missing, it was apparent that it was removed beforehand by the culprit to ensure that the duo don’t get bolted inside, intentionally or otherwise, for as corpses they could not have helped the culprit to get in to retrieve the key, before the neighbors smelt foul. So, the ‘entry key’ to the murders was not the ‘genuine one’, literally as well as figuratively, and as the house key that Kavya brought with her to his place showed traces of wax on it, it was clear that culprit got the duplicate keys made out of it – one to enable the duo to enter into the Spandan and another for her subsequent entry into it to retrieve the one she gave them. Who could have done that? Not the Rajus for sure. As it was evident that Natya could have been a collateral damage, who would have wanted to eliminate Pravar to implicate Kavya? Why not Radha? After all, she had every reason to see the end of Shakeel, if not in Ranjit, so he set out to her Red Hills house for hard clues, and found those keys and the poison. Since he chose to play his cards close to his chest, failing to read his hand, Radha believed that it was only a case of burglary in her house, and didn’t lose much sleep over the missing keys. But as expected by him, afraid of a repeat, she smuggled the poison into his house, while he, fearing that a peeved Radha could poison Kavya too, had substituted it with a harmless potion (he felt Kavya’s caress at his back). When Rani, her ‘half-namesake’ and  ‘full-soul mate’ as Radha put it, who too happened to come into his life, sent that incriminating photograph and as the forensic reports too nailed her to the core, he had alerted Simon about it When Kavya wondered what would have been the case if, instead of the indicative burkas, Radha had indeed planted the implicating poison in the Spandan ; Dhruva said that, in that case, instead of Radha, she would have been hard-pressed fending to avoid the noose. As Kavya felt that it was ironical that such a thin thread should have separated justice and injustice; he averred that it was in the nature of crime to uphold justice by overawing the criminal to leave a way for it to cry foul. While Kavya heaved a sigh of relief, he added that given that Radha had planned and executed the murders as she did, it was a remarkable, if diabolical, job, and if it were only to be Ranjit’s and Shakeel’s murder, who knew, she would have had the last laugh. Then, recalling Dicey’s death, he said that as Radha didn’t leave the pet for a moment till it died, he thought then that how well she cared for it, but as is apparent in the hindsight, she was only monitoring how the poison worked on it. At that, overcome with grief, as Dhruva said  Dicey’s death at Radha’s hands makes him feel bitter about her, leaning on him, Kavya said in all empathy that like its killer, the pet too was a victim of victim-hood.    Chapter 27 A Poignant End   Next day, wanting to strategize Radha’s defense in the impending trail as Dhruva reached the Chanchalguda Jail with Kavya and Prativadi in tow, she sent word to him that even as she was ashamed of seeing him, she was averse to recounting her crimes to any lawyer, but if Kavya were willing, she would love to meet her. Thus, when Kavya was led away to meet Radha, Dhruva pleaded with Prativadi to bear with Radha’s reluctance until they got her around into the defense groove.  So, even as Kavya set out with empathy, Radha awaited her in repentance, and when they made an eye contact, they couldn’t take their eyes off each other; but when Kavya neared her, Radha lowered her gaze. But as Kavya lifted Radha’s head, as if for an emotional encounter, the latter presented a tearful face to her, and as the former’s eyes too welled up, Radha wiped them with a feeling of oneness. So, when Kavya took Radha into her tender arms to convey her empathy, she could feel her resurgent hope in her quivering frame, and when Kavya said Prativadi was sure to save her skin, Radha said she would like to entrust her case to Kavya’s care.  But as Kavya made her privy to her own sensitivities, Radha said she would have Prativadi if only Kavya was on hand to support her. Before the end of that evocative meeting, having discovered her latent fondness for Radha, when Kavya whispered in Radha’s ear about her own lesbian leanings towards her, as an elated Radha planted a kiss on Kavya’s lips, they both had their first taste of lesbian love.   Soon, as it was time for them to part for the day, Radha gave Kavya the missive that she penned for Dhruva. On Kavya’s return, as Prativadi was led up to Radha to take her brief, Dhruva began reading Radha’s letter. Darling: I am ashamed that I let you down. What a fate it is to betray your trust and belittle my love! While I lost my way with you, blinded by revenge, constrained by guilt, I’ve to hide my face from you; and that’s the tragedy of my life. Don’t I know how hard I made it for you, so I don’t want to add any more, but with your understanding (I know I can’t seek your forgiveness) I shall await the noose with fortitude. What with the fake-notes case bringing Pravar and Shakeel into the spotlight, I came to you to test the waters of avenge. But even as I was shifting my goalpost of life in the arena of our ardor, my fate played foul with my love as Ranjit too came into the setting. It was as if fate had chosen to place its axe in my hand to grind it on the anvil of revenge, forged by the poison of abuse. How sad that I allowed my bitterness towards a deceiver to belittle my affection for my benefactor that is even as I was recasting my shattered life in the mould of his love, you know who. While I shamefully pried upon Mithya’s cupboards, I chanced upon her personal jottings and her long-lost daughter’s photograph that has striking resemblances to Natya, and when I showed it to her, as she identified it as hers, I felt like I was her own mother. However, I curbed my impulse to reveal her identity to you, but as she fitted in my game plan, so I bought time, as it were to her peril. Then sadly for me, I discovered the poison that Mithya acquired; you know for what, and with that my urge for revenge got the better of my love for you.  But on the other hand, I was more determined than ever to see Pravar’s end, if only to end Natya’s misery.   Believe me; I wanted to come out clean with you after I was done with the despicable trio, in the hope that you would own me as you had once owned Mithya, in spite of everything. Probably you would have, had not Ranjit’s murder pushed Kavya into your enamored fold, for you have a peculiar weakness for feminine criminality. But after that ménage a trios with Pravar and Natya, how odd it would have been for her as your woman to have Natya as her daughter. Maybe, to save Kavya’s life from that oddity, fate had ended Natya’s tragic life. But then, is my life any less ironical than Kavya’s - Ranjit jilted me for her money, and I lost you to her love. Is there a parallel to it by way of fact or fiction?     Perhaps, you and Kavya deserve each other better, and I want to see you tie the knot as I pray for your married bliss, for that won’t you earn me a day’s parole. I seek your sympathy, not as barter, but to end my agonizing life in penitence.      Yours not to be, Radha While he broke down reading the letter, seeing Kavya’s concern for him, he gave it to her to let her comprehend his position herself. When she too finished reading it with tear-filled eyes, he told her that had he acted upon the empathy he felt for Natya that day, perhaps, he could have saved her life, and as Kavya leaned on his shoulder to share his agony, he sought self-solace in her embrace. Then as she recalled her association with the unfortunate Natya, he made her privy to Mithya’s inimitable life. Mithya was the youngest of three siblings in an orthodox family and by the time she matured, her sister got married, and her brother finished the schooling. However, when she was sixteen, even as her mother went to the U.S to spend some time with her sister, their father’s new assignment involved touring all the while. That fortuitously left her brother and her together for most of the time, which happenstance, in the formative years of their sexuality, ushered in an unusual togetherness between them that insensibly led them into an incestuous relationship. On her return even as her mother was horrified at seeing her four-month pregnant daughter, amplifying her misery, her errant son had hanged himself, leaving Mithya to bear their shame, for abortion by then became out of redeem, which forced her parents to let her deliver her sin in secrecy. While her father gave away her girl child to an orphanage, given the abnormality of its being, she could discern the dichotomy in its separation; even as the deprivation of her child afflicted her maternal condition; at the same time, it eased her from the grip of a guilt complex. Thereafter, as a way of psychic escape for all of them, her father sent her to Hyderabad to let her pursue her higher studies. Later, while the nuptials with Ashok erased the shame of incest in her subconscious, as she was morally constrained in bearing a child having orphaned one, the prospect of conception instilled in her a sense of foreboding. But when she was coming to terms with her life, her man lost his moorings in moneymaking, and though she tried to stop him from entering into the rat race of life with a no-win goal, he was bent on becoming somebody in the society, never mind the sacrifices they have to make for that. So, leaving her to fend for herself, when he left for Dubai for raising the capital for a grandiose venture, so as to engage herself, she took up a job. In time though, as his irregular letters failed to fill her emotional void, for they failed to pen his longing for her, she saw the futility of holding herself anymore. So, pondering over how to go about her peccadilloes, she opted for one-night stands for they wouldn’t be intrusive, but her escapades that catered to her sexual needs, had failed to address her emotional owes. Added to that, but for his yearly sojourns, as her man showed no inclination to return into her arms, she felt as if she were reduced as his distant mistress; so as if to address the emotional neglect and to shore up her self-worth, she started an affair with a colleague she fancied, which, however, ended abruptly when his distressed wife committed suicide; she fared no better in her next venture as her lover deserted her, when his spouse threatened to divorce him. So, wearied of wooing married men, she sank into a bachelor’s arms at the next turn, and as his virgin ardor matched her raging craving, she felt that she was in the seventh heaven. But in time, as his innate need to have a family of his own broke their liaison, she was back to square one, and vexed with the vagaries of peer encounters, she thought of a live-in with a lowly, a la Bona Sera, Mrs. Campbell the movie she happened to see. Like Bona Sera did before her, she too set up a grocery shop, and took the young Dilip to assist her in the shop and cater to her in her bed.  When she all but forgot about Ashok, he returned with mounds of money and an ambition to make a mountain of wealth out of it, but it didn’t take her long to realize that he was into smuggling and that he returned only to head Indian operations of an Italian mafia. While she was ill at ease with his escapades, Ashok was restive at Dilip’s presence in his house, and Dilip too resented Ashok’s return as that reduced him as a mere servant of the house though Mithya allowed him to reign in her bed on the sly. But matters came to a head after they shifted into the newly acquired bungalow at 9, Castle Hills, when Ashok wanted her to fire her hireling and she insisted that he be allowed to stay put in their A.C. Guards house that they vacated. While Ashok decided to bide for time, seeing  the writing on the wall, Dilip, played up her man’s neglect of her, and made her believe that there was another woman in his life, out to take her position. Soon, he contrived to convince her that Ashok entertained the idea of eliminating her altogether and also played upon her weakness for him by hammering that if she were killed, he would be left high and dry. Goaded by Dilip to act before it was too late, she pondered over the ways and means of getting rid of her man and get away with it as well. However, by way of distraction, so it seemed to her, she came to know of her father’s death, well after the obsequies were over; though her father had disowned her for her amoral ways, she had informed her mother about her change of address to 9, Castle Hills, just in case.   In that poignant meeting between the mother and her daughter, after a decade long separation, being at a loss for words, they lost eyes to each other. When the mother opened her arms in reconciliation, the daughter closed hers for an embrace of solace. Amidst their myriad emotions in their state of closeness, as the ethos of motherhood came to the fore, the mother savored her daughter while the daughter thought of her own daughter. As the spasms of her daughter’s heart conveyed her resurgent craving for her child, the mother, in that moment of self-fulfillment, felt that her daughter too should experience the same. However, even as the daughter’s craving to hug her own daughter had increased, the mother turned skeptical about the chances of finding the girl sixteen years after she had abandoned her. Whatever, as the mother wanted to take her to the orphanage, where her daughter was left, the daughter felt that it would be far better for her mother to first befriend the girl, and then prepare her for the reunion before she herself took her under her wings. So, Mithya hoped that once her mother rediscovered her daughter, she would redeem herself by adopting her own daughter, but shortly after her return home, when her mother informed her that only the previous month, her girl had left the orphanage without a trace, Mithya was truly devastated. But after he came into her life, stirred by the resurgent maternal impulses, she wanted to have children, but, sadly, her two conceptions ended in miscarriages. Wondering why Mithya never showed her daughter’s picture to him that Radha laid her hands on, he said, maybe, by then having learned to get over her past, she had put her daughter’s memories too on the back burner. So, as he finished that recap of Mithya’s disturbingly fascinating life, Kavya said that while every life was unique in its own way, as Mithya’s reveals, some were more unique than the rest. Agreeing with her, he said that the way Mithya came into his life would only illustrate the truism of that, and, anyway, that was for some other day, but for that kidnap maybe she herself would have discovered Natya’s photograph, and that would have been a different story altogether. Well, if only Mithya had made him privy to the poison in the bosom of their home, maybe, Natya would have still been alive, for Radha would not have come into its possession. That Mithya kept him in the dark about the deadly thing would only prove that even in the closest of relationships, there was a limit to the openness, and as Radha’s ruse to trap Kavya showed, there was no end to the mischief, the sense of insecurity could ensue. Then, he recounted his tryst with Rani, and said that if only he had allowed her to accompany him to the Tank Bund that evening; she would have recognized Ranjit and spilled the beans on Radha as well; and maybe that would have enabled him to nip Radha’s urge for revenge in the bud, which would have saved her soul besides the lives of all those; and also how fate had played hide and seek with Ranjit’s life again as he visited 9, Castle Hills, when Rani was there! Had he insisted that she met him, what a difference it would have made to him and the rest of them! But it was not to be. When Kavya lamented that Radha’s paranoia of losing him to her should have undone Natya, he said that her apprehensions were not unfounded after all; as she glowingly took him into her arms, smug in her embrace, he confessed to her that he loved her like none else. At that, as she told him that she would ever think aloud with him, he said, in jest, that his ears would forever be wide open, and she crooned into them that she came to love her rival too, and added that as and when she came out of the cage, he should let her nestle at 9, Castle Hills, in their ménage a trois. Then, even as he was reaching for her lips that uttered those words after his heart, as if to remind him that it was a public place, Prativadi was about to reach them with the vakalat, at which, pointing at the last lines of Radha’s letter, Kavya said coyly that if he chooses to take her to the altar, she would be coming with the Oasis Builders for a dowry. Then, even as the lawyer came in the earshot, he said to her ears only that he hopes to have their heirs in time to 9, Castle Hills and Spandan as well.                              Publication Date: February 16th 2021 https://www.bookrix.com/-fe8b2014585d745

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Sir Arthur Conan Doyle The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge CONTENTS 1. The Singular Experience of Mr. John Scott Eccles 2. The Tiger of San Pedro 1. The Singular Experience of Mr. John Scott Eccles I find it recorded in my notebook that it was a bleak and windy day towards the end of March in the year 1892. Holmes had received a telegram while we sat at our lunch, and he had scribbled a reply. He made no remark, but the matter remained in his thoughts, for he stood in front of the fire afterwards with a thoughtful face, smoking his pipe, and casting an occasional glance at the message. Suddenly he turned upon me with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "I suppose, Watson, we must look upon you as a man of letters," said he. "How do you define the word 'grotesque'?" "Strange--remarkable," I suggested. He shook his head at my definition. "There is surely something more than that," said he; "some underlying suggestion of the tragic and the terrible. If you cast your mind back to some of those narratives with which you have afflicted a long-suffering public, you will recognize how often the grotesque has deepened into the criminal. Think of that little affair of the red-headed men. That was grotesque enough in the outset, and yet it ended in a desperate attempt at robbery. Or, again, there was that most grotesque affair of the five orange pips, which let straight to a murderous conspiracy. The word puts me on the alert." "Have you it there?" I asked. He read the telegram aloud. "Have just had most incredible and grotesque experience. May I consult you? "Scott Eccles, "Post Office, Charing Cross." "Man or woman?" I asked. "Oh, man, of course. No woman would ever send a reply-paid telegram. She would have come." "Will you see him?" "My dear Watson, you know how bored I have been since we locked up Colonel Carruthers. My mind is like a racing engine, tearing itself to pieces because it is not connected up with the work for which it was built. Life is commonplace, the papers are sterile; audacity and romance seem to have passed forever from the criminal world. Can you ask me, then, whether I am ready to look into any new problem, however trivial it may prove? But here, unless I am mistaken, is our client." A measured step was heard upon the stairs, and a moment later a stout, tall, gray-whiskered and solemnly respectable person was ushered into the room. His life history was written in his heavy features and pompous manner. From his spats to his gold-rimmed spectacles he was a Conservative, a churchman, a good citizen, orthodox and conventional to the last degree. But some amazing experience had disturbed his native composure and left its traces in his bristling hair, his flushed, angry cheeks, and his flurried, excited manner. He plunged instantly into his business. "I have had a most singular and unpleasant experience, Mr. Holmes," said he. "Never in my life have I been placed in such a situation. It is most improper--most outrageous. I must insist upon some explanation." He swelled and puffed in his anger. "Pray sit down, Mr. Scott Eccles," said Holmes in a soothing voice. "May I ask, in the first place, why you came to me at all?" "Well, sir, it did not appear to be a matter which concerned the police, and yet, when you have heard the facts, you must admit that I could not leave it where it was. Private detectives are a class with whom I have absolutely no sympathy, but none the less, having heard your name--" "Quite so. But, in the second place, why did you not come at once?" Holmes glanced at his watch. "It is a quarter-past two," he said. "Your telegram was dispatched about one. But no one can glance at your toilet and attire without seeing that your disturbance dates from the moment of your waking." Our client smoothed down his unbrushed hair and felt his unshaven chin. "You are right, Mr. Holmes. I never gave a thought to my toilet. I was only too glad to get out of such a house. But I have been running round making inquiries before I came to you. I went to the house agents, you know, and they said that Mr. Garcia's rent was paid up all right and that everything was in order at Wisteria Lodge." "Come, come, sir," said Holmes, laughing. "You are like my friend, Dr. Watson, who has a bad habit of telling his stories wrong end foremost. Please arrange your thoughts and let me know, in their due sequence, exactly what those events are which have sent you out unbrushed and unkempt, with dress boots and waistcoat buttoned awry, in search of advice and assistance." Our client looked down with a rueful face at his own unconventional appearance. "I'm sure it must look very bad, Mr. Holmes, and I am not aware that in my whole life such a thing has ever happened before. But will tell you the whole queer business, and when I have done so you will admit, I am sure, that there has been enough to excuse me." But his narrative was nipped in the bud. There was a bustle outside, and Mrs. Hudson opened the door to usher in two robust and official-looking individuals, one of whom was well known to us as Inspector Gregson of Scotland Yard, an energetic, gallant, and, within his limitations, a capable officer. He shook hands with Holmes and introduced his comrade as Inspector Baynes, of the Surrey Constabulary. "We are hunting together, Mr. Holmes, and our trail lay in this direction." He turned his bulldog eyes upon our visitor. "Are you Mr. John Scott Eccles, of Popham House, Lee?" "I am." "We have been following you about all the morning." "You traced him through the telegram, no doubt," said Holmes. "Exactly, Mr. Holmes. We picked up the scent at Charing Cross Post-Office and came on here." "But why do you follow me? What do you want?" "We wish a statement, Mr. Scott Eccles, as to the events which let up to the death last night of Mr. Aloysius Garcia, of Wisteria Lodge, near Esher." Our client had sat up with staring eyes and every tinge of colour struck from his astonished face. "Dead? Did you say he was dead?" "Yes, sir, he is dead." "But how? An accident?" "Murder, if ever there was one upon earth." "Good God! This is awful! You don't mean--you don't mean that I am suspected?" "A letter of yours was found in the dead man's pocket, and we know by it that you had planned to pass last night at his house." "So I did." "Oh, you did, did you?" Out came the official notebook. "Wait a bit, Gregson," said Sherlock Holmes. "All you desire is a plain statement, is it not?" "And it is my duty to warn Mr. Scott Eccles that it may be used against him." "Mr. Eccles was going to tell us about it when you entered the room. I think, Watson, a brandy and soda would do him no harm. Now, sir, I suggest that you take no notice of this addition to your audience, and that you proceed with your narrative exactly as you would have done had you never been interrupted." Our visitor had gulped off the brandy and the colour had returned to his face. With a dubious glance at the inspector's notebook, he plunged at once into his extraordinary statement. "I am a bachelor," said he, "and being of a sociable turn I cultivate a large number of friends. Among these are the family of a retired brewer called Melville, living at Abermarle Mansion, Kensington. It was at his table that I met some weeks ago a young fellow named Garcia. He was, I understood, of Spanish descent and connected in some way with the embassy. He spoke perfect English, was pleasing in his manners, and as good-looking a man as ever I saw in my life. "In some way we struck up quite a friendship, this young fellow and I. He seemed to take a fancy to me from the first, and within two days of our meeting he came to see me at Lee. One thing led to another, and it ended in his inviting me out to spend a few days at his house, Wisteria Lodge, between Esher and Oxshott. Yesterday evening I went to Esher to fulfil this engagement. "He had described his household to me before I went there. He lived with a faithful servant, a countryman of his own, who looked after all his needs. This fellow could speak English and did his housekeeping for him. Then there was a wonderful cook, he said, a half-breed whom he had picked up in his travels, who could serve an excellent dinner. I remember that he remarked what a queer household it was to find in the heart of Surrey, and that I agreed with him, though it has proved a good deal queerer than I thought. "I drove to the place--about two miles on the south side of Esher. The house was a fair-sized one, standing back from the road, with a curving drive which was banked with high evergreen shrubs. It was an old, tumbledown building in a crazy state of disrepair. When the trap pulled up on the grass-grown drive in front of the blotched and weather-stained door, I had doubts as to my wisdom in visiting a man whom I knew so slightly. He opened the door himself, however, and greeted me with a great show of cordiality. I was handed over to the manservant, a melancholy, swarthy individual, who led the way, my bag in his hand, to my bedroom. The whole place was depressing. Our dinner was tete-a-tete, and though my host did his best to be entertaining, his thoughts seemed to continually wander, and he talked so vaguely and wildly that I could hardly understand him. He continually drummed his fingers on the table, gnawed his nails, and gave other signs of nervous impatience. The dinner itself was neither well served nor well cooked, and the gloomy presence of the taciturn servant did not help to enliven us. I can assure you that many times in the course of the evening I wished that I could invent some excuse which would take me back to Lee. "One thing comes back to my memory which may have a bearing upon the business that you two gentlemen are investigating. I thought nothing of it at the time. Near the end of dinner a note was handed in by the servant. I noticed that after my host had read it he seemed even more distrait and strange than before. He gave up all pretence at conversation and sat, smoking endless cigarettes, lost in his own thoughts, but he made no remark as to the contents. About eleven I was glad to go to bed. Some time later Garcia looked in at my door--the room was dark at the time--and asked me if I had rung. I said that I had not. He apologized for having disturbed me so late, saying that it was nearly one o'clock. I dropped off after this and slept soundly all night. "And now I come to the amazing part of my tale. When I woke it was broad daylight. I glanced at my watch, and the time was nearly nine. I had particularly asked to be called at eight, so I was very much astonished at this forgetfulness. I sprang up and rang for the servant. There was no response. I rang again and again, with the same result. Then I came to the conclusion that the bell was out of order. I huddled on my clothes and hurried downstairs in an exceedingly bad temper to order some hot water. You can imagine my surprise when I found that there was no one there. I shouted in the hall. There was no answer. Then I ran from room to room. All were deserted. My host had shown me which was his bedroom the night before, so I knocked at the door. No reply. I turned the handle and walked in. The room was empty, and the bed had never been slept in. He had gone with the rest. The foreign host, the foreign footman, the foreign cook, all had vanished in the night! That was the end of my visit to Wisteria Lodge." Sherlock Holmes was rubbing his hands and chuckling as he added this bizarre incident to his collection of strange episodes. "Your experience is, so far as I know, perfectly unique," said he. "May I ask, sir, what you did then?" "I was furious. My first idea was that I had been the victim of some absurd practical joke. I packed my things, banged the hall door behind me, and set off for Esher, with my bag in my hand. I called at Allan Brothers', the chief land agents in the village, and found that it was from this firm that the villa had been rented. It struck me that the whole proceeding could hardly be for the purpose of making a fool of me, and that the main object must be to get out of the rent. It is late in March, so quarter-day is at hand. But this theory would not work. The agent was obliged to me for my warning, but told me that the rent had been paid in advance. Then I made my way to town and called at the Spanish embassy. The man was unknown there. After this I went to see Melville, at whose house I had first met Garcia, but I found that he really knew rather less about him than I did. Finally when I got your reply to my wire I came out to you, since I gather that you are a person who gives advice in difficult cases. But now, Mr. Inspector, I understand, from what you said when you entered the room, that you can carry the story on, and that some tragedy had occurred. I can assure you that every word I have said is the truth, and that, outside of what I have told you, I know absolutely nothing about the fate of this man. My only desire is to help the law in every possible way." "I am sure of it, Mr. Scott Eccles--I am sure of it," said Inspector Gregson in a very amiable tone. "I am bound to say that everything which you have said agrees very closely with the facts as they have come to our notice. For example, there was that note which arrived during dinner. Did you chance to observe what became of it?" "Yes, I did. Garcia rolled it up and threw it into the fire." "What do you say to that, Mr. Baynes?" The country detective was a stout, puffy, red man, whose face was only redeemed from grossness by two extraordinarily bright eyes, almost hidden behind the heavy creases of cheek and brow. With a slow smile he drew a folded and discoloured scrap of paper from his pocket. "It was a dog-grate, Mr. Holmes, and he overpitched it. I picked this out unburned from the back of it." Holmes smiled his appreciation. "You must have examined the house very carefully to find a single pellet of paper." "I did, Mr. Holmes. It's my way. Shall I read it, Mr. Gregson?" The Londoner nodded. "The note is written upon ordinary cream-laid paper without watermark. It is a quarter-sheet. The paper is cut off in two snips with a short-bladed scissors. It has been folded over three times and sealed with purple wax, put on hurriedly and pressed down with some flat oval object. It is addressed to Mr. Garcia, Wisteria Lodge. It says: "Our own colours, green and white. Green open, white shut. Main stair, first corridor, seventh right, green baize. Godspeed. D. "It is a woman's writing, done with a sharp-pointed pen, but the address is either done with another pen or by someone else. It is thicker and bolder, as you see." "A very remarkable note," said Holmes, glancing it over. "I must compliment you, Mr. Baynes, upon your attention to detail in your examination of it. A few trifling points might perhaps be added. The oval seal is undoubtedly a plain sleeve-link--what else is of such a shape? The scissors were bent nail scissors. Short as the two snips are, you can distinctly see the same slight curve in each." The country detective chuckled. "I thought I had squeezed all the juice out of it, but I see there was a little over," he said. "I'm bound to say that I make nothing of the note except that there was something on hand, and that a woman, as usual was at the bottom of it." Mr. Scott Eccles had fidgeted in his seat during this conversation. "I am glad you found the note, since it corroborates my story," said he. "But I beg to point out that I have not yet heard what has happened to Mr. Garcia, nor what has become of his household." "As to Garcia," said Gregson, "that is easily answered. He was found dead this morning upon Oxshott Common, nearly a mile from his home. His head had been smashed to pulp by heavy blows of a sandbag or some such instrument, which had crushed rather than wounded. It is a lonely corner, and there is no house within a quarter of a mile of the spot. He had apparently been struck down first from behind, but his assailant had gone on beating him long after he was dead. It was a most furious assault. There are no footsteps nor any clue to the criminals." "Robbed?" "No, there was no attempt at robbery." "This is very painful--very painful and terrible," said Mr. Scott Eccles in a querulous voice, "but it is really uncommonly hard on me. I had nothing to do with my host going off upon a nocturnal excursion and meeting so sad an end. How do I come to be mixed up with the case?" "Very simply, sir," Inspector Baynes answered. "The only document found in the pocket of the deceased was a letter from you saying that you would be with him on the night of his death. It was the envelope of this letter which gave us the dead man's name and address. It was after nine this morning when we reached his house and found neither you nor anyone else inside it. I wired to Mr. Gregson to run you down in London while I examined Wisteria Lodge. Then I came into town, joined Mr. Gregson, and here we are." "I think now," said Gregson, rising, "we had best put this matter into an official shape. You will come round with us to the station, Mr. Scott Eccles, and let us have your statement in writing." "Certainly, I will come at once. But I retain your services, Mr. Holmes. I desire you to spare no expense and no pains to get at the truth." My friend turned to the country inspector. "I suppose that you have no objection to my collaborating with you, Mr. Baynes?" "Highly honoured, sir, I am sure." "You appear to have been very prompt and businesslike in all that you have done. Was there any clue, may I ask, as to the exact hour that the man met his death?" "He had been there since one o'clock. There was rain about that time, and his death had certainly been before the rain." "But that is perfectly impossible, Mr. Baynes," cried our client. "His voice is unmistakable. I could swear to it that it was he who addressed me in my bedroom at that very hour." "Remarkable, but by no means impossible," said Holmes, smiling. "You have a clue?" asked Gregson. "On the face of it the case is not a very complex one, though it certainly presents some novel and interesting features. A further knowledge of facts is necessary before I would venture to give a final and definite opinion. By the way, Mr. Baynes, did you find anything remarkable besides this note in your examination of the house?" The detective looked at my friend in a singular way. "There were," said he, "one or two _very_ remarkable things. Perhaps when I have finished at the police-station you would care to come out and give me your opinion of them." "I am entirely at your service," said Sherlock Holmes, ringing the bell. "You will show these gentlemen out, Mrs. Hudson, and kindly send the boy with this telegram. He is to pay a five-shilling reply." We sat for some time in silence after our visitors had left. Holmes smoked hard, with his browns drawn down over his keen eyes, and his head thrust forward in the eager way characteristic of the man. "Well, Watson," he asked, turning suddenly upon me, "what do you make of it?" "I can make nothing of this mystification of Scott Eccles." "But the crime?" "Well, taken with the disappearance of the man's companions, I should say that they were in some way concerned in the murder and had fled from justice." "That is certainly a possible point of view. On the face of it you must admit, however, that it is very strange that his two servants should have been in a conspiracy against him and should have attacked him on the one night when he had a guest. They had him alone at their mercy every other night in the week." "Then why did they fly?" "Quite so. Why did they fly? There is a big fact. Another big fact is the remarkable experience of our client, Scott Eccles. Now, my dear Watson, is it beyond the limits of human ingenuity to furnish an explanation which would cover both of these big facts? If it were one which would also admit of the mysterious note with its very curious phraseology, why, then it would be worth accepting as a temporary hypothesis. If the fresh facts which come to our knowledge all fit themselves into the scheme, then our hypothesis may gradually become a solution." "But what is our hypothesis?" Holmes leaned back in his chair with half-closed eyes. "You must admit, my dear Watson, that the idea of a joke is impossible. There were grave events afoot, as the sequel showed, and the coaxing of Scott Eccles to Wisteria Lodge had some connection with them." "But what possible connection?" "Let us take it link by link. There is, on the face of it, something unnatural about this strange and sudden friendship between the young Spaniard and Scott Eccles. It was the former who forced the pace. He called upon Eccles at the other end of London on the very day after he first met him, and he kept in close touch with him until he got him down to Esher. Now, what did he want with Eccles? What could Eccles supply? I see no charm in the man. He is not particularly intelligent--not a man likely to be congenial to a quick-witted Latin. Why, then, was he picked out from all the other people whom Garcia met as particularly suited to his purpose? Has he any one outstanding quality? I say that he has. He is the very type of conventional British respectability, and the very man as a witness to impress another Briton. You saw yourself how neither of the inspectors dreamed of questioning his statement, extraordinary as it was." "But what was he to witness?" "Nothing, as things turned out, but everything had they gone another way. That is how I read the matter." "I see, he might have proved an alibi." "Exactly, my dear Watson; he might have proved an alibi. We will suppose, for argument's sake, that the household of Wisteria Lodge are confederates in some design. The attempt, whatever it may be, is to come off, we will say, before one o'clock. By some juggling of the clocks it is quite possible that they may have got Scott Eccles to bed earlier than he thought, but in any case it is likely that when Garcia went out of his way to tell him that it was one it was really not more than twelve. If Garcia could do whatever he had to do and be back by the hour mentioned he had evidently a powerful reply to any accusation. Here was this irreproachable Englishman ready to swear in any court of law that the accused was in the house all the time. It was an insurance against the worst." "Yes, yes, I see that. But how about the disappearance of the others?" "I have not all my facts yet, but I do not think there are any insuperable difficulties. Still, it is an error to argue in front of your data. You find yourself insensibly twisting them round to fit your theories." "And the message?" "How did it run? 'Our own colours, green and white.' Sounds like racing. 'Green open, white shut.' That is clearly a signal. 'Main stair, first corridor, seventh right, green baize.' This is an assignation. We may find a jealous husband at the bottom of it all. It was clearly a dangerous quest. She would not have said 'Godspeed' had it not been so. 'D'--that should be a guide." "The man was a Spaniard. I suggest that 'D' stands for Dolores, a common female name in Spain." "Good, Watson, very good--but quite inadmissable. A Spaniard would write to a Spaniard in Spanish. The writer of this note is certainly English. Well, we can only possess our soul in patience until this excellent inspector come back for us. Meanwhile we can thank our lucky fate which has rescued us for a few short hours from the insufferable fatigues of idleness." * * * An answer had arrived to Holmes's telegram before our Surrey officer had returned. Holmes read it and was about to place it in his notebook when he caught a glimpse of my expectant face. He tossed it across with a laugh. "We are moving in exalted circles," said he. The telegram was a list of names and addresses: Lord Harringby, The Dingle; Sir George Ffolliott, Oxshott Towers; Mr. Hynes Hynes, J.P., Purdley Place; Mr. James Baker Williams, Forton Old Hall; Mr. Henderson, High Gable; Rev. Joshua Stone, Nether Walsling. "This is a very obvious way of limiting our field of operations," said Holmes. "No doubt Baynes, with his methodical mind, has already adopted some similar plan." "I don't quite understand." "Well, my dear fellow, we have already arrived at the conclusion that the massage received by Garcia at dinner was an appointment or an assignation. Now, if the obvious reading of it is correct, and in order to keep the tryst one has to ascend a main stair and seek the seventh door in a corridor, it is perfectly clear that the house is a very large one. It is equally certain that this house cannot be more than a mile or two from Oxshott, since Garcia was walking in that direction and hoped, according to my reading of the facts, to be back in Wisteria Lodge in time to avail himself of an alibi, which would only be valid up to one o'clock. As the number of large houses close to Oxshott must be limited, I adopted the obvious method of sending to the agents mentioned by Scott Eccles and obtaining a list of them. Here they are in this telegram, and the other end of our tangled skein must lie among them." * * * It was nearly six o'clock before we found ourselves in the pretty Surrey village of Esher, with Inspector Baynes as our companion. Holmes and I had taken things for the night, and found comfortable quarters at the Bull. Finally we set out in the company of the detective on our visit to Wisteria Lodge. It was a cold, dark March evening, with a sharp wind and a fine rain beating upon our faces, a fit setting for the wild common over which our road passed and the tragic goal to which it led us. 2. The Tiger of San Pedro A cold and melancholy walk of a couple of miles brought us to a high wooden gate, which opened into a gloomy avenue of chestnuts. The curved and shadowed drive led us to a low, dark house, pitch-black against a slate-coloured sky. From the front window upon the left of the door there peeped a glimmer of a feeble light. "There's a constable in possession," said Baynes. "I'll knock at the window." He stepped across the grass plot and tapped with his hand on the pane. Through the fogged glass I dimly saw a man spring up from a chair beside the fire, and heard a sharp cry from within the room. An instant later a white-faced, hard-breathing policeman had opened the door, the candle wavering in his trembling hand. "What's the matter, Walters?" asked Baynes sharply. The man mopped his forehead with his handkerchief and agave a long sigh of relief. "I am glad you have come, sir. It has been a long evening, and I don't think my nerve is as good as it was." "Your nerve, Walters? I should not have thought you had a nerve in your body." "Well, sir, it's this lonely, silent house and the queer thing in the kitchen. Then when you tapped at the window I thought it had come again." "That what had come again?" "The devil, sir, for all I know. It was at the window." "What was at the window, and when?" "It was just about two hours ago. The light was just fading. I was sitting reading in the chair. I don't know what made me look up, but there was a face looking in at me through the lower pane. Lord, sir, what a face it was! I'll see it in my dreams." "Tut, tut, Walters. This is not talk for a police-constable." "I know, sir, I know; but it shook me, sir, and there's no use to deny it. It wasn't black, sir, nor was it white, nor any colour that I know but a kind of queer shade like clay with a splash of milk in it. Then there was the size of it--it was twice yours, sir. And the look of it--the great staring goggle eyes, and the line of white teeth like a hungry beast. I tell you, sir, I couldn't move a finger, nor get my breath, till it whisked away and was gone. Out I ran and through the shrubbery, but thank God there was no one there." "If I didn't know you were a good man, Walters, I should put a black mark against you for this. If it were the devil himself a constable on duty should never thank God that he could not lay his hands upon him. I suppose the whole thing is not a vision and a touch of nerves?" "That, at least, is very easily settled," said Holmes, lighting his little pocket lantern. "Yes," he reported, after a short examination of the grass bed, "a number twelve shoe, I should say. If he was all on the same scale as his foot he must certainly have been a giant." "What became of him?" "He seems to have broken through the shrubbery and made for the road." "Well," said the inspector with a grave and thoughtful face, "whoever he may have been, and whatever he may have wanted, he's gone for the present, and we have more immediate things to attend to. Now, Mr. Holmes, with your permission, I will show you round the house." The various bedrooms and sitting-rooms had yielded nothing to a careful search. Apparently the tenants had brought little or nothing with them, and all the furniture down to the smallest details had been taken over with the house. A good deal of clothing with the stamp of Marx and Co., High Holborn, had been left behind. Telegraphic inquiries had been already made which showed that Marx knew nothing of his customer save that he was a good payer. Odds and ends, some pipes, a few novels, two of them in Spanish, and old-fashioned pinfire revolver, and a guitar were among the personal property. "Nothing in all this," said Baynes, stalking, candle in hand, from room to room. "But now, Mr. Holmes, I invite your attention to the kitchen." It was a gloomy, high-ceilinged room at the back of the house, with a straw litter in one corner, which served apparently as a bed for the cook. The table was piled with half-eaten dishes and dirty plates, the debris of last night's dinner. "Look at this," said Baynes. "What do you make of it?" He held up his candle before an extraordinary object which stood at the back of the dresser. It was so wrinkled and shrunken and withered that it was difficult to say what it might have been. One could but say that it was black and leathery and that it bore some resemblance to a dwarfish, human figure. At first, as I examined it, I thought that it was a mummified negro baby, and then it seemed a very twisted and ancient monkey. Finally I was left in doubt as to whether it was animal or human. A double band of white shells were strung round the centre of it. "Very interesting--very interesting, indeed!" said Holmes, peering at this sinister relic. "Anything more?" In silence Baynes led the way to the sink and held forward his candle. The limbs and body of some large, white bird, torn savagely to pieces with the feathers still on, were littered all over it. Holmes pointed to the wattles on the severed head. "A white cock," said he. "Most interesting! It is really a very curious case." But Mr. Baynes had kept his most sinister exhibit to the last. From under the sink he drew a zinc pail which contained a quantity of blood. Then from the table he took a platter heaped with small pieces of charred bone. "Something has been killed and something has been burned. We raked all these out of the fire. We had a doctor in this morning. He says that they are not human." Holmes smiled and rubbed his hands. "I must congratulate you, Inspector, on handling so distinctive and instructive a case. Your powers, if I may say so without offence, seem superior to your opportunities." Inspector Baynes's small eyes twinkled with pleasure. "You're right, Mr. Holmes. We stagnate in the provinces. A case of this sort gives a man a chance, and I hope that I shall take it. What do you make of these bones?" "A lamb, I should say, or a kid." "And the white cock?" "Curious, Mr. Baynes, very curious. I should say almost unique." "Yes, sir, there must have been some very strange people with some very strange ways in this house. One of them is dead. Did his companions follow him and kill him? If they did we should have them, for every port is watched. But my own views are different. Yes, sir, my own views are very different." "You have a theory then?" "And I'll work it myself, Mr. Holmes. It's only due to my own credit to do so. Your name is made, but I have still to make mine. I should be glad to be able to say afterwards that I had solved it without your help." Holmes laughed good-humoredly. "Well, well, Inspector," said he. "Do you follow your path and I will follow mine. My results are always very much at your service if you care to apply to me for them. I think that I have seen all that I wish in this house, and that my time may be more profitably employed elsewhere. Au revoir and good luck!" I could tell by numerous subtle signs, which might have been lost upon anyone but myself, that Holmes was on a hot scent. As impassive as ever to the casual observer, there were none the less a subdued eagerness and suggestion of tension in his brightened eyes and brisker manner which assured me that the game was afoot. After his habit he said nothing, and after mine I asked no questions. Sufficient for me to share the sport and lend my humble help to the capture without distracting that intent brain with needless interruption. All would come round to me in due time. I waited, therefore--but to my ever-deepening disappointment I waited in vain. Day succeeded day, and my friend took no step forward. One morning he spent in town, and I learned from a casual reference that he had visited the British Museum. Save for this one excursion, he spent his days in long and often solitary walks, or in chatting with a number of village gossips whose acquaintance he had cultivated. "I'm sure, Watson, a week in the country will be invaluable to you," he remarked. "It is very pleasant to see the first green shoots upon the hedges and the catkins on the hazels once again. With a spud, a tin box, and an elementary book on botany, there are instructive days to be spent." He prowled about with this equipment himself, but it was a poor show of plants which he would bring back of an evening. Occasionally in our rambles we came across Inspector Baynes. His fat, red face wreathed itself in smiles and his small eyes glittered as he greeted my companion. He said little about the case, but from that little we gathered that he also was not dissatisfied at the course of events. I must admit, however, that I was somewhat surprised when, some five days after the crime, I opened my morning paper to find in large letters: THE OXSHOTT MYSTERY A SOLUTION ARREST OF SUPPOSED ASSASSIN Holmes sprang in his chair as if he had been stung when I read the headlines. "By Jove!" he cried. "You don't mean that Baynes has got him?" "Apparently," said I as I read the following report: "Great excitement was caused in Esher and the neighbouring district when it was learned late last night that an arrest had been effected in connection with the Oxshott murder. It will be remembered that Mr. Garcia, of Wisteria Lodge, was found dead on Oxshott Common, his body showing signs of extreme violence, and that on the same night his servant and his cook fled, which appeared to show their participation in the crime. It was suggested, but never proved, that the deceased gentleman may have had valuables in the house, and that their abstraction was the motive of the crime. Every effort was made by Inspector Baynes, who has the case in hand, to ascertain the hiding place of the fugitives, and he had good reason to believe that they had not gone far but were lurking in some retreat which had been already prepared. It was certain from the first, however, that they would eventually be detected, as the cook, from the evidence of one or two tradespeople who have caught a glimpse of him through the window, was a man of most remarkable appearance--being a huge and hideous mulatto, with yellowish features of a pronounced negroid type. This man has been seen since the crime, for he was detected and pursued by Constable Walters on the same evening, when he had the audacity to revisit Wisteria Lodge. Inspector Baynes, considering that such a visit must have some purpose in view and was likely, therefore, to be repeated, abandoned the house but left an ambuscade in the shrubbery. The man walked into the trap and was captured last night after a struggle in which Constable Downing was badly bitten by the savage. We understand that when the prison is brought before the magistrates a remand will be applied for by the police, and that great developments are hoped from his capture." "Really we must see Baynes at once," cried Holmes, picking up his hat. "We will just catch him before he starts." We hurried down the village street and found, as we had expected, that the inspector was just leaving his lodgings. "You've seen the paper, Mr. Holmes?" he asked, holding one out to us. "Yes, Baynes, I've seen it. Pray don't think it a liberty if I give you a word of friendly warning." "Of warning, Mr. Holmes?" "I have looked into this case with some care, and I am not convinced that you are on the right lines. I don't want you to commit yourself too far unless you are sure." "You're very kind, Mr. Holmes." "I assure you I speak for your good." It seemed to me that something like a wink quivered for an instant over one of Mr. Baynes's tiny eyes. "We agreed to work on our own lines, Mr. Holmes. That's what I am doing." "Oh, very good," said Holmes. "Don't blame me." "No, sir; I believe you mean well by me. But we all have our own systems, Mr. Holmes. You have yours, and maybe I have mine." "Let us say no more about it." "You're welcome always to my news. This fellow is a perfect savage, as strong as a cart-horse and as fierce as the devil. He chewed Downing's thumb nearly off before they could master him. He hardly speaks a word of English, and we can get nothing out of him but grunts." "And you think you have evidence that he murdered his late master?" "I didn't say so, Mr. Holmes; I didn't say so. We all have our little ways. You try yours and I will try mine. That's the agreement." Holmes shrugged his shoulders as we walked away together. "I can't make the man out. He seems to be riding for a fall. Well, as he says, we must each try our own way and see what comes of it. But there's something in Inspector Baynes which I can't quite understand." "Just sit down in that chair, Watson," said Sherlock Holmes when we had returned to our apartment at the Bull. "I want to put you in touch with the situation, as I may need your help to-night. Let me show you the evolution of this case so far as I have been able to follow it. Simple as it has been in its leading features, it has none the less presented surprising difficulties in the way of an arrest. There are gaps in that direction which we have still to fill. "We will go back to the note which was handed in to Garcia upon the evening of his death. We may put aside this idea of Baynes's that Garcia's servants were concerned in the matter. The proof of this lies in the fact that it was _he_ who had arranged for the presence of Scott Eccles, which could only have been done for the purpose of an alibi. It was Garcia, then, who had an enterprise, and apparently a criminal enterprise, in hand that night in the course of which he met his death. I say 'criminal' because only a man with a criminal enterprise desires to establish an alibi. Who, then, is most likely to have taken his life? Surely the person against whom the criminal enterprise was directed. So far it seems to me that we are on safe ground. "We can now see a reason for the disappearance of Garcia's household. They were _all_ confederates in the same unknown crime. If it came off when Garcia returned, any possible suspicion would be warded off by the Englishman's evidence, and all would be well. But the attempt was a dangerous one, and if Garcia did _not_ return by a certain hour it was probable that his own life had been sacrificed. It had been arranged, therefore, that in such a case his two subordinates were to make for some prearranged spot where they could escape investigation and be in a position afterwards to renew their attempt. That would fully explain the facts, would it not?" The whole inexplicable tangle seemed to straighten out before me. I wondered, as I always did, how it had not been obvious to me before. "But why should one servant return?" "We can imagine that in the confusion of flight something precious, something which he could not bear to part with, had been left behind. That would explain his persistence, would it not?" "Well, what is the next step?" "The next step is the note received by Garcia at the dinner. It indicates a confederate at the other end. Now, where was the other end? I have already shown you that it could only lie in some large house, and that the number of large houses is limited. My first days in this village were devoted to a series of walks in which in the intervals of my botanical researches I made a reconnaissance of all the large houses and an examination of the family history of the occupants. One house, and only one, riveted my attention. It is the famous old Jacobean grange of High Gable, one mile on the farther side of Oxshott, and less than half a mile from the scene of the tragedy. The other mansions belonged to prosaic and respectable people who live far aloof from romance. But Mr. Henderson, of High Gable, was by all accounts a curious man to whom curious adventures might befall. I concentrated my attention, therefore, upon him and his household. "A singular set of people, Watson--the man himself the most singular of them all. I managed to see him on a plausible pretext, but I seemed to read in his dark, deepset, brooding eyes that he was perfectly aware of my true business. He is a man of fifty, strong, active, with iron-gray hair, great bunched black eyebrows, the step of a deer and the air of an emperor--a fierce, masterful man, with a red-hot spirit behind his parchment face. He is either a foreigner or has lived long in the tropics, for he is yellow and sapless, but tough as whipcord. His friend and secretary, Mr. Lucas, is undoubtedly a foreigner, chocolate brown, wily, suave, and catlike, with a poisonous gentleness of speech. You see, Watson, we have come already upon two sets of foreigners--one at Wisteria Lodge and one at High Gable--so our gaps are beginning to close. "These two men, close and confidential friends, are the centre of the household; but there is one other person who for our immediate purpose may be even more important. Henderson has two children--girls of eleven and thirteen. Their governess is a Miss Burnet, an Englishwoman of forty or thereabouts. There is also one confidential manservant. This little group forms the real family, for their travel about together, and Henderson is a great traveller, always on the move. It is only within the last weeks that he has returned, after a year's absence, to High Gable. I may add that he is enormously rich, and whatever his whims may be he can very easily satisfy them. For the rest, his house is full of butlers, footmen, maidservants, and the usual overfed, underworked staff of a large English country house. "So much I learned partly from village gossip and partly from my own observation. There are no better instruments than discharged servants with a grievance, and I was lucky enough to find one. I call it luck, but it would not have come my way had I not been looking out for it. As Baynes remarks, we all have our systems. It was my system which enabled me to find John Warner, late gardener of High Gable, sacked in a moment of temper by his imperious employer. He in turn had friends among the indoor servants who unite in their fear and dislike of their master. So I had my key to the secrets of the establishment. "Curious people, Watson! I don't pretend to understand it all yet, but very curious people anyway. It's a double-winged house, and the servants live on one side, the family on the other. There's no link between the two save for Henderson's own servant, who serves the family's meals. Everything is carried to a certain door, which forms the one connection. Governess and children hardly go out at all, except into the garden. Henderson never by any chance walks alone. His dark secretary is like his shadow. The gossip among the servants is that their master is terribly afraid of something. 'Sold his soul to the devil in exchange for money,' says Warner, 'and expects his creditor to come up and claim his own.' Where they came from, or who they are, nobody has an idea. They are very violent. Twice Henderson has lashed at folk with his dog-whip, and only his long purse and heavy compensation have kept him out of the courts. "Well, now, Watson, let us judge the situation by this new information. We may take it that the letter came out of this strange household and was an invitation to Garcia to carry out some attempt which had already been planned. Who wrote the note? It was someone within the citadel, and it was a woman. Who then but Miss Burnet, the governess? All our reasoning seems to point that way. At any rate, we may take it as a hypothesis and see what consequences it would entail. I may add that Miss Burnet's age and character make it certain that my first idea that there might be a love interest in our story is out of the question. "If she wrote the note she was presumably the friend and confederate of Garcia. What, then, might she be expected to do if she heard of his death? If he met it in some nefarious enterprise her lips might be sealed. Still, in her heart, she must retain bitterness and hatred against those who had killed him and would presumably help so far as she could to have revenge upon them. Could we see her, then and try to use her? That was my first thought. But now we come to a sinister fact. Miss Burnet has not been seen by any human eye since the night of the murder. From that evening she has utterly vanished. Is she alive? Has she perhaps met her end on the same night as the friend whom she had summoned? Or is she merely a prisoner? There is the point which we still have to decide. "You will appreciate the difficulty of the situation, Watson. There is nothing upon which we can apply for a warrant. Our whole scheme might seem fantastic if laid before a magistrate. The woman's disappearance counts for nothing, since in that extraordinary household any member of it might be invisible for a week. And yet she may at the present moment be in danger of her life. All I can do is to watch the house and leave my agent, Warner, on guard at the gates. We can't let such a situation continue. If the law can do nothing we must take the risk ourselves." "What do you suggest?" "I know which is her room. It is accessible from the top of an outhouse. My suggestion is that you and I go to-night and see if we can strike at the very heart of the mystery." It was not, I must confess, a very alluring prospect. The old house with its atmosphere of murder, the singular and formidable inhabitants, the unknown dangers of the approach, and the fact that we were putting ourselves legally in a false position all combined to damp my ardour. But there was something in the ice-cold reasoning of Holmes which made it impossible to shrink from any adventure which he might recommend. One knew that thus, and only thus, could a solution be found. I clasped his hand in silence, and the die was cast. But it was not destined that our investigation should have so adventurous an ending. It was about five o'clock, and the shadows of the March evening were beginning to fall, when an excited rustic rushed into our room. "They've gone, Mr. Holmes. They went by the last train. The lady broke away, and I've got her in a cab downstairs." "Excellent, Warner!" cried Holmes, springing to his feet. "Watson, the gaps are closing rapidly." In the cab was a woman, half-collapsed from nervous exhaustion. She bore upon her aquiline and emaciated face the traces of some recent tragedy. Her head hung listlessly upon her breast, but as she raised it and turned her dull eyes upon us I saw that her pupils were dark dots in the centre of the broad gray iris. She was drugged with opium. "I watched at the gate, same as you advised, Mr. Holmes," said our emissary, the discharged gardener. "When the carriage came out I followed it to the station. She was like one walking in her sleep, but when they tried to get her into the train she came to life and struggled. They pushed her into the carriage. She fought her way out again. I took her part, got her into a cab, and here we are. I shan't forget the face at the carriage window as I led her away. I'd have a short life if he had his way--the black-eyed, scowling, yellow devil." We carried her upstairs, laid her on the sofa, and a couple of cups of the strongest coffee soon cleared her brain from the mists of the drug. Baynes had been summoned by Holmes, and the situation rapidly explained to him. "Why, sir, you've got me the very evidence I want," said the inspector warmly, shaking my friend by the hand. "I was on the same scent as you from the first." "What! You were after Henderson?" "Why, Mr. Holmes, when you were crawling in the shrubbery at High Gable I was up one of the trees in the plantation and saw you down below. It was just who would get his evidence first." "Then why did you arrest the mulatto?" Baynes chuckled. "I was sure Henderson, as he calls himself, felt that he was suspected, and that he would lie low and make no move so long as he thought he was in any danger. I arrested the wrong man to make him believe that our eyes were off him. I knew he would be likely to clear off then and give us a chance of getting at Miss Burnet." Holmes laid his hand upon the inspector's shoulder. "You will rise high in your profession. You have instinct and intuition," said he. Baynes flushed with pleasure. "I've had a plain-clothes man waiting at the station all the week. Wherever the High Gable folk go he will keep them in sight. But he must have been hard put to it when Miss Burnet broke away. However, your man picked her up, and it all ends well. We can't arrest without her evidence, that is clear, so the sooner we get a statement the better." "Every minute she gets stronger," said Holmes, glancing at the governess. "But tell me, Baynes, who is this man Henderson?" "Henderson," the inspector answered, "is Don Murillo, once call the Tiger of San Pedro." The Tiger of San Pedro! The whole history of the man came back to me in a flash. He had made his name as the most lewd and bloodthirsty tyrant that had ever governed any country with a pretence to civilization. Strong, fearless, and energetic, he had sufficient virtue to enable him to impose his odious vices upon a cowering people for ten or twelve years. His name was a terror through all Central America. At the end of that time there was a universal rising against him. But he was as cunning as he was cruel, and at the first whisper of coming trouble he had secretly conveyed his treasures aboard a ship which was manned by devoted adherents. It was an empty palace which was stormed by the insurgents next day. The dictator, his two children, his secretary, and his wealth had all escaped them. From that moment he had vanished from the world, and his identity had been a frequent subject for comment in the European press. "Yes, sir, Don Murillo, the Tiger of San Pedro," said Baynes. "If you look it up you will find that the San Pedro colours are green and white, same as in the note, Mr. Holmes. Henderson he called himself, but I traced him back, Paris and Rome and Madrid to Barcelona, where his ship came in in '86. They've been looking for him all the time for their revenge, but it is only now that they have begun to find him out." "They discovered him a year ago," said Miss Burnet, who had sat up and was now intently following the conversation. "Once already his life has been attempted, but some evil spirit shielded him. Now, again, it is the noble, chivalrous Garcia who has fallen, while the monster goes safe. But another will come, and yet another, until some day justice will be done; that is as certain as the rise of to-morrow's sun." Her thin hands clenched, and her worn face blanched with the passion of her hatred. "But how come you into this matter, Miss Burnet?" asked Holmes. "How can an English lady join in such a murderous affair?" "I join in it because there is no other way in the world by which justice can be gained. What does the law of England care for the rivers of blood shed years ago in San Pedro, or for the shipload of treasure which this man has stolen? To you they are like crimes committed in some other planet. But _we_ know. We have learned the truth in sorrow and in suffering. To us there is no fiend in hell like Juan Murillo, and no peace in life while his victims still cry for vengeance." "No doubt," said Holmes, "he was as you say. I have heard that he was atrocious. But how are you affected?" "I will tell you it all. This villain's policy was to murder, on one pretext or another, every man who showed such promise that he might in time come to be a dangerous rival. My husband--yes, my real name is Signora Victor Durando--was the San Pedro minister in London. He met me and married me there. A nobler man never lived upon earth. Unhappily, Murillo heard of his excellence, recalled him on some pretext, and had him shot. With a premonition of his fate he had refused to take me with him. His estates were confiscated, and I was left with a pittance and a broken heart. "Then came the downfall of the tyrant. He escaped as you have just described. But the many whose lives he had ruined, whose nearest and dearest had suffered torture and death at his hands, would not let the matter rest. They banded themselves into a society which should never be dissolved until the work was done. It was my part after we had discovered in the transformed Henderson the fallen despot, to attach myself to his household and keep the others in touch with his movements. This I was able to do by securing the position of governess in his family. He little knew that the woman who faced him at every meal was the woman whose husband he had hurried at an hour's notice into eternity. I smiled on him, did my duty to his children, and bided my time. An attempt was made in Paris and failed. We zig-zagged swiftly here and there over Europe to throw off the pursuers and finally returned to this house, which he had taken upon his first arrival in England. "But here also the ministers of justice were waiting. Knowing that he would return there, Garcia, who is the son of the former highest dignitary in San Pedro, was waiting with two trusty companions of humble station, all three fired with the same reasons for revenge. He could do little during the day, for Murillo took every precaution and never went out save with his satellite Lucas, or Lopez as he was known in the days of his greatness. At night, however, he slept alone, and the avenger might find him. On a certain evening, which had been prearranged, I sent my friend final instructions, for the man was forever on the alert and continually changed his room. I was to see that the doors were open and the signal of a green or white light in a window which faced the drive was to give notice if all was safe or if the attempt had better be postponed. "But everything went wrong with us. In some way I had excited the suspicion of Lopez, the secretary. He crept up behind me and sprang upon me just as I had finished the note. He and his master dragged me to my room and held judgment upon me as a convicted traitress. Then and there they would have plunged their knives into me could they have seen how to escape the consequences of the deed. Finally, after much debate, they concluded that my murder was too dangerous. But they determined to get rid forever of Garcia. They had gagged me, and Murillo twisted my arm round until I gave him the address. I swear that he might have twisted it off had I understood what it would mean to Garcia. Lopez addressed the note which I had written, sealed it with his sleeve-link, and sent it by the hand of the servant, Jose. How they murdered him I do not know, save that it was Murillo's hand who struck him down, for Lopez had remained to guard me. I believe he must have waited among the gorse bushes through which the path winds and struck him down as he passed. At first they were of a mind to let him enter the house and to kill him as a detected burglar; but they argued that if they were mixed up in an inquiry their own identity would at once be publicly disclosed and they would be open to further attacks. With the death of Garcia, the pursuit might cease, since such a death might frighten others from the task. "All would now have been well for them had it not been for my knowledge of what they had done. I have no doubt that there were times when my life hung in the balance. I was confined to my room, terrorized by the most horrible threats, cruelly ill-used to break my spirit--see this stab on my shoulder and the bruises from end to end of my arms--and a gag was thrust into my mouth on the one occasion when I tried to call from the window. For five days this cruel imprisonment continued, with hardly enough food to hold body and soul together. This afternoon a good lunch was brought me, but the moment after I took it I knew that I had been drugged. In a sort of dream I remember being half-led, half-carried to the carriage; in the same state I was conveyed to the train. Only then, when the wheels were almost moving, did I suddenly realize that my liberty lay in my own hands. I sprang out, they tried to drag me back, and had it not been for the help of this good man, who led me to the cab, I should never had broken away. Now, thank God, I am beyond their power forever." We had all listened intently to this remarkable statement. It was Holmes who broke the silence. "Our difficulties are not over," he remarked, shaking his head. "Our police work ends, but our legal work begins." "Exactly," said I. "A plausible lawyer could make it out as an act of self-defence. There may be a hundred crimes in the background, but it is only on this one that they can be tried." "Come, come," said Baynes cheerily, "I think better of the law than that. Self-defence is one thing. To entice a man in cold blood with the object of murdering him is another, whatever danger you may fear from him. No, no, we shall all be justified when we see the tenants of High Gable at the next Guildford Assizes." * * * It is a matter of history, however, that a little time was still to elapse before the Tiger of San Pedro should meet with his deserts. Wily and bold, he and his companion threw their pursuer off their track by entering a lodging-house in Edmonton Street and leaving by the back-gate into Curzon Square. From that day they were seen no more in England. Some six months afterwards the Marquess of Montalva and Signor Rulli, his secretary, were both murdered in their rooms at the Hotel Escurial at Madrid. The crime was ascribed to Nihilism, and the murderers were never arrested. Inspector Baynes visited us at Baker Street with a printed description of the dark face of the secretary, and of the masterful features, the magnetic black eyes, and the tufted brows of his master. We could not doubt that justice, if belated, had come at last. "A chaotic case, my dear Watson," said Holmes over an evening pipe. "It will not be possible for you to present in that compact form which is dear to your heart. It covers two continents, concerns two groups of mysterious persons, and is further complicated by the highly respectable presence of our friend, Scott Eccles, whose inclusion shows me that the deceased Garcia had a scheming mind and a well-developed instinct of self-preservation. It is remarkable only for the fact that amid a perfect jungle of possibilities we, with our worthy collaborator, the inspector, have kept our close hold on the essentials and so been guided along the crooked and winding path. Is there any point which is not quite clear to you?" "The object of the mulatto cook's return?" "I think that the strange creature in the kitchen may account for it. The man was a primitive savage from the backwoods of San Pedro, and this was his fetish. When his companion and he had fled to some prearranged retreat--already occupied, no doubt by a confederate--the companion had persuaded him to leave so compromising an article of furniture. But the mulatto's heart was with it, and he was driven back to it next day, when, on reconnoitering through the window, he found policeman Walters in possession. He waited three days longer, and then his piety or his superstition drove him to try once more. Inspector Baynes, who, with his usual astuteness, had minimized the incident before me, had really recognized its importance and had left a trap into which the creature walked. Any other point, Watson?" "The torn bird, the pail of blood, the charred bones, all the mystery of that weird kitchen?" Holmes smiled as he turned up an entry in his note-book. "I spent a morning in the British Museum reading up on that and other points. Here is a quotation from Eckermann's Voodooism and the Negroid Religions: "'The true voodoo-worshipper attempts nothing of importance without certain sacrifices which are intended to propitiate his unclean gods. In extreme cases these rites take the form of human sacrifices followed by cannibalism. The more usual victims are a white cock, which is plucked in pieces alive, or a black goat, whose throat is cut and body burned.' "So you see our savage friend was very orthodox in his ritual. It is grotesque, Watson," Holmes added, as he slowly fastened his notebook, "but, as I have had occasion to remark, there is but one step from the grotesque to the horrible." Publication Date: February 12th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.doyle

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-the-general-himself-death-come-swiftly/

The General Himself Death Come Swiftly Death is sweet when you are in the middle of hell. This is a story about a well trained navy seal that was part of a top secret government bio-weapon research project in the middle of the rocky mountains.The project went very wrong due to the research staff creating a virus that takes a human strips them of their memory,thoughts,feelings, and all other things that sit us aside from animals and turns them into nothing more than a walking monster. The virus took this man and made him into a more deadly weapon than a nuclear war head could ever be. No one on earth could stop this monster for destroying every living thing. This once human being knew nothing more than to kill and eat whatever came it's way,driven by rage and fed by blood this was the most powerful weapon the United Stats Military ever made. There wasn't an anti virus to counter act the affect once it enter the blood stream that was it, it could not be stopped! The staff at this compound couldn't believe what they had done, they had made something that could withstand any number of bullets,fire,freezing, or missile they used on it. It was indeed the perfect killing machine but what could they do to prevent this monster from killing them. It took about 2 hours for the virus to reach it's full stage and the staff used this time to try and make a stable anti virus to stop the destruction be for it began. A hour into it and they had the anti virus finished, they walked back into the room to find this man now laying on the floor shaking uncontrollably due to the the virus entering into his blood steam and shutting down his body. They managed to get him back onto the table and shot the anti virus into his arm. They took a few steps back and waited hoping that they had stopped the utter destruction of mankind. Jack stopped shaking and his eyes opened. Johnson,the head of research and the one that had ordered the others to make this virus despite the affects of it on rabbits and other small animals. He walked over to Jack and noticed that his eyes were blood red. Johnson could feel the rage coming off of this man or what was once a man.The anti virus did nothing more than speed up the virus now Jack had turned into what they called the Reaper. Johnson went for his sidearm but was then hit by an uncontrollable force, he looked down and there was his arm ripped from his body. He hit the floor screaming out in pain.Jack reached down and pick the 180lbs man up like it was his child. "Your the one to blame for what has happened to me and now you must pay".Johnson was pleased to know that the stages of the virus was not complete yet or Jack would not have been talking or remember who he was. I'm the Reaper yelled Jack to the others and I have come for the blood of all those who took me from my family and my home. You must all die! The rest of the staff ran out of the room leaving there commander in there and slamming the iron door behind them. They stood behind the window and watched the horror that this monster done to their commanding officer.They then thought that my be they had it wrong and this thing could have some memory and would be able to talk. They went through their books and notes and confirmed what they feared, this monster could walk,talk, and have some memory of the hell it was going to unleash on this earth. They stood there and watched as Johnson was ripped apart like hamburger meat. Then they could hardly watch as this thing eat Johnson piece by piece. If the staff of this compound did not report in every 2 hours the US Military was prepared to send in a team of highly trained navy seals to contain this situation. If the team could not bring it under control then the US Government would blow this place right into hell to keep whatever was in there from getting out and killing every living human being. The team knew that if they could not handle what was inside of this man made hell than they would die in there with the others. The staff tried their best not to let the door holding the creature inside get out and murder them in cold blood for what they had done. The door busted open with great force knocking all the staff about 100ft down the long hallway leading to the weapon's hold. The fist one of the staff to be killed was Dickson, he was trying to open the door to the weapon's hold but was stopped by the Reaper driving his hand through his back and out his stomach.Dickson's whole life flashed be for his eyes as this thing pulled him apart and then eat his whole body. The other men of the staff did not even try to get to the weapon's hold instead they made a run for the shuttle car to get the hell out of this place. The problem was that the car was so far away and was guarded by a computerized system named the Queen that would do anything in it's power to stop this from happening. The computer would not let the rest of the staff leave unless it could be sure that none of them were infected and that the virus was not airborne. They hadn't even thought of that, if this virus was airborne and enter into the vents of this place then they were all damned just like the others.All they could hope for was that their deaths would come swiftly. All of the staff were killed but two of them, they managed to survive by locking themselves in the master control room of the compound the only place the monster couldn't get into. If the door was breached the computer system would unleash a massive fire burst that would burn it alive, and the monster knew it. The two men watched on the computer screens that wrapped around the room. They saw nothing living but what they did see was horrifying. The men of their staff that were killed were starting to turn into more of those monsters."Holy shit how are we going to fight off 15 of theses blood sucking things" asked Rick the medical doctor of the staff. "We will not be able to." replied Howard. The computer system came to life and announced that the Military as been notified of the problem and they are flying the seal team in.The men in the control room were worried that if this virus was airborne than the team would be doing nothing more than walking into the gates of hell. The computer system announced about a hour later that the team was entering the main door now. They two men watched of the screen for them. They saw that it was a ten man team, the biggest seal team they had ever seen. The team entered the weapon's hold and loaded up with guns and other weapons to defend themselves.As they came out of the room they saw the Reaper covered in blood . They opened fire of it but their bullets had little to no affect on this monster. It just kept coming and slashing it's claws at them. They stepped back and tried to put this thing down. The ten man team was knocked down to five in about a minute. The rest of them made their way to the control room with the other two.It took them about three minutes to get the other two left alive to let them in. When they got in they held the two at gun point until the MD they brought with them examined them to make sure they were not infected. After doing that the leader of them team asked them where were the others at. "They are all dead or turned into one of those blood sucking monsters." "Damn it get HQ on the horn!" The younger seal holding a military radio in his hand starting powering it up and got a hold of HQ to advise them of the problem at hand. "That's copied dead six we are locking onto your location, prepare for the missile lunch. The General knew what that meant, it meant that they were going to be blew to hell and to make sure that they got all of the monsters in one place. The men in the control room armed themselves with guns and whatever they could carry and headed out. The tech person the seal team brought with them set up a highly powerful bomb right on top of the brain of the computer system. We are going to head for the biggest room in this place and get the rest of these monster to follow us. They headed for the mess hall that was the biggest room in the compound and the monsters followed just as it was planed. The only problem was that one of the seal team members that were killed was another commutation guy and he was fully turned. He charged at the only ones left alive and then stopped. This monster noticed that the bomb was not on the general's back and then knew that they had already called in the air strike. He yelled get back to the others and then radioed to HQ and told then that that the problem was taken care of. "Copy that Dead Six air strike canceled" replied the HQ radio commander. Then one that had the air strike canceled was now being fired at by the only living things left. The bullets that the monster was being hit with was doing noting more than pissing him off. He killed the one the called in the air strike and then he ran off. "Holy shit we are in trouble."yelled the general. "Computer" said the general" "yes general Anderson how my I help you. "Stop them from leaving destroy the shuttle car and lock done all of the exits." replied the general. "Yes Sir stand by." The computer system could stop anything from getting in or out of this hell hole and that is what it was doing. "Your request is complete" Announced the computer. "Listen up guys we are going to run out of air in about 5 minutes at the most everyone get ready to put your air tanks on." ordered the general reaching for his.They put their air tanks on but they would last about an hour at the most. They would have to use them to get back to the control room, the only room here that had air and would not run out. They made their way back to the room but was stopped by the monsters standing in front of the door. They were covered in blood and their teeth were bigger than normal.They were all killed but one. The only one left was the MD from the seal team and he ran back to the mass hall. All he could see was blood and body parts of his friends coworkers laying all over the floor. He was standing in the mess hall when he saw the first of these monsters, it was his own brother and he was walking towards him holding the head of his general in his hand. He dropped the head and stood there looking at him. I'm sorry that this happened to you. Why are you sorry you had nothing to do with it or did you? I'm the one who suggested that you be chosen to be put into this program. This made the monster very angry and hurt. He ran towards his brother with his claws and teeth showing, blood running off them like a waterfall. David unloaded on him but had no affect until he one of his shells managed to hit this thing in the head. The monster dropped to the floor it was dead, he had killed his own brother but not be for he stuck him with one of his claws. David knew that is was just a matter of time be for he would turn into what his brother was so he shot his self. HQ tried to raise their team on the radio or anyone that was in that damned compound but had not luck. The United States Military decided to reopen the hive as it was called to find out just what the hell happened down there but they had a much greater problem, one of those monsters got out through the main air vent be for it was closed off and now killing everything in sight. They did not know what they were dealing with or how to stop it. Their firearms had not affect of it and blood seemed to give it power. The Military decided to lunch a missile strike of the whole city killing thousands but saving billions of lives. The End "My be the answers lay deep inside of the lab." Publication Date: July 17th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-generalhicks

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-brooke-l-private-eye/

Brooke L Private Eye I reached for the phone, annoyed by its constant ringing. Why didn't cord phones come with a silent mode? Slowly I put it up to my ear, staying in my relaxed state of mind. "What you need?" I inquired. No time for small talk. "I need you to figure out who shot the mayor last week." "Woah woah woah. Slow down, cowboy. Who are you, anyways?" Being a private investigator, or PI, I was always ready for someone to trick me. People get caught because of me. And when you get caught, you want revenge. Revenge is bittersweet- scratch that, it's just sweet, up until you get caught. Especially for criminals, the lowest-of-the-low in society, the ones who feel no regret, no sympathy, no empathy. The heartless. Now, who was this mystery man on the other end of the line? "I'm an agent in the FBI." "Isn't it your job to deal with this, instead of ordering me to?" I don't care who you are, I'm not afraid to tell you how the world works. It's like my side job. "Well, kind of. You wouldn't understand, man. It's a complicated position." "Oh really? You find out who commits crime and- ah-hem- exterminate them. Yep, that sounds REAL complicated to me." "You don't want to mess with me boy." "And why not?" I was angry. No one takes up my valuable time with lousy excuses and orders that they have no right to give me. "Because I pay real well, boy. Better than anyone else you've ever worked for, I bet, and anyone you'll ever work for. And all you have to do is catch this guy and get rid of him for me. Easy pay." "How much?" Back to business at last. I sat back in my chair and popped an Altoid in my mouth. "$200,000." I spit out the Altoid. $200,000? Was I dreaming? I pinched myself- nope. "Well?" "I'm on it!" The next day, I read everything there was to read about this murder. The mayor was getting out of his Rolls Royce when someone shot him from a balcony overhead. Before anyone could get a good look at him, he was gone. A scared, elder woman was found in the apartment the balcony was a part of. She was delirious, frightened out of her mind. They had to take her to a mental institution. On top of all that, she refused to tell the cops a single thing she might have seen in that room. This whole thing was annoying to me. I needed this woman's information to solve the case, and she wouldn't give it to me. Why? Because she was insane? Because her mind, in order to defend herself, made her forget everything that happened in there? Or because she didn't want him to get caught? I was perfectly puzzled. Then, I did some research on the victim himself- Mr. John Pellistan, mayor of Washington, DC. He wasn't exactly a role model- he'd been accused of bribery and stealing money from charity funds. But he charmed his way out of every single problem with the same charismatic attitude that won him the election back in 2012. He was a man of luxury. From his Rolls Royce to his condo in Venice, he made sure he had only the finest. Of course, some people thought he should be doing more than buying nice things for himself. One person stood out in particular to me- Marianne "Scoops" Brown, lead journalist for the Washington Post. She would do anything, absolutely ANYTHING, to get the details on a good story. And she was not a fan of Pellistan. Everything he did, every single step he took, she had a petty comment for. Though this behavior irritated some, it turned many others against Pellistan. I got up and grabbed a glass of water, traced lines through the condensation on the glass with my pinky finger. This was too much for me, but $200,000? For that much money, I'd risk my life. I needed it to pay the bills- being a PI, you have to stay quiet. Everybody can't know what you are. That would be too dangerous. I was stalling, of course. I had become overly stressed from this assignment, possibly the hardest I'd ever faced. There was almost no DNA evidence to be found, which today is key for solving cases. Soon, I began questioning my own intelligence and common sense. The man who had called me, he had said he was an agent in the FBI. But was he really? I didn’t even ask for his name at the time because I thought maybe, being a secret agent, he wasn’t allowed to. But what if he wasn’t one? What if I had just thrown myself into the trap of the century, something I had tried to prevent as long as I had been doing PI work? Stupid. I was stupid, an idiot to not think of this the moment he had called, blinded by the thought of all the cash he said I would get. Who in their right mind would pay someone $200,000 to do something they could do, and were supposed to do, themselves? Of course, maybe he’s just a lazy FBI agent with lots of cash. But the whole thing seemed pretty fishy to me. I got up and walked over to my call log, found his number (under the title, “Cha-Ching!”), and called. The phone rang four times, my heart beating harder with each ring. Then, I heard a click; a phone being pulled off the cord, most likely. I listened to him clear his throat, then, in a serious monotone, he stated, “Hello, Hinckly residence. Who would you like to speak with?” Wait. He gave me his home phone number? I expected to get an FBI line with all kinds of security questions, codes, and probing. Or maybe his cell phone. I did not expect to hear him here, with the faint sounds of children playing in the background. Suddenly, I was even tenser. I coughed, cleared my own throat, and began. “Hello, this is the PI you called yesterday. I have some questions for you.” “Boy, make it quick. I don’t have time for this rubbish.” He was menacing, I’ll admit it. He had a deep, scratchy voice that stayed in one unenthusiastic tone and never went up or down, and never got any quieter or louder. It was almost robotic. “I believe you contacted me yesterday about the assassination of mayor John Pellistan." "I believe so too." "Well, you also stated that you are an agent in the Federal Investigation Bureau, or FBI." "That's because I am. Boy, how long is this going to take?" I ignored his question and countered with one of my own. I had no time for his attitude. "Do you have any proof that you are a, quote, 'agent in the FBI?'" "What, you think I'm stupid or something boy? Of course I do- a badge and certificate." "Good. Well, do you think you could bring said badge and certificate to my office today at seven o'clock? I'm located at 117 Main Street." He agreed, but reluctantly. After I hung up with him I looked around my office- messy, with papers about the murder littering the floor. I wasn't about to clean it up for some rude stranger, whether he was a fraud or an agent. Around 7:25 the mystery man showed up at my door. Late, but I wouldn't bother with that. He had on a classic black suit, complete with matching tie. I was wearing a pinstripe suit with matching fedora, just like all those PIs in movies. Why wouldn't I dress up for such an important occassion? He strolled in, and I examined him further. He was tall, probably around six and a half feet or so, and had on dark shades. There was a Bluetooth in his ear, too. "This better be fast, boy. I don't have all day." I led him to my office and we sat down. It was time for interrogation. I turned a bright light on him and, under my desk, turned on a tape recorder. "So," I began, "Mr...oh, that's right. I don't believe I know your name, sir." "I'm not allowed to disclose that information because of my occupation." I gazed at him for a minute. His sunglasses kept me from seeing any emotion he may have, especially with his poker face. However, his arms were crossed- a sign of opposition and hostility. And he may not have been making eye contact with me, but I couldn't tell with those stupid glasses covering them. "Okay...would you mind removing your sunglasses for a bit?" "I'd rather not," he replied, coldly and without a moment of thought. I got the feeling he was desperately trying to hide something, the problem was that I didn't know what. "We'll move on then. May I see the badge and certificate you brought?" He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out an envelope. He held it in his hands a couple of seconds, but then slid it across my desk. I picked it up and pulled out the badge and paper. The badge was gold, and read "Federal Bureau of Investigation, US, Department of Justice," with a man holding a scale and sword displayed in the middle. It was in the shape of a police badge, and was quite a bit larger than I expected it to be. I turned it over, studied every line and word with patience. I looked for some sign of forgery, but I had no idea what an official badge looked like. Holding the badge at the perfect angle, I pretended to fix my tie. Inconspicuously, the 14-megapixel camera in my tie tack snapped a photograph of the medallion. Then, I picked up the certificate. It said, "The Federal Investigation Bureau expresses its appreciation to Thomas Hinckly for exceptional service in the public interest." It was dated October 2007 and was signed by the director, whose signature I could not decipher. That was six years ago. Yet again I saw the man holding the scale and sword, this time to the left side of the paper. I snapped a picture of this too, making a mental note to do some research on the authenticity later. "Thomas Hinckly, huh? I thought you weren't allowed to disclose this information." He scratched his head, and looked away. Classic signs of a nervous character. I didn't make him answer; I had played with him enough for the day. Plus, I had everything I needed. "Here's your badge and certificate, you may go. Thank you for whatever amount of cooperation you had today,' I said, a sarcastic smile on my face. I was pushing it but, then again, I always do. After he had left, I plugged my tie tack camera and tape recorder into my laptop. Then, I walked over to the light that had been on Hinckly the whole time and removed a pinhead-size, high resolution video camera from the pole it stood upon. I attached that one also and sat down to review my findings. Thomas had incredibly confusing gestures. With 14 years of detective work, I had quite a bit of experience with decoding body language. Everything this guy did screamed either "fraud," or "truthful." On one hand, he had crossed arms and leaned back for most of the questioning. To me, that showed a lot of secrecy and deceit. However, he also didn't fidget or hesitate much. I didn't know what to think, but in my gut I knew something was wrong. I watched the whole scenario hundreds of times, until almost three in the morning. Eventually, I decided I would just solve the case and leave it at that, too tired to keep my eyes open. After all, how dangerous could it be? I'd done it thousands of times. The next afternoon I took a closer look at the murder. It occured around four in the afternoon on Saturday, and only a small handful of press had witnessed it. Marianne Brown was one of them. She had been a suspect from the start, and I decided I needed to get some 1-on-1 time with her to discuss the incident. Then, I looked at all the actual evidence. The police had just collected the bullet and were currently examining it. A psychologist was still trying to get some information out of the lady whose house had been broken into. About an hour from then I called the Washington Post building and asked to set up an interview with Marianne. With lots of hard work, I finally got an appointment for 4:15. When I walked into Marianne's office, she looked nothing like I thought she would. The last time I saw her was on the news, when the Washington Post labeled her Reporter of the Year. She had long, curly blonde hair and was dressed nicely, in a smart-looking pinstripe blazer and skirt. She had taken the foot-tall bronze statue with tears in her eyes and thanked "all the small people." Now she had dyed, dark-brown hair up in a messy bun and was wearing a too-big T-shirt and sweatpants. She was chatting on the phone with what I guessed was one of her friends, discussing the new wardrobe she just got from Anthropologie. I sat down and politely waited for her to get off the phone before pulling out my tape recorder. She took one look at me and shrugged, as if I was insignificant to her. I composed myself and began the round of questions, everything from what she witnessed to the angle she witnessed it at. Three hours of interrogation, and I had no reason to think she was guilty besides her not liking Pellistan. And lots of people didn't like him, so that wasn't very convincing anyways. Once I got home, I had pretty much concluded that Miss Marianne Brown was innocent. Later on, in the news, I actually saw a recording of the shooting with her in the shot, screaming. That definitely ruled her out. I decided to lay down for a couple of hours and recollect myself. This job was wearing me out. What if I never solved it? At the moment, it was certainly a possibility. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. When I answered it, it turned out to be Thomas. I let him in, and made us both a cup of coffee. "So," I said, taking a sip, "What's new?" "The FBI has a new suspect in the killing." I put down the mug. "What? Who?" He set down his drink and leaned in, as if we were sharing a secret. "The Assistant Director of the FBI...Jacob Henning. We think he shot Mr. Pellistan." My jaw dropped in shock. I never even thought a member of the FBI had shot the mayor. "But," I stammered, "Why do you think he did it?" "Well, John and Jacob never got along.They were always accusing each other of something, usually stealing or lying. Also, Jacob took a 'sick' day the day John was shot." I was speechless. Hinckly sounded like he knew his facts, and the theory made perfect sense. "So, do you want me to interrogate him? Should I look for evidence?" He smiled a little. "Nah, I think we've got this one. We may need you to provide some help in court, but for now you're good." Then, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. "Your check, sir. Thank you for your efforts to solve this case." I took the check, almost shaking with excitement. Slowly, I turned it around. $200,000 was the amount written on it, made out to me. I was so happy I almost screamed. "Th-thank you so much," I said, shaking his hand. "Really. Thank you." He let out a laugh and headed for the door. "Have a great day, sir!" Once he left, I sat down and pulled out all of the things I had used for this case: all of the papers, cameras, flash drives, and recordings that I had reviewed so thoroughly. I looked through everything one more time. Later, I turned on the news. They had released some photos from the murder. One had a small glimpse of the killer. I looked at it for a moment, then studied it. The killer had light brown hair and fair skin, and was well built. He looked strong. Then, without thinking, I got out my laptop and searched John Henning. He had black hair and tan skin. Suddenly, I was googling everyone involved in the case, from Hinckly to the actual director of the FBI. I saw that Hinckly was a Section Chief in the FBI, one rank below Henning. Right above Henning was the Deputy Director, Charles Davids. Davids had been in lots of trouble for taking bribes. A story began to play in my head, perhaps not true, but definitely likely. In it, Hinckly wanted Hennings's position, and decided to do something about it. He bribed Charles Davids into helping him kill the mayor, or perhaps hire an assassin. Once Pellistan was dead, they covered up their tracks. As FBI agents, they must have been masters of escape, and excellent at destroying evidence. Then, Davids gave Henning the $200,000 I was holding in my hands right now to, in a way, bribe me. To make me lose my focus on the case, to stress me out. Besides that, the man who reported the case is never thought to be the killer. I was stunned. If I was right, it would change the people's perspective on the FBI dramatically, and make them wonder how safe they really were. I called the information hotline number given on the news. "Hello?" I said into the phone. "I may know who killed the mayor." Then, I began my story. Publication Date: July 22nd 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-brooke672

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-sir-arthur-conan-doyle-the-doings-of-raffles-haw/

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle The Doings of Raffles Haw CONTENTS CHAPTER 1. A DOUBLE ENIGMA 2. THE TENANT OF THE NEW HALL. 3. A HOUSE OF WONDERS. 4. FROM CLIME TO CLIME. 5. LAURA'S REQUEST 6. A STRANGE VISITOR 7. THE WORKINGS OF WEALTH. 8. A BILLIONAIRE'S PLANS. 9. A NEW DEPARTURE 10. THE GREAT SECRET 11. A CHEMICAL DEMONSTRATION. 12. A FAMILY JAR. 13. A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE 14. THE SPREAD OF THE BLIGHT. 15. THE GREATER SECRET. CHAPTER I. A DOUBLE ENIGMA. "I'm afraid that he won't come," said Laura McIntyre, in a disconsolate voice. "Why not?" "Oh, look at the weather; it is something too awful." As she spoke a whirl of snow beat with a muffled patter against the cosy red-curtained window, while a long blast of wind shrieked and whistled through the branches of the great white-limbed elms which skirted the garden. Robert McIntyre rose from the sketch upon which he had been working, and taking one of the lamps in his hand peered out into the darkness. The long skeleton limbs of the bare trees tossed and quivered dimly amid the whirling drift. His sister sat by the fire, her fancy-work in her lap, and looked up at her brothers profile which showed against the brilliant yellow light. It was a handsome face, young and fair and clear cut, with wavy brown hair combed backwards and rippling down into that outward curve at the ends which one associates with the artistic temperament. There was refinement too in his slightly puckered eyes, his dainty gold-rimmed _pince-nez_ glasses, and in the black velveteen coat which caught the light so richly upon its shoulder. In his mouth only there was something--a suspicion of coarseness, a possibility of weakness--which in the eyes of some, and of his sister among them, marred the grace and beauty of his features. Yet, as he was wont himself to say, when one thinks that each poor mortal is heir to a legacy of every evil trait or bodily taint of so vast a line of ancestors, lucky indeed is the man who does not find that Nature has scored up some long-owing family debt upon his features. And indeed in this case the remorseless creditor had gone so far as to exact a claim from the lady also, though in her case the extreme beauty of the upper part of the face drew the eye away from any weakness which might be found in the lower. She was darker than her brother--so dark that her heavily coiled hair seemed to be black until the light shone slantwise across it. The delicate, half-petulant features, the finely traced brows, and the thoughtful, humorous eyes were all perfect in their way, and yet the combination left something to be desired. There was a vague sense of a flaw somewhere, in feature or in expression, which resolved itself, when analysed, into a slight out-turning and droop of the lower lip; small indeed, and yet pronounced enough to turn what would have been a beautiful face into a merely pretty one. Very despondent and somewhat cross she looked as she leaned back in the armchair, the tangle of bright-coloured silks and of drab holland upon her lap, her hands clasped behind her head, with her snowy forearms and little pink elbows projecting on either side. "I know he won't come," she repeated. "Nonsense, Laura! Of course he'll come. A sailor and afraid of the weather!" "Ha!" She raised her finger, and a smile of triumph played over her face, only to die away again into a blank look of disappointment. "It is only papa," she murmured. A shuffling step was heard in the hall, and a little peaky man, with his slippers very much down at the heels, came shambling into the room. Mr. McIntyre, sen., was pale and furtive-looking, with a thin straggling red beard shot with grey, and a sunken downcast face. Ill-fortune and ill-health had both left their marks upon him. Ten years before he had been one of the largest and richest gunmakers in Birmingham, but a long run of commercial bad luck had sapped his great fortune, and had finally driven him into the Bankruptcy Court. The death of his wife on the very day of his insolvency had filled his cup of sorrow, and he had gone about since with a stunned, half-dazed expression upon his weak pallid face which spoke of a mind unhinged. So complete had been his downfall that the family would have been reduced to absolute poverty were it not for a small legacy of two-hundred a year which both the children had received from one of their uncles upon the mother's side who had amassed a fortune in Australia. By combining their incomes, and by taking a house in the quiet country district of Tamfield, some fourteen miles from the great Midland city, they were still able to live with some approach to comfort. The change, however, was a bitter one to all--to Robert, who had to forego the luxuries dear to his artistic temperament, and to think of turning what had been merely an overruling hobby into a means of earning a living; and even more to Laura, who winced before the pity of her old friends, and found the lanes and fields of Tamfield intolerably dull after the life and bustle of Edgbaston. Their discomfort was aggravated by the conduct of their father, whose life now was one long wail over his misfortunes, and who alternately sought comfort in the Prayer-book and in the decanter for the ills which had befallen him. To Laura, however, Tamfield presented one attraction, which was now about to be taken from her. Their choice of the little country hamlet as their residence had been determined by the fact of their old friend, the Reverend John Spurling, having been nominated as the vicar. Hector Spurling, the elder son, two months Laura's senior, had been engaged to her for some years, and was, indeed, upon the point of marrying her when the sudden financial crash had disarranged their plans. A sub-lieutenant in the Navy, he was home on leave at present, and hardly an evening passed without his making his way from the Vicarage to Elmdene, where the McIntyres resided. To-day, however, a note had reached them to the effect that he had been suddenly ordered on duty, and that he must rejoin his ship at Portsmouth by the next evening. He would look in, were it but for half-an-hour, to bid them adieu. "Why, where's Hector?" asked Mr. McIntyre, blinking round from side to side. "He's not come, father. How could you expect him to come on such a night as this? Why, there must be two feet of snow in the glebe field." "Not come, eh?" croaked the old man, throwing himself down upon the sofa. "Well, well, it only wants him and his father to throw us over, and the thing will be complete." "How can you even hint at such a thing, father?" cried Laura indignantly. "They have been as true as steel. What would they think if they heard you." "I think, Robert," he said, disregarding his daughter's protest, "that I will have a drop, just the very smallest possible drop, of brandy. A mere thimbleful will do; but I rather think I have caught cold during the snowstorm to-day." Robert went on sketching stolidly in his folding book, but Laura looked up from her work. "I'm afraid there is nothing in the house, father," she said. "Laura! Laura!" He shook his head as one more in sorrow than in anger. "You are no longer a girl, Laura; you are a woman, the manager of a household, Laura. We trust in you. We look entirely towards you. And yet you leave your poor brother Robert without any brandy, to say nothing of me, your father. Good heavens, Laura! what would your mother have said? Think of accidents, think of sudden illness, think of apoplectic fits, Laura. It is a very grave res--a very grave response--a very great risk that you run." "I hardly touch the stuff," said Robert curtly; "Laura need not provide any for me." "As a medicine it is invaluable, Robert. To be used, you understand, and not to be abused. That's the whole secret of it. But I'll step down to the Three Pigeons for half an hour." "My dear father," cried the young man "you surely are not going out upon such a night. If you must have brandy could I not send Sarah for some? Please let me send Sarah; or I would go myself, or--" Pip! came a little paper pellet from his sister's chair on to the sketch-book in front of him! He unrolled it and held it to the light. "For Heaven's sake let him go!" was scrawled across it. "Well, in any case, wrap yourself up warm," he continued, laying bare his sudden change of front with a masculine clumsiness which horrified his sister. "Perhaps it is not so cold as it looks. You can't lose your way, that is one blessing. And it is not more than a hundred yards." With many mumbles and grumbles at his daughter's want of foresight, old McIntyre struggled into his great-coat and wrapped his scarf round his long thin throat. A sharp gust of cold wind made the lamps flicker as he threw open the hall-door. His two children listened to the dull fall of his footsteps as he slowly picked out the winding garden path. "He gets worse--he becomes intolerable," said Robert at last. "We should not have let him out; he may make a public exhibition of himself." "But it's Hector's last night," pleaded Laura. "It would be dreadful if they met and he noticed anything. That was why I wished him to go." "Then you were only just in time," remarked her brother, "for I hear the gate go, and--yes, you see." As he spoke a cheery hail came from outside, with a sharp rat-tat at the window. Robert stepped out and threw open the door to admit a tall young man, whose black frieze jacket was all mottled and glistening with snow crystals. Laughing loudly he shook himself like a Newfoundland dog, and kicked the snow from his boots before entering the little lamplit room. Hector Spurling's profession was written in every line of his face. The clean-shaven lip and chin, the little fringe of side whisker, the straight decisive mouth, and the hard weather-tanned cheeks all spoke of the Royal Navy. Fifty such faces may be seen any night of the year round the mess-table of the Royal Naval College in Portsmouth Dockyard--faces which bear a closer resemblance to each other than brother does commonly to brother. They are all cast in a common mould, the products of a system which teaches early self-reliance, hardihood, and manliness--a fine type upon the whole; less refined and less intellectual, perhaps, than their brothers of the land, but full of truth and energy and heroism. In figure he was straight, tall, and well-knit, with keen grey eyes, and the sharp prompt manner of a man who has been accustomed both to command and to obey. "You had my note?" he said, as he entered the room. "I have to go again, Laura. Isn't it a bore? Old Smithers is short-handed, and wants me back at once." He sat down by the girl, and put his brown hand across her white one. "It won't be a very large order this time," he continued. "It's the flying squadron business--Madeira, Gibraltar, Lisbon, and home. I shouldn't wonder if we were back in March." "It seems only the other day that you landed." she answered. "Poor little girl! But it won't be long. Mind you take good care of her, Robert when I am gone. And when I come again, Laura, it will be the last time mind! Hang the money! There are plenty who manage on less. We need not have a house. Why should we? You can get very nice rooms in Southsea at 2 pounds a week. McDougall, our paymaster, has just married, and he only gives thirty shillings. You would not be afraid, Laura?" "No, indeed." "The dear old governor is so awfully cautious. Wait, wait, wait, that's always his cry. I tell him that he ought to have been in the Government Heavy Ordnance Department. But I'll speak to him tonight. I'll talk him round. See if I don't. And you must speak to your own governor. Robert here will back you up. And here are the ports and the dates that we are due at each. Mind that you have a letter waiting for me at every one." He took a slip of paper from the side pocket of his coat, but, instead of handing it to the young lady, he remained staring at it with the utmost astonishment upon his face. "Well, I never!" he exclaimed. "Look here, Robert; what do you call this?" "Hold it to the light. Why, it's a fifty-pound Bank of England note. Nothing remarkable about it that I can see." "On the contrary. It's the queerest thing that ever happened to me. I can't make head or tail of it." "Come, then, Hector," cried Miss McIntyre with a challenge in her eyes. "Something very queer happened to me also to-day. I'll bet a pair of gloves that my adventure was more out of the common than yours, though I have nothing so nice to show at the end of it." "Come, I'll take that, and Robert here shall be the judge." "State your cases." The young artist shut up his sketch-book, and rested his head upon his hands with a face of mock solemnity. "Ladies first! Go along Laura, though I think I know something of your adventure already." "It was this morning, Hector," she said. "Oh, by the way, the story will make you wild. I had forgotten that. However, you mustn't mind, because, really, the poor fellow was perfectly mad." "What on earth was it?" asked the young officer, his eyes travelling from the bank-note to his _fiancee_. "Oh, it was harmless enough, and yet you will confess it was very queer. I had gone out for a walk, but as the snow began to fall I took shelter under the shed which the workmen have built at the near end of the great new house. The men have gone, you know, and the owner is supposed to be coming to-morrow, but the shed is still standing. I was sitting there upon a packing-case when a man came down the road and stopped under the same shelter. He was a quiet, pale-faced man, very tall and thin, not much more than thirty, I should think, poorly dressed, but with the look and bearing of a gentleman. He asked me one or two questions about the village and the people, which, of course, I answered, until at last we found ourselves chatting away in the pleasantest and easiest fashion about all sorts of things. The time passed so quickly that I forgot all about the snow until he drew my attention to its having stopped for the moment. Then, just as I was turning to go, what in the world do you suppose that he did? He took a step towards me, looked in a sad pensive way into my face, and said: `I wonder whether you could care for me if I were without a penny.' Wasn't it strange? I was so frightened that I whisked out of the shed, and was off down the road before he could add another word. But really, Hector, you need not look so black, for when I look back at it I can quite see from his tone and manner that he meant no harm. He was thinking aloud, without the least intention of being offensive. I am convinced that the poor fellow was mad." "Hum! There was some method in his madness, it seems to me," remarked her brother. "There would have been some method in my kicking," said the lieutenant savagely. "I never heard of a more outrageous thing in my life." "Now, I said that you would be wild!" She laid her white hand upon the sleeve of his rough frieze jacket. "It was nothing. I shall never see the poor fellow again. He was evidently a stranger to this part of the country. But that was my little adventure. Now let us have yours." The young man crackled the bank-note between his fingers and thumb, while he passed his other hand over his hair with the action of a man who strives to collect himself. "It is some ridiculous mistake," he said. "I must try and set it right. Yet I don't know how to set about it either. I was going down to the village from the Vicarage just after dusk when I found a fellow in a trap who had got himself into broken water. One wheel had sunk into the edge of the ditch which had been hidden by the snow, and the whole thing was high and dry, with a list to starboard enough to slide him out of his seat. I lent a hand, of course, and soon had the wheel in the road again. It was quite dark, and I fancy that the fellow thought that I was a bumpkin, for we did not exchange five words. As he drove off he shoved this into my hand. It is the merest chance that I did not chuck it away, for, feeling that it was a crumpled piece of paper, I imagined that it must be a tradesman's advertisement or something of the kind. However, as luck would have it, I put it in my pocket, and there I found it when I looked for the dates of our cruise. Now you know as much of the matter as I do." Brother and sister stared at the black and white crinkled note with astonishment upon their faces. "Why, your unknown traveller must have been Monte Cristo, or Rothschild at the least!" said Robert. "I am bound to say, Laura, that I think you have lost your bet." "Oh, I am quite content to lose it. I never heard of such a piece of luck. What a perfectly delightful man this must be to know." "But I can't take his money," said Hector Spurling, looking somewhat ruefully at the note. "A little prize-money is all very well in its way, but a Johnny must draw the line somewhere. Besides it must have been a mistake. And yet he meant to give me something big, for he could not mistake a note for a coin. I suppose I must advertise for the fellow." "It seems a pity too," remarked Robert. "I must say that I don't quite see it in the same light that you do." "Indeed I think that you are very Quixotic, Hector," said Laura McIntyre. "Why should you not accept it in the spirit in which it was meant? You did this stranger a service--perhaps a greater service than you know of--and he meant this as a little memento of the occasion. I do not see that there is any possible reason against your keeping it." "Oh, come!" said the young sailor, with an embarrassed laugh, "it is not quite the thing--not the sort of story one would care to tell at mess." "In any case you are off to-morrow morning," observed Robert. "You have no time to make inquiries about the mysterious Croesus. You must really make the best of it." "Well, look here, Laura, you put it in your work-basket," cried Hector Spurling. "You shall be my banker, and if the rightful owner turns up then I can refer him to you. If not, I suppose we must look on it as a kind of salvage-money, though I am bound to say I don't feel entirely comfortable about it." He rose to his feet, and threw the note down into the brown basket of coloured wools which stood beside her. "Now, Laura, I must up anchor, for I promised the governor to be back by nine. It won't be long this time, dear, and it shall be the last. Good-bye, Robert! Good luck!" "Good-bye, Hector! _Bon voyage!_" The young artist remained by the table, while his sister followed her lover to the door. In the dim light of the hall he could see their figures and overhear their words. "Next time, little girl?" "Next time be it, Hector." "And nothing can part us?" "Nothing." "In the whole world?" "Nothing." Robert discreetly closed the door. A moment later a thud from without, and the quick footsteps crunching on the snow told him that their visitor had departed. CHAPTER II. THE TENANT OF THE NEW HALL. The snow had ceased to fall, but for a week a hard frost had held the country side in its iron grip. The roads rang under the horses' hoofs, and every wayside ditch and runlet was a street of ice. Over the long undulating landscape the red brick houses peeped out warmly against the spotless background, and the lines of grey smoke streamed straight up into the windless air. The sky was of the lightest palest blue, and the morning sun, shining through the distant fog-wreaths of Birmingham, struck a subdued glow from the broad-spread snow fields which might have gladdened the eyes of an artist. It did gladden the heart of one who viewed it that morning from the summit of the gently-curving Tamfield Hill Robert McIntyre stood with his elbows upon a gate-rail, his Tam-o'-Shanter hat over his eyes, and a short briar-root pipe in his mouth, looking slowly about him, with the absorbed air of one who breathes his fill of Nature. Beneath him to the north lay the village of Tamfield, red walls, grey roofs, and a scattered bristle of dark trees, with his own little Elmdene nestling back from the broad, white winding Birmingham Road. At the other side, as he slowly faced round, lay a vast stone building, white and clear-cut, fresh from the builders' hands. A great tower shot up from one corner of it, and a hundred windows twinkled ruddily in the light of the morning sun. A little distance from it stood a second small square low-lying structure, with a tall chimney rising from the midst of it, rolling out a long plume of smoke into the frosty air. The whole vast structure stood within its own grounds, enclosed by a stately park wall, and surrounded by what would in time be an extensive plantation of fir-trees. By the lodge gates a vast pile of _debris_, with lines of sheds for workmen, and huge heaps of planks from scaffoldings, all proclaimed that the work had only just been brought to an end. Robert McIntyre looked down with curious eyes at the broad-spread building. It had long been a mystery and a subject of gossip for the whole country side. Hardly a year had elapsed since the rumour had first gone about that a millionaire had bought a tract of land, and that it was his intention to build a country seat upon it. Since then the work had been pushed on night and day, until now it was finished to the last detail in a shorter time than it takes to build many a six-roomed cottage. Every morning two long special trains had arrived from Birmingham, carrying down a great army of labourers, who were relieved in the evening by a fresh gang, who carried on their task under the rays of twelve enormous electric lights. The number of workmen appeared to be only limited by the space into which they could be fitted. Great lines of waggons conveyed the white Portland stone from the depot by the station. Hundreds of busy toilers handed it over, shaped and squared, to the actual masons, who swung it up with steam cranes on to the growing walls, where it was instantly fitted and mortared by their companions. Day by day the house shot higher, while pillar and cornice and carving seemed to bud out from it as if by magic. Nor was the work confined to the main building. A large separate structure sprang up at the same time, and there came gangs of pale-faced men from London with much extraordinary machinery, vast cylinders, wheels and wires, which they fitted up in this outlying building. The great chimney which rose from the centre of it, combined with these strange furnishings, seemed to mean that it was reserved as a factory or place of business, for it was rumoured that this rich man's hobby was the same as a poor man's necessity, and that he was fond of working with his own hands amid chemicals and furnaces. Scarce, too, was the second storey begun ere the wood-workers and plumbers and furnishers were busy beneath, carrying out a thousand strange and costly schemes for the greater comfort and convenience of the owner. Singular stories were told all round the country, and even in Birmingham itself, of the extraordinary luxury and the absolute disregard for money which marked all these arrangements. No sum appeared to be too great to spend upon the smallest detail which might do away with or lessen any of the petty inconveniences of life. Waggons and waggons of the richest furniture had passed through the village between lines of staring villagers. Costly skins, glossy carpets, rich rugs, ivory, and ebony, and metal; every glimpse into these storehouses of treasure had given rise to some new legend. And finally, when all had been arranged, there had come a staff of forty servants, who heralded the approach of the owner, Mr. Raffles Haw himself. It was no wonder, then, that it was with considerable curiosity that Robert McIntyre looked down at the great house, and marked the smoking chimneys, the curtained windows, and the other signs which showed that its tenant had arrived. A vast area of greenhouses gleamed like a lake on the further side, and beyond were the long lines of stables and outhouses. Fifty horses had passed through Tamfield the week before, so that, large as were the preparations, they were not more than would be needed. Who and what could this man be who spent his money with so lavish a hand? His name was unknown. Birmingham was as ignorant as Tamfield as to his origin or the sources of his wealth. Robert McIntyre brooded languidly over the problem as he leaned against the gate, puffing his blue clouds of bird's-eye into the crisp, still air. Suddenly his eye caught a dark figure emerging from the Avenue gates and striding up the winding road. A few minutes brought him near enough to show a familiar face looking over the stiff collar and from under the soft black hat of an English clergyman. "Good-morning, Mr. Spurling." "Ah, good-morning, Robert. How are you? Are you coming my way? How slippery the roads are!" His round, kindly face was beaming with good nature, and he took little jumps as he walked, like a man who can hardly contain himself for pleasure. "Have you heard from Hector?" "Oh, yes. He went off all right last Wednesday from Spithead, and he will write from Madeira. But you generally have later news at Elmdene than I have." "I don't know whether Laura has heard. Have you been up to see the new comer?" "Yes; I have just left him." "Is he a married man--this Mr. Raffles Haw?" "No, he is a bachelor. He does not seem to have any relations either, as far as I could learn. He lives alone, amid his huge staff of servants. It is a most remarkable establishment. It made me think of the Arabian Nights." "And the man? What is he like?" "He is an angel--a positive angel. I never heard or read of such kindness in my life. He has made me a happy man." The clergyman's eyes sparkled with emotion, and he blew his nose loudly in his big red handkerchief. Robert McIntyre looked at him in surprise. "I am delighted to hear it," he said. "May I ask what he has done?" "I went up to him by appointment this morning. I had written asking him if I might call. I spoke to him of the parish and its needs, of my long struggle to restore the south side of the church, and of our efforts to help my poor parishioners during this hard weather. While I spoke he said not a word, but sat with a vacant face, as though he were not listening to me. When I had finished he took up his pen. 'How much will it take to do the church?' he asked. 'A thousand pounds,' I answered; 'but we have already raised three hundred among ourselves. The Squire has very handsomely given fifty pounds.' 'Well,' said he, 'how about the poor folk? How many families are there?' 'About three hundred,' I answered. 'And coals, I believe, are at about a pound a ton', said he. 'Three tons ought to see them through the rest of the winter. Then you can get a very fair pair of blankets for two pounds. That would make five pounds per family, and seven hundred for the church.' He dipped his pen in the ink, and, as I am a living man, Robert, he wrote me a cheque then and there for two thousand two hundred pounds. I don't know what I said; I felt like a fool; I could not stammer out words with which to thank him. All my troubles have been taken from my shoulders in an instant, and indeed, Robert, I can hardly realise it." "He must be a most charitable man." "Extraordinarily so. And so unpretending. One would think that it was I who was doing the favour and he who was the beggar. I thought of that passage about making the heart of the widow sing for joy. He made my heart sing for joy, I can tell you. Are you coming up to the Vicarage?" "No, thank you, Mr. Spurling. I must go home and get to work on my new picture. It's a five-foot canvas--the landing of the Romans in Kent. I must have another try for the Academy. Good-morning." He raised his hat and continued down the road, while the vicar turned off into the path which led to his home. Robert McIntyre had converted a large bare room in the upper storey of Elmdene into a studio, and thither he retreated after lunch. It was as well that he should have some little den of his own, for his father would talk of little save of his ledgers and accounts, while Laura had become peevish and querulous since the one tie which held her to Tamfield had been removed. The chamber was a bare and bleak one, un-papered and un-carpeted, but a good fire sparkled in the grate, and two large windows gave him the needful light. His easel stood in the centre, with the great canvas balanced across it, while against the walls there leaned his two last attempts, "The Murder of Thomas of Canterbury" and "The Signing of Magna Charta." Robert had a weakness for large subjects and broad effects. If his ambition was greater than his skill, he had still all the love of his art and the patience under discouragement which are the stuff out of which successful painters are made. Twice his brace of pictures had journeyed to town, and twice they had come back to him, until the finely gilded frames which had made such a call upon his purse began to show signs of these varied adventures. Yet, in spite of their depressing company, Robert turned to his fresh work with all the enthusiasm which a conviction of ultimate success can inspire. But he could not work that afternoon. In vain he dashed in his background and outlined the long curves of the Roman galleys. Do what he would, his mind would still wander from his work to dwell upon his conversation with the vicar in the morning. His imagination was fascinated by the idea of this strange man living alone amid a crowd, and yet wielding such a power that with one dash of his pen he could change sorrow into joy, and transform the condition of a whole parish. The incident of the fifty-pound note came back to his mind. It must surely have been Raffles Haw with whom Hector Spurling had come in contact. There could not be two men in one parish to whom so large a sum was of so small an account as to be thrown to a bystander in return for a trifling piece of assistance. Of course, it must have been Raffles Haw. And his sister had the note, with instructions to return it to the owner, could he be found. He threw aside his palette, and descending into the sitting-room he told Laura and his father of his morning's interview with the vicar, and of his conviction that this was the man of whom Hector was in quest. "Tut! Tut!" said old McIntyre. "How is this, Laura? I knew nothing of this. What do women know of money or of business? Hand the note over to me and I shall relieve you of all responsibility. I will take everything upon myself." "I cannot possibly, papa," said Laura, with decision. "I should not think of parting with it." "What is the world coming to?" cried the old man, with his thin hands held up in protest. "You grow more undutiful every day, Laura. This money would be of use to me--of use, you understand. It may be the corner-stone of the vast business which I shall re-construct. I will use it, Laura, and I will pay something--four, shall we say, or even four and a-half--and you may have it back on any day. And I will give security--the security of my--well, of my word of honour." "It is quite impossible, papa," his daughter answered coldly. "It is not my money. Hector asked me to be his banker. Those were his very words. It is not in my power to lend it. As to what you say, Robert, you may be right or you may be wrong, but I certainly shall not give Mr. Raffles Haw or anyone else the money without Hector's express command." "You are very right about not giving it to Mr. Raffles Haw," cried old McIntyre, with many nods of approbation. "I should certainly not let it go out of the family." "Well, I thought that I would tell you." Robert picked up his Tam-o'-Shanter and strolled out to avoid the discussion between his father and sister, which he saw was about to be renewed. His artistic nature revolted at these petty and sordid disputes, and he turned to the crisp air and the broad landscape to soothe his ruffled feelings. Avarice had no place among his failings, and his father's perpetual chatter about money inspired him with a positive loathing and disgust for the subject. Robert was lounging slowly along his favourite walk which curled over the hill, with his mind turning from the Roman invasion to the mysterious millionaire, when his eyes fell upon a tall, lean man in front of him, who, with a pipe between his lips, was endeavouring to light a match under cover of his cap. The man was clad in a rough pea-jacket, and bore traces of smoke and grime upon his face and hands. Yet there is a Freemasonry among smokers which overrides every social difference, so Robert stopped and held out his case of fusees. "A light?" said he. "Thank you." The man picked out a fusee, struck it, and bent his head to it. He had a pale, thin face, a short straggling beard, and a very sharp and curving nose, with decision and character in the straight thick eyebrows which almost met on either side of it. Clearly a superior kind of workman, and possibly one of those who had been employed in the construction of the new house. Here was a chance of getting some first-hand information on the question which had aroused his curiosity. Robert waited until he had lit his pipe, and then walked on beside him. "Are you going in the direction of the new Hall?" he asked. "Yes." The man's voice was cold, and his manner reserved. "Perhaps you were engaged in the building of it?" "Yes, I had a hand in it." "They say that it is a wonderful place inside. It has been quite the talk of the district. Is it as rich as they say?" "I am sure I don't know. I have not heard what they say." His attitude was certainly not encouraging, and it seemed to Robert that he gave little sidelong suspicious glances at him out of his keen grey eyes. Yet, if he were so careful and discreet there was the more reason to think that there was information to be extracted, if he could but find a way to it. "Ah, there it lies!" he remarked, as they topped the brow of the hill, and looked down once more at the great building. "Well, no doubt it is very gorgeous and splendid, but really for my own part I would rather live in my own little box down yonder in the village." The workman puffed gravely at his pipe. "You are no great admirer of wealth, then?" he said. "Not I. I should not care to be a penny richer than I am. Of course I should like to sell my pictures. One must make a living. But beyond that I ask nothing. I dare say that I, a poor artist, or you, a man who work for your bread, have more happiness out of life than the owner of that great palace." "Indeed, I think that it is more than likely," the other answered, in a much more conciliatory voice. "Art," said Robert, warming to the subject, "is her own reward. What mere bodily indulgence is there which money could buy which can give that deep thrill of satisfaction which comes on the man who has conceived something new, something beautiful, and the daily delight as he sees it grow under his hand, until it stands before him a completed whole? With my art and without wealth I am happy. Without my art I should have a void which no money could fill. But I really don't know why I should say all this to you." The workman had stopped, and was staring at him earnestly with a look of the deepest interest upon his smoke-darkened features. "I am very glad to hear what you say," said he. "It is a pleasure to know that the worship of gold is not quite universal, and that there are at least some who can rise above it. Would you mind my shaking you by the hand?" It was a somewhat extraordinary request, but Robert rather prided himself upon his Bohemianism, and upon his happy facility for making friends with all sorts and conditions of men. He readily exchanged a cordial grip with his chance acquaintance. "You expressed some curiosity as to this house. I know the grounds pretty well, and might perhaps show you one or two little things which would interest you. Here are the gates. Will you come in with me?" Here was, indeed, a chance. Robert eagerly assented, and walked up the winding drive amid the growing fir-trees. When he found his uncouth guide, however, marching straight across the broad, gravel square to the main entrance, he felt that he had placed himself in a false position. "Surely not through the front door," he whispered, plucking his companion by the sleeve. "Perhaps Mr. Raffles Haw might not like it." "I don't think there will be any difficulty," said the other, with a quiet smile. "My name is Raffles Haw." CHAPTER III. A HOUSE OF WONDERS. Robert McIntyre's face must have expressed the utter astonishment which filled his mind at this most unlooked-for announcement. For a moment he thought that his companion must be joking, but the ease and assurance with which he lounged up the steps, and the deep respect with which a richly-clad functionary in the hall swung open the door to admit him, showed that he spoke in sober earnest. Raffles Haw glanced back, and seeing the look of absolute amazement upon the young artist's features, he chuckled quietly to himself. "You will forgive me, won't you, for not disclosing my identity?" he said, laying his hand with a friendly gesture upon the other's sleeve. "Had you known me you would have spoken less freely, and I should not have had the opportunity of learning your true worth. For example, you might hardly have been so frank upon the matter of wealth had you known that you were speaking to the master of the Hall." "I don't think that I was ever so astonished in my life," gasped Robert. "Naturally you are. How could you take me for anything but a workman? So I am. Chemistry is one of my hobbies, and I spend hours a day in my laboratory yonder. I have only just struck work, and as I had inhaled some not-over-pleasant gases, I thought that a turn down the road and a whiff of tobacco might do me good. That was how I came to meet you, and my toilet, I fear, corresponded only too well with my smoke-grimed face. But I rather fancy I know you by repute. Your name is Robert McIntyre, is it not?" "Yes, though I cannot imagine how you knew." "Well, I naturally took some little trouble to learn something of my neighbours. I had heard that there was an artist of that name, and I presume that artists are not very numerous in Tamfield. But how do you like the design? I hope it does not offend your trained taste." "Indeed, it is wonderful--marvellous! You must yourself have an extraordinary eye for effect." "Oh, I have no taste at all; not the slightest. I cannot tell good from bad. There never was such a complete Philistine. But I had the best man in London down, and another fellow from Vienna. They fixed it up between them." They had been standing just within the folding doors upon a huge mat of bison skins. In front of them lay a great square court, paved with many-coloured marbles laid out in a labyrinth of arabesque design. In the centre a high fountain of carved jade shot five thin feathers of spray into the air, four of which curved towards each corner of the court to descend into broad marble basins, while the fifth mounted straight up to an immense height, and then tinkled back into the central reservoir. On either side of the court a tall, graceful palm-tree shot up its slender stem to break into a crown of drooping green leaves some fifty feet above their heads. All round were a series of Moorish arches, in jade and serpentine marble, with heavy curtains of the deepest purple to cover the doors which lay between them. In front, to right and to left, a broad staircase of marble, carpeted with rich thick Smyrna rug work, led upwards to the upper storeys, which were arranged around the central court. The temperature within was warm and yet fresh, like the air of an English May. "It's taken from the Alhambra," said Raffles Haw. "The palm-trees are pretty. They strike right through the building into the ground beneath, and their roots are all girt round with hot-water pipes. They seem to thrive very well." "What beautifully delicate brass-work!" cried Robert, looking up with admiring eyes at the bright and infinitely fragile metal trellis screens which adorned the spaces between the Moorish arches. "It is rather neat. But it is not brass-work. Brass is not tough enough to allow them to work it to that degree of fineness. It is gold. But just come this way with me. You won't mind waiting while I remove this smoke?" He led the way to a door upon the left side of the court, which, to Robert's surprise, swung slowly open as they approached it. "That is a little improvement which I have adopted," remarked the master of the house. "As you go up to a door your weight upon the planks releases a spring which causes the hinges to revolve. Pray step in. This is my own little sanctum, and furnished after my own heart." If Robert expected to see some fresh exhibition of wealth and luxury he was woefully disappointed, for he found himself in a large but bare room, with a little iron truckle-bed in one corner, a few scattered wooden chairs, a dingy carpet, and a large table heaped with books, bottles, papers, and all the other _debris_ which collect around a busy and untidy man. Motioning his visitor into a chair, Raffles Haw pulled off his coat, and, turning up the sleeves of his coarse flannel shirt, he began to plunge and scrub in the warm water which flowed from a tap in the wall. "You see how simple my own tastes are," he remarked, as he mopped his dripping face and hair with the towel. "This is the only room in my great house where I find myself in a congenial atmosphere. It is homely to me. I can read here and smoke my pipe in peace. Anything like luxury is abhorrent to me." "Really, I should not have though it," observed Robert. "It is a fact, I assure you. You see, even with your views as to the worthlessness of wealth, views which, I am sure, are very sensible and much to your credit, you must allow that if a man should happen to be the possessor of vast--well, let us say of considerable--sums of money, it is his duty to get that money into circulation, so that the community may be the better for it. There is the secret of my fine feathers. I have to exert all my ingenuity in order to spend my income, and yet keep the money in legitimate channels. For example, it is very easy to give money away, and no doubt I could dispose of my surplus, or part of my surplus, in that fashion, but I have no wish to pauperise anyone, or to do mischief by indiscriminate charity. I must exact some sort of money's worth for all the money which I lay out You see my point, don't you?" "Entirely; though really it is something novel to hear a man complain of the difficulty of spending his income." "I assure you that it is a very serious difficulty with me. But I have hit upon some plans--some very pretty plans. Will you wash your hands? Well, then, perhaps you would care to have a look round. Just come into this corner of the room, and sit upon this chair. So. Now I will sit upon this one, and we are ready to start." The angle of the chamber in which they sat was painted for about six feet in each direction of a dark chocolate-brown, and was furnished with two red plush seats protruding from the walls, and in striking contrast with the simplicity of the rest of the apartment. "This," remarked Raffles Haw, "is a lift, though it is so closely joined to the rest of the room that without the change in colour it might puzzle you to find the division. It is made to run either horizontally or vertically. This line of knobs represents the various rooms. You can see 'Dining,' 'Smoking,' 'Billiard,' 'Library' and so on, upon them. I will show you the upward action. I press this one with 'Kitchen' upon it." There was a sense of motion, a very slight jar, and Robert, without moving from his seat, was conscious that the room had vanished, and that a large arched oaken door stood in the place which it had occupied. "That is the kitchen door," said Raffles Haw. "I have my kitchen at the top of the house. I cannot tolerate the smell of cooking. We have come up eighty feet in a very few seconds. Now I press again and here we are in my room once more." Robert McIntyre stared about him in astonishment. "The wonders of science are greater than those of magic," he remarked. "Yes, it is a pretty little mechanism. Now we try the horizontal. I press the 'Dining' knob and here we are, you see. Step towards the door, and you will find it open in front of you." Robert did as he was bid, and found himself with his companion in a large and lofty room, while the lift, the instant that it was freed from their weight, flashed back to its original position. With his feet sinking into the soft rich carpet, as though he were ankle-deep in some mossy bank, he stared about him at the great pictures which lined the walls. "Surely, surely, I see Raphael's touch there," he cried, pointing up at the one which faced him. "Yes, it is a Raphael, and I believe one of his best. I had a very exciting bid for it with the French Government. They wanted it for the Louvre, but of course at an auction the longest purse must win." "And this 'Arrest of Catiline' must be a Rubens. One cannot mistake his splendid men and his infamous women." "Yes, it is a Rubens. The other two are a Velasquez and a Teniers, fair specimens of the Spanish and of the Dutch schools. I have only old masters here. The moderns are in the billiard-room. The furniture here is a little curious. In fact, I fancy that it is unique. It is made of ebony and narwhals' horns. You see that the legs of everything are of spiral ivory, both the table and the chairs. It cost the upholsterer some little pains, for the supply of these things is a strictly limited one. Curiously enough, the Chinese Emperor had given a large order for narwhals' horns to repair some ancient pagoda, which was fenced in with them, but I outbid him in the market, and his celestial highness has had to wait. There is a lift here in the corner, but we do not need it. Pray step through this door. This is the billiard-room," he continued as they advanced into the adjoining room. "You see I have a few recent pictures of merit upon the walls. Here is a Corot, two Meissoniers, a Bouguereau, a Millais, an Orchardson, and two Alma-Tademas. It seems to me to be a pity to hang pictures over these walls of carved oak. Look at those birds hopping and singing in the branches. They really seem to move and twitter, don't they?" "They are perfect. I never saw such exquisite work. But why do you call it a billiard-room, Mr. Haw? I do not see any board." "Oh, a board is such a clumsy uncompromising piece of furniture. It is always in the way unless you actually need to use it. In this case the board is covered by that square of polished maple which you see let into the floor. Now I put my foot upon this motor. You see!" As he spoke, the central portion of the flooring flew up, and a most beautiful tortoise-shell-plated billiard-table rose up to its proper position. He pressed a second spring, and a bagatelle-table appeared in the same fashion. "You may have card-tables or what you will by setting the levers in motion," he remarked. "But all this is very trifling. Perhaps we may find something in the museum which may be of more interest to you." He led the way into another chamber, which was furnished in antique style, with hangings of the rarest and richest tapestry. The floor was a mosaic of coloured marbles, scattered over with mats of costly fur. There was little furniture, but a number of Louis Quatorze cabinets of ebony and silver with delicately-painted plaques were ranged round the apartment. "It is perhaps hardly fair to dignify it by the name of a museum," said Raffles Haw. "It consists merely of a few elegant trifles which I have picked up here and there. Gems are my strongest point. I fancy that there, perhaps, I might challenge comparison with any private collector in the world. I lock them up, for even the best servants may be tempted." He took a silver key from his watch chain, and began to unlock and draw out the drawers. A cry of wonder and of admiration burst from Robert McIntyre, as his eyes rested upon case after case filled with the most magnificent stones. The deep still red of the rubies, the clear scintillating green of the emeralds, the hard glitter of the diamonds, the many shifting shades of beryls, of amethysts, of onyxes, of cats'-eyes, of opals, of agates, of cornelians seemed to fill the whole chamber with a vague twinkling, many-coloured light. Long slabs of the beautiful blue lapis lazuli, magnificent bloodstones, specimens of pink and red and white coral, long strings of lustrous pearls, all these were tossed out by their owner as a careless schoolboy might pour marbles from his bag. "This isn't bad," he said, holding up a great glowing yellow mass as large as his own head. "It is really a very fine piece of amber. It was forwarded to me by my agent at the Baltic. Twenty-eight pounds, it weighs. I never heard of so fine a one. I have no very large brilliants--there were no very large ones in the market--but my average is good. Pretty toys, are they not?" He picked up a double handful of emeralds from a drawer, and then let them trickle slowly back into the heap. "Good heavens!" cried Robert, as he gazed from case to case. "It is an immense fortune in itself. Surely a hundred thousand pounds would hardly buy so splendid a collection." "I don't think that you would do for a valuer of precious stones," said Raffles Haw, laughing. "Why, the contents of that one little drawer of brilliants could not be bought for the sum which you name. I have a memo. here of what I have expended up to date on my collection, though I have agents at work who will probably make very considerable additions to it within the next few weeks. As matters stand, however, I have spent--let me see-pearls one forty thousand; emeralds, seven fifty; rubies, eight forty; brilliants, nine twenty; onyxes--I have several very nice onyxes-two thirty. Other gems, carbuncles, agates--hum! Yes, it figures out at just over four million seven hundred and forty thousand. I dare say that we may say five millions, for I have not counted the odd money." "Good gracious!" cried the young artist, with staring eyes. "I have a certain feeling of duty in the matter. You see the cutting, polishing, and general sale of stones is one of those industries which is entirely dependent upon wealth. If we do not support it, it must languish, which means misfortune to a considerable number of people. The same applies to the gold filigree work which you noticed in the court. Wealth has its responsibilities, and the encouragement of these handicrafts are among the most obvious of them. Here is a nice ruby. It is Burmese, and the fifth largest in existence. I am inclined to think that if it were uncut it would be the second, but of course cutting takes away a great deal." He held up the blazing red stone, about the size of a chestnut, between his finger and thumb for a moment, and then threw it carelessly back into its drawer. "Come into the smoking-room," he said; "you will need some little refreshment, for they say that sight-seeing is the most exhausting occupation in the world." CHAPTER IV. FROM CLIME TO CLIME The chamber in which the bewildered Robert now found himself was more luxurious, if less rich, than any which he had yet seen. Low settees of claret-coloured plush were scattered in orderly disorder over a mossy Eastern carpet. Deep lounges, reclining sofas, American rocking-chairs, all were to be had for the choosing. One end of the room was walled by glass, and appeared to open upon a luxuriant hot-house. At the further end a double line of gilt rails supported a profusion of the most recent magazines and periodicals. A rack at each side of the inlaid fireplace sustained a long line of the pipes of all places and nations--English cherrywoods, French briars, German china-bowls, carved meerschaums, scented cedar and myall-wood, with Eastern narghiles, Turkish chibooques, and two great golden-topped hookahs. To right and left were a series of small lockers, extending in a treble row for the whole length of the room, with the names of the various brands of tobacco scrolled in ivory work across them. Above were other larger tiers of polished oak, which held cigars and cigarettes. "Try that Damascus settee," said the master of the house, as he threw himself into a rocking-chair. "It is from the Sultan's upholsterer. The Turks have a very good notion of comfort. I am a confirmed smoker myself, Mr. McIntyre, so I have been able, perhaps, to check my architect here more than in most of the other departments. Of pictures, for example, I know nothing, as you would very speedily find out. On a tobacco, I might, perhaps, offer an opinion. Now these"--he drew out some long, beautifully-rolled, mellow-coloured cigars--"these are really something a little out of the common. Do try one." Robert lit the weed which was offered to him, and leaned back luxuriously amid his cushions, gazing through the blue balmy fragrant cloud-wreaths at the extraordinary man in the dirty pea-jacket who spoke of millions as another might of sovereigns. With his pale face, his sad, languid air, and his bowed shoulders, it was as though he were crushed down under the weight of his own gold. There was a mute apology, an attitude of deprecation in his manner and speech, which was strangely at variance with the immense power which he wielded. To Robert the whole whimsical incident had been intensely interesting and amusing. His artistic nature blossomed out in this atmosphere of perfect luxury and comfort, and he was conscious of a sense of repose and of absolute sensual contentment such as he had never before experienced. "Shall it be coffee, or Rhine wine, or Tokay, or perhaps something stronger," asked Raffles Haw, stretching out his hand to what looked like a piano-board projecting from the wall. "I can recommend the Tokay. I have it from the man who supplies the Emperor of Austria, though I think I may say that I get the cream of it." He struck twice upon one of the piano-notes, and sat expectant. With a sharp click at the end of ten seconds a sliding shutter flew open, and a small tray protruded bearing two long tapering Venetian glasses filled with wine. "It works very nicely," said Raffles Haw. "It is quite a new thing--never before done, as far as I know. You see the names of the various wines and so on printed on the notes. By pressing the note down I complete an electric circuit which causes the tap in the cellars beneath to remain open long enough to fill the glass which always stands beneath it. The glasses, you understand, stand upon a revolving drum, so that there must always be one there. The glasses are then brought up through a pneumatic tube, which is set working by the increased weight of the glass when the wine is added to it. It is a pretty little idea. But I am afraid that I bore you rather with all these petty contrivances. It is a whim of mine to push mechanism as far as it will go." "On the contrary, I am filled with interest and wonder," said Robert warmly. "It is as if I had been suddenly whipped up out of prosaic old England and transferred in an instant to some enchanted palace, some Eastern home of the Genii. I could not have believed that there existed upon this earth such adaptation of means to an end, such complete mastery of every detail which may aid in stripping life of any of its petty worries." "I have something yet to show you," remarked Raffles Haw; "but we will rest here for a few minutes, for I wished to have a word with you. How is the cigar?" "Most excellent." "It was rolled in Louisiana in the old slavery days. There is nothing made like them now. The man who had them did not know their value. He let them go at merely a few shillings apiece. Now I want you to do me a favour, Mr. McIntyre." "I shall be so glad." "You can see more or less how I am situated. I am a complete stranger here. With the well-to-do classes I have little in common. I am no society man. I don't want to call or be called on. I am a student in a small way, and a man of quiet tastes. I have no social ambitions at all. Do you understand?" "Entirely." "On the other hand, my experience of the world has been that it is the rarest thing to be able to form a friendship with a poorer man--I mean with a man who is at all eager to increase his income. They think much of your wealth, and little of yourself. I have tried, you understand, and I know." He paused and ran his fingers through his thin beard. Robert McIntyre nodded to show that he appreciated his position. "Now, you see," he continued, "if I am to be cut off from the rich by my own tastes, and from those who are not rich by my distrust of their motives, my situation is an isolated one. Not that I mind isolation: I am used to it. But it limits my field of usefulness. I have no trustworthy means of informing myself when and where I may do good. I have already, I am glad to say, met a man to-day, your vicar, who appears to be thoroughly unselfish and trustworthy. He shall be one of my channels of communication with the outer world. Might I ask you whether you would be willing to become another?" "With the greatest pleasure," said Robert eagerly. The proposition filled his heart with joy, for it seemed to give him an almost official connection with this paradise of a house. He could not have asked for anything more to his taste. "I was fortunate enough to discover by your conversation how high a ground you take in such matters, and how entirely disinterested you are. You may have observed that I was short and almost rude with you at first. I have had reason to fear and suspect all chance friendships. Too often they have proved to be carefully planned beforehand, with some sordid object in view. Good heavens, what stories I could tell you! A lady pursued by a bull--I have risked my life to save her, and have learned afterwards that the scene had been arranged by the mother as an effective introduction, and that the bull had been hired by the hour. But I won't shake your faith in human nature. I have had some rude shocks myself. I look, perhaps, with a jaundiced eye on all who come near me. It is the more needful that I should have one whom I can trust to advise me." "If you will only show me where my opinion can be of any use I shall be most happy," said Robert. "My people come from Birmingham, but I know most of the folk here and their position." "That is just what I want. Money can do so much good, and it may do so much harm. I shall consult you when I am in doubt. By the way, there is one small question which I might ask you now. Can you tell me who a young lady is with very dark hair, grey eyes, and a finely chiselled face? She wore a blue dress when I saw her, with astrachan about her neck and cuffs." Robert chuckled to himself. "I know that dress pretty well," he said. "It is my sister Laura whom you describe." "Your sister! Really! Why, there is a resemblance, now that my attention is called to it. I saw her the other day, and wondered who she might be. She lives with you, of course?" "Yes; my father, she, and I live together at Elmdene." "Where I hope to have the pleasure of making their acquaintance. You have finished your cigar? Have another, or try a pipe. To the real smoker all is mere trifling save the pipe. I have most brands of tobacco here. The lockers are filled on the Monday, and on Saturday they are handed over to the old folk at the alms-houses, so I manage to keep it pretty fresh always. Well, if you won't take anything else, perhaps you would care to see one or two of the other effects which I have devised. On this side is the armoury, and beyond it the library. My collection of books is a limited one; there are just over the fifty thousand volumes. But it is to some extent remarkable for quality. I have a Visigoth Bible of the fifth century, which I rather fancy is unique; there is a 'Biblia Pauperum' of 1430; a MS. of Genesis done upon mulberry leaves, probably of the second century; a 'Tristan and Iseult' of the eighth century; and some hundred black-letters, with five very fine specimens of Schoffer and Fust. But those you may turn over any wet afternoon when you have nothing better to do. Meanwhile, I have a little device connected with this smoking-room which may amuse you. Light this other cigar. Now sit with me upon this lounge which stands at the further end of the room." The sofa in question was in a niche which was lined in three sides and above with perfectly clear transparent crystal. As they sat down the master of the house drew a cord which pulled out a crystal shutter behind them, so that they were enclosed on all sides in a great box of glass, so pure and so highly polished that its presence might very easily be forgotten. A number of golden cords with crystal handles hung down into this small chamber, and appeared to be connected with a long shining bar outside. "Now, where would you like to smoke your cigar?" said Raffles Haw, with a twinkle in his demure eyes. "Shall we go to India, or to Egypt, or to China, or to--" "To South America," said Robert. There was a twinkle, a whirr, and a sense of motion. The young artist gazed about him in absolute amazement. Look where he would all round were tree-ferns and palms with long drooping creepers, and a blaze of brilliant orchids. Smoking-room, house, England, all were gone, and he sat on a settee in the heart of a virgin forest of the Amazon. It was no mere optical delusion or trick. He could see the hot steam rising from the tropical undergrowth, the heavy drops falling from the huge green leaves, the very grain and fibre of the rough bark which clothed the trunks. Even as he gazed a green mottled snake curled noiselessly over a branch above his head, and a bright-coloured paroquet broke suddenly from amid the foliage and flashed off among the tree-trunks. Robert gazed around, speechless with surprise, and finally turned upon his host a face in which curiosity was not un-mixed with a suspicion of fear. "People have been burned for less, have they not?" cried Raffles Haw laughing heartily. "Have you had enough of the Amazon? What do you say to a spell of Egypt?" Again the whirr, the swift flash of passing objects, and in an instant a huge desert stretched on every side of them, as far as the eye could reach. In the foreground a clump of five palm-trees towered into the air, with a profusion of rough cactus-like plants bristling from their base. On the other side rose a rugged, gnarled, grey monolith, carved at the base into a huge scarabaeus. A group of lizards played about on the surface of the old carved stone. Beyond, the yellow sand stretched away into furthest space, where the dim mirage mist played along the horizon. "Mr. Haw, I cannot understand it!" Robert grasped the velvet edge of the settee, and gazed wildly about him. "The effect is rather startling, is it not? This Egyptian desert is my favourite when I lay myself out for a contemplative smoke. It seems strange that tobacco should have come from the busy, practical West. It has much more affinity for the dreamy, languid East. But perhaps you would like to run over to China for a change?" "Not to-day," said Robert, passing his hand over his forehead. "I feel rather confused by all these wonders, and indeed I think that they have affected my nerves a little. Besides, it is time that I returned to my prosaic Elmdene, if I can find my way out of this wilderness to which you have transplanted me. But would you ease my mind, Mr. Haw, by showing me how this thing is done?" "It is the merest toy--a complex plaything, nothing more. Allow me to explain. I have a line of very large greenhouses which extends from one end of my smoking-room. These different houses are kept at varying degrees of heat and humidity so as to reproduce the exact climates of Egypt, China, and the rest. You see, our crystal chamber is a tramway running with a minimum of friction along a steel rod. By pulling this or that handle I regulate how far it shall go, and it travels, as you have seen, with amazing speed. The effect of my hot-houses is heightened by the roofs being invariably concealed by skies, which are really very admirably painted, and by the introduction of birds and other creatures, which seem to flourish quite as well in artificial as in natural heat. This explains the South American effect." "But not the Egyptian." "No. It is certainly rather clever. I had the best man in France, at least the best at those large effects, to paint in that circular background. You understand, the palms, cacti, obelisk, and so on, are perfectly genuine, and so is the sand for fifty yards or so, and I defy the keenest-eyed man in England to tell where the deception commences. It is the familiar and perhaps rather meretricious effect of a circular panorama, but carried out in the most complete manner. Was there any other point?" "The crystal box? Why was it?" "To preserve my guests from the effects of the changes of temperature. It would be a poor kindness to bring them back to my smoking-room drenched through, and with the seeds of a violent cold. The crystal has to be kept warm, too, otherwise vapour would deposit, and you would have your view spoiled. But must you really go? Then here we are back in the smoking-room. I hope that it will not be your last visit by many a one. And if I may come down to Elmdene I should be very glad to do so. This is the way through the museum." As Robert McIntyre emerged from the balmy aromatic atmosphere of the great house, into the harsh, raw, biting air of an English winter evening, he felt as though he had been away for a long visit in some foreign country. Time is measured by impressions, and so vivid and novel had been his feelings, that weeks and weeks might have elapsed since his chat with the smoke-grimed stranger in the road. He walked along with his head in a whirl, his whole mind possessed and intoxicated by the one idea of the boundless wealth and the immense power of this extraordinary stranger. Small and sordid and mean seemed his own Elmdene as he approached it, and he passed over its threshold full of restless discontent against himself and his surroundings. CHAPTER V. LAURA'S REQUEST. That night after supper Robert McIntyre poured forth all that he had seen to his father and to his sister. So full was he of the one subject that it was a relief to him to share his knowledge with others. Rather for his own sake, then, than for theirs he depicted vividly all the marvels which he had seen; the profusion of wealth, the regal treasure-house of gems, the gold, the marble, the extraordinary devices, the absolute lavishness and complete disregard for money which was shown in every detail. For an hour he pictured with glowing words all the wonders which had been shown him, and ended with some pride by describing the request which Mr. Raffles Haw had made, and the complete confidence which he had placed in him. His words had a very different effect upon his two listeners. Old McIntyre leaned back in his chair with a bitter smile upon his lips, his thin face crinkled into a thousand puckers, and his small eyes shining with envy and greed. His lean yellow hand upon the table was clenched until the knuckles gleamed white in the lamplight. Laura, on the other hand, leaned forward, her lips parted, drinking in her brother's words with a glow of colour upon either cheek. It seemed to Robert, as he glanced from one to the other of them, that he had never seen his father look so evil, or his sister so beautiful. "Who is the fellow, then?" asked the old man after a considerable pause. "I hope he got all this in an honest fashion. Five millions in jewels, you say. Good gracious me! Ready to give it away, too, but afraid of pauperising any one. You can tell him, Robert, that you know of one very deserving case which has not the slightest objection to being pauperised." "But who can he possibly be, Robert?" cried Laura. "Haw cannot be his real name. He must be some disguised prince, or perhaps a king in exile. Oh, I should have loved to have seen those diamonds and the emeralds! I always think that emeralds suit dark people best. You must tell me again all about that museum, Robert." "I don't think that he is anything more than he pretends to be," her brother answered. "He has the plain, quiet manners of an ordinary middle-class Englishman. There was no particular polish that I could see. He knew a little about books and pictures, just enough to appreciate them, but nothing more. No, I fancy that he is a man quite in our own position of life, who has in some way inherited a vast sum. Of course it is difficult for me to form an estimate, but I should judge that what I saw to-day--house, pictures, jewels, books, and so on--could never have been bought under twenty millions, and I am sure that that figure is entirely an under-statement." "I never knew but one Haw," said old McIntyre, drumming his fingers on the table; "he was a foreman in my pin-fire cartridge-case department. But he was an elderly single man. Well, I hope he got it all honestly. I hope the money is clean." "And really, really, he is coming to see us!" cried Laura, clapping her hands. "Oh, when do you think he will come, Robert? Do give me warning. Do you think it will be to-morrow?" "I am sure I cannot say." "I should so love to see him. I don't know when I have been so interested." "Why, you have a letter there," remarked Robert. "From Hector, too, by the foreign stamp. How is he?" "It only came this evening. I have not opened it yet. To tell the truth, I have been so interested in your story that I had forgotten all about it. Poor old Hector! It is from Madeira." She glanced rapidly over the four pages of straggling writing in the young sailor's bold schoolboyish hand. "Oh, he is all right," she said. "They had a gale on the way out, and that sort of thing, but he is all right now. He thinks he may be back by March. I wonder whether your new friend will come to-morrow--your knight of the enchanted Castle." "Hardly so soon, I should fancy." "If he should be looking about for an investment. Robert," said the father, "you won't forget to tell him what a fine opening there is now in the gun trade. With my knowledge, and a few thousands at my back, I could bring him in his thirty per cent. as regular as the bank. After all, he must lay out his money somehow. He cannot sink it all in books and precious stones. I am sure that I could give him the highest references." "It may be a long time before he comes, father," said Robert coldly; "and when he does I am afraid that I can hardly use his friendship as a means of advancing your interest." "We are his equals, father," cried Laura with spirit. "Would you put us on the footing of beggars? He would think we cared for him only for his money. I wonder that you should think of such a thing." "If I had not thought of such things where would your education have been, miss?" retorted the angry old man; and Robert stole quietly away to his room, whence amid his canvases he could still hear the hoarse voice and the clear in their never-ending family jangle. More and more sordid seemed the surroundings of his life, and more and more to be valued the peace which money can buy. Breakfast had hardly been cleared in the morning, and Robert had not yet ascended to his work, when there came a timid tapping at the door, and there was Raffles Haw on the mat outside. Robert ran out and welcomed him with all cordiality. "I am afraid that I am a very early visitor," he said apologetically; "but I often take a walk after breakfast." He had no traces of work upon him now, but was trim and neat with a dark suit, and carefully brushed hair. "You spoke yesterday of your work. Perhaps, early as it is, you would allow me the privilege of looking over your studio?" "Pray step in, Mr. Haw," cried Robert, all in a flutter at this advance from so munificent a patron of art; "I should be only too happy to show you such little work as I have on hand, though, indeed, I am almost afraid when I think how familiar you are with some of the greatest masterpieces. Allow me to introduce you to my father and to my sister Laura." Old McIntyre bowed low and rubbed his thin hands together; but the young lady gave a gasp of surprise, and stared with widely-opened eyes at the millionaire. Maw stepped forward, however, and shook her quietly by the hand, "I expected to find that it was you," he said. "I have already met your sister, Mr. McIntyre, on the very first day that I came here. We took shelter in a shed from a snowstorm, and had quite a pleasant little chat." "I had no notion that I was speaking to the owner of the Hall," said Laura in some confusion. "How funnily things turn out, to be sure!" "I had often wondered who it was that I spoke to, but it was only yesterday that I discovered. What a sweet little place you have here! It must be charming in summer. Why, if it were not for this hill my windows would look straight across at yours." "Yes, and we should see all your beautiful plantations," said Laura, standing beside him in the window. "I was wishing only yesterday that the hill was not there." "Really! I shall be happy to have it removed for you if you would like it." "Good gracious!" cried Laura. "Why, where would you put it?" "Oh, they could run it along the line and dump it anywhere. It is not much of a hill. A few thousand men with proper machinery, and a line of rails brought right up to them could easily dispose of it in a few months." "And the poor vicar's house?" Laura asked, laughing. "I think that might be got over. We could run him up a facsimile, which would, perhaps, be more convenient to him. Your brother will tell you that I am quite an expert at the designing of houses. But, seriously, if you think it would be an improvement I will see what can be done." "Not for the world, Mr. Haw. Why, I should be a traitor to the whole village if I were to encourage such a scheme. The hill is the one thing which gives Tamfield the slightest individuality. It would be the height of selfishness to sacrifice it in order to improve the view from Elmdene." "It is a little box of a place this, Mr. Haw," said old McIntyre. "I should think you must feel quite stifled in it after your grand mansion, of which my son tells me such wonders. But we were not always accustomed to this sort of thing, Mr. Haw. Humble as I stand here, there was a time, and not so long ago, when I could write as many figures on a cheque as any gunmaker in Birmingham. It was--" "He is a dear discontented old papa," cried Laura, throwing her arm round him in a caressing manner. He gave a sharp squeak and a grimace of pain, which he endeavoured to hide by an outbreak of painfully artificial coughing. "Shall we go upstairs?" said Robert hurriedly, anxious to divert his guest's attention from this little domestic incident. "My studio is the real atelier, for it is right up under the tiles. I shall lead the way, if you will have the kindness to follow me." Leaving Laura and Mr. McIntyre, they went up together to the workroom. Mr. Haw stood long in front of the "Signing of Magna Charta," and the "Murder of Thomas a Becket," screwing up his eyes and twitching nervously at his beard, while Robert stood by in anxious expectancy. "And how much are these?" asked Raffles Haw at last. "I priced them at a hundred apiece when I sent them to London." "Then the best I can wish you is that the day may come when you would gladly give ten times the sum to have them back again. I am sure that there are great possibilities in you, and I see that in grouping and in boldness of design you have already achieved much. But your drawing, if you will excuse my saying so, is just a little crude, and your colouring perhaps a trifle thin. Now, I will make a bargain with you, Mr. McIntyre, if you will consent to it. I know that money has no charms for you, but still, as you said when I first met you, a man must live. I shall buy these two canvases from you at the price which you name, subject to the condition that you may always have them back again by repaying the same sum." "You are really very kind." Robert hardly knew whether to be delighted at having sold his pictures or humiliated at the frank criticism of the buyer. "May I write a cheque at once?" said Raffles Haw. "Here is pen and ink. So! I shall send a couple of footmen down for them in the afternoon. Well, I shall keep them in trust for you. I dare say that when you are famous they will be of value as specimens of your early manner." "I am sure that I am extremely obliged to you, Mr. Haw," said the young artist, placing the cheque in his notebook. He glanced at it as he folded it up, in the vague hope that perhaps this man of whims had assessed his pictures at a higher rate than he had named. The figures, however, were exact. Robert began dimly to perceive that there were drawbacks as well as advantages to the reputation of a money-scorner, which he had gained by a few chance words, prompted rather by the reaction against his father's than by his own real convictions. "I hope, Miss McIntyre," said Raffles Haw, when they had descended to the sitting-room once more, "that you will do me the honour of coming to see the little curiosities which I have gathered together. Your brother will, I am sure, escort you up; or perhaps Mr. McIntyre would care to come?" "I shall be delighted to come, Mr. Haw," cried Laura, with her sweetest smile. "A good deal of my time just now is taken up in looking after the poor people, who find the cold weather very trying." Robert raised his eyebrows, for it was the first he had heard of his sister's missions of mercy, but Mr. Raffles Haw nodded approvingly. "Robert was telling us of your wonderful hot-houses. I am sure I wish I could transport the whole parish into one of them, and give them a good warm." "Nothing would be easier, but I am afraid that they might find it a little trying when they came out again. I have one house which is only just finished. Your brother has not seen it yet, but I think it is the best of them all. It represents an Indian jungle, and is hot enough in all conscience." "I shall so look forward to seeing it," cried Laura, clasping her hands. "It has been one of the dreams of my life to see India. I have read so much of it, the temples, the forests, the great rivers, and the tigers. Why, you would hardly believe it, but I have never seen a tiger except in a picture." "That can easily be set right," said Raffles Haw, with his quiet smile. "Would you care to see one?" "Oh, immensely." "I will have one sent down. Let me see, it is nearly twelve o'clock. I can get a wire to Liverpool by one. There is a man there who deals in such things. I should think he would be due to-morrow morning. Well, I shall look forward to seeing you all before very long. I have rather outstayed my time, for I am a man of routine, and I always put in a certain number of hours in my laboratory." He shook hands cordially with them all, and lighting his pipe at the doorstep, strolled off upon his way. "Well, what do you think of him now?" asked Robert, as they watched his black figure against the white snow. "I think that he is no more fit to be trusted with all that money than a child," cried the old man. "It made me positively sick to hear him talk of moving hills and buying tigers, and such-like nonsense, when there are honest men without a business, and great businesses starving for a little capital. It's unchristian--that's what I call it." "I think he is most delightful, Robert," said Laura. "Remember, you have promised to take us up to the Hall. And he evidently wishes us to go soon. Don't you think we might go this afternoon?" "I hardly think that, Laura. You leave it in my hands, and I will arrange it all. And now I must get to work, for the light is so very short on these winter days." That night Robert McIntyre had gone to bed, and was dozing off when a hand plucked at his shoulder, and he started up to find his sister in some white drapery, with a shawl thrown over her shoulders, standing beside him in the moonlight. "Robert, dear," she whispered, stooping over him, "there was something I wanted to ask you, but papa was always in the way. You will do something to please me, won't you, Robert?" "Of course, Laura. What is it?" "I do so hate having my affairs talked over, dear. If Mr. Raffles Haw says anything to you about me, or asks any questions, please don't say anything about Hector. You won't, will you, Robert, for the sake of your little sister?" "No; not unless you wish it." "There is a dear good brother." She stooped over him and kissed him tenderly. It was a rare thing for Laura to show any emotion, and her brother marvelled sleepily over it until he relapsed into his interrupted doze. CHAPTER VI. A STRANGE VISITOR. The McIntyre family was seated at breakfast on the morning which followed the first visit of Raffles Haw, when they were surprised to hear the buzz and hum of a multitude of voices in the village street. Nearer and nearer came the tumult, and then, of a sudden, two maddened horses reared themselves up on the other side of the garden hedge, prancing and pawing, with ears laid back and eyes ever glancing at some horror behind them. Two men hung shouting to their bridles, while a third came rushing up the curved gravel path. Before the McIntyres could realise the situation, their maid, Mary, darted into the sitting-room with terror in her round freckled face: "If you please, miss," she screamed, "your tiger has arrove." "Good heavens!" cried Robert, rushing to the door with his half-filled teacup in his hand. "This is too much. Here is an iron cage on a trolly with a great ramping tiger, and the whole village with their mouths open." "Mad as a hatter!" shrieked old Mr. McIntyre. "I could see it in his eye. He spent enough on this beast to start me in business. Whoever heard of such a thing? Tell the driver to take it to the police-station." "Nothing of the sort, papa," said Laura, rising with dignity and wrapping a shawl about her shoulders. Her eyes were shining, her cheeks flushed, and she carried herself like a triumphant queen. Robert, with his teacup in his hand, allowed his attention to be diverted from their strange visitor while he gazed at his beautiful sister. "Mr. Raffles Haw has done this out of kindness to me," she said, sweeping towards the door. "I look upon it as a great attention on his part. I shall certainly go out and look at it." "If you please, sir," said the carman, reappearing at the door, "it's all as we can do to 'old in the 'osses." "Let us all go out together then," suggested Robert. They went as far as the garden fence and stared over, while the whole village, from the school-children to the old grey-haired men from the almshouses, gathered round in mute astonishment. The tiger, a long, lithe, venomous-looking creature, with two blazing green eyes, paced stealthily round the little cage, lashing its sides with its tail, and rubbing its muzzle against the bars. "What were your orders?" asked Robert of the carman. "It came through by special express from Liverpool, sir, and the train is drawn up at the Tamfield siding all ready to take it back. If it 'ad been royalty the railway folk couldn't ha' shown it more respec'. We are to take it back when you're done with it. It's been a cruel job, sir, for our arms is pulled clean out of the sockets a-'olding in of the 'osses." "What a dear, sweet creature it is," cried Laura. "How sleek and how graceful! I cannot understand how people could be afraid of anything so beautiful." "If you please, marm," said the carman, touching his skin cap, "he out with his paw between the bars as we stood in the station yard, and if I 'adn't pulled my mate Bill back it would ha' been a case of kingdom come. It was a proper near squeak, I can tell ye." "I never saw anything more lovely," continued Laura, loftily overlooking the remarks of the driver. "It has been a very great pleasure to me to see it, and I hope that you will tell Mr. Haw so if you see him, Robert." "The horses are very restive," said her brother. "Perhaps, Laura, if you have seen enough, it would be as well to let them go." She bowed in the regal fashion which she had so suddenly adopted. Robert shouted the order, the driver sprang up, his comrades let the horses go, and away rattled the waggon and the trolly with half the Tamfielders streaming vainly behind it. "Is it not wonderful what money can do?" Laura remarked, as they knocked the snow from their shoes within the porch. "There seems to be no wish which Mr. Haw could not at once gratify." "No wish of yours, you mean," broke in her father. "It's different when he is dealing with a wrinkled old man who has spent himself in working for his children. A plainer case of love at first sight I never saw." "How can you be so coarse, papa?" cried Laura, but her eyes flashed, and her teeth gleamed, as though the remark had not altogether displeased her. "For heaven's sake, be careful, Laura!" cried Robert. "It had not struck me before, but really it does look rather like it. You know how you stand. Raffles Haw is not a man to play with." "You dear old boy!" said Laura, laying her hand upon his shoulder, "what do you know of such things? All you have to do is to go on with your painting, and to remember the promise you made the other night." "What promise was that, then?" cried old McIntyre suspiciously. "Never you mind, papa. But if you forget it, Robert, I shall never forgive you as long as I live." CHAPTER VII. THE WORKINGS OF WEALTH. It can easily be believed that as the weeks passed the name and fame of the mysterious owner of the New Hall resounded over the quiet countryside until the rumour of him had spread to the remotest corners of Warwickshire and Staffordshire. In Birmingham on the one side, and in Coventry and Leamington on the other, there was gossip as to his untold riches, his extraordinary whims, and the remarkable life which he led. His name was bandied from mouth to mouth, and a thousand efforts were made to find out who and what he was. In spite of all their pains, however, the newsmongers were unable to discover the slightest trace of his antecedents, or to form even a guess as to the secret of his riches. It was no wonder that conjecture was rife upon the subject, for hardly a day passed without furnishing some new instance of the boundlessness of his power and of the goodness of his heart. Through the vicar, Robert, and others, he had learned much of the inner life of the parish, and many were the times when the struggling man, harassed and driven to the wall, found thrust into his hand some morning a brief note with an enclosure which rolled all the sorrow back from his life. One day a thick double-breasted pea-jacket and a pair of good sturdy boots were served out to every old man in the almshouse. On another, Miss Swire, the decayed gentlewoman who eked out her small annuity by needlework, had a brand new first-class sewing-machine handed in to her to take the place of the old worn-out treadle which tried her rheumatic joints. The pale-faced schoolmaster, who had spent years with hardly a break in struggling with the juvenile obtuseness of Tamfield, received through the post a circular ticket for a two months' tour through Southern Europe, with hotel coupons and all complete. John Hackett, the farmer, after five long years of bad seasons, borne with a brave heart, had at last been overthrown by the sixth, and had the bailiffs actually in the house when the good vicar had rushed in, waving a note above his head, to tell him not only that his deficit had been made up, but that enough remained over to provide the improved machinery which would enable him to hold his own for the future. An almost superstitious feeling came upon the rustic folk as they looked at the great palace when the sun gleamed upon the huge hot-houses, or even more so, perhaps, when at night the brilliant electric lights shot their white radiance through the countless rows of windows. To them it was as if some minor Providence presided in that great place, unseen but seeing all, boundless in its power and its graciousness, ever ready to assist and to befriend. In every good deed, however, Raffles Haw still remained in the background, while the vicar and Robert had the pleasant task of conveying his benefits to the lowly and the suffering. Once only did he appear in his own person, and that was upon the famous occasion when he saved the well-known bank of Garraweg Brothers in Birmingham. The most charitable and upright of men, the two brothers, Louis and Rupert, had built up a business which extended its ramifications into every townlet of four counties. The failure of their London agents had suddenly brought a heavy loss upon them, and the circumstance leaking out had caused a sudden and most dangerous run upon their establishment. Urgent telegrams for bullion from all their forty branches poured in at the very instant when the head office was crowded with anxious clients all waving their deposit-books, and clamouring for their money. Bravely did the two brothers with their staff stand with smiling faces behind the shining counter, while swift messengers sped and telegrams flashed to draw in all the available resources of the bank. All day the stream poured through the office, and when four o'clock came, and the doors were closed for the day, the street without was still blocked by the expectant crowd, while there remained scarce a thousand pounds of bullion in the cellars. "It is only postponed. Louis," said brother Rupert despairingly, when the last clerk had left the office, and when at last they could relax the fixed smile upon their haggard faces. "Those shutters will never come down again," cried brother Louis, and the two suddenly burst out sobbing in each other's arms, not for their own griefs, but for the miseries which they might bring upon those who had trusted them. But who shall ever dare to say that there is no hope, if he will but give his griefs to the world? That very night Mrs. Spurling had received a letter from her old school friend, Mrs. Louis Garraweg, with all her fears and her hopes poured out in it, and the whole sad story of their troubles. Swift from the Vicarage went the message to the Hall, and early next morning Mr. Raffles Haw, with a great black carpet-bag in his hand, found means to draw the cashier of the local branch of the Bank of England from his breakfast, and to persuade him to open his doors at unofficial hours. By half-past nine the crowd had already begun to collect around Garraweg's, when a stranger, pale and thin, with a bloated carpet-bag, was shown at his own very pressing request into the bank parlour. "It is no use, sir," said the elder brother humbly, as they stood together encouraging each other to turn a brave face to misfortune, "we can do no more. We have little left, and it would be unfair to the others to pay you now. We can but hope that when our assets are realised no one will be the loser save ourselves." "I did not come to draw out, but to put in," said Raffles Haw in his demure apologetic fashion. "I have in my bag five thousand hundred-pound Bank of England notes. If you will have the goodness to place them to my credit account I should be extremely obliged." "But, good heavens, sir!" stammered Rupert Garraweg, "have you not heard? Have you not seen? We cannot allow you to do this thing blindfold; can we Louis?" "Most certainly not. We cannot recommend our bank, sir, at the present moment, for there is a run upon us, and we do not know to what lengths it may go." "Tut! tut!" said Raffles Haw. "If the run continues you must send me a wire, and I shall make a small addition to my account. You will send me a receipt by post. Good-morning, gentlemen!" He bowed himself out ere the astounded partners could realise what had befallen them, or raise their eyes from the huge black bag and the visiting card which lay upon their table. There was no great failure in Birmingham that day, and the house of Garraweg still survives to enjoy the success which it deserves. Such were the deeds by which Raffles Haw made himself known throughout the Midlands, and yet, in spite of all his open-handedness, he was not a man to be imposed upon. In vain the sturdy beggar cringed at his gate, and in vain the crafty letter-writer poured out a thousand fabulous woes upon paper. Robert was astonished when he brought some tale of trouble to the Hall to observe how swift was the perception of the recluse, and how unerringly he could detect a flaw in a narrative, or lay his finger upon the one point which rang false. Were a man strong enough to help himself, or of such a nature as to profit nothing by help, none would he get from the master of the New Hall. In vain, for example, did old McIntyre throw himself continually across the path of the millionaire, and impress upon him, by a thousand hints and innuendoes, the hard fortune which had been dealt him, and the ease with which his fallen greatness might be restored. Raffles Haw listened politely, bowed, smiled, but never showed the slightest inclination to restore the querulous old gunmaker to his pedestal. But if the recluse's wealth was a lure which drew the beggars from far and near, as the lamp draws the moths, it had the same power of attraction upon another and much more dangerous class. Strange hard faces were seen in the village street, prowling figures were marked at night stealing about among the fir plantations, and warning messages arrived from city police and county constabulary to say that evil visitors were known to have taken train to Tamfield. But if, as Raffles Haw held, there were few limits to the power of immense wealth, it possessed, among other things, the power of self-preservation, as one or two people were to learn to their cost. "Would you mind stepping up to the Hall?" he said one morning, putting his head in at the door of the Elmdene sitting-room. "I have something there that might amuse you." He was on intimate terms with the McIntyres now, and there were few days on which they did not see something of each other. They gladly accompanied him, all three, for such invitations were usually the prelude of some agreeable surprise which he had in store for them. "I have shown you a tiger," he remarked to Laura, as he led them into the dining-room. "I will now show you something quite as dangerous, though not nearly so pretty." There was an arrangement of mirrors at one end of the room, with a large circular glass set at a sharp angle at the top. "Look in there--in the upper glass," said Raffles Haw. "Good gracious! what dreadful-looking men!" cried Laura. "There are two of them, and I don't know which is the worse." "What on earth are they doing?" asked Robert. "They appear to be sitting on the ground in some sort of a cellar." "Most dangerous-looking characters," said the old man. "I should strongly recommend you to send for a policeman." "I have done so. But it seems a work of supererogation to take them to prison, for they are very snugly in prison already. However, I suppose that the law must have its own." "And who are they, and how did they come there? Do tell us, Mr. Haw." Laura McIntyre had a pretty beseeching way with her, which went rather piquantly with her queenly style of beauty. "I know no more than you do. They were not there last night, and they are here this morning, so I suppose it is a safe inference that they came in during the night, especially as my servants found the window open when they came down. As to their character and intentions, I should think that is pretty legible upon their faces. They look a pair of beauties, don't they?" "But I cannot understand in the least where they are," said Robert, staring into the mirror. "One of them has taken to butting his head against the wall. No, he is bending so that the other may stand upon his back. He is up there now, and the light is shining upon his face. What a bewildered ruffianly face it is too. I should so like to sketch it. It would be a study for the picture I am thinking of of the Reign of Terror." "I have caught them in my patent burglar trap," said Haw. "They are my first birds, but I have no doubt that they will not be the last. I will show you how it works. It is quite a new thing. This flooring is now as strong as possible, but every night I disconnect it. It is done simultaneously by a central machine for every room on the ground-floor. When the floor is disconnected one may advance three or four steps, either from the window or door, and then that whole part turns on a hinge and slides you into a padded strong-room beneath, where you may kick your heels until you are released. There is a central oasis between the hinges, where the furniture is grouped for the night. The flooring flies into position again when the weight of the intruder is removed, and there he must bide, while I can always take a peep at him by this simple little optical arrangement. I thought it might amuse you to have a look at my prisoners before I handed them over to the head-constable, who I see is now coming up the avenue." "The poor burglars!" cried Laura. "It is no wonder that they look bewildered, for I suppose, Mr. Haw, that they neither know where they are, nor how they came there. I am so glad to know that you guard yourself in this way, for I have often thought that you ran a danger." "Have you so?" said he, smiling round at her. "I think that my house is fairly burglar-proof. I have one window which may be used as an entrance, the centre one of the three of my laboratory. I keep it so because, to tell the truth, I am somewhat of a night prowler myself, and when I treat myself to a ramble under the stars I like to slip in and out without ceremony. It would, however, be a fortunate rogue who picked the only safe entrance out of a hundred, and even then he might find pitfalls. Here is the constable, but you must not go, for Miss McIntyre has still something to see in my little place. If you will step into the billiard-room I shall be with you in a very few moments." CHAPTER VIII. A BILLIONAIRE'S PLANS. That morning, and many mornings both before and afterwards, were spent by Laura at the New Hall examining the treasures of the museum, playing with the thousand costly toys which Raffles Haw had collected, or sallying out from the smoking-room in the crystal chamber into the long line of luxurious hot-houses. Haw would walk demurely beside her as she flitted from one thing to another like a butterfly among flowers, watching her out of the corner of his eyes, and taking a quiet pleasure in her delight. The only joy which his costly possessions had ever brought him was that which came from the entertainment of others. By this time his attentions towards Laura McIntyre had become so marked that they could hardly be mistaken. He visibly brightened in her presence, and was never weary of devising a thousand methods of surprising and pleasing her. Every morning ere the McIntyre family were afoot a great bouquet of strange and beautiful flowers was brought down by a footman from the Hall to brighten their breakfast-table. Her slightest wish, however fantastic, was instantly satisfied, if human money or ingenuity could do it. When the frost lasted a stream was dammed and turned from its course that it might flood two meadows, solely in order that she might have a place upon which to skate. With the thaw there came a groom every afternoon with a sleek and beautiful mare in case Miss McIntyre should care to ride. Everything went to show that she had made a conquest of the recluse of the New Hall. And she on her side played her part admirably. With female adaptiveness she fell in with his humour, and looked at the world through his eyes. Her talk was of almshouses and free libraries, of charities and of improvements. He had never a scheme to which she could not add some detail making it more complete and more effective. To Haw it seemed that at last he had met a mind which was in absolute affinity with his own. Here was a help-mate, who could not only follow, but even lead him in the path which he had chosen. Neither Robert nor his father could fail to see what was going forward, but to the latter nothing could possibly be more acceptable than a family tie which should connect him, however indirectly, with a man of vast fortune. The glamour of the gold bags had crept over Robert also, and froze the remonstrance upon his lips. It was very pleasant to have the handling of all this wealth, even as a mere agent. Why should he do or say what might disturb their present happy relations? It was his sister's business, not his; and as to Hector Spurling, he must take his chance as other men did. It was obviously best not to move one way or the other in the matter. But to Robert himself, his work and his surroundings were becoming more and more irksome. His joy in his art had become less keen since he had known Raffles Haw. It seemed so hard to toll and slave to earn such a trifling sum, when money could really be had for the asking. It was true that he had asked for none, but large sums were for ever passing through his hands for those who were needy, and if he were needy himself his friend would surely not grudge it to him. So the Roman galleys still remained faintly outlined upon the great canvas, while Robert's days were spent either in the luxurious library at the Hall, or in strolling about the country listening to tales of trouble, and returning like a tweed-suited ministering angel to carry Raffles Haw's help to the unfortunate. It was not an ambitious life, but it was one which was very congenial to his weak and easy-going nature. Robert had observed that fits of depression had frequently come upon the millionaire, and it had sometimes struck him that the enormous sums which he spent had possibly made a serious inroad into his capital, and that his mind was troubled as to the future. His abstracted manner, his clouded brow, and his bent head all spoke of a soul which was weighed down with care, and it was only in Laura's presence that he could throw off the load of his secret trouble. For five hours a day he buried himself in the laboratory and amused himself with his hobby, but it was one of his whims that no one, neither any of his servants, nor even Laura or Robert, should ever cross the threshold of that outlying building. Day after day he vanished into it, to reappear hours afterwards pale and exhausted, while the whirr of machinery and the smoke which streamed from his high chimney showed how considerable were the operations which he undertook single-handed. "Could I not assist you in any way?" suggested Robert, as they sat together after luncheon in the smoking-room. "I am convinced that you over-try your strength. I should be so glad to help you, and I know a little of chemistry." "Do you, indeed?" said Raffles Haw, raising his eyebrows. "I had no idea of that; it is very seldom that the artistic and the scientific faculties go together." "I don't know that I have either particularly developed. But I have taken classes, and I worked for two years in the laboratory at Sir Josiah Mason's Institute." "I am delighted to hear it," Haw replied with emphasis. "That may be of great importance to us. It is very possible--indeed, almost certain--that I shall avail myself of your offer of assistance, and teach you something of my chemical methods, which I may say differ considerably from those of the orthodox school. The time, however, is hardly ripe for that. What is it, Jones?" "A note, sir." The butler handed it in upon a silver salver. Haw broke the seal and ran his eye over it. "Tut! tut! It is from Lady Morsley, asking me to the Lord-Lieutenant's ball. I cannot possibly accept. It is very kind of them, but I do wish they would leave me alone. Very well, Jones. I shall write. Do you know, Robert, I am often very unhappy." He frequently called the young artist by his Christian name, especially in his more confidential moments. "I have sometimes feared that you were," said the other sympathetically. "But how strange it seems, you who are yet young, healthy, with every faculty for enjoyment, and a millionaire." "Ah, Robert," cried Haw, leaning back in his chair, and sending up thick blue wreaths from his pipe. "You have put your finger upon my trouble. If I were a millionaire I might be happy, but, alas, I am no millionaire!" "Good heavens!" gasped Robert. Cold seemed to shoot to his inmost soul as it flashed upon him that this was a prelude to a confession of impending bankruptcy, and that all this glorious life, all the excitement and the colour and change, were about to vanish into thin air. "No millionaire!" he stammered. "No, Robert; I am a billionaire--perhaps the only one in the world. That is what is on my mind, and why I am unhappy sometimes. I feel that I should spend this money--that I should put it in circulation--and yet it is so hard to do it without failing to do good--without doing positive harm. I feel my responsibility deeply. It weighs me down. Am I justified in continuing to live this quiet life when there are so many millions whom I might save and comfort if I could but reach them?" Robert heaved a long sigh of relief. "Perhaps you take too grave a view of your responsibilities," he said. "Everybody knows that the good which you have done is immense. What more could you desire? If you really wished to extend your benevolence further, there are organised charities everywhere which would be very glad of your help." "I have the names of two hundred and seventy of them," Haw answered. "You must run your eye over them some time, and see if you can suggest any others. I send my annual mite to each of them. I don't think there is much room for expansion in that direction." "Well, really you have done your share, and more than your share. I would settle down to lead a happy life, and think no more of the matter." "I could not do that," Haw answered earnestly. "I have not been singled out to wield this immense power simply in order that I might lead a happy life. I can never believe that. Now, can you not use your imagination, Robert, and devise methods by which a man who has command of--well, let us say, for argument's sake, boundless wealth, could benefit mankind by it, without taking away any one's independence or in any way doing harm?" "Well, really, now that I come to think of it, it is a very difficult problem," said Robert. "Now I will submit a few schemes to you, and you may give me your opinion on them. Supposing that such a man were to buy ten square miles of ground here in Staffordshire, and were to build upon it a neat city, consisting entirely of clean, comfortable little four-roomed houses, furnished in a simple style, with shops and so forth, but no public-houses. Supposing, too, that he were to offer a house free to all the homeless folk, all the tramps, and broken men, and out-of-workers in Great Britain. Then, having collected them together, let him employ them, under fitting superintendence, upon some colossal piece of work which would last for many years, and perhaps be of permanent value to humanity. Give them a good rate of pay, and let their hours of labour be reasonable, and those of recreation be pleasant. Might you not benefit them and benefit humanity at one stroke?" "But what form of work could you devise which would employ so vast a number for so long a time, and yet not compete with any existing industry? To do the latter would simply mean to shift the misery from one class to another." "Precisely so. I should compete with no one. What I thought of doing was of sinking a shaft through the earth's crust, and of establishing rapid communication with the Antipodes. When you had got a certain distance down--how far is an interesting mathematical problem--the centre of gravity would be beneath you, presuming that your boring was not quite directed towards the centre, and you could then lay down rails and tunnel as if you were on the level." Then for the first time it flashed into Robert McIntyre's head that his father's chance words were correct, and that he was in the presence of a madman. His great wealth had clearly turned his brain, and made him a monomaniac. He nodded indulgently, as when one humours a child. "It would be very nice," he said. "I have heard, however, that the interior of the earth is molten, and your workmen would need to be Salamanders." "The latest scientific data do not bear out the idea that the earth is so hot," answered Raffles Haw. "It is certain that the increased temperature in coal mines depends upon the barometric pressure. There are gases in the earth which may be ignited, and there are combustible materials as we see in the volcanoes; but if we came across anything of the sort in our borings, we could turn a river or two down the shaft, and get the better of it in that fashion." "It would be rather awkward if the other end of your shaft came out under the Pacific Ocean," said Robert, choking down his inclination to laugh. "I have had estimates and calculations from the first living engineers--French, English, and American. The point of exit of the tunnel could be calculated to the yard. That portfolio in the corner is full of sections, plans, and diagrams. I have agents employed in buying up land, and if all goes well, we may get to work in the autumn. That is one device which may produce results. Another is canal-cutting." "Ah, there you would compete with the railways." "You don't quite understand. I intend to cut canals through every neck of land where such a convenience would facilitate commerce. Such a scheme, when unaccompanied by any toll upon vessels, would, I think, be a very judicious way of helping the human race." "And where, pray, would you cut the canals?" asked Robert. "I have a map of the world here," Haw answered, rising, and taking one down from the paper-rack. "You see the blue pencil marks. Those are the points where I propose to establish communication. Of course, I should begin by the obvious duty of finishing the Panama business." "Naturally." The man's lunacy was becoming more and more obvious, and yet there was such precision and coolness in his manner, that Robert found himself against his own reason endorsing and speculating over his plans. "The Isthmus of Corinth also occurs to one. That, however, is a small matter, from either a financial or an engineering point of view. I propose, however, to make a junction here, through Kiel between the German Ocean and the Baltic. It saves, you will observe, the whole journey round the coast of Denmark, and would facilitate our trade with Germany and Russia. Another very obvious improvement is to join the Forth and the Clyde, so as to connect Leith with the Irish and American routes. You see the blue line?" "Quite so." "And we will have a little cutting here. It will run from Uleaborg to Kem, and will connect the White Sea with the Gulf of Bothnia. We must not allow our sympathies to be insular, must we? Our little charities should be cosmopolitan. We will try and give the good people of Archangel a better outlet for their furs and their tallow." "But it will freeze." "For six months in the year. Still, it will be something. Then we must do something for the East. It would never do to overlook the East." "It would certainly be an oversight," said Robert, who was keenly alive to the comical side of the question. Raffles Haw, however, in deadly earnest, sat scratching away at his map with his blue pencil. "Here is a point where we might be of some little use. If we cut through from Batoum to the Kura River we might tap the trade of the Caspian, and open up communication with all the rivers which run into it. You notice that they include a considerable tract of country. Then, again, I think that we might venture upon a little cutting between Beirut, on the Mediterranean, and the upper waters of the Euphrates, which would lead us into the Persian Gulf. Those are one or two of the more obvious canals which might knit the human race into a closer whole." "Your plans are certainly stupendous," said Robert, uncertain whether to laugh or to be awe-struck. "You will cease to be a man, and become one of the great forces of Nature, altering, moulding, and improving." "That is precisely the view which I take of myself. That is why I feel my responsibility so acutely." "But surely if you will do all this you may rest. It is a considerable programme." "Not at all. I am a patriotic Briton, and I should like to do something to leave my name in the annals of my country. I should prefer, however, to do it after my own death, as anything in the shape of publicity and honour is very offensive to me. I have, therefore, put by eight hundred million in a place which shall be duly mentioned in my will, which I propose to devote to paying off the National Debt. I cannot see that any harm could arise from its extinction." Robert sat staring, struck dumb by the audacity of the strange man's words. "Then there is the heating of the soil. There is room for improvement there. You have no doubt read of the immense yields which have resulted in Jersey and elsewhere, from the running of hot-water pipes through the soil. The crops are trebled and quadrupled. I would propose to try the experiment upon a larger scale. We might possibly reserve the Isle of Man to serve as a pumping and heating station. The main pipes would run to England, Ireland, and Scotland, where they would subdivide rapidly until they formed a network two feet deep under the whole country. A pipe at distances of a yard would suffice for every purpose." "I am afraid," suggested Robert, "that the water which left the Isle of Man warm might lose a little of its virtue before it reached Caithness, for example." "There need not be any difficulty there. Every few miles a furnace might be arranged to keep up the temperature. These are a few of my plans for the future, Robert, and I shall want the co-operation of disinterested men like yourself in all of them. But how brightly the sun shines, and how sweet the countryside looks! The world is very beautiful, and I should like to leave it happier than I found it. Let us walk out together, Robert, and you will tell me of any fresh cases where I may be of assistance." CHAPTER IX. A NEW DEPARTURE. Whatever good Mr. Raffles Haw's wealth did to the world, there could be no doubt that there were cases where it did harm. The very contemplation and thought of it had upon many a disturbing and mischievous effect. Especially was this the case with the old gunmaker. From being merely a querulous and grasping man, he had now become bitter, brooding, and dangerous. Week by week, as he saw the tide of wealth flow as it were through his very house without being able to divert the smallest rill to nourish his own fortunes, he became more wolfish and more hungry-eyed. He spoke less of his own wrongs, but he brooded more, and would stand for hours on Tamfield Hill looking down at the great palace beneath, as a thirst-stricken man might gaze at the desert mirage. He had worked, and peeped, and pried, too, until there were points upon which he knew more than either his son or his daughter. "I suppose that you still don't know where your friend gets his money?" he remarked to Robert one morning, as they walked together through the village. "No, father, I do not. I only know that he spends it very well." "Well!" snarled the old man. "Yes, very well! He has helped every tramp and slut and worthless vagabond over the countryside, but he will not advance a pound, even on the best security, to help a respectable business man to fight against misfortune." "My dear father, I really cannot argue with you about it," said Robert. "I have already told you more than once what I think. Mr. Haw's object is to help those who are destitute. He looks upon us as his equals, and would not presume to patronise us, or to act as if we could not help ourselves. It would be a humiliation to us to take his money." "Pshaw! Besides, it is only a question of an advance, and advances are made every day among business men. How can you talk such nonsense, Robert?" Early as it was, his son could see from his excited, quarrelsome manner that the old man had been drinking. The habit had grown upon him of late, and it was seldom now that he was entirely sober. "Mr. Raffles Haw is the best judge," said Robert coldly. "If he earns the money, he has a right to spend it as he likes." "And how does he earn it? You don't know, Robert. You don't know that you aren't aiding and abetting a felony when you help him to fritter it away. Was ever so much money earned in an honest fashion? I tell you there never was. I tell you, also, that lumps of gold are no more to that man than chunks of coal to the miners over yonder. He could build his house of them and think nothing of it." "I know that he is very rich, father. I think, however, that he has an extravagant way of talking sometimes, and that his imagination carries him away. I have heard him talk of plans which the richest man upon earth could not possibly hope to carry through." "Don't you make any mistake, my son. Your poor old father isn't quite a fool, though he is only an honest broken merchant." He looked up sideways at his son with a wink and a most unpleasant leer. "Where there's money I can smell it. There's money there, and heaps of it. It's my belief that he is the richest man in the world, though how he came to be so I should not like to guarantee. I'm not quite blind yet, Robert. Have you seen the weekly waggon?" "The weekly waggon!" "Yes, Robert. You see I can find some news for you yet. It is due this morning. Every Saturday morning you will see the waggon come in. Why, here it is now, as I am a living man, coming round the curve." Robert glanced back and saw a great heavy waggon drawn by two strong horses lumbering slowly along the road which led to the New Hall. From the efforts of the animals and its slow pace the contents seemed to be of great weight. "Just you wait here," old McIntyre cried, plucking at his son's sleeve with his thin bony hand. "Wait here and see it pass. Then we will watch what becomes of it." They stood by the side of the road until it came abreast of them. The waggon was covered with tarpaulin sheetings in front and at the sides, but behind some glimpse could be caught of the contents. They consisted, as far as Robert could see, of a number of packets of the same shape, each about two feet long and six inches high, arranged symmetrically upon the top of each other. Each packet was surrounded by a covering of coarse sacking. "What do you think of that?" asked old McIntyre triumphantly as the load creaked past. "Why, father? What do you make of it?" "I have watched it, Robert--I have watched it every Saturday, and I had my chance of looking a little deeper into it. You remember the day when the elm blew down, and the road was blocked until they could saw it in two. That was on a Saturday, and the waggon came to a stand until they could clear a way for it. I was there, Robert, and I saw my chance. I strolled behind the waggon, and I placed my hands upon one of those packets. They look small, do they not? It would take a strong man to lift one. They are heavy, Robert, heavy, and hard with the hardness of metal. I tell you, boy, that that waggon is loaded with gold." "Gold!" "With solid bars of gold, Robert. But come into the plantation and we shall see what becomes of it." They passed through the lodge gates, behind the waggon, and then wandered off among the fir-trees until they gained a spot where they could command a view. The load had halted, not in front of the house, but at the door of the out-building with the chimney. A staff of stablemen and footmen were in readiness, who proceeded to swiftly unload and to carry the packages through the door. It was the first time that Robert had ever seen any one save the master of the house enter the laboratory. No sign was seen of him now, however, and in half an hour the contents had all been safely stored and the waggon had driven briskly away. "I cannot understand it, father," said Robert thoughtfully, as they resumed their walk. "Supposing that your supposition is correct, who would send him such quantities of gold, and where could it come from?" "Ha, you have to come to the old man after all!" chuckled his companion. "I can see the little game. It is clear enough to me. There are two of them in it, you understand. The other one gets the gold. Never mind how, but we will hope that there is no harm. Let us suppose, for example, that they have found a marvellous mine, where you can just shovel it out like clay from a pit. Well, then, he sends it on to this one, and he has his furnaces and his chemicals, and he refines and purifies it and makes it fit to sell. That's my explanation of it, Robert. Eh, has the old man put his finger on it?" "But if that were true, father, the gold must go back again." "So it does, Robert, but a little at a time. Ha, ha! I've had my eyes open, you see. Every night it goes down in a small cart, and is sent on to London by the 7.40. Not in bars this time, but done up in iron-bound chests. I've seen them, boy, and I've had this hand upon them." "Well," said the young man thoughtfully, "maybe you are right. It is possible that you are right." While father and son were prying into his secrets, Raffles Haw had found his way to Elmdene, where Laura sat reading the _Queen_ by the fire. "I am so sorry," she said, throwing down her paper and springing to her feet. "They are all out except me. But I am sure that they won't be long. I expect Robert every moment." "I would rather speak with you alone," answered Raffles Haw quietly. "Pray sit down, for I wanted to have a little chat with you." Laura resumed her seat with a flush upon her cheeks and a quickening of the breath. She turned her face away and gazed into the fire; but there was a sparkle in her eyes which was not caught from the leaping flames. "Do you remember the first time that we met, Miss McIntyre?" he asked, standing on the rug and looking down at her dark hair, and the beautifully feminine curve of her ivory neck. "As if it were yesterday," she answered in her sweet mellow tones. "Then you must also remember the wild words that I said when we parted. It was very foolish of me. I am sure that I am most sorry if I frightened or disturbed you, but I have been a very solitary man for a long time, and I have dropped into a bad habit of thinking aloud. Your voice, your face, your manner, were all so like my ideal of a true woman, loving, faithful, and sympathetic, that I could not help wondering whether, if I were a poor man, I might ever hope to win the affection of such a one." "Your good opinion, Mr. Raffles Haw, is very dear to me," said Laura. "I assure you that I was not frightened, and that there is no need to apologise for what was really a compliment." "Since then I have found," he continued, "that all that I had read upon your face was true. That your mind is indeed that of the true woman, full of the noblest and sweetest qualities which human nature can aspire to. You know that I am a man of fortune, but I wish you to dismiss that consideration from your mind. Do you think from what you know of my character that you could be happy as my wife, Laura?" She made no answer, but still sat with her head turned away and her sparkling eyes fixed upon the fire. One little foot from under her skirt tapped nervously upon the rug. "It is only right that you should know a little more about me before you decide. There is, however, little to know. I am an orphan, and, as far as I know, without a relation upon earth. My father was a respectable man, a country surgeon in Wales, and he brought me up to his own profession. Before I had passed my examinations, however, he died and left me a small annuity. I had conceived a great liking for the subjects of chemistry and electricity, and instead of going on with my medical work I devoted myself entirely to these studies, and eventually built myself a laboratory where I could follow out my own researches. At about this time I came into a very large sum of money, so large as to make me feel that a vast responsibility rested upon me in the use which I made of it. After some thought I determined to build a large house in a quiet part of the country, not too far from a great centre. There I could be in touch with the world, and yet would have quiet and leisure to mature the schemes which were in my head. As it chanced, I chose Tamfield as my site. All that remains now is to carry out the plans which I have made, and to endeavour to lighten the earth of some of the misery and injustice which weigh it down. I again ask you, Laura, will you throw in your lot with mine, and help me in the life's work which lies before me?" Laura looked up at him, at his stringy figure, his pale face, his keen, yet gentle eyes. Somehow as she looked there seemed to form itself beside him some shadow of Hector Spurling, the manly features, the clear, firm mouth, the frank manner. Now, in the very moment of her triumph, it sprang clearly up in her mind how at the hour of their ruin he had stood firmly by them, and had loved the penniless girl as tenderly as the heiress to fortune. That last embrace at the door, too, came back to her, and she felt his lips warm upon her own. "I am very much honoured, Mr. Haw," she stammered, "but this is so sudden. I have not had time to think. I do not know what to say." "Do not let me hurry you," he cried earnestly. "I beg that you will think well over it. I shall come again for my answer. When shall I come? Tonight?" "Yes, come tonight." "Then, adieu. Believe me that I think more highly of you for your hesitation. I shall live in hope." He raised her hand to his lips, and left her to her own thoughts. But what those thoughts were did not long remain in doubt. Dimmer and dimmer grew the vision of the distant sailor face, clearer and clearer the image of the vast palace, of the queenly power, of the diamonds, the gold, the ambitious future. It all lay at her feet, waiting to be picked up. How could she have hesitated, even for a moment? She rose, and, walking over to her desk, she took out a sheet of paper and an envelope. The latter she addressed to Lieutenant Spurling, H.M.S. _Active_, Gibraltar. The note cost some little trouble, but at last she got it worded to her mind. "Dear Hector," she said--"I am convinced that your father has never entirely approved of our engagement, otherwise he would not have thrown obstacles in the way of our marriage. I am sure, too, that since my poor father's misfortune it is only your own sense of honour and feeling of duty which have kept you true to me, and that you would have done infinitely better had you never seen me. I cannot bear, Hector, to allow you to imperil your future for my sake, and I have determined, after thinking well over the matter, to release you from our boy and girl engagement, so that you may be entirely free in every way. It is possible that you may think it unkind of me to do this now, but I am quite sure, dear Hector, that when you are an admiral and a very distinguished man, you will look back at this, and you will see that I have been a true friend to you, and have prevented you from making a false step early in your career. For myself, whether I marry or not, I have determined to devote the remainder of my life to trying to do good, and to leaving the world happier than I found it. Your father is very well, and gave us a capital sermon last Sunday. I enclose the bank-note which you asked me to keep for you. Good-bye, for ever, dear Hector, and believe me when I say that, come what may, I am ever your true friend, "Laura S. McIntyre." She had hardly sealed her letter before her father and Robert returned. She closed the door behind them, and made them a little curtsey. "I await my family's congratulations," she said, with her head in the air. "Mr. Raffles Haw has been here, and he has asked me to be his wife." "The deuce he did!" cried the old man. "And you said--?" "I am to see him again." "And you will say--?" "I will accept him." "You were always a good girl, Laura," said old McIntyre, standing on his tiptoes to kiss her. "But Laura, Laura, how about Hector?" asked Robert in mild remonstrance. "Oh, I have written to him," his sister answered carelessly. "I wish you would be good enough to post the letter." CHAPTER X. THE GREAT SECRET. And so Laura McIntyre became duly engaged to Raffles Haw, and old McIntyre grew even more hungry-looking as he felt himself a step nearer to the source of wealth, while Robert thought less of work than ever, and never gave as much as a thought to the great canvas which still stood, dust-covered, upon his easel. Haw gave Laura an engagement ring of old gold, with a great blazing diamond bulging out of it. There was little talk about the matter, however, for it was Haw's wish that all should be done very quietly. Nearly all his evenings were spent at Elmdene, where he and Laura would build up the most colossal schemes of philanthropy for the future. With a map stretched out on the table in front of them, these two young people would, as it were, hover over the world, planning, devising, and improving. "Bless the girl!" said old McIntyre to his son; "she speaks about it as if she were born to millions. Maybe, when once she is married, she won't be so ready to chuck her money into every mad scheme that her husband can think of." "Laura is greatly changed," Robert answered; "she has grown much more serious in her ideas." "You wait a bit!" sniggered his father. "She is a good girl, is Laura, and she knows what she is about. She's not a girl to let her old dad go to the wall if she can set him right. It's a pretty state of things," he added bitterly: "here's my daughter going to marry a man who thinks no more of gold than I used to of gun-metal; and here's my son going about with all the money he cares to ask for to help every ne'er-do-well in Staffordshire; and here's their father, who loved them and cared for them, and brought them both up, without money enough very often to buy a bottle of brandy. I don't know what your poor dear mother would have thought of it." "You have only to ask for what you want." "Yes, as if I were a five-year-old child. But I tell you, Robert, I'll have my rights, and if I can't get them one way I will another. I won't be treated as if I were no one. And there's one thing: if I am to be this man's pa-in-law, I'll want to know something about him and his money first. We may be poor, but we are honest. I'll up to the Hall now, and have it out with him." He seized his hat and stick and made for the door. "No, no, father," cried Robert, catching him by the sleeve. "You had better leave the matter alone. Mr. Haw is a very sensitive man. He would not like to be examined upon such a point. It might lead to a serious quarrel. I beg that you will not go." "I am not to be put off for ever," snarled the old man, who had been drinking heavily. "I'll put my foot down now, once and for ever." He tugged at his sleeve to free himself from his son's grasp. "At least you shall not go without Laura knowing. I will call her down, and we shall have her opinion." "Oh, I don't want to have any scenes," said McIntyre sulkily, relaxing his efforts. He lived in dread of his daughter, and at his worst moments the mention of her name would serve to restrain him. "Besides," said Robert, "I have not the slightest doubt that Raffles Haw will see the necessity for giving us some sort of explanation before matters go further. He must understand that we have some claim now to be taken into his confidence." He had hardly spoken when there was a tap at the door, and the man of whom they were speaking walked in. "Good-morning, Mr. McIntyre," said he. "Robert, would you mind stepping up to the Hall with me? I want to have a little business chat." He looked serious, like a man who is carrying out something which he has well weighed. They walked up together with hardly a word on either side. Raffles Haw was absorbed in his own thoughts. Robert felt expectant and nervous, for he knew that something of importance lay before him. The winter had almost passed now, and the first young shoots were beginning to peep out timidly in the face of the wind and the rain of an English March. The snows were gone, but the countryside looked bleaker and drearier, all shrouded in the haze from the damp, sodden meadows. "By the way, Robert," said Raffles Haw suddenly, as they walked up the Avenue. "Has your great Roman picture gone to London?" "I have not finished it yet." "But I know that you are a quick worker. You must be nearly at the end of it." "No, I am afraid that it has not advanced much since you saw it. For one thing, the light has not been very good." Raffles Haw said nothing, but a pained expression flashed over his face. When they reached the house he led the way through the museum. Two great metal cases were lying on the floor. "I have a small addition there to the gem collection," he remarked as he passed. "They only arrived last night, and I have not opened them yet, but I am given to understand from the letters and invoices that there are some fine specimens. We might arrange them this afternoon, if you care to assist me. Let us go into the smoking-room now." He threw himself down into a settee, and motioned Robert into the armchair in front of him. "Light a cigar," he said. "Press the spring if there is any refreshment which you would like. Now, my dear Robert, confess to me in the first place that you have often thought me mad." The charge was so direct and so true that the young artist hesitated, hardly knowing how to answer. "My dear boy, I do not blame you. It was the most natural thing in the world. I should have looked upon anyone as a madman who had talked to me as I have talked to you. But for all that, Robert, you were wrong, and I have never yet in our conversations proposed any scheme which it was not well within my power to carry out. I tell you in all sober earnest that the amount of my income is limited only by my desire, and that all the bankers and financiers combined could not furnish the sums which I can put forward without an effort." "I have had ample proof of your immense wealth," said Robert. "And you are very naturally curious as to how that wealth was obtained. Well, I can tell you one thing. The money is perfectly clean. I have robbed no one, cheated no one, sweated no one, ground no one down in the gaining of it. I can read your father's eye, Robert. I can see that he has done me an injustice in this matter. Well, perhaps he is not to be blamed. Perhaps I also might think uncharitable things if I were In his place. But that is why I now give an explanation to you, Robert, and not to him. You, at least, have trusted me, and you have a right, before I become one of your family, to know all that I can tell you. Laura also has trusted me, but I know well that she is content still to trust me." "I would not intrude upon your secrets, Mr. Haw," said Robert, "but of course I cannot deny that I should be very proud and pleased if you cared to confide them to me." "And I will. Not all. I do not think that I shall ever, while I live, tell all. But I shall leave directions behind me so that when I die you may be able to carry on my unfinished work. I shall tell you where those directions are to be found. In the meantime, you must be content to learn the effects which I produce without knowing every detail as to the means." Robert settled himself down in his chair and concentrated his attention upon his companion's words, while Haw bent forward his eager, earnest face, like a man who knows the value of the words which he is saying. "You are already aware," he remarked, "that I have devoted a great deal of energy and of time to the study of chemistry." "So you told me." "I commenced my studies under a famous English chemist, I continued them under the best man in France, and I completed them in the most celebrated laboratory of Germany. I was not rich, but my father had left me enough to keep me comfortably, and by living economically I had a sum at my command which enabled me to carry out my studies in a very complete way. When I returned to England I built myself a laboratory in a quiet country place where I could work without distraction or interruption. There I began a series of investigations which soon took me into regions of science to which none of the three famous men who taught me had ever penetrated. "You say, Robert, that you have some slight knowledge of chemistry, and you will find it easier to follow what I say. Chemistry is to a large extent an empirical science, and the chance experiment may lead to greater results than could, with our present data, be derived from the closest study or the keenest reasoning. The most important chemical discoveries from the first manufacture of glass to the whitening and refining of sugar have all been due to some happy chance which might have befallen a mere dabbler as easily as a deep student. "Well, it was to such a chance that my own great discovery--perhaps the greatest that the world has seen--was due, though I may claim the credit of having originated the line of thought which led up to it. I had frequently speculated as to the effect which powerful currents of electricity exercise upon any substance through which they are poured for a considerable time. I did not here mean such feeble currents as are passed along a telegraph wire, but I mean the very highest possible developments. Well, I tried a series of experiments upon this point. I found that in liquids, and in compounds, the force had a disintegrating effect. The well-known experiment of the electrolysis of water will, of course, occur to you. But I found that in the case of elemental solids the effect was a remarkable one. The element slowly decreased in weight, without perceptibly altering in composition. I hope that I make myself clear to you?" "I follow you entirely," said Robert, deeply interested in his companion's narrative. "I tried upon several elements, and always with the same result. In every case an hour's current would produce a perceptible loss of weight. My theory at that stage was that there was a loosening of the molecules caused by the electric fluid, and that a certain number of these molecules were shed off like an impalpable dust, all round the lump of earth or of metal, which remained, of course, the lighter by their loss. I had entirely accepted this theory, when a very remarkable chance led me to completely alter my opinions. "I had one Saturday night fastened a bar of bismuth in a clamp, and had attached it on either side to an electric wire, in order to observe what effect the current would have upon it. I had been testing each metal in turn, exposing them to the influence for from one to two hours. I had just got everything in position, and had completed my connection, when I received a telegram to say that John Stillingfleet, an old chemist in London with whom I had been on terms of intimacy, was dangerously ill, and had expressed a wish to see me. The last train was due to leave in twenty minutes, and I lived a good mile from the station, I thrust a few things into a bag, locked my laboratory, and ran as hard as I could to catch it. "It was not until I was in London that it suddenly occurred to me that I had neglected to shut off the current, and that it would continue to pass through the bar of bismuth until the batteries were exhausted. The fact, however, seemed to be of small importance, and I dismissed it from my mind. I was detained in London until the Tuesday night, and it was Wednesday morning before I got back to my work. As I unlocked the laboratory door my mind reverted to the uncompleted experiment, and it struck me that in all probability my piece of bismuth would have been entirely disintegrated and reduced to its primitive molecules. I was utterly unprepared for the truth. "When I approached the table I found, sure enough, that the bar of metal had vanished, and that the clamp was empty. Having noted the fact, I was about to turn away to something else, when my attention was attracted to the fact that the table upon which the clamp stood was starred over with little patches of some liquid silvery matter, which lay in single drops or coalesced into little pools. I had a very distinct recollection of having thoroughly cleared the table before beginning my experiment, so that this substance had been deposited there since I had left for London. Much interested, I very carefully collected it all into one vessel, and examined it minutely. There could be no question as to what it was. It was the purest mercury, and gave no response to any test for bismuth. "I at once grasped the fact that chance had placed in my hands a chemical discovery of the very first importance. If bismuth were, under certain conditions, to be subjected to the action of electricity, it would begin by losing weight, and would finally be transformed into mercury. I had broken down the partition which separated two elements. "But the process would be a constant one. It would presumably prove to be a general law, and not an isolated fact. If bismuth turned into mercury, what would mercury turn into? There would be no rest for me until I had solved the question. I renewed the exhausted batteries and passed the current through the bowl of quicksilver. For sixteen hours I sat watching the metal, marking how it slowly seemed to curdle, to grow firmer, to lose its silvery glitter and to take a dull yellow hue. When I at last picked it up in a forceps, and threw it upon the table, it had lost every characteristic of mercury, and had obviously become another metal. A few simple tests were enough to show me that this other metal was platinum. "Now, to a chemist, there was something very suggestive in the order in which these changes had been effected. Perhaps you can see the relation, Robert, which they bear to each other?" "No, I cannot say that I do." Robert had sat listening to this strange statement with parted lips and staring eyes. "I will show you. Speaking atomically, bismuth is the heaviest of the metals. Its atomic weight is 210. The next in weight is lead, 207, and then comes mercury at 200. Possibly the long period during which the current had acted in my absence had reduced the bismuth to lead and the lead in turn to mercury. Now platinum stands at 197.5, and it was accordingly the next metal to be produced by the continued current. Do you see now?" "It is quite clear." "And then there came the inference, which sent my heart into my mouth and caused my head to swim round. Gold is the next in the series. Its atomic weight is 197. I remembered now, and for the first time understood why it was always lead and mercury winch were mentioned by the old alchemists as being the two metals which might be used in their calling. With fingers which trembled with excitement I adjusted the wires again, and in little more than an hour--for the length of the process was always in proportion to the difference in the metals--I had before me a knob of ruddy crinkled metal, which answered to every reaction for gold. "Well, Robert, this is a long story, but I think that you will agree with me that its importance justifies me in going into detail. When I had satisfied myself that I had really manufactured gold I cut the nugget in two. One half I sent to a jeweller and worker in precious metals, with whom I had some slight acquaintance, asking him to report upon the quality of the metal. With the other half I continued my series of experiments, and reduced it in successive stages through all the long series of metals, through silver and zinc and manganese, until I brought it to lithium, which is the lightest of all." "And what did it turn to then?" asked Robert. "Then came what to chemists is likely to be the most interesting portion of my discovery. It turned to a greyish fine powder, which powder gave no further results, however much I might treat it with electricity. And that powder is the base of all things; it is the mother of all the elements; it is, in short, the substance whose existence has been recently surmised by a leading chemist, and which has been christened protyle by him. I am the discoverer of the great law of the electrical transposition of the metals, and I am the first to demonstrate protyle, so that, I think, Robert, if all my schemes in other directions come to nothing, my name is at least likely to live in the chemical world. "There is not very much more for me to tell you. I had my nugget back from my friend the jeweller, confirming my opinion as to its nature and its quality. I soon found several methods by which the process might be simplified, and especially a modification of the ordinary electric current, which was very much more effective. Having made a certain amount of gold, I disposed of it for a sum which enabled me to buy improved materials and stronger batteries. In this way I enlarged my operations until at last I was in a position to build this house and to have a laboratory where I could carry out my work on a much larger scale. As I said before, I can now state with all truth that the amount of my income is only limited by my desires." "It is wonderful!" gasped Robert. "It is like a fairy tale. But with this great discovery in your mind you must have been sorely tempted to confide it to others." "I thought well over it. I gave it every consideration. It was obvious to me that if my invention were made public, its immediate result would be to deprive the present precious metals of all their special value. Some other substance--amber, we will say, or ivory--would be chosen as a medium for barter, and gold would be inferior to brass, as being heavier and yet not so hard. No one would be the better for such a consummation as that. Now, if I retained my secret, and used it with wisdom, I might make myself the greatest benefactor to mankind that has ever lived. Those were the chief reasons, and I trust that they are not dishonourable ones, which led me to form the resolution, which I have today for the first time broken." "But your secret is safe with me," cried Robert. "My lips shall be sealed until I have your permission to speak." "If I had not known that I could trust you I should have withheld it from your knowledge. And now, my dear Robert, theory is very weak work, and practice is infinitely more interesting. I have given you more than enough of the first. If you will be good enough to accompany me to the laboratory I shall give you a little of the latter." CHAPTER XI. A CHEMICAL DEMONSTRATION. Raffles Haw led the way through the front door, and crossing over the gravelled drive pushed open the outer door of the laboratory--the same through which the McIntyres had seen the packages conveyed from the waggon. On passing through it Robert found that they were not really within the building, but merely in a large bare ante-chamber, around the walls of which were stacked the very objects which had aroused his curiosity and his father's speculations. All mystery had gone from them now, however, for while some were still wrapped in their sackcloth coverings, others had been undone, and revealed themselves as great pigs of lead. "There is my raw material," said Raffles Haw carelessly, nodding at the heap. "Every Saturday I have a waggon-load sent up, which serves me for a week, but we shall need to work double tides when Laura and I are married, and we get our great schemes under way. I have to be very careful about the quality of the lead, for, of course, every impurity is reproduced in the gold." A heavy iron door led into the inner chamber. Haw unlocked it, but only to disclose a second one about five feet further on. "This flooring is all disconnected at night," he remarked. "I have no doubt that there is a good deal of gossip in the servants'-hall about this sealed chamber, so I have to guard myself against some inquisitive ostler or too adventurous butler." The inner door admitted them into the laboratory, a high, bare, whitewashed room with a glass roof. At one end was the furnace and boiler, the iron mouth of which was closed, though the fierce red light beat through the cracks, and a dull roar sounded through the building. On either side innumerable huge Leyden jars stood ranged in rows, tier topping tier, while above them were columns of Voltaic cells. Robert's eyes, as he glanced around, lit on vast wheels, complicated networks of wire, stands, test-tubes, coloured bottles, graduated glasses, Bunsen burners, porcelain insulators, and all the varied _debris_ of a chemical and electrical workshop. "Come across here," said Raffles Haw, picking his way among the heaps of metal, the coke, the packing-cases, and the carboys of acid. "Yours is the first foot except my own which has ever penetrated to this room since the workmen left it. My servants carry the lead into the ante-room, but come no further. The furnace can be cleaned and stoked from without. I employ a fellow to do nothing else. Now take a look in here." He threw open a door on the further side, and motioned to the young artist to enter. The latter stood silent with one foot over the threshold, staring in amazement around him. The room, which may have been some thirty feet square, was paved and walled with gold. Great brick-shaped ingots, closely packed, covered the whole floor, while on every side they were reared up in compact barriers to the very ceiling. The single electric lamp which lighted the windowless chamber struck a dull, murky, yellow light from the vast piles of precious metal, and gleamed ruddily upon the golden floor. "This is my treasure house," remarked the owner. "You see that I have rather an accumulation just now. My imports have been exceeding my exports. You can understand that I have other and more important duties even than the making of gold, just now. This is where I store my output until I am ready to send it off. Every night almost I am in the habit of sending a case of it to London. I employ seventeen brokers in its sale. Each thinks that he is the only one, and each is dying to know where I can get such large quantities of virgin gold. They say that it is the purest which comes into the market. The popular theory is, I believe, that I am a middleman acting on behalf of some new South African mine, which wishes to keep its whereabouts a secret. What value would you put upon the gold in this chamber? It ought to be worth something, for it represents nearly a week's work." "Something fabulous, I have no doubt," said Robert, glancing round at the yellow barriers. "Shall I say a hundred and fifty thousand pounds?" "Oh dear me, it is surely worth very much more than that," cried Raffles Haw, laughing. "Let me see. Suppose that we put it at three ten an ounce, which is nearly ten shillings under the mark. That makes, roughly, fifty-six pounds for a pound in weight. Now each of these ingots weighs thirty-six pounds, which brings their value to two thousand and a few odd pounds. There are five hundred ingots on each of these three sides of the room, but on the fourth there are only three hundred, on account of the door, but there cannot be less than two hundred on the floor, which gives us a rough total of two thousand ingots. So you see, my dear boy, that any broker who could get the contents of this chamber for four million pounds would be doing a nice little stroke of business." "And a week's work!" gasped Robert. "It makes my head swim." "You will follow me now when I repeat that none of the great schemes which I intend to simultaneously set in motion are at all likely to languish for want of funds. Now come into the laboratory with me and see how it is done." In the centre of the workroom was an instrument like a huge vice, with two large brass-coloured plates, and a great steel screw for bringing them together. Numerous wires ran into these metal plates, and were attached at the other end to the rows of dynamic machines. Beneath was a glass stand, which was hollowed out in the centre into a succession of troughs. "You will soon understand all about it," said Raffles Haw, throwing off his coat, and pulling on a smoke-stained and dirty linen jacket. "We must first stoke up a little." He put his weight on a pair of great bellows, and an answering roar came from the furnace. "That will do. The more heat the more electric force, and the quicker our task. Now for the lead! Just give me a hand in carrying it." They lifted a dozen of the pigs of lead from the floor on to the glass stand, and having adjusted the plates on either side, Haw screwed up the handle so as to hold them in position. "It used in the early days to be a slow process," he remarked; "but now that I have immense facilities for my work it takes a very short time. I have now only to complete the connection in order to begin." He took hold of a long glass lever which projected from among the wires, and drew it downwards. A sharp click was heard, followed by a loud, sparkling, crackling noise. Great spurts of flame sprang from the two electrodes, and the mass of lead was surrounded by an aureole of golden sparks, which hissed and snapped like pistol-shots. The air was filled with the peculiar acid smell of ozone. "The power there is immense," said Raffles Haw, superintending the process, with his watch upon the palm of his hand. "It would reduce an organic substance to protyle instantly. It is well to understand the mechanism thoroughly, for any mistake might be a grave matter for the operator. You are dealing with gigantic forces. But you perceive that the lead is already beginning to turn." Silvery dew-like drops had indeed begun to form upon the dull-coloured mass, and to drop with a tinkle and splash into the glass troughs. Slowly the lead melted away, like an icicle in the sun, the electrodes ever closing upon it as it contracted, until they came together in the centre, and a row of pools of quicksilver had taken the place of the solid metal. Two smaller electrodes were plunged into the mercury, which gradually curdled and solidified, until it had resumed the solid form, with a yellowish brassy shimmer. "What lies in the moulds now is platinum," remarked Raffles Haw. "We must take it from the troughs and refix it in the large electrodes. So! Now we turn on the current again. You see that it gradually takes a darker and richer tint. Now I think that it is perfect." He drew up the lever, removed the electrodes, and there lay a dozen bricks of ruddy sparkling gold. "You see, according to our calculations, our morning's work has been worth twenty-four thousand pounds, and it has not taken us more than twenty minutes," remarked the alchemist, as he picked up the newly-made ingots, and threw them down among the others. "We will devote one of them to experiment," said he, leaving the last standing upon the glass insulator. "To the world it would seem an expensive demonstration which cost two thousand pounds, but our standard, you see, is a different one. Now you will see me run through the whole gamut of metallic nature." First of all men after the discoverer, Robert saw the gold mass, when the electrodes were again applied to it, change swiftly and successively to barium, to tin, to silver, to copper, to iron. He saw the long white electric sparks change to crimson with the strontium, to purple with the potassium, to yellow with the manganese. Then, finally, after a hundred transformations, it disintegrated before his eyes, and lay as a little mound of fluffy grey dust upon the glass table. "And this is protyle," said Haw, passing his fingers through it. "The chemist of the future may resolve it into further constituents, but to me it is the Ultima Thule." "And now, Robert," he continued, after a pause, "I have shown you enough to enable you to understand something of my system. This is the great secret. It is the secret which endows the man who knows it with such a universal power as no man has ever enjoyed since the world was made. This secret it is the dearest wish of my heart to use for good, and I swear to you, Robert McIntyre, that if I thought it would tend to anything but good I would have done with it for ever. No, I would neither use it myself nor would any other man learn it from my lips. I swear it by all that is holy and solemn!" His eyes flashed as he spoke, and his voice quivered with emotion. Standing, pale and lanky, amid his electrodes and his retorts, there was still something majestic about this man, who, amid all his stupendous good fortune, could still keep his moral sense undazzled by the glitter of his gold. Robert's weak nature had never before realised the strength which lay in those thin, firm lips and earnest eyes. "Surely in your hands, Mr. Haw, nothing but good can come of it," he said. "I hope not--I pray not--most earnestly do I pray not. I have done for you, Robert, what I might not have done for my own brother had I one, and I have done it because I believe and hope that you are a man who would not use this power, should you inherit it, for selfish ends. But even now I have not told you all. There is one link which I have withheld from you, and which shall be withheld from you while I live. But look at this chest, Robert." He led him to a great iron-clamped chest which stood in the corner, and, throwing it open, he took from it a small case of carved ivory. "Inside this," he said, "I have left a paper which makes clear anything which is still hidden from you. Should anything happen to me you will always be able to inherit my powers, and to continue my plans by following the directions which are there expressed. And now," he continued, throwing his casket back again into the box, "I shall frequently require your help, but I do not think it will be necessary this morning. I have already taken up too much of your time. If you are going back to Elmdene I wish that you would tell Laura that I shall be with her in the afternoon." CHAPTER XII. A FAMILY JAR. And so the great secret was out, and Robert walked home with his head in a whirl, and the blood tingling in his veins. He had shivered as he came up at the damp cold of the wind and the sight of the mist-mottled landscape. That was all gone now. His own thoughts tinged everything with sunshine, and he felt inclined to sing and dance as he walked down the muddy, deeply-rutted country lane. Wonderful had been the fate allotted to Raffles Haw, but surely hardly less important that which had come upon himself. He was the sharer of the alchemist's secret, and the heir to an inheritance which combined a wealth greater than that of monarchs, to a freedom such as monarchs cannot enjoy. This was a destiny indeed! A thousand gold-tinted visions of his future life rose up before him, and in fancy he already sat high above the human race, with prostrate thousands imploring his aid, or thanking him for his benevolence. How sordid seemed the untidy garden, with its scrappy bushes and gaunt elm trees! How mean the plain brick front, with the green wooden porch! It had always offended his artistic sense, but now it was obtrusive in its ugliness. The plain room, too, with the American leather chairs, the dull-coloured carpet, and the patchwork rug, he felt a loathing for it all. The only pretty thing in it, upon which his eyes could rest with satisfaction, was his sister, as she leaned back in her chair by the fire with her white, clear beautiful face outlined against the dark background. "Do you know, Robert," she said, glancing up at him from under her long black lashes, "Papa grows unendurable. I have had to speak very plainly to him, and to make him understand that I am marrying for my own benefit and not for his." "Where is he, then?" "I don't know. At the Three Pigeons, no doubt. He spends most of his time there now. He flew off in a passion, and talked such nonsense about marriage settlements, and forbidding the banns, and so on. His notion of a marriage settlement appears to be a settlement upon the bride's father. He should wait quietly, and see what can be done for him." "I think, Laura, that we must make a good deal of allowance for him," said Robert earnestly. "I have noticed a great change in him lately. I don't think he is himself at all. I must get some medical advice. But I have been up at the Hall this morning." "Have you? Have you seen Raffles? Did he send anything for me?" "He said that he would come down when he had finished his work." "But what is the matter, Robert?" cried Laura, with the swift perception of womanhood. "You are flushed, and your eyes are shining, and really you look quite handsome. Raffles has been telling you something! What was it? Oh, I know! He has been telling you how he made his money. Hasn't he, now?" "Well, yes. He took me partly into his confidence. I congratulate you, Laura, with all my heart, for you will be a very wealthy woman." "How strange it seems that he should have come to us in our poverty. It is all owing to you, you dear old Robert; for if he had not taken a fancy to you, he would never have come down to Elmdene and taken a fancy to some one else." "Not at all," Robert answered, sitting down by his sister, and patting her hand affectionately. "It was a clear case of love at first sight. He was in love with you before he ever knew your name. He asked me about you the very first time I saw him." "But tell me about his money, Bob," said his sister. "He has not told me yet, and I am so curious. How did he make it? It was not from his father; he told me that himself. His father was just a country doctor. How did he do it?" "I am bound over to secrecy. He will tell you himself." "Oh, but only tell me if I guess right. He had it left him by an uncle, eh? Well, by a friend? Or he took out some wonderful patent? Or he discovered a mine? Or oil? Do tell me, Robert!" "I mustn't, really," cried her brother laughing. "And I must not talk to you any more. You are much too sharp. I feel a responsibility about it; and, besides, I must really do some work." "It Is very unkind of you," said Laura, pouting. "But I must put my things on, for I go into Birmingham by the 1.20." "To Birmingham?" "Yes, I have a hundred things to order. There is everything to be got. You men forget about these details. Raffles wishes to have the wedding in little more than a fortnight. Of course it will be very quiet, but still one needs something." "So early as that!" said Robert, thoughtfully. "Well, perhaps it is better so." "Much better, Robert. Would it not be dreadful if Hector came back first and there was a scene? If I were once married I should not mind. Why should I? But of course Raffles knows nothing about him, and it would be terrible if they came together." "That must be avoided at any cost." "Oh, I cannot bear even to think of it. Poor Hector! And yet what could I do, Robert? You know that it was only a boy and girl affair. And how could I refuse such an offer as this? It was a duty to my family, was it not?" "You were placed in a difficult position--very difficult," her brother answered. "But all will be right, and I have no doubt Hector will see it as you do. But does Mr. Spurling know of your engagement?" "Not a word. He was here yesterday, and talked of Hector, but indeed I did not know how to tell him. We are to be married by special licence in Birmingham, so really there is no reason why he should know. But now I must hurry or I shall miss my train." When his sister was gone Robert went up to his studio, and having ground some colours upon his palette he stood for some time, brush and mahlstick in hand, in front of his big bare canvas. But how profitless all his work seemed to him now! What object had he in doing it? Was it to earn money? Money could be had for the asking, or, for that matter, without the asking. Or was it to produce a thing of beauty? But he had artistic faults. Raffles Haw had said so, and he knew that he was right. After all his pains the thing might not please; and with money he could at all times buy pictures which would please, and which would be things of beauty. What, then, was the object of his working? He could see none. He threw down his brush, and, lighting his pipe, he strolled downstairs once more. His father was standing in front of the fire, and in no very good humour, as his red face and puckered eyes sufficed to show. "Well, Robert," he began, "I suppose that, as usual, you have spent your morning plotting against your father?" "What do you mean, father?" "I mean what I say. What is it but plotting when three folk--you and she and this Raffles Haw--whisper and arrange and have meetings without a word to me about it? What do I know of your plans?" "I cannot tell you secrets which are not my own, father." "But I'll have a voice in the matter, for all that. Secrets or no secrets, you will find that Laura has a father, and that he is not a man to be set aside. I may have had my ups and downs in trade, but I have not quite fallen so low that I am nothing in my own family. What am I to get out of this precious marriage?" "What should you get? Surely Laura's happiness and welfare are enough for you?" "If this man were really fond of Laura he would show proper consideration for Laura's father. It was only yesterday that I asked him for a loan-condescended actually to ask for it--I, who have been within an ace of being Mayor of Birmingham! And he refused me point blank." "Oh, father! How could you expose yourself to such humiliation?" "Refused me point blank!" cried the old man excitedly. "It was against his principles, if you please. But I'll be even with him--you see if I am not. I know one or two things about him. What is it they call him at the Three Pigeons? A 'smasher'--that's the word-a coiner of false money. Why else should he have this metal sent him, and that great smoky chimney of his going all day?" "Why can you not leave him alone, father?" expostulated Robert. "You seem to think of nothing but his money. If he had not a penny he would still be a very kind-hearted, pleasant gentleman." Old McIntyre burst into a hoarse laugh. "I like to hear you preach," said he. "Without a penny, indeed! Do you think that you would dance attendance upon him if he were a poor man? Do you think that Laura would ever have looked twice at him? You know as well as I do that she is marrying him only for his money." Robert gave a cry of dismay. There was the alchemist standing in the doorway, pale and silent, looking from one to the other of them with his searching eyes. "I must apologise," he said coldly. "I did not mean to listen to your words. I could not help it. But I have heard them. As to you, Mr. McIntyre, I believe that you speak from your own bad heart. I will not let myself be moved by your words. In Robert I have a true friend. Laura also loves me for my own sake. You cannot shake my faith in them. But with you, Mr. McIntyre, I have nothing in common; and it is as well, perhaps, that we should both recognise the fact." He bowed, and was gone ere either of the McIntyres could say a word. "You see!" said Robert at last. "You have done now what you cannot undo!" "I will be even with him!" cried the old man furiously, shaking his fist through the window at the dark slow-pacing figure. "You just wait, Robert, and see if your old dad is a man to be played with." CHAPTER XIII. A MIDNIGHT VENTURE. Not a word was said to Laura when she returned as to the scene which had occurred in her absence. She was in the gayest of spirits, and prattled merrily about her purchases and her arrangements, wondering from time to time when Raffles Haw would come. As night fell, however, without any word from him, she became uneasy. "What can be the matter that he does not come?" she said. "It is the first day since our engagement that I have not seen him." Robert looked out through the window. "It is a gusty night, and raining hard," he remarked. "I do not at all expect him." "Poor Hector used to come, rain, snow, or fine. But, then, of course, he was a sailor. It was nothing to him. I hope that Raffles is not ill." "He was quite well when I saw him this morning," answered her brother, and they relapsed into silence, while the rain pattered against the windows, and the wind screamed amid the branches of the elms outside. Old McIntyre had sat in the corner most of the day biting his nails and glowering into the fire, with a brooding, malignant expression upon his wrinkled features. Contrary to his usual habits, he did not go to the village inn, but shuffled off early to bed without a word to his children. Laura and Robert remained chatting for some time by the fire, she talking of the thousand and one wonderful things which were to be done when she was mistress of the New Hall. There was less philanthropy in her talk when her future husband was absent, and Robert could not but remark that her carriages, her dresses, her receptions, and her travels in distant countries were the topics into which she threw all the enthusiasm which he had formerly heard her bestow upon refuge homes and labour organisations. "I think that greys are the nicest horses," she said. "Bays are nice too, but greys are more showy. We could manage with a brougham and a landau, and perhaps a high dog-cart for Raffles. He has the coach-house full at present, but he never uses them, and I am sure that those fifty horses would all die for want of exercise, or get livers like Strasburg geese, if they waited for him to ride or drive them." "I suppose that you will still live here?" said her brother. "We must have a house in London as well, and run up for the season. I don't, of course, like to make suggestions now, but it will be different afterwards. I am sure that Raffles will do it if I ask him. It is all very well for him to say that he does not want any thanks or honours, but I should like to know what is the use of being a public benefactor if you are to have no return for it. I am sure that if he does only half what he talks of doing, they will make him a peer--Lord Tamfield, perhaps--and then, of course, I shall be my Lady Tamfield, and what would you think of that, Bob?" She dropped him a stately curtsey, and tossed her head in the air, as one who was born to wear a coronet. "Father must be pensioned off," she remarked presently. "He shall have so much a year on condition that he keeps away. As to you, Bob, I don't know what we shall do for you. We shall make you President of the Royal Academy if money can do it." It was late before they ceased building their air-castles and retired to their rooms. But Robert's brain was excited, and he could not sleep. The events of the day had been enough to shake a stronger man. There had been the revelation of the morning, the strange sights which he had witnessed in the laboratory, and the immense secret which had been confided to his keeping. Then there had been his conversation with his father in the afternoon, their disagreement, and the sudden intrusion of Raffles Haw. Finally the talk with his sister had excited his imagination, and driven sleep from his eyelids. In vain he turned and twisted in his bed, or paced the floor of his chamber. He was not only awake, but abnormally awake, with every nerve highly strung, and every sense at the keenest. What was he to do to gain a little sleep? It flashed across him that there was brandy in the decanter downstairs, and that a glass might act as a sedative. He had opened the door of his room, when suddenly his ear caught the sound of slow and stealthy footsteps upon the stairs. His own lamp was unlit, but a dim glimmer came from a moving taper, and a long black shadow travelled down the wall. He stood motionless, listening intently. The steps were in the hall now, and he heard a gentle creaking as the key was cautiously turned in the door. The next instant there came a gust of cold air, the taper was extinguished, and a sharp snap announced that the door had been closed from without. Robert stood astonished. Who could this night wanderer be? It must be his father. But what errand could take him out at three in the morning? And such a morning, too! With every blast of the wind the rain beat up against his chamber-window as though it would drive it in. The glass rattled in the frames, and the tree outside creaked and groaned as its great branches were tossed about by the gale. What could draw any man forth upon such a night? Hurriedly Robert struck a match and lit his lamp. His father's room was opposite his own, and the door was ajar. He pushed it open and looked about him. It was empty. The bed had not even been lain upon. The single chair stood by the window, and there the old man must have sat since he left them. There was no book, no paper, no means by which he could have amused himself, nothing but a razor-strop lying on the window-sill. A feeling of impending misfortune struck cold to Robert's heart. There was some ill-meaning in this journey of his father's. He thought of his brooding of yesterday, his scowling face, his bitter threats. Yes, there was some mischief underlying it. But perhaps he might even now be in time to prevent it. There was no use calling Laura. She could be no help in the matter. He hurriedly threw on his clothes, muffled himself in his top-coat, and, seizing his hat and stick, he set off after his father. As he came out into the village street the wind whirled down it, so that he had to put his ear and shoulder against it, and push his way forward. It was better, however, when he turned into the lane. The high bank and the hedge sheltered him upon one side. The road, however, was deep in mud, and the rain fell in a steady swish. Not a soul was to be seen, but he needed to make no inquiries, for he knew whither his father had gone as certainly as though he had seen him. The iron side gate of the avenue was half open, and Robert stumbled his way up the gravelled drive amid the dripping fir-trees. What could his father's intention be when he reached the Hall? Was it merely that he wished to spy and prowl, or did he intend to call up the master and enter into some discussion as to his wrongs? Or was it possible that some blacker and more sinister design lay beneath his strange doings? Robert thought suddenly of the razor-strop, and gasped with horror. What had the old man been doing with that? He quickened his pace to a run, and hurried on until he found himself at the door of the Hall. Thank God! all was quiet there. He stood by the big silent door and listened intently. There was nothing to be heard save the wind and the rain. Where, then, could his father be? If he wished to enter the Hall he would not attempt to do so by one of the windows, for had he not been present when Raffles Haw had shown them the precautions which he had taken? But then a sudden thought struck Robert. There was one window which was left unguarded. Haw had been imprudent enough to tell them so. It was the middle window of the laboratory. If he remembered it so clearly, of course his father would remember it too. There was the point of danger. The moment that he had come round the corner of the building he found that his surmise had been correct. An electric lamp burned in the laboratory, and the silver squares of the three large windows stood out clear and bright in the darkness. The centre one had been thrown open, and, even as he gazed, Robert saw a dark monkey-like figure spring up on to the sill, and vanish into the room beyond. For a moment only it outlined itself against the brilliant light beyond, but in that moment Robert had space to see that it was indeed his father. On tiptoe he crossed the intervening space, and peeped in through the open window. It was a singular spectacle which met his eyes. There stood upon the glass table some half-dozen large ingots of gold, which had been made the night before, but which had not been removed to the treasure-house. On these the old man had thrown himself, as one who enters into his rightful inheritance. He lay across the table, his arms clasping the bars of gold, his cheek pressed against them, crooning and muttering to himself. Under the clear, still light, amid the giant wheels and strange engines, that one little dark figure clutching and clinging to the ingots had in it something both weird and piteous. For five minutes or more Robert stood in the darkness amid the rain, looking in at this strange sight, while his father hardly moved save to cuddle closer to the gold, and to pat it with his thin hands. Robert was still uncertain what he should do, when his eyes wandered from the central figure and fell on something else which made him give a little cry of astonishment--a cry which was drowned amid the howling of the gale. Raffles Haw was standing in the corner of the room. Where he had come from Robert could not say, but he was certain that he had not been there when he first looked in. He stood silent, wrapped in some long, dark dressing-gown, his arms folded, and a bitter smile upon his pale face. Old McIntyre seemed to see him at almost the same moment, for he snarled out an oath, and clutched still closer at his treasure, looking slantwise at the master of the house with furtive, treacherous eyes. "And it has really come to this!" said Haw at last, taking a step forward. "You have actually fallen so low, Mr. McIntyre, as to steal into my house at night like a common burglar. You knew that this window was unguarded. I remember telling you as much. But I did not tell you what other means I had adopted by which I might be warned if knaves made an entrance. But that you should have come! You!" The old gunmaker made no attempt to justify himself, but he muttered some few hoarse words, and continued to cling to the treasure. "I love your daughter," said Raffles Haw, "and for her sake I will not expose you. Your hideous and infamous secret shall be safe with me. No ear shall hear what has happened this night. I will not, as I might, arouse my servants and send for the police. But you must leave my house without further words. I have nothing more to say to you. Go as you have come." He took a step forward, and held out his hand as if to detach the old man's grasp from the golden bars. The other thrust his hand into the breast of his coat, and with a shrill scream of rage flung himself upon the alchemist. So sudden and so fierce was the movement that Haw had no time for defence. A bony hand gripped him by the throat, and the blade of a razor flashed in the air. Fortunately, as it fell, the weapon struck against one of the many wires which spanned the room, and flying out of the old man's grasp, tinkled upon the stone floor. But, though disarmed, he was still dangerous. With a horrible silent energy he pushed Haw back and back until, coming to a bench, they both fell over it, McIntyre remaining uppermost. His other hand was on the alchemist's throat, and it might have fared ill with him had Robert not climbed through the window and dragged his father off from him. With the aid of Haw, he pinned the old man down, and passed a long cravat around his arms. It was terrible to look at him, for his face was convulsed, his eyes bulging from his head, and his lips white with foam. Haw leaned against the glass table panting, with his hand to his side. "You here, Robert?" he gasped. "Is it not horrible? How did you come?" "I followed him. I heard him go out." "He would have robbed me. And he would have murdered me. But he is mad--stark, staring mad!" There could be no doubt of it. Old McIntyre was sitting up now, and burst suddenly into a hoarse peal of laughter, rocking himself backwards and forwards, and looking up at them with little twinkling, cunning eyes. It was clear to both of them that his mind, weakened by long brooding over the one idea, had now at last become that of a monomaniac. His horrid causeless mirth was more terrible even than his fury. "What shall we do with him?" asked Haw. "We cannot take him back to Elmdene. It would be a terrible shock to Laura." "We could have doctors to certify in the morning. Could we not keep him here until then? If we take him back, some one will meet us, and there will be a scandal." "I know. We will take him to one of the padded rooms, where he can neither hurt himself nor anyone else. I am somewhat shaken myself. But I am better now. Do you take one arm, and I will take the other." Half-leading and half-dragging him they managed between them to convey the old gunmaker away from the scene of his disaster, and to lodge him for the night in a place of safety. At five in the morning Robert had started in the gig to make the medical arrangements, while Raffles Haw paced his palatial house with a troubled face and a sad heart. CHAPTER XIV. THE SPREAD OF THE BLIGHT. It may be that Laura did not look upon the removal of her father as an unmixed misfortune. Nothing was said to her as to the manner of the old man's seizure, but Robert informed her at breakfast that he had thought it best, acting under medical advice, to place him for a time under some restraint. She had herself frequently remarked upon the growing eccentricity of his manner, so that the announcement could have been no great surprise to her. It is certain that it did not diminish her appetite for the coffee and the scrambled eggs, nor prevent her from chatting a good deal about her approaching wedding. But it was very different with Raffles Haw. The incident had shocked him to his inmost soul. He had often feared lest his money should do indirect evil, but here were crime and madness arising before his very eyes from its influence. In vain he tried to choke down his feelings, and to persuade himself that this attack of old McIntyre's was something which came of itself--something which had no connection with himself or his wealth. He remembered the man as he had first met him, garrulous, foolish, but with no obvious vices. He recalled the change which, week by week, had come over him--his greedy eye, his furtive manner, his hints and innuendoes, ending only the day before in a positive demand for money. It was too certain that there was a chain of events there leading direct to the horrible encounter in the laboratory. His money had cast a blight where he had hoped to shed a blessing. Mr. Spurling, the vicar, was up shortly after breakfast, some rumour of evil having come to his ears. It was good for Haw to talk with him, for the fresh breezy manner of the old clergyman was a corrective to his own sombre and introspective mood. "Prut, tut!" said he. "This is very bad--very bad indeed! Mind unhinged, you say, and not likely to get over it! Dear, dear! I have noticed a change in him these last few weeks. He looked like a man who had something upon his mind. And how is Mr. Robert McIntyre?" "He is very well. He was with me this morning when his father had this attack." "Ha! There is a change in that young man. I observe an alteration in him. You will forgive me, Mr. Raffles Haw, if I say a few serious words of advice to you. Apart from my spiritual functions I am old enough to be your father. You are a very wealthy man, and you have used your wealth nobly--yes, sir, nobly. I do not think that there is a man in a thousand who would have done as well. But don't you think sometimes that it has a dangerous influence upon those who are around you?" "I have sometimes feared so." "We may pass over old Mr. McIntyre. It would hardly be just, perhaps, to mention him in this connection. But there is Robert. He used to take such an interest in his profession. He was so keen about art. If you met him, the first words he said were usually some reference to his plans, or the progress he was making in his latest picture. He was ambitious, pushing, self-reliant. Now he does nothing. I know for a fact that it is two months since he put brush to canvas. He has turned from a student into an idler, and, what is worse, I fear into a parasite. You will forgive me for speaking so plainly?" Raffles Haw said nothing, but he threw out his hands with a gesture of pain. "And then there is something to be said about the country folk," said the vicar. "Your kindness has been, perhaps, a little indiscriminate there. They don't seem to be as helpful or as self-reliant as they used. There was old Blaxton, whose cowhouse roof was blown off the other day. He used to be a man who was full of energy and resource. Three months ago he would have got a ladder and had that roof on again in two days' work. But now he must sit down, and wring his hands, and write letters, because he knew that it would come to your ears, and that you would make it good. There's old Ellary, too! Well, of course he was always poor, but at least he did something, and so kept himself out of mischief. Not a stroke will he do now, but smokes and talks scandal from morning to night. And the worst of it is, that it not only hurts those who have had your help, but it unsettles those who have not. They all have an injured, surly feeling as if other folk were getting what they had an equal right to. It has really come to such a pitch that I thought it was a duty to speak to you about it. Well, it is a new experience to me. I have often had to reprove my parishioners for not being charitable enough, but it is very strange to find one who is too charitable. It is a noble error." "I thank you very much for letting me know about it," answered Raffles Haw, as he shook the good old clergyman's hand. "I shall certainly reconsider my conduct in that respect." He kept a rigid and unmoved face until his visitor had gone, and then retiring to his own little room, he threw himself upon the bed and burst out sobbing with his face buried in the pillow. Of all men in England, this, the richest, was on that day the most miserable. How could he use this great power which he held? Every blessing which he tried to give turned itself into a curse. His intentions were so good, and yet the results were so terrible. It was as if he had some foul leprosy of the mind which all caught who were exposed to his influence. His charity, so well meant, so carefully bestowed, had yet poisoned the whole countryside. And if in small things his results were so evil, how could he tell that they would be better in the larger plans which he had formed? If he could not pay the debts of a simple yokel without disturbing the great laws of cause and effect which lie at the base of all things, what could he hope for when he came to fill the treasury of nations, to interfere with the complex conditions of trade, or to provide for great masses of the population? He drew back with horror as he dimly saw that vast problems faced him in which he might make errors which all his money could not repair. The way of Providence was the straight way. Yet he, a half-blind creature, must needs push in and strive to alter and correct it. Would he be a benefactor? Might he not rather prove to be the greatest malefactor that the world had seen? But soon a calmer mood came upon him, and he rose and bathed his flushed face and fevered brow. After all, was not there a field where all were agreed that money might be well spent? It was not the way of nature, but rather the way of man which he would alter. It was not Providence that had ordained that folk should live half-starved and overcrowded in dreary slums. That was the result of artificial conditions, and it might well be healed by artificial means. Why should not his plans be successful after all, and the world better for his discovery? Then again, it was not the truth that he cast a blight on those with whom he was brought in contact. There was Laura; who knew more of him than she did, and yet how good and sweet and true she was! She at least had lost nothing through knowing him. He would go down and see her. It would be soothing to hear her voice, and to turn to her for words of sympathy in this his hour of darkness. The storm had died away, but a soft wind was blowing, and the smack of the coming spring was in the air. He drew in the aromatic scent of the fir-trees as he passed down the curving drive. Before him lay the long sloping countryside, all dotted over with the farmsteadings and little red cottages, with the morning sun striking slantwise upon their grey roofs and glimmering windows. His heart yearned over all these people with their manifold troubles, their little sordid miseries, their strivings and hopings and petty soul-killing cares. How could he get at them? How could he manage to lift the burden from them, and yet not hinder them in their life aim? For more and more could he see that all refinement is through sorrow, and that the life which does not refine is the life without an aim. Laura was alone in the sitting-room at Elmdene, for Robert had gone out to make some final arrangements about his father. She sprang up as her lover entered, and ran forward with a pretty girlish gesture to greet him. "Oh, Raffles!" she cried, "I knew that you would come. Is it not dreadful about papa?" "You must not fret, dearest," he answered gently. "It may not prove to be so very grave after all." "But it all happened before I was stirring. I knew nothing about it until breakfast-time. They must have gone up to the Hall very early." "Yes, they did come up rather early." "What is the matter with you, Raffles?" cried Laura, looking up into his face. "You look so sad and weary!" "I have been a little in the blues. The fact is, Laura, that I have had a long talk with Mr. Spurling this morning." The girl started, and turned white to the lips. A long talk with Mr. Spurling! Did that mean that he had learned her secret? "Well?" she gasped. "He tells me that my charity has done more harm than good, and in fact, that I have had an evil influence upon every one whom I have come near. He said it in the most delicate way, but that was really what it amounted to." "Oh, is that all?" said Laura, with a long sigh of relief. "You must not think of minding what Mr. Spurling says. Why, it is absurd on the face of it! Everybody knows that there are dozens of men all over the country who would have been ruined and turned out of their houses if you had not stood their friend. How could they be the worse for having known you? I wonder that Mr. Spurling can talk such nonsense!" "How is Robert's picture getting on?" "Oh, he has a lazy fit on him. He has not touched it for ever so long. But why do you ask that? You have that furrow on your brow again. Put it away, sir!" She smoothed it away with her little white hand. "Well, at any rate, I don't think that quite everybody is the worse," said he, looking down at her. "There is one, at least, who is beyond taint, one who is good, and pure, and true, and who would love me as well if I were a poor clerk struggling for a livelihood. You would, would you not, Laura?" "You foolish boy! of course I would." "And yet how strange it is that it should be so. That you, who are the only woman whom I have ever loved, should be the only one in whom I also have raised an affection which is free from greed or interest. I wonder whether you may not have been sent by Providence simply to restore my confidence in the world. How barren a place would it not be if it were not for woman's love! When all seemed black around me this morning, I tell you, Laura, that I seemed to turn to you and to your love as the one thing on earth upon which I could rely. All else seemed shifting, unstable, influenced by this or that base consideration. In you, and you only, could I trust." "And I in you, dear Raffles! I never knew what love was until I met you." She took a step towards him, her hands advanced, love shining in her features, when in an instant Raffles saw the colour struck from her face, and a staring horror spring into her eyes. Her blanched and rigid face was turned towards the open door, while he, standing partly behind it, could not see what it was that had so moved her. "Hector!" she gasped, with dry lips. A quick step in the hall, and a slim, weather-tanned young man sprang forward into the room, and caught her up in his arms as if she had been a feather. "You darling!" he said; "I knew that I would surprise you. I came right up from Plymouth by the night train. And I have long leave, and plenty of time to get married. Isn't it jolly, dear Laura?" He pirouetted round with her in the exuberance of his delight. As he spun round, however, his eyes fell suddenly upon the pale and silent stranger who stood by the door. Hector blushed furiously, and made an awkward sailor bow, standing with Laura's cold and unresponsive hand still clasped in his. "Very sorry, sir--didn't see you," he said. "You'll excuse my going on in this mad sort of way, but if you had served you would know what it is to get away from quarter-deck manners, and to be a free man. Miss McIntyre will tell you that we have known each other since we were children, and as we are to be married in, I hope, a month at the latest, we understand each other pretty well." Raffles Haw still stood cold and motionless. He was stunned, benumbed, by what he saw and heard. Laura drew away from Hector, and tried to free her hand from his grasp. "Didn't you get my letter at Gibraltar?" she asked. "Never went to Gibraltar. Were ordered home by wire from Madeira. Those chaps at the Admiralty never know their own minds for two hours together. But what matter about a letter, Laura, so long as I can see you and speak with you? You have not introduced me to your friend here." "One word, sir," cried Raffles Haw in a quivering voice. "Do I entirely understand you? Let me be sure that there is no mistake. You say that you are engaged to be married to Miss McIntyre?" "Of course I am. I've just come back from a four months' cruise, and I am going to be married before I drag my anchor again." "Four months!" gasped Haw. "Why, it is just four months since I came here. And one last question, sir. Does Robert McIntyre know of your engagement?" "Does Bob know? Of course he knows. Why, it was to his care I left Laura when I started. But what is the meaning of all this? What is the matter with you, Laura? Why are you so white and silent? And--hallo! Hold up, sir! The man is fainting!" "It is all right!" gasped Haw, steadying himself against the edge of the door. He was as white as paper, and his hand was pressed close to his side as though some sudden pain had shot through him. For a moment he tottered there like a stricken man, and then, with a hoarse cry, he turned and fled out through the open door. "Poor devil!" said Hector, gazing in amazement after him. "He seems hard hit anyhow. But what is the meaning of all this, Laura?" His face had darkened, and his mouth had set. She had not said a word, but had stood with a face like a mask looking blankly in front of her. Now she tore herself away from him, and, casting herself down with her face buried in the cushion of the sofa, she burst into a passion of sobbing. "It means that you have ruined me," she cried. "That you have ruined-ruined--ruined me! Could you not leave us alone? Why must you come at the last moment? A few more days, and we were safe. And you never had my letter." "And what was in your letter, then?" he asked coldly, standing with his arms folded, looking down at her. "It was to tell you that I released you. I love Raffles Haw, and I was to have been his wife. And now it is all gone. Oh, Hector, I hate you, and I shall always hate you as long as I live, for you have stepped between me and the only good fortune that ever came to me. Leave me alone, and I hope that you will never cross our threshold again." "Is that your last word, Laura?" "The last that I shall ever speak to you." "Then, good-bye. I shall see the Dad, and go straight back to Plymouth." He waited an instant, in hopes of an answer, and then walked sadly from the room. CHAPTER XV. THE GREATER SECRET. It was late that night that a startled knocking came at the door of Elmdene. Laura had been in her room all day, and Robert was moodily smoking his pipe by the fire, when this harsh and sudden summons broke in upon his thoughts. There in the porch was Jones, the stout head-butler of the Hall, hatless, scared, with the raindrops shining in the lamplight upon his smooth, bald head. "If you please, Mr. McIntyre, sir, would it trouble you to step up to the Hall?" he cried. "We are all frightened, sir, about master." Robert caught up his hat and started at a run, the frightened butler trotting heavily beside him. It had been a day of excitement and disaster. The young artist's heart was heavy within him, and the shadow of some crowning trouble seemed to have fallen upon his soul. "What is the matter with your master, then?" he asked, as he slowed down into a walk. "We don't know, sir; but we can't get an answer when we knock at the laboratory door. Yet he's there, for it's locked on the inside. It has given us all a scare, sir, that, and his goin's-on during the day." "His goings-on?" "Yes, sir; for he came back this morning like a man demented, a-talkin' to himself, and with his eyes starin' so that it was dreadful to look at the poor dear gentleman. Then he walked about the passages a long time, and he wouldn't so much as look at his luncheon, but he went into the museum, and gathered all his jewels and things, and carried them into the laboratory. We don't know what he's done since then, sir, but his furnace has been a-roarin', and his big chimney spoutin' smoke like a Birmingham factory. When night came we could see his figure against the light, a-workin' and a-heavin' like a man possessed. No dinner would he have, but work, and work, and work. Now it's all quiet, and the furnace cold, and no smoke from above, but we can't get no answer from him, sir, so we are scared, and Miller has gone for the police, and I came away for you." They reached the Hall as the butler finished his explanation, and there outside the laboratory door stood the little knot of footmen and ostlers, while the village policeman, who had just arrived, was holding his bull's-eye to the keyhole, and endeavouring to peep through. "The key is half-turned," he said. "I can't see nothing except just the light." "Here's Mr. McIntyre," cried half-a-dozen voices, as Robert came forward. "We'll have to beat the door in, sir," said the policeman. "We can't get any sort of answer, and there's something wrong." Twice and thrice they threw their united weights against it until at last with a sharp snap the lock broke, and they crowded into the narrow passage. The inner door was ajar, and the laboratory lay before them. In the centre was an enormous heap of fluffy grey ash, reaching up half-way to the ceiling. Beside it was another heap, much smaller, of some brilliant scintillating dust, which shimmered brightly in the rays of the electric light. All round was a bewildering chaos of broken jars, shattered bottles, cracked machinery, and tangled wires, all bent and draggled. And there in the midst of this universal ruin, leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped upon his lap, and the easy pose of one who rests after hard work safely carried through, sat Raffles Haw, the master of the house, and the richest of mankind, with the pallor of death upon his face. So easily he sat and so naturally, with such a serene expression upon his features, that it was not until they raised him, and touched his cold and rigid limbs, that they could realise that he had indeed passed away. Reverently and slowly they bore him to his room, for he was beloved by all who had served him. Robert alone lingered with the policeman in the laboratory. Like a man in a dream he wandered about, marvelling at the universal destruction. A large broad-headed hammer lay upon the ground, and with this Haw had apparently set himself to destroy all his apparatus, having first used his electrical machines to reduce to protyle all the stock of gold which he had accumulated. The treasure-room which had so dazzled Robert consisted now of merely four bare walls, while the gleaming dust upon the floor proclaimed the fate of that magnificent collection of gems which had alone amounted to a royal fortune. Of all the machinery no single piece remained intact, and even the glass table was shattered into three pieces. Strenuously earnest must have been the work which Raffles Haw had done that day. And suddenly Robert thought of the secret which had been treasured in the casket within the iron-clamped box. It was to tell him the one last essential link which would make his knowledge of the process complete. Was it still there? Thrilling all over, he opened the great chest, and drew out the ivory box. It was locked, but the key was in it. He turned it and threw open the lid. There was a white slip of paper with his own name written upon it. With trembling fingers he unfolded it. Was he the heir to the riches of El Dorado, or was he destined to be a poor struggling artist? The note was dated that very evening, and ran in this way: "MY DEAR ROBERT,--My secret shall never be used again. I cannot tell you how I thank Heaven that I did not entirely confide it to you, for I should have been handing over an inheritance of misery both to yourself and others. For myself I have hardly had a happy moment since I discovered it. This I could have borne had I been able to feel that I was doing good, but, alas! the only effect of my attempts has been to turn workers into idlers, contented men into greedy parasites, and, worst of all, true, pure women into deceivers and hypocrites. If this is the effect of my interference on a small scale, I cannot hope for anything better were I to carry out the plans which we have so often discussed. The schemes of my life have all turned to nothing. For myself, you shall never see me again. I shall go back to the student life from which I emerged. There, at least, if I can do little good, I can do no harm. It is my wish that such valuables as remain in the Hall should be sold, and the proceeds divided amidst all the charities of Birmingham. I shall leave tonight if I am well enough, but I have been much troubled all day by a stabbing pain in my side. It is as if wealth were as bad for health as it is for peace of mind. Good-bye, Robert, and may you never have as sad a heart as I have to-night. Yours very truly, RAFFLES HAW." "Was it suicide, sir? Was it suicide?" broke in the policeman as Robert put the note in his pocket. "No," he answered; "I think it was a broken heart." And so the wonders of the New Hall were all dismantled, the carvings and the gold, the books and the pictures, and many a struggling man or woman who had heard nothing of Raffles Haw during his life had cause to bless him after his death. The house has been bought by a company now, who have turned it into a hydropathic establishment, and of all the folk who frequent it in search of health or of pleasure there are few who know the strange story which is connected with it. The blight which Haw's wealth cast around it seemed to last even after his death. Old McIntyre still raves in the County Lunatic Asylum, and treasures up old scraps of wood and metal under the impression that they are all ingots of gold. Robert McIntyre is a moody and irritable man, for ever pursuing a quest which will always evade him. His art is forgotten, and he spends his whole small income upon chemical and electrical appliances, with which he vainly seeks to rediscover that one hidden link. His sister keeps house for him, a silent and brooding woman, still queenly and beautiful, but of a bitter, dissatisfied mind. Of late, however, she has devoted herself to charity, and has been of so much help to Mr. Spurling's new curate that it is thought that he may be tempted to secure her assistance for ever. So runs the gossip of the village, and in small places such gossip is seldom wrong. As to Hector Spurling, he is still in her Majesty's service, and seems inclined to abide by his father's wise advice, that he should not think of marrying until he was a Commander. It is possible that of all who were brought within the spell of Raffles Haw he was the only one who had occasion to bless it. Publication Date: May 7th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.doyle

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QuailyCat The six fingered doll She will return, year after year, for the rest of eternity... Newsflash 3:00, January 12, 1886 Mary peered through the glass of her favourite shop, Tracy and Pods, in search of the one and only thing she wished to have for her sixth birthday the next day. Where are all the dolls? Tracy and Pods always used to have dolls. They were so popular, I suppose that they are sold out. I still do wish they had dolls. Mary thought wishfully. As she turned back home, a simple, but pretty, doll in a shop window caught her eye. Mary rushed over to the shop window, and when she got a closer look at the doll she thought: Oh! She is just perfect! Those long, curly, jet black, flowing ringlets are beautiful! And her pale, soft skin, hazel eyes, and rose red lips are gorgeous! Best of all, she has her hands in the shape of the number six! I'm turning six tommorow! Mary ran into the shop, and was welcomed by a musty smell. "Hello. What may I do for you?" a soft voice came from the corner of the store, and Mary spun around to face a crippled, wrinkly, bony, ancient woman. "Oh, he, hello. I w, was wo, wondering i, if you cou, could maybe let me b, buy th, that doll?" Mary stuttered. "Which doll?" The old lady asked. "That one." Mary pointed to the doll by the window. "What? That one? Oh, I am sorry. Where are my manners today? You can have the doll, but you are sure you want that doll?" The lady questioned. "Yes. I am certain." Mary replied, confused. What's wrong about wanting that doll? She thought. "All right. If you definitly want the doll." The old woman gave in. As Mary exited the store, she hugged her doll close. "It's very chilly today. I bet you're as cold as me, aren't you, Alice?" Mary talked to her doll, and strangely, the doll seemed to smile an evil smile to herself. 11:59, January 12, 1886 Mary was fast asleep, dreaming of the presents that she would receive. Alice, her doll, blinked. Yes, she did blink. She was actually alive ! However, she was definitly not alive for a good cause, but for death, and not her death, but anothers. Alice crawled up on top of Mary, who was too fast asleep to notice. Alice bent down her head, her mouth wide open, and waited, and waited, and waited... Dong! Dong! Dong! The giant grandfather clock in the hallway outside Mary's bedroom chimed, letting Alice know that it was officially Mary's birthday. Dong! Dong! That was five chimes. Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! Nine, Dong! Dong! Eleven, just one, more, second, DONG! As fast as lightning, Alice made a swift bite to Mary's neck, jumped off Mary, put her hand over where Mary's heart should be, and counted the pulse. Seventy bpm, the normal pulse rate, fifty bpm, thirty bpm, ten bpm, and then... zero. Mary was dead. 00:10, January 13, 1886 Alice quickly gave a quick, high pitched, but very loud scream, crawled down from Mary's bed, and climbed out the bedroom window, back to the old, musty smelling, falling apart store where she had come from. She sat back down on the windowsill where she had sat before Mary had bought her, and heard her scream answered by Mary's mother, who cried out: "Mary! Oh, my darling, daughter! Who did this to you?" Afterword So, Mary had died. This is a true story, from many, many years ago, but still, Alice the six fingered doll, is still on the run, returning every year to take her next victim. But, every year there is something different about her, she is growing more bloodthirsty and murderous every year, and she always, earns, an, extra, finger. The next year, a seven year old girl died, then an eight year old, then a nine year old, ten year old, and back to a poor, innocent, one year old. Never, never, never, get a one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, or ten fingered doll, because it might just be Alice. The main question is: Where is Alice, when will she strike next, and... Are you her next victim? Publication Date: July 10th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-quailycat

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Mary McCausland Anny's Clover I reached down and adjusted my stirup. My stomache lurched as I waited for my turn to go in the ring. I breathed in Clover's scent. Sweet hay and grain. Clover was my twelve year old Irish Sport horse gelding. I found him abandon and ill. It took years for him to get into shape and able to jump, but all the hard work finally payed off. I couldn't ask for a better horse. My trainer, Sarah, stood next to me as we waited for my turn. The rider in the ring was just finishing up and as they cleared the last jump, my heart dropped. All of the riders had gone clear so far and for me to win I had to get an amazing time with no faults. I took a deep breath and angled Clover onto the rail. We walked in slowly but as the rider exited the ring we cantered off! Clover was excited and held his head up high. We made a circle and then came to the first jump. They ranged from 3' to 4'. Clover easily soared over the first green and white vertical, landing soundly on the other side. I asked him for a lead change and we turned right. The next jump was a higher oxer with bright purple flowers hanging from it. Clover pushed off from the ground and cleared it with ease, his ears pricked forward. He was being so perfect! His grey coat wasnt even breaking a sweat. I could feel his big muscles bunch underneath me as we jumped into a two stride. He cleared the first vertical effortlessly and galloped on. He spooked a bit at the second jump and I had to give him a lot of leg. He took off early and I was flung backward. I grabbed the reins for support and tried to steady myself but it was to late. As Clover flew over the oxer, he kicked his back feet out and the front pole went tumbling to the ground. I gathered my reins again and looked to the next jump. My chances of winning were gone but I still went on. Clover shook his mane out and pulled on the reins, wanting to go faster. I pulled back and sat deep in the saddle. He had a nasty habit of taking the reins out of my hands, but not now. We came to the last two jumps and Clover barely looked at them. He popped over an orange vertical and cleared a blue triple bar. The crowd cheered wildly but I knew that rail had cost me the win. I walked over to Sarah, a look of disapointment on my face. "Hey, don't be mad. This happens all the time," Sarah said. "Why don't you go walk him back to the barn and put him away. He needs to rest for tomorrow." "I'm not really mad, but I could have prevented it or done something else." "Again, it happens. Okay? It's over and now we have to look forward. You did great!" Sarah walked off to go talk to my mom and I headed to the barn area, ready to change into my fuzzy pants and T-shirt. After I put Clover away, fed him, and changed, I sat on my tack trunk and started shining my boots. I looked up and saw my boyfriend, Mathew, walking toward me. I put my boot down and walked over to him. "Hey! Did you see me ride?" I asked as I hugged him. "Yeah I did. You were great." "Oh please! I knocked a rail! That's not good!" "Well you were good to me..." He smiled at me and bent his head closer to mine. I leaned my head in and our lips touched. I'm glad he was here with me for support. I don't know how I would have survived the weekend. He put his hands on my waste and the kiss seemed to last forever. Eventually we pulled apart and he got something out of his back pocket. It was a paper clipping from the newspaper. It read: Sixteen year old Anny Cape has been dreaming of this moment her whole life! She has finally made it to the intermediate jumper division with her 16.2 hand horse, Clover. At this years Summers End horse show, will she be able to pull out on top? Or crash and burn on the course? "What? Why did they make this about me?" "I don't know. I just found this in the paper and thought you'd want to read it..." Matt put the paper on my trunk and sat down. "Yeah thanks, they weren't vey friendly at the end though," "Yeah, well they just want to make a story, but don't listen to them. You'll kill at the show!" Chapter 2 Later in the afternoon, Matt and I went out to dinner at one of the finest restaurants in town, Inzo's! Of course it took me like three hours to decide what to wear. I just went with a simple black skirt and a brown cami with a tan wife-beater. I curled my hair and put a purple flower in it. I think I looked smokin! The resaurant was super packed when we got there and we had to wait like an hour before we sat at a table. When we eventually got one I ordered their orginal spaghetti and meetballs while Matt got some Spinach and Ricotta Cheese Savory Tart thing. It looked really good! "You know, this is really nice. You didnt have to take me out to eat. Really!" I looked up at Matt, who had a big mouthful of food in his face. I laughed and took another bite of my Spaghetti. Apparently, Matt didnt "dress up" like me. He wore a green polo and Khaki shorts. "Oh, I know I didn't have to, but I did anyway. I wanted you to have some time to relax and take your mind off things." "Ahh...thanks. Well it's working." He smiled and reached over the table and grabbed my hand. It tingled with our touch and I smiled back. "Would you like refills on your drinks? It's on the house." We both looked up and saw our waiter standing next to us, tray in hand. "Umm. Yeah, sure! Thanks!" He took our glasses and walked in the direction of the kitchen. "Well that was cool!" Matt said. I laughed at how his face looked when he said that. The waiter returned A few minutes later with our drinks filled and fresh! We thanked him and took a few sips. "Hmmm...Mine kinda tastes funny," I held up my Pepsi and examined it. It looked fine but it tasted sort of off. "Mine too! It's really tangy!" Matt took another sip, made a face and put it down. " I think I'm ready to go. Are you done?" "Definitely, I'm tired." We got up from our table and left the once crowded resaurant. The parking lot was deserted, besides from a few cars. It was a full moon outside and was easy to see. My shoes clicked on the asphalt as we walked. We got into Matt's car and just as I sat down I felt sick. I covered my mouth as I started to gag. Woa! Anny? Are you alright? You look si..." As Matt said that his face turned pale and he started to close his eyes. His head fell forward and hit the seering wheel. The car horn started going off and I screamed. I grabbed him, putting him upright. His eyes were fully closed and I immediately began to panic! My breathing got super fast and my head was feeling weird. I got really light headed and eventually threw up on Matt's shoulder. "Omigod! Thank God your not awake!" I started gagging again at the smell and with that, I passed out next to him. Chapter 3 My eyes fluttered open, foggy and dazed. Light streamed in through the windows of the car and I lifted my head. Matt was still out and smelled really gross. As my eyes came back into focus, so did my mind. The last thing I could remember was throwing up on Matt, which was still on his shoulder. My body was all sweaty and sticky. I scooted away from him and took deep breaths. I turned the car on and rolled down the windows. The Kentucky air outside was freezing! It had to be in the high forties, at least. If it was so cold out, then why was I sweating? I looked at Matt. He wasn't dead since his chest was moving so I went back over to him and poked his thigh. His eyes flicked open and he turned his head. "Omigod! My head is pounding." He rubbed his eyes and looked at his right shoulder. "Anny?" "Yeah..." "Why do I have Chunks on my shoulder?" He breathed out deeply and flicked a piece at me. "Ewwww!" I threw the chunk back at him again. "Um...I guess I kinda threw up on you last night. Do you remember?" I looked at his eyes. They were all red as he rubbed them. "I remember our drinks tasting weird and then I passed out in the car..." "Yeah. Oh my God!!" I threw my hands out to my side in shock. "What!?" "The waiter! At the restaurant! He slipped something in our drinks! That's why we passed out! I knew there was something wrong with the drinks. Omigod, whats my mom...Ahhh! My mom!!" I grabbed my phone from my purse and turned it on. Eleven messages! It was almost noon! I called my mom with shaky hands. "Mom..." "...." "Yes, I know. Well something happened last night. It's to long to say now, but it's important. We'll meet you at the show. Okay?" My head throbbed from the light of the sun and I shut my eyes to block it out. "....." "WHAT!?" Matt jumped beside me at the sound of my vioce. "Okay, just keep him calm. We'll be there as fast as we can." I hung up the phone and looked at Matt. "We going to the show?" All I could do is nod. I couldn't stop the tear from running down my cheek. I wiped it off and Matt drove to the show. chapter 4 We drove the twenty minutes back to the show grounds. The fog was getting heavier as we entered the wooded area. I sighed and looked out the window. Green pastures and wild flowers sprouted everywhere. horses and riders walked on paths and in the rings. There was every color of horse you could imagine. Bay's, chesnut's, gray's, white's, every color. People where cleaning tack and giving horses bathes. By the barn area, I saw my mom, Sarah, and their groom, Juan, standing by Clover. Text: Hooves and hearts incorporated All rights reserved. Publication Date: July 25th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-marymccausland

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Harshavardhan C After Death, an ultimate truth. BookRix GmbH & Co. KG 81371 Munich After death, an ultimate truth.           ‘ After Death, an ultimate truth’ Harshavardhan.C   This novel is purely a fiction, but certainly based on science and some historical facts, which are happening, since the emergence of cultures and civilizations. Some great and glorious names of the historical personalities are adapted to some of the characters in the novel only to feel good and not to exaggerate the history of any individual, any religion and of any country. So also it is not the intention of the writer to defame or lookdown customs and traditions of any country. Any resemblances to any events, places, locations, persons, living or dead, are admitted to be written by the author within his knowledge. He doesn’t have any intention to defame or personify or exaggerate any religion, cast, cult, and creed, or individual or associations or various departments in the Government or private.   The Publisher.   A Novel by Harshavardhan. C Copyright © Harshavardhan. C Book Published in 2017 Mail ID: [email protected] Web sites: www.harshavardhanc.com www.harshavardhanchandu.com Mobile no: +919908353699 Price: INR 99/-   So far nobody could truthfully try to impress upon the world citizens in sharing the mysterious knowledge about life, death, after death, rebirth and about the existence of soul. But herein is an attempt.   Harshavardhan.C Writer & the novelist.     ‘ After Death, an ultimate truth’ Harshavardhan.C   Prologue:   Customs and traditions may differ from country to country, but the human feelings, emotions and sentiments are not. They are more or less one and the same all over the world, except variations in the language and in expression. There are numerous faiths in the world. Each one has its’ path, trying to influence the people and preparing them to lead to salvation and to make them learn the universal mystery of rebirth and the existence of soul in the universe. But salvation indeed is a state or stage of nothing but to attain the bliss, which every faith believes ultimately. From times immemorial, most of the people are trying to elicit the ultimate truth. Even in the modern era also every body’s passion is to unearth the same. Most of the characters in the story include professionals, philosophers, theists, atheists, intellectuals and scientists. Most of the elite may or may not accept the theory or the so called philosophy of life, death, and rebirth; and about the existence of the soul. Then what is the truth? And the truth is to find out the ultimate of what happens after death? But, so far nobody could find out the ultimate truth. In fact, there have been theological researches going on in every faith since good olden times to till date from saint to sage; philosopher to Philanthropist; and king to common man. Now open the book after death, ultimate truth to know about the mysterious knowledge.   Chapter: 1   The Rolex watch was showing 0005 hrs GMT. It was exactly at the same time an International flight took off from the International Air Port at Dubai. In the executive class, there were few business tycoons and also a newly wedded Honeymoon couple. People from different professions and trades were also there among the other passengers in the economy class. It was not a surprise for the passengers on board to find among themselves people of different races, cults, and nationalities, with different customs and cultures. But by and large their attitudes and aptitudes were one and the same, except some variations in physical standards, dress, measurements, etiquette and the language they spoke. And there was one interesting character, found sitting in the first row and in the first seat in the executive class. His name was Mr. Jinnah. It was a misnomer if anybody think that this man was the same person, i.e. the father of “Pakistan Nation” But at the same time it was not a surprise to learn that some of the People in the modern world were fond of naming their children with the names of the great personalities, glorious leaders, historical names, as they might have read their autobiographies or biographies written by the leaders or by their companions respectively. So also some people may have sentiments and attachments to adapt the names of the international players, sportsmen, women, film actors and actresses to their off springs. The next seat was occupied by one teenage girl. Her name was Miss. Sania, but she was not that famous tennis star Mrs. Sania Mirza of India. In fact the teen aged girl was a true citizen of Pakistan. As usual, there were cabin crew, comprised of flight attendants and air hostesses in the flight. They were all looking quite smart and beautiful, with elegant looks as it was their duty to be decent and polite to receive the air passengers and see their comforts while they were on board. It was but natural that everybody was anxiously looking for them, for learning the flying rules and regulations besides to know the safety precautions while on air journey. But, to their surprise, four of the militants, in the guise of the passengers, got up suddenly from their seats. They were found clad in blazers, fixed with suicidal bombs, and they forcibly entered the cabin of the pilots and took the flight under their control, even before their leader declared about their mission either to the passengers or to any of the governments in the world. Two persons came out from the cabin of the crew. It was at the same time, one male and one female, with their charming physique, grace and elegant looks came out from the toilet, which was certainly an unusual, and unbecoming of in the international flight. But, the suspected couple took out two 9mm pistols and cooked them and threatened the passengers to rule out all the earthly pleasures and weaknesses and proved that they are all professionals and well trained in the sabotage of the aero plane in the air itself. “ Eureka!” One of the high jacks busted out with his emotional feelings. It was really a terrible shock to the air passengers. And for a moment it boomerang everybody in the flight. “ Ladies and gentlemen, good morning. We are extremely happy to announce that we have made it” Then came the dreadful announcement came through the mouth of a male, instead of the air hostess. Actually, the air passengers used to hear general instructions; and precautions to be taken while on journey in international flights. Most of the air passengers who were anxiously looking at the announcement, couldn’t understand what was he referring about at once? “ Ladies and gentlemen, you all must know what is happening? Why are we doing this? We caution you seriously that you all must be beware off us. Any small mistake committed knowingly or unknowingly by any of you smart guys may land in serious troubles. And even you people create an iota of suspicion may end your precious lives. So I think by now you might have understood who are we? What has happened to the flight? What’s your plight now?” Warned the commander of the highjack’s seriously. But for the air passengers and crew in the flight, it was like a neutron bomb kept on their heads and asking them to pray god for their survival. “ Oh my God! The flight is hijacked. We are in danger. What shall we do?” One of girl among the air passengers spell out openly and also quite innocently. “ You are gracious and equally your grasping is also as smart as you beauty” The commander on seeing the girl from top to bottom, complemented the girl. The girl was in single piece gown with fully grown up and exposed breast; attractive thighs; tempting lips and tantalizing eyes. But her mother sitting by her side tried to withhold her talking to the high Jackers. “ Mum please let me speak” The girl was trying to communicate with them. “ No sweetie! They have no curtsies; and they never spare you even though you’re a child” Her mother closed her mouth tightly with her hand and explained her in low voice. Most of the passengers in the flight, after confirming that the flight was hijacked; and were abducted by the high jacks, virtually shivered; and rose hue and cry as they are terribly frightened. “ Shut up you bloody cowards we do not wish to see your meaningless feelings. We warn you to be silent. We have been successful in our mission; and we are ready for jihad at any moment. All of you sit right or otherwise we don’t hesitate to gun down you. We expect you to maintain utmost restraint; and be calm and cool. And you have no other way, except to cooperate with us” The leader threatened them. “ You stone hearted guys, I am getting severe pain in my abdomen, and will you please allow me to go to toilet?” The girl, who was unable to control her pain, pushed her mother forcibly and demanded them. “ Shut up, you shameless girl” One of the high jacks shouted against the girl. “ Wait, wait a minute comrade; let us be polite with women. Try to understand her problem also if it is genuine” The leader supported the girl. By then the mother of the girl could identify some blood stains behind the skirt of her daughter; and she immediately grasped as what had happened? “ Pardon her sir; please see her condition. Try to understand the problem of the teen age girl. In fact it is not stomach disorder but it is the premenstrual pain; my poor daughter attained puberty and is matured. But, the innocent girl doesn’t understand what has happened to her? Please allow me to attend to her sir” She requested him politely with folded hands. The militants laughed at both the mother and the daughter and further commented both the girl and the mother in vulgar manner and in quite unparliamentarily language. “ Please don’t belittle womanhood. You are also having family, and you may have sisters and daughters” The mother of the girl lost her patience and said finally. “ Shut up you dirty woman, are you not ashamed to admit your negligence? When your daughter is in teens is it not your responsibility to take advance precautions and take care of her? Instead you are trying to find fault with us; and you senseless mother get lost and attend to her first” The leader of the high jacks chastised her. “ Oh my God! I doubt they might be the suicidal squad, either of Indian Mujahedeen or of Islamic State?” One of the co- women passengers whispered into the ears of her husband. “ Hush, don’t be emotional and expose ourselves, least we will land in trouble dear” He warned her. And the co- passengers were also in shock. They had in their minds umpteen questions, but they couldn’t come out openly. “ Gentlemen, may I know who are you? Why have you high jacked the flight? Why are you disturbing us and taking away our precious time? Why are you putting us under severe stress and strain? What are your demands? Whom have you targeted?” One of the co- passengers aged about sixty questioned them deliberately. It was really a daring and dashing act. Normally nobody dares to question the high jacks. But the old man not only outburst with his feelings, but also challenged them by cross questioning them as cop or ready to fight with them as an army officer. The co- passengers and the flight crew were taken a back on hearing what all he said. He was a true Muslim, having a beard, and a cleanly shaven moustache, wearing green colour garments, carrying the Holy Quran in his hands. “ Idiot! Are you not ashamed to question us, being a true Muslim? And you being a Mullah by profession don’t you respect Islam and the Holy Quran?” The leader was outburst with anger. “ Sorry, what you have done is not yet all correct my dear children. And Allah will never tolerate such heinous acts” The Mullah tried to explain them. “ You impetuous. Being a religious head is it not your duty to protect Islam and fight for establishing Islamic state in the world?” “ You are totally under misconception my dear children. Neither Islam nor Prophet Mohammed ever spoke for Islamic state. In fact, according to the Holy Quran there will be life after death, because the moral consciousness of mankind demands it. Surely God will raise all those who have died, but only when he chooses to do so. A day will come when the whole universe will be destroyed and then the dead will be resurrected to stand before God. That day will be the beginning of life that will never end, and on that auspicious day every person will be rewarded by God according to his/her good or evil deeds. That day is called the Day of Judgment. And I honestly tell you gentleman that you cannot escape; and please get ready to face the judgment day” The Mullah lost his temper and cautioned them seriously. But he didn’t know that he had to pay a heavy penalty for his holy speech delivered before the hard core militants. “ Hang with your bloody judgment, but my judgement is your death” The leader become furious and shot him dead point blank. It was not only a sudden and drastic, but also a hysterical act of the high jacks. With the gun shot there was a sudden uproar among the air passengers in the flight and they raised hue and cry. “ You bloody cowards, keep silence” The militants warned them. Then there was pin drop silence. It was not just because they were threatened, but two of the high jacks took out AK 47 rifles and pointed out the barrels towards them. All the passengers robotically sat in their seats just like Kindergarten children. The crew was already coffined to the cabin. There was an ocean deep silence in the flight. “ Ladies and gentlemen, we thank you all; and for your information the flight is quite smoothly high jacked by us without bloodshed except the idiotic mullah was only responsible for digging his own grave for his headstrong behaviour. And we expect that you should all behave genteelly and don’t try to be over smart. Now you are all freed for praying God of your choice. But your countdown starts now and get ready to face your doomsday if the world governments would not yield to our demands” The leader addressed them quite arrogantly. Few of his lieutenants were clad in the uniform of the Dubai Cops, and two of them were carrying AK 47 rifles. Two of his comrades were clad in the uniform of the flight crew. Two of the women militants, wearing the dress of airhostess and they took out 9mm pistols. “ My God, we are going to die by a hit against another trade centre, perhaps this time Dubai world trade centre” One of the boys among the air lamented. All the passengers broke down. So also all the crew other air passengers were terribly afraid of the jihadists. But there was one monk, clad in saffron colour single piece cloth, sat in the executive class. He didn’t care for what was going on in the flight, and was busy in reading a book on ‘Bodhi Dharma’ “ Hey man!” One of the high jacks tried to draw his attention. “ Sorry gentleman, don’t you know me by appearance, and call me for curtsey as monk?” “ What? Is it yourself- centered protocol?” The leader became furious. “ I have addressed you all as ‘gentleman’ and so do I expect you to respect me” “ Who cares you old man? After all you are just a bagger looking for asylums” One of the comrades ridiculed him. “ It is quite unbecoming of you gentleman to disrespect my asceticism” The monk retaliated. “ Okay we accept that you are a Buddhist monk” “ Sorry my dear children, there won’t be Buddhist monk, Hindu monk, and so on and so forth” “ Oh you are hurt, okay we call you simply a monk; and by the way where are you going? What are you doing in the high jacked flight?” This time the leader asked him politely. “ Begging” “ What?” “ Yes young man most of the times I beg for knowledge; and now and then I turn round with folded hands for alms for feeding myself; and rest of the time I keep on reading Bodhi Dharma. I am sorry to say that I have been disturbed by you my children, when I am busy in reading an important topic” He was little irritated and said. “ Hey man, you are getting angry, that means you are also not above passions. That is why you are quite adamant in talking to our leader; and you are after all an old monk?” One of the militants slapped him. Except the victim, everyone in the flight felt sorry for his rude behaviour. Instead of losing his temper, the Buddhist monk simply smiled. “ Sorry gentleman it is not only a great insult to one of the greatest international religions but also you have undermined his age, as he is a pretty grand old man” Said another monk, who was a Hindu. “ Shut up you mad fellow; it is none of your business; though the old monk is silent but why do you unnecessarily poking in other’s matters? You better mind your business” In reply the leader of the militants warned the Monk. “ Oh! Are you referring my insensivity gentleman?” The Buddhist monk questioned him rather politely. “ Yes of course, and you are not a VIP? You are just reading a book. What great is there in it? And how can you say that we have disturbed you?” The leader fixed him. “ Yes of course it may not be that important for you, but for me it is as I am reading the philosophy of life, death, after death, the soul, its existence, and rebirth” Said the monk. “ Wonderful! Are you sure what you said is there in Buddhism? Nor is it propagated by your monk God?” The leader put him in embarrassed questions. “ Sorry gentleman, please don’t belittle any religion or individuals. For your information Lord Buddha never said that he was the incarnation of God. He said that he was only a teacher; and he only preached good things to be practiced by humanity; and he taught the eight noble paths to be followed for the good of the people in the whole world” Instead of the Buddhist monk, the other one who was a perfect Hindu tried to enlighten them. “ Shut up you bastard, when I am asking him, why do you interfere? You are not clear about you religion and God; but how dare are you speaking about Buddhism, bloody idiot” “ Your assessment is absolutely wrong gentleman; I have sufficient knowledge about Hinduism, its message and incarnation of God; besides other religions as well. But you are not envisaging any interest to know about the truth, and essence of all religions gentleman” “ Okay Mister Monk, does Hinduism teaches anything about life, death and after death? Can you assess what will be your fate in the next few seconds in this flight?” The leader put the barrel of the gun to his forehead. “ It’s okay gentleman, I never take your harsh words to my heart; and so also neither emotions nor feelings, consequent on your comments or compliments. In fact, truly I am not for them. I never fear death. I am sure it certainly comes to everybody, some day or the other as no living being is immortal including you gentlemen. As you have asked me about the mysteries of life, death, in between and after, I try my best to answer” “ Okay we welcome it, but before you spell out you must be cautious about the fact that you will have to lose your life if you fail to convince us” “ Okay dear and I take your challenge to my heart. From ancient times there have been atheistic and agnostic thinkers in the world who have been denying the existence of the soul after the death. One such group is Charvakas, who believe that the body itself is the soul and that the soul doesn’t exist outside of the body; and when the body dies, the soul is also dead and gone” The monk, who was a Hindu explained him the Buddhist philosophy in simple language. “ You bloody idiot! Why are you diverting the issue? When I have asked about your religion and God, why are you beating round the bush by naming another useless sect?” “ Sorry gentleman. You have ignored the fact that all religions are true. It was Lord Buddha, who spoke to his disciples that even without the Buddha, the sub line teacher; they should understand whatever doctrine and discipline taught and made known by him would be their teacher, when he is gone. And the last advice to all his disciples by Lord Buddha was that all component things in the world are changeable. They are not ever lasting. Only through hard work, one can attain salvation. Then the Lord lapsed into the Janna stages, going from level to level, ever deeper and deeper. Then he came out of meditative absorption for the last time and passed into nirvana(death), leaving nothing whatever behind that can cause rebirth again in this or any other world” The monk though he was a Hindu, felt sad to declare the final stages of Lord Buddha. “ Fine, a wonderfully story; and a beautiful narration of Lord Buddha and his Doctrine by a useless person, I mean a Hindu buffoon” The leader laughed at him. “ Well I may be a buffoon, but it doesn’t mean that I should not know about other religions like Islam, Christianity and so on and so forth gentleman” He felt pity over the narrow minded militants. “ Hey Mister it is very clear that Charvakas and the Buddhists do not believe in the existence of the soul as separate from the gross body, then why do you threaten him?” An old man sitting in the executive class cut him to size. He was another interesting character in the high jacked flight. “ Who are you man? Why do you intervene unnecessarily?” One of the militants pointed out the gun against him. “ Shut up you mad fellows, you have only interfered and taken away our precious time. When everybody is busy in thinking about their future; and when I am doing my work you have disturbed me, and on the contrary you are questioning me?” His metallic voice was so high that everybody in the flight became panicky. Earlier they couldn’t hear such a thunder voice; and consequently they shivered among themselves and became speechless. The air passengers in the hostage of the militants were terribly shocked to see the wordy battle between the militants and the high jacks for their unholy acts and about their abnormal behaviour and attitudes. They could neither understand nor predict to what extent those debates and challenges go; and finally they lost hope of survival from the high jacked flight. Unmindful about what was going in the high jacked flight, the grand old man as usual continued to do his work on the lap top. “ The world has already experienced the wrath of destruction and devastation in the last two world wars. It is all the past history of the world. There are necessary causes and consequent curses for both the unholy and unhealthy wars. The war heroes are not the martyrs, and gladiators, but they remain as dead in the mounds. But now, what is happening inside the flight is neither the true history of the modern man nor the holy war against the unholy things. They are the most heinous crimes and barbarous acts committed by the inhuman and unethical populace, who are only the select few. There is apparently nobody ready to fight against the jihadists for the cause of the innocent people. Nor there is a noble character to fight for a noble cause. It is nothing but a curse of the mankind against the mankind. The international machinery, with most efficient and experienced officers of both uniformed, plain clothes, and intelligence branches have failed miserably to hold back a half a dozen of disgruntled and desperados, who are just handling the smuggled guns and bombs. Is anybody there in the flight ready to retaliate? Nor does anybody is interested to know about the agency which is responsible for the sabotage? The answer is simply no, why because of fear of one’s own life rather than sacrifice for others. Is it not quite strange that none of the air passengers in the flight are trying to know who they are? What for they are high jacking the flight? The high jacks except being youth, carrying the sophisticated weapons, they are not that courageous; and they are even mismatch to be compared with the sea pirates; or even with the highway dacoits, as the latter have at least guts to fight vis-à-vis with the resisters. They are only forced to commit jihad in the name of their religion. But now they are styling themselves in the air as James Bond 007 with a hired golden gun posing for stills rather than for any right cause of action. Further they are tuned by the religious fanatics, who have neither gut to answer public nor to show their faces to the media. They are half human and half animal, as half of their life they spend in jungles and the remaining half in the dens, designed by themselves, and sometimes in Multi Specialty Hospitals and finally in the burials” The old man had been busy in typing in his lap top; without caring the militants; and also what was happening around him. “ Hey man! I am calling you only, do you hear me or are you deaf and dumb?” The commander drew his attention. “ Don’t shout I am neither deaf nor dumb, but in fact you might have been deaf and dumb and besides blind too” “ What the hell are you talking old man?” The deputy commander put the barrel of the gun to his temple region. “ Bloody idiot, how dare are to point out the barrel of the gun to me?” The old man became furious. “ Hey old man don’t over pose yourself. It is enough even if we open air fire, your heart beat will stop on hearing its sound only and we need not fire you point blank. Oh! Poor man after seeing the deadly fire arms in our hands also you could not fear means either you must be a mad man or a fool” “ Stop talking nonsense, bloody fellows. In fact I feel that you are really mad people. And then why should I care for you bloody bigots; and narrow minded people? Don’t you know the truth? And after all every one of you are born to human beings, but not to demons or devils?” “ What?” The deputy commander became furious on seeing his arrogance. “ Why are you so callous old man?” He asked him at once. “ It is not arrogance, but the strength and courage behind my faith in truth” Said the old man. “ What is your over confidence? Do you think that you are only the pious man on the Earth?” “ Yes, I am hundred percent confident, because I never speak a lie and I am only speaking the facts” “ What rubbish are you talking man? As long as you continue your journey in this flight, you have to follow our command and caution invariably and you cannot disobey us. Or if you still behave indecisively, you cannot escape from our wrath, least your life will end more pathetically” The leader hinted. “ Shut up you bloody fool; you are not an omnipotent and you can’t decide anybody’s fate nor dictate terms to me” “ How dare are you to call our commander as fool?” The deputy commander of the militants got irritated. “ Bloody idiots to warn you, do you think that I need guts? I warn you again that you are digging your graves” The old man became furious. “ You cultureless brute, don’t you understand the seriousness of the situation? And don’t you have common sense?” The commander warned him. “ What is common sense? Do any of you know it? And don’t forget the fact that common sense includes manners also, that is the one and only difference between you and the common man” Said the old man. “ Hey old man! We are not uncivilized people. We need not learn lessons from anybody. You have crossed your limits and gone to the extent of teaching us idiotic lessons?” The deputy commander of the high jacks grew wild. “ Just shut your mouth, I will smash you bugger” The old man looked at him seriously. To every body’s surprise the deputy commander of the militants fell on the carpet unconscious. “ Are you really threatening us or acting as a buffoon in a drama; or a joker in a circus?” The leader of the high jacks laughed at him. “ I am not a buffoon; I am the omnipotent; I am the creator and the destroyer of everything in this universe. I pity you idiots; and in spite of my repeated warnings also you have got the ado city to call me a joker? But in fact you are all looking like jokers to me; I could see all your future, including your dooms day” The old man became wild. “ Hey old man you are talking too much and thinking high of you” Said the leader seriously. “ Go and check your deputy and I abruptly end his existence henceforth in this world” “ Don’t claim as if you are having superhuman powers. It is all a technique, and after some time he will get up” The leader didn’t believe him. “ Better check him, and I truly certify that he is no more” The old man said seriously. Two of the militants examined their deputy, but they found in him neither the pulse nor the breath. “ Sorry comrade the deputy is no more” They declared. “ What?” The leader was shocked. “ Yes of course, I have told you already, but you fools you do not understand. But I think some of the sensible passengers on board might have understood my philosophy” The old man said. There was absolute serenity. And no one dared to respond. “ I am sure that nobody believes you. But, it might be only your feeling; but none of the air passengers of course do any of you?” The leader of the high jacks asked the passengers. “ They are under shock, having been high jacked by you; and how can you expect them to speak truth man?” The old man responded at once. “ Don’t talk rot” He shouted the old man. “ Strange! I am not, but I think the reverse is quite apt for you” The old man said seriously. “ Are you mad or what old man?” One of the militants tried to raise his hand to beat him, but he couldn’t. “ I do mean what I said but it is up to you to assess to whom it reflects and what will be your fate?” The old man looked at him seriously. His right hand became defunct with paralysis. “ Hey mister, what is that you have done to my comrade?” “ Nothing” “ What?” “ Yes” “ Then why has he suffered from paralysis, when he raised his hand against you?” “ It is only his fate and he has to reap the consequences against raising his hand against an old man” The old man threatened him. “ Mister! You are crossing your limits, when the death is not far away from you?” The leader warned him. “ Bloody stupidity! You can’t say that you bloody jokers! In fact you don’t know that your doomsday is fixed, just wait and see when, where and how?” The old man said. “ Shut up, how dare are you to point out us? No fool will behave like you when the flight is high jacked. Quite strange even under tense situation also you are simply typing in your Lap Top means you must be insane” The leader passed a commented on him. “ I don’t mind you calling me by whatsoever name, but you must remember that you are just nothing and after all an entity in this universe but I am solely responsible for everything either creation or destruction in the universe” “ Who are you man? What the hell are you talking?” The leader reacted at once. “ I have just told you all about me, but still you poor chaps you are still confused” “ We don’t have time to hear your stories; tell us straight man whether are you a cop? Or a secret agent to India?” “ Poor fellows you need not suspect me in that way. I am just writing your future” “ Strange! You are forecasting our future and do you want us to believe it? Are you an astrologer or a tantric?” “ You are wrong, and I am not and it is not just forecasting, but I am deciding your fate” “ Super; it is indeed a good joke of the year!” “ You bloody sinners; you have been going on committing sins. You don’t deserve to live in this world. And even after death also you will suffer a lot for your heinous crimes that you have committed” The old man spell out their future. “ Are you cursing us man?” “ No, if it were so, you would have vanished by now” “ Shit! Are you playing with us man? Don’t thinking that we are kids’. Don’t you see deadly weapons in our hands?” The leader pointed out the AK 47 to the old man. “ I pity you poor fellow. Inspite of my revealing also still you trying to threaten me and the passengers with your gun? What is that you are going to do with these innocent people?” “Then are you going to fight with us to release them?” The leader challenged him. “ Do you think I simply keep quite?” “ Mr. old man, your countdown has started” The commander cocked his AK 47 and aimed against him. “ I see” The old man laughed at him. “ Hey mad man! Why are you laughing? Don’t forget that you are on the edge of death?” One of the militants declared he will be gun down to death. “ I pity your innocence and ignorance. In spite of my telling you in advance, and cautioning you, none of you are bothered at all” “ You bloody old man, are you living in illusions?” Said the commander. “ You fools I am not, but are you? And you couldn’t understand the philosophy of life” “ It is quite ridiculous. You are neither the creator nor the destroyer old man” Said the leader. “ How could you say that?” The old man became furious. “ Because of your over confidence, you don’t understand the present situation that you have become our hottest target now. Get ready to die; and pray your God old man” Said the leader. “ You fools, are you searching for fool’s gold?” The old man laughed at them. “ I am killing you old man” The commander opened fire point blank against him in auto motion to prove his existence. There were huge sounds and resounds of gun shots, but there were no bullet injuries found on the old man. “ What!” The commander astonished. “ You idiots, you can’t do anything against the nature. And nobody can overcome death, nor is it in your hands? I only decide it” The old man spoke his philosophy. “ It is not a strange thing man! It may be purely your luck; or it might be a magic or some kind of hypnosis, performed by you only to divert our attention” The leader said. But, the old man smiled. “ Are you not serious even at the altar of death also? Are you a psychic man?” “ No, I am not, but in fact I am seeing in you the qualities of a psychic” “ Rubbish! What nonsense are you talking?” The leader shouted him. “ Come on comrades it is time for us to prove what are we; and our ideology, besides our strength too. I say shoot him at once” The leader ordered. As soon as the order was spell out from the mouth of the leader, the militants raised their weapons and aimed at the old man. “ You fools! Are you threatening me? Am I looking like a kid to be scared off you idiots? And don’t over pose yourself by carrying toy pistols?” Said the old man. “ How can we believe your hypothetical statement that what we carrying are only toy pistols?” “ Then look at yourselves” Said the old man. They observed at once. “ What!” Not only the High jacks but also the air passengers and the crew were shocked and surprised to see what were there in the hands of the high jacks. The automatic weapons which the high jacks were carrying appeared to be only toy pistols. How it happened? Was it a mystery? Or was it an illusion? Neither anybody knew nor anyone could guess as what had happened? Eight member team, with the toy pistols high jacked the international flight, carrying126 passengers on board, with two pilots, and four member crew. How impractical it was? Really it was a strange thing to see. And the scenario in the flight was slowly changing. It revealed the strength of the militants. Now the weapon of offence only became the bone of contention between the High jacks, and the passengers along with the flight crew. The commander of the high jacks tried to hold the self styled creator and tie him to the seat. But, surprisingly there was nobody in the seat; instead there were multiple bullet holes all over the seat. Not only the high jacks, but also the passengers and the crew were all taken a back. They all observed all around in the flight and henceforth they could not find the old man in his seat. There couldn’t be any living being on the Earth, which could be totally free from fear, for at least a fraction of second; the lion, the tiger, the African Elephant, and so also the human beings are no exception; and what if the Jihadists carrying toy pistols and guns and aim at the innocent people? They hold their breath for few seconds under terrible shock. But still they neither decided what they experienced was real, nor a myth, nor the character of the old man was only an illusion.   Chapter: 2   In India at New Delhi on 20 th May, 2014, and it was 1030 hrs, counting was going on for the general elections in the biggest democratic countries in the world. The party in power in India was in shock with the down trends. Almost all the people in Indian came on to the streets distributing sweets, expressing their happiness by various ways and means like celebrating the festivals of Holy with multiple colours, and Dewali with crackers. The news spread like wildfire throughout length and breadth of India that the party in power was losing, as the opposition party was far ahead of the ruling party in the elections. The entire administrative missionary including the police and the revenue in the cities declared red alert. All the three forces of India were kept on toes at vulnerable points, not for the amazing results in the general elections, but for the high jacking of the international flight. So far the high jacks did not made out their demands. They only informed that they high jacked the International flight. The world had not forgotten the ghastly episode of attack on world trade centre in the USA in the year 2001. The high jacks took the flight towards Sharjah, their destination as planned by them before the flight was high jacked.   Chapter: 3   In the air and in the high jacked flight.   “ By the way I am Mr. Jinnah, bound to New Delhi” He smiled and introduced himself to his co-passenger. ” Well, I am Miss. Sania bound to Hyderabad” “ Are you from Dubai?” “ No” She said “ Sharjah” He asked her to confirm. “ No I am from Pakistan” She replied him. “ Then why have you come to Dubai?” “ My parents never permit me to go to India, if I tell them the truth. And of course there is no direct flight from Pakistan to India. It also is quite unfortunate that we never had friendly relations with India and that is why I have just come to Dubai to make my parents believe that I am going to see a tournament at Dubai. And from here I have planned to fly to India” She simply narrated her story in brief. “ Are you scared Miss. Sania?” Dr. Jinnah just asked her. “ For what?” “ Regarding the hijacking of our flight; and the episode of the old man?” “ I could not understand who have done it and what for they have hijacked the flight? But now as you appraised off me the situation, I am really sacred sir” Miss. Sania expressed her feelings in low voice. He was a knowledgeable person and he could immediately assess that she was a minor and alone travelling. “ They will never kill anyone Sania” He assured her. “ But they have killed even the Mullah, who was a true Muslim and so also attempted on the life of the grand old man sir” “ It is over Sania, may be the victims opposed them. Or it might be the strategy of the militants that by killing an innocent they wanted to scare all of us” “ Then are you scared of them sir?” “ No I am not Sania” “ Sir can we guarantee everybody’s life in the flight sir?” She asked him quite innocently. He knew that it was a quite irrelevant question put to him as they were neither cops nor secret agents. “ I appreciate you for your courage to travel alone at this age Sania” “ Thank you sir, but you could not give them an assurance” “ It is not in my hands Sania, nor am I a gladiator to protect you all?” “ Then at least do you know who they are sir?” She was eager to know about them. “ Yes I know that they are militants” “ To which country they belong sir?” “ I think they are all from Pakistan” “But why they are in the uniform of Dubai cops?” “ Perhaps they wanted to sabotage the plane and hence they have taken shelter under the guise of Dubai nationality” He said simply. “ Are they not the agents of ISI?” “ May be, but I am not sure” “ Then, what the Hell are they doing sir?” She asked him quite innocently. He knew that it was a stupid question. He understood that she was a minor and that this might be her first experience. “ I think you also don’t know. Shall we ask them sir?” “ No, not necessary Sania, I know that they are doing their job” “ What job sir?” “ It may be to create terror” “ I couldn’t get you sir” “ I mean they want to create great terror” “ For what sir?” “ To make the world governments to shake and the people to shiver under fear of terrible pain of brutal killings” “ Is it your prediction? Or just tossing in the air sir?”She again asked him innocently. “ Sorry Sania I am neither an astrologer nor at least a face reader. But I have understood something strange about them through media. I suspect that they are jihadists, and also there are many such incidents occurred earlier in most of the countries in the world” He just said. “ But, I have seen them today only; and for me it is a quite unfortunate day sir” said Sania. “Yes of course, it is not for you alone Sania, but for almost all of us, who have boarded this flight today is an unforgettable day” “ Sorry sir if I have taken your precious time by putting you umpteen questions” She said apologetically. “ No, not at all Sania, I am not that impatient to answer any number of questions Sania” He replied politely. “ Sir, I fear that there are aged people, besides women and small kids too. If anything adverse does happen or anybody suffers from any serious ailments, what is their fate sir?” She expressed her doubt. “ Don’t bother Sania, we have a fine doctor in the flight” He assured her. “ Is it? Who is that God sent man sir?” Sania asked him anxiously. There was suddenly an interruption, and one of the high jacks drew their attention. “ Mr. Jinnah, don’t take our silence as advantage, and talk as you like” The leader of the high jacks pointed out the barrel of his gun to him. “ I am sorry gentleman; I don’t mean that, as the girl is frightened, I have just tried to cajole her” “ Will you please shut your mouth and do your business?” “ Sure, but in fact my business starts now only gentleman” “ Are you a cop Mr. Jinnah?” The commander of the high jacks asked him. “ Your are quite wrong gentleman” “I suspect that you are a secret agent to India?” “ Sorry gentleman. For your information I am a doctor by profession” “ Quite interesting. What is your specialization?” The leader tried to elicit his knowledge in medicine. “ I have done master’s degree in psychiatry and now my concern is the passengers in the flight; and almost most all are in panicky, especially the aged, the women and the kids. They may need my treatment. If you permit me, I am ready to treat them and council them” He spoke to them politely. While one of them had been guarding him, the remaining went to the cabin of the crew and discussed among them and finally they decided. “ Are you a Muslim? And are you a citizen of Pakistan?” “ Yes I am a citizen of Pakistan as I am born and brought up there only. But, I am not a Muslim” “ What?” “ Yes gentleman, I am sorry to disappoint you, but I only said truth” Mr. Jinnah said coolly. “ Nonsense, born and brought up in the land of Pakistan, name is Mr. Jinnah, speaking Hindi, Urdu and Arabic so fluently; but still you have got the audacity to deny yourself a true Muslim” The commander said seriously. “ I didn’t speak anything wrong gentleman; but I only said that I am not a Muslim” “ Shut up” “ I am sorry I can’t tell you a lie to please you gentleman” “ Better shut your mouth” “ You are unnecessarily becoming angry with me gentleman?” “ You bloody fellow don’t irritate me with your callous attitude” The leader gave a knockout punch on his left shoulder.   “ Oh my lord forgive them please” Mr. Jinnah suffered severe pain as his left collar bone was fractured. “ Shut up you bastard and no one will save you” “ It’s okay, but I told you the fact gentleman; and if you want to see my passport you may please” He hold his pain and replied. “ Quite idiotic replay; what is the sanctity of your useless passport? If they are really useful for screening, how could we sabotage the flight man?” “ In some cases, what you said may be true, but not all times. But, I am carrying original passport and I am not speaking any falsehood. The fact is that my mother is a Muslim and my father is a Hindu. Now it is up to you to decide, to which religion I belong?” “ Obviously you must be a Muslim” Said one of the militants. “ No, I am neither a Hindu nor a Muslim; and certainly not the third one, i.e. the blend of the two; and so I call myself as an alien on the earth without any caste, creed and cult” “ Shut up you bastard“The commander lost his tongue. Now the situation turned tense. Everybody was anxious to hear more from their interaction; and most of the hostages felt relief as they were spared and Mr. Jinnah only became their hot target. “ I don’t understand. Why are you angry with me gentleman?” “ Idiot, do you want to make us fools? Or trying to tell us another interesting story? Don’t be over smart man? We know how to cut you to size, the comrades hold his hands tight” The leader grew wild. As soon as the order came from the commander, two of his militants held his both hands back and tied them with a piece of rope. “ Come on comrades take him and examine him thoroughly” “ Hey man move, move as fast as we are” One of the militants put the pistol at his temple region and dragged him. “ Do you want to test people by seeing their genitals and then only you confirm their religion gentleman?” “ Shut your mouth; otherwise your tongue will be cut” The commander shouted him. “ Okay gentleman if you have decided to see them I have no objection. But I request you to avoid your women comrades please. Later you can’t guarantee me free from their molestation, because your squad also comprised of some beautiful and hungry women” Mr. Jinnah appealed to him. “ Shut up you rascal” One of the women High jack’s slapped him. “ Sorry I said hungry instead of angry. Anyway I thank you beauty for your spontaneous reaction” Another lady in uniform kicked below his lower abdomen. He felt severe pain as her kick directly hit his genitals. “ Good kick! It seems you have been closely concentrating on that only dear” Dr. Jinnah tried his best to with hold his pain and said smilingly. “ Don’t talk rubbish, shut your mouth idiot” The lady comrades’ tried to drag him towards the cabin, for physical test as ordered by their commander. “ No comrades, you please wait, and our brothers will do that and finish him” Said the commander. Later the militants along with male comrades dragged him towards the cabin of the crew for physical check-up.   Chapter: 4   It is exactly1030 hrs GMT, in the state of Andhra Pradesh in India. There is a 2 rd grade Municipal city, called Tadepalligudem, in West Godavari District in the state of Navyya Andhra Pradesh. In the Municipal town of Tadepalligudem, there was a Hindu crematorium.There was a huge Statue of Lord Shiva at the very entrance of the crematorium, which was having a compound wall all around and a gate with lock and key. The care taker of the crematorium was busy in arranging wooden logs for the cremation of the dead body of a popular political leader. A funeral procession had just reached the burial ground. And the dead body was kept on the funeral prey and his son lit fire and soon the dead body was on flames” “ Will you please preserve some more ashes of my father?” The son of the dead requested the care taker and gave him one more pot. He wanted to make his political entry in place of the dead, i.e. his father. Perhaps the caretaker understood his logic and his mellow drama in the presence of his supporters and high command for gaining political sympathy in the by election and looked at him seriously, but without any expression on his face. He tried to comfort him by asking him to sit in a small roofed shed, where one could hear the slokas from Bhagavath Geetha, which speaks about the philosophy of life in between birth, death and what happens after death. If anybody minutely observes here, they can certainly find the world’s greatest philosopher in caretaker of the burial, as there is always an infinite question mark on his face, as ‘ Who will be the next? What is life after death? Where all the dead bodies are going? How long has he to keep the gates to open?’ And on the other side of the Hindu grave yard, there was a Christian burial ground, where the burial of a christen father, aged 80yrs was taking place. And near to the Church there was an old Mosque situated, with its back side grave yard, and the Muslim brothers just buried the dead body of a poor Muslim boy who died in a road accident and later offered prayers. At the Cathedral, the church father summoned all the kith and kin of the dead and offered prayers for the departed soul to live in peace. After they buried the Muslim dead body, the Mullah of the Mosque asked all the kith and kin of the dead to congregate with their traditional caps, and later offered prayers to the almighty. In the first half of the day one body each in all the three burials was disposed off. But it was uncertain whether the gates were to be kept open till sunset for another one to come. Chapter: 5 In the air; and in the High jacked flight: “ Who are you?” The leader of the High jacks asked the next passenger to Jinnah. The next to Dr. Jinnah was Miss. Sania, a Pakistani National and was a student of plus two. Now it was her turn to respond to their quarries. She was virtually shivering. She tried her best to screen her feelings. She was silent for a while as she couldn’t open her mouth, fearing that her identity would be known to them. “ Hello! Are you deaf or Dum? Who are you? Why are you not answering me?” The commander asked her again in high tone. She understood that she couldn’t escape unanswered. “ I --- I am Sania” She replied, but her voice was not clear. “ Say loudly” “ Saina—Sania” “ Are you a Shea or a Sunni?” The commander again questioned her seriously. She could not tell him her details as she didn’t want to become a prey for their anger by disclosing her sect in Islam. “ You bloody bitch! Do you want to expose your erotic beauty to public? Are you posing yourself as Miss Universe?” He shouted her. She couldn’t speak, but nodded her head as ‘no’ “ Then, why haven’t you covered your face and body with the traditional black veil (Buraka)? Aren’t you a Muslim? Don’t you respect Holy Quran?” She became silent spectator “ Bloody shame on your part. Your parents deserve to be shot dead for bringing you up quite untraditionally and against the customs and traditions of Islam” Said the commander seriously. She had no answer. “ Where are you going?” “ I am just leaving Pakistan to learn Tennis” “ Don’t try to be over smart baby, tell your destination” “ I am going to India” “ Shut up, you dirty devil, India is a country, and be specific as to which place in India?” “ In Sania Mirza’s International Tennis Academy, Hyderabad” She just revealed. “ Bloody stupidity. Don’t you know that games and sports are forbidden for Muslim Women? Come on tell me, who are your parents? What are they doing?” He insisted her. In the meanwhile Dr. Jinnah was brought back in half nude after physical check up. They observed him so minutely. “ Shall I wear my trouser and upper please?” “ You son of a bitch” One of them gave him a powerful punch on his left shoulder. He could not with stand his balance and fell on Sania, unable to balance himself. “ I am sorry” He said politely though he was suffering severe pain but tried to withhold his feelings. Sania observed him. There was a severe fracture to his left collar bone as it was swelling. On seeing his condition, she became panicky and suffered terrible shock and fell unconscious. “ I am sorry to caution you gentleman that she is in severe shock and fainted, she needs immediate medical assistance or otherwise her heart function will stop” Dr. Jinnah explained her condition to them. The other co passengers also appealed to them to save her. Then the high jack’s freed the hands of Dr. Jinnah. He started treating Sania.   Chapter: 6   In the world Scenario:   Now it was not the problem of India and Pakistan. But it engulfed the entire world. There were hot line talks between the heads of the nations. Most of the people of 21 st century were lucky and they were happy because they never saw the wrath of the two world wars. But, now they were all scared because they might stand as witness to the third World War as the conditions were forcing the super powers to take sides and it would spark the modern world with mounting pressure on the big powers to inject Religion into politics and thereby capture the situation to their favour. The world had been divided into two major groups as pro- Islam with all the Muslim dominating states and anti- Islam constituting non- Islamic states and was responsible for provocation of the heads of the states into two groups to ignite another war, which would be the one and the only war, and perhaps the final war for end of the mankind, the third world war. There had been changing equations. Military of almost all the countries were on the move. The countries, which were having potential threat, had put their forces on toes in the eventuality of happening of any worst thing. The world had already experienced two world wars. Those dead in the two world wars only remain in heaps and mounds of burials, and known to history as destructions, devastations and war loses. But now what happening was not a history. It remained as only heinous crime in the criminal history of the world. It had no page in the true history of the modern world since human civilization is at stake. The international machinery miserably failed to hold back half a dozen of wanted terrorists and criminals. And one such a group was now trying to become heroes of the situation. Nobody in the flight was an expert to find out or explore who they were? And what for the high jacking drama was? Were they really war heroes or gladiators? Never and never as they couldn’t be even rated as sea pirates or dacoits who had at least guts to waylay and fight visa-vis. But, they were the religious bigots and like Shakespeare’s Brutus with back stabbing character, who carried smuggled guns, tuned by the most wanted leaders who never came to public life at all or at any time. They were half human and half animal, because half of their life they spent in jungles and the rest of their lives in jails and in hospitals and few will be middle dropped resting in unceremonial burials. And the High jacks released their first bulletin.   Chapter: 7   In the air:   And in the executive class in the International Flight.   “ Why have you lied that you are not a Muslim Dr. Jinnah?” The leader of the High jacks said seriously. “ I haven’t spoken lies to you gentlemen” He replied quite politely. “ Shut up, we have seen that you are circumcised” The leader confirmed again. “ Whosoever circumcised need not necessarily be a Muslim. In fact I have already told you before your people examine my genitals that I am circumcised, as now a day’s most of the people are going for circumcision as advised by doctors for keeping good health and also for hygiene purpose” He explained the cause for which he got operated. They again fisted him mercilessly. “ Sorry, please don’t pressurize me to speak a lie gentleman“Mr. Jinnah again requested him. “ You bloody infidel” The commander slapped him. “ I said I am not a Muslim, it does not mean that I am a Hindu or I worship Idols” “ Bloody stupidity, are you a doctor? Or philosopher?” The commander said sarcastically. “ Why do you suspect my integrity? I am a doctor by profession. I said I have no faith and I would like to be an alien who has no religion I suppose” “ Wonderful! You better write stories to films” “ Sure, I will definitely write when you all make this high jack drama a happy end and when you all survive” He equally retaliated. “ Do you suspect our mission would fail” The commander reacted. “ Yes, it is going to happen and I could visualize it gentleman” “ Are you a tantric? Or a saint to forecast our future?” “ Whatsoever you call me, but my guess is always a right gentleman and you will certainly fail in your assignment” “ Shut up you bastard” This time, one of the militants who was carrying a gun hit him with the butt of the gun. Blood was oozing out from his mouth, as there was an internal injury. Sania felt pity over him and shed tears as he was her saver, but now he was losing his life.   Chapter: 8   On the Earth, and in the modern World:   The demands of the high jacks were not one or two to be fulfilled. Besides the release of the important hardcore militants who were in jails in most of the anti Islamic countries; they wanted compensation for the recently hanged hardcore militants and their leaders as head for head for those who are responsible for their death. This portion of the demand was rather impractical, ambiguous and there was no solution for this at this stage. The heads of the states and the army and civil administration were working out seriously on the high jack of the international flight. In case if the disgruntled militants resorted to any suicidal attacks on any important and vulnerable places, there was no alternative except to bump off the flight, together with the passengers on board besides the cabin crew and the militants. But the world would never accept it and that all the citizens of the world had apathy for the innocent passengers on board. And at the same time the humanity was not ready to face the devastation of any degree what so ever it might be. In either ways the lives of the passengers were at stake. Man had invented the missile. But when once it was pressed into action, there was absolutely no chance to hold it back except to destroy it with another much more potential missile. So far it was not disclosed which country was targeted? Which terrorist group had sabotaged the plane? Still there were negotiations going on between the heads of the non Islamic states and their civil administration and the military with the leaders of the high jacks through various means. But both were losing time and the fuel was exhausted on par with time.   Chapter: 9   In the high jacked flight:   “ Ladies and gentlemen, now you may disclose your name and identity one by one for your identity; and also to pass time and get yourself free from all tensions. But if anybody try to hide anything, they are only responsible for being thrown out of the flight. Now start from the last row please” The commander drew the attention of everybody in flight. “ I am Indira Priyadarshani” A girl of five years introduced herself. “ Very poor choice, perhaps your parents don’t know the most painful and pathetic end of her life” “ Please don’t comment the great mother of the nation uncle; though she was cautioned by Intelligence Bureau that her life was endanger in the hands of her bodyguards only, but she denied to remove her bodyguards, who were Sikhs, saying that the Sikhs were also her children” Baby Priyadrshni retaliated. The placenta on their face turned reddish rather darkish as their blood was boiling on hearing the name of the former Prime Minister of India Late Smt. Indira Gandhi. But he controlled himself as he might have understood the child’s psychology that they would not hesitate to speak facts under any cost, may be due to ignorance or arrogance. “ Next person” “ I am Mr. Gandhi, Professor in Mass communication and Journalism in the University of IGNOU. “What is IGNOU?” He couldn’t understand the expansion of the capital letters. “ It is Indira Gandhi National open University” “ Don’t you find fancy names Sohab, Ameer and pious names like Ibrahim, Kareem, and historical like Akbar, Jahengheer and Shajahan, and patriotic like Iqubal?” “ Yes of course, but my grandparents are freedom fighters, my parents are scholars of History of Freedom Movement in India and that is why they have fascination for the names of the heroes of the freedom struggle” “ Will it not freedom for Pakistan?” “ No, it is not Freedom for Pakistan. It is freedom for Akhand Bharat i.e peninsular India” “ Then you are not either a true patriot of Hindustan or Pakistan.” The leader of the High jacks commented him. “ But, one should respect and accept true History, and those who have written such an unbiased history should definitely deserve respect” Prof. Gandhi equally retaliated. “ Then I call it a very poor history, and useless topic, next please” Said the leader. “ Iqubal” Said the next passenger. “ Excellent name! He is the one and the only patriot of Islamic state of Pakistan, our motherland; do all of you understand? And next please” “ I am Prof. Rama Krishna, coming from Pakistan” “ Your’s is a nasty name and you are a bloody infidel. Hang yourself with your religion. If you want to stay back in our land, better convert yourself to Islam and change your name” The commander cautioned him. “ Sorry gentleman, I am neither a Dubai Sheik nor a Pakistan National. I am an Archaeologist from India. I have come to Pakistan on research purpose only” Prof. Rama krishna replied. “ What’s your research? And what’s your special assignment? In which way it is useful to humanity? At least will it serve bread to the poor?” “ I am doing thesis on Indus Valley Civilization, and to study its geographical extent, and to elicit the truth whether it is indigenous or foreign?” Prof. R K replied professionally. “ Then what is your conclusion? Is it not the first civilization of Pakistan?” The commander with full confidence and excepting it to be the first civilization of Pakistan asked him. “ I am sorry to tell you gentleman that you are quite wrong in your thought and approach to civilizations. Before the evolution of man on the globe, and with the emergence of cultures and civilizations, the early human habitat couldn’t be restricted or confined to continents and countries or colonies, as the latter are invented or formed by the civilized people over a period of centuries, way back to B.C to A.D. And for your better appreciation I must tell you the real history in prehistoric times there were no geographical, racial, religious barriers and boundaries between man and man. The cultures and civilizations grew initially, starting with family to families and then to socio-economic groups which flourished subsequently wherever there were living conditions which were safe and secured for the primitive men and women in almost all the continents on the globe. And in broader sense wherever river beds and deltas were in existence and where food sources were plenty, there flourished the world’s greatest and early civilizations” He spoke as an expert. “ You bloody Neanderthal man, hang with your Archaeology; stones, broken pots, burials, heaps of mounds and skeletal remains” The leader of the militancy grew wild. While the interaction was going on, Miss. Sania could able to take respire with the sustained efforts of Dr. Jinnah. In fact as a last recourse, he gave her mouth to mouth respiration. She was an asthma patient and suffering from both tonsils and bronchitis. She saw at first Dr. Jinnah on regaining her conscious. “ How are you baby? Are you okay? Are you feeling better now?” As a doctor he asked her affectionately. She recollected what had happened. She simply nodded her head as she was safe. Dr. Jinnah suspected her that she might have straight come from her hostel and got into the flight, without informing her parents about her bon-voyage. In fact she was not that fit to play or learn tennis. She must be coming to Hyderabad for some other purpose, which she couldn’t reveal and the rest of them didn’t expect. “ Are you in love with anyone dear?” Dr. Jinnah asked her in as much as in low voice. She couldn’t reply him at once; rather she was feeling shy to say either yes or no. “ Your silence creates in me number of doubts Sania. I am a doctor and one has to speak facts to the doctors, but still you are avoiding me. I know that you are neither under 16 nor senior in age nor having suitable physique to learn tennis at Hyderabad. That means you are bluffing; and you are only coming to Hyderabad in the guise of learning tennis. But, a girl of this age speaks lies means it is nothing but she suffers from love germ. Am I right Sania?” She had no option to avoid him, since he was her saver. To him, she couldn’t lie. She just nodded her head as yes. “ Who the luckiest Prince is dear?” “ Promise me sir, not to make tom- tom please” She was trying to be cautious. “ I promise you, and I also assure you that if you want any help from me, I am ready to help you. Now I think you believe me and accept my promise” “ I thank you sir, and I trust you” “ So your coming to Hyderabad to learn Tennis is a lie, isn’t it?” “ Yes sir, I am in love with a tennis player of Sania Mirza Academy. But, unless I tell my parents a lie, how could they spend huge money on me sir? “ Who the smart guy is?” “ Mr. Samart” “ Oh my God, it is both Inter- religion and Inter State” He was initially shocked. “ Do you know him sir?” she asked him out of curiosity. “ Yes of course, why I alone? The entire world knows him. He is a famous tennis player of India; and by the way where have you come closer to him and fell in love with him?” “ Through face book, twitter, and finally I have a selfie with him when he recently visited Pakistan sir” She replied in so much modesty and showed him the selfie in her mobile. “ You bloody daughter of a bitch. How dare are you to fall in love with an infidel? Don’t you see potentiality in our Muslim boys? If you want to test, our boys are ready. Do you? ” They commented her in vulgar language, describing her body contours, unmindful about even the presence of women passengers in the flight. The co- passengers closed their ears, unable to digest their unparliamentarily language and also closed their eyes to avoid their ugly gestures. Sania put kerchief to her mouth to screen her feelings. The poor girl was frightened both by their vulgar language and indecent behaviour. Had the flight’s emergency exit was open she might have jumped out of the flight to commit suicide without any hesitation unable to bear their insult and outraging her modesty. Dr. Jinnah tried to cajole her; and hinted her through his eyes not to lose her temper and outburst. She understood his gestures and there after she decided not to answer anybody. “ Sir, may I ask you one question please?” “ Yes, you are most welcome baby” “ Are you the same man?” “ Who?” “ The God who disappeared” “ No, I am not God. I am neither a creator nor a destroyer. You need not brain storm yourself about me Sania” “ But still I hope and do believe that you are the one and the only person, more than earthly man and something more than humane to tell the truth” “ Really I am not or at least God sent man. I am just an ordinary human being like you Sania” Dr. Jinnah tried to convince her. “ But what happened to that grand old man?” Sania asked him rather curiously. “I too don’t know. Perhaps he might have been disappeared” “ But how could this happened sir?” “ They might have slain him” “ What sir?” “ Yes Sania they might have killed him” “ Then where is his dead body sir?” “ May be they have thrown him out or secreted him somewhere in the flight” “ Again you are putting me under terrific fear sir” “ What I said is not gospel truth, but it is only my suspicion Sania” “ Then why don’t you ask them sir?” “Of course, but you want me to become the next target to go to the guillo-tine” “ Sorry sir, if it is possible only you ask them, otherwise I will try” “ No, you also don’t poke in. Anyway as they are losing time so also the mystery will rip open like ice melts under hot sun, and till then please keep quite Sania” He didn’t allow her to interact with them. “ Oh my God! There is blood” One of the Air passengers was shocked on noticing it and raised hue and cry. All the air passengers’ attention was drawn and they also observed it. Sania looked at the militants and shivered under fear. One of the militants opened the baggage box at once in the flight and found a bottle of red wine, which was dropping out drop by drop, as it’s cap was not properly screwed. “ It was a sacred wine brought by one of the church father, who also boarded the flight. If any of you want to sip you may” Said the leader of the Militants. No passenger dared to ask the crew even for water till then. “ Mr. Commander there may be sugar patients, besides heart patients too and if you neglect them they may collapse. Remember Allah always says to help the needy. Please show mercy and help them” Dr. Jinnah suggested him. When Dr. Jinnah brought the reference of Allah, it touched their hearts. And then they understood the necessity of the air passengers and they immediately freed the cabin crew and instructed them to serve whatever the air passengers want.   Chapter: 10   In both domestic and International flights, it was cabin crew who used to caution the air passengers to close their mobile phones. But, in this flight even before the cabin crew drew the attention of the passengers, the militants took possession of the flight and the crew under their command and control. And most of the passengers didn’t switch off their mobiles. Fortunately Dr. Jinnah’s mobile was in vibration mode. There was an important message to his mobile. He read out the message. No human down to earth man was above passions and feelings. Generally, doctors are considered to be the best councillors to their patients. But, who could council the doctors, if the latter suffer like any other common man or patient? And exactly Dr. Jinnah was facing such situation. Miss. Sania could observe Dr. Jinnah from close proximity and she noticed that he was in disturbed state. “ Is anything serious at home sir?” She asked him curiously. He just said “Yes” “ Sir, why don’t you demand them to return the flight to Dubai or force land at nearest air port to your Home town sir?” “ They are hard core militants and are above passions Sania” She was feeling that he even didn’t make an effort at least. He understood that she was quite an innocent girl as she underestimated them and their ideology. In fact they were suicidal squad. He again observed his mobile for further messages if any. “ What is that?” one of the militants questioned him. “ It’s my mobile” Dr. Jinnah replied frankly. “ Haven’t you switched off your mobile?” “ Yes, I haven’t” “ You Stupid” The leader lost his temper and slapped him. Now Sania could understand the fate of truth rather than a lie practically. “ Idiot don’t you know the rules and regulations of boarding the flight? And don’t you think that we are militants?” The Commander tried to cut him to size. “ I know gentleman, but it is an emergency” Said Mr. Jinnah. “ What bloody emergency? Since how long you have been passing our conversation?” “ Sorry, I haven’t operated my mobile ever since I have boarded the flight. I have kept it in vibration mode as I don’t want to disturb the co- passengers; and just now I received a message” “Do you have net facility to your mobile?” “ Yes” “ So it is confirmed. You are a bloody secret agent to India” The leader blamed him. While Dr. Jinnah was under interrogation, one of the militants gave him a boxing punch on his face. His tooth was broken and upper lip was cut and blood was oozing out. The co- passengers including Miss. Sania felt pity over his plight. “ Hey man give your instrument” one of them tried to snatch it. “ No, sorry” He raised his voice. It drew the attention of not only the high jack’s but also the entire passengers and crew in the flight. “ You bastard” Another militant fisted him on his right shoulder. Though it was paining, he did not care both the physical pain and also mental stress. “ I am sorry; I can’t forgo it as it is the one and only link between me and my patients” “ You son of a bitch! This is neither a hospital nor ICU and you better hand over it to us at once” The leader threatened him. “ Even during the two world wars also, the generals and the soldiers never denied the doctors and the sisters from treating the injured, but you are obstructing me to treat the patients’ gentleman” Dr. Jinnah tried to convince him. “ Hang with your bloody logic. In fact every covert try to take shelter under some pretext or the other” The leader shouted him. “ Sorry I don’t take any guise nor do I need it? And further I assure you that I may not come in your way please” Dr. Jinnah assured him. “ Okay, show the last message and call list; and prove your integrity” Dr. Jinnah opened his mobile and showed the message to him. “ Mr. Rahman is on funeral prey; please attend to him at once. It is my last wish” That was all the essence of the message. “ Another Cock and bull story” As usual the leader commented. “ Gentleman it is not my creation. It is really a great love story of one world, between two Nations, and among three cults. And if you still don’t believe them means they are quite unfortunate; and it is purely their bad luck” “ Shut up, don’t exaggerate the incidents and go on speaking high of them” “ But, I am sorry to say that no woman in the world would welcome widow hood, nor claim that she has witnessed her husband on the funeral prey, unless she has a definite information gentleman” He said, but reserved his feelings in his heart. They just listen to him as spectators, and so also the co passengers. He then received another SMS message to his mobile. This time the leader of the high jacks snatched it and read the message. “ What is the message? Will you please read it out comrade?” He requested him quite humbly. The leader didn’t care him and nor responded to him. “ Do any of the passengers carry Lap Top having net connection please?” The commander caused enquiry. “ Yes, I have” Prof. Gandhi raised his hand. The leader took the Lap Top from him. “ Mr. Jinnah do you have lap top with net facility?” “ Yes I have” “ Then, you also open your Lap Top” Dr. Jinnah opened his laptop, but he didn’t reveal his password. “ Mr. Jinnah if it is truly urgency you may please reveal your pass ward” “ Yes I will” Dr. Jinnah revealed his password. “ We don’t mind if any of the passengers have instruments can open and see it. But don’t try to be over smart by connecting other than Mrs. Rahman, and such people will have to reap the consequences” “ Mr. Jinnah please get connected Mrs. Rahman through Skype in your lap top” Said the commander. The flight was crossing mountains and seas, but nobody could certainly say or demarcate the human created barriers and boarders between India and Pakistan in the air and in the high seas.   Chapter: 11   In India, while the results of the general election were so alarming on onside and the people were scared about what happened to them and about the fate of the country in the hands of the opposition party henceforth. So also not only the people of India, but also the people all over world feared about the people in the high jacked flight. On the other hand, the Hindu fanatics were seriously hurt with the actions of Mr. Rahman. And there was serious hunt after Mr. Rahman alias Ram Mohan to do away with him as he spoiled the purity of Hinduism and Hindu Dharma by converting himself into Islam and fled to Pakistan only to marry an orthodox Muslim girl by leaving his cult, country, kith and kin to dogs, and ultimately returned to India stealthily, thirty years since he had been converted to Islam. But at the same time they didn’t know the fact that the Muslim fanatics were also wanted to eliminate him, if they had a chance to trace Mr. Rahaman. And military in both the countries were kept standby. In case of any emergency, they should get ready to face the situation. While the matters stood thus, the other countries in the world took sides and divided among themselves into two groups, one pro- Islamic World and another anti- Islamic world. Chapter: 12 In the air and in the high jacked flight: Now everybody’s concern was regarding the lives of the passengers in the hijacked flight. Now the aero plane was flying under the command of the high jacks. The world had not forgotten the ghastly tragedy of the flight crash on the world trade centre, in the USA. But, now the more pathetic thing than any other tragedies in the world was the ongoing funeral of Mr. Rahman on the funeral prey at Hindu cremation. It was a shock to the entire Muslim community in the Islamic countries in the world. “ Is it a film sir?” one of the co- passengers asked him out of his curiosity. “ I am sorry, it is neither a film nor fiction, but a live” Said Dr. Jinnah in a feeble voice. Now it was the turn of the militants, who for the first time in their life could see through their heart and soul about what the human relations, attachments, sentiments rather than religion and politics. A Hindu marrying a Muslim was not a new thing to the world. But a Hindu converted to Islam disowning his religion, culture, kith and kin, and finally leaving his motherland to marry a Muslim girl of a foe country was certainly something new to the modern world. The Fathers of Indian and Pakistan Mr. M. K. Gandhi and Mr. M.A. Jinnah, respectively fought united against the British only for achieving the freedom for Akhanda Bharat i.e. for peninsular India. And history was not silent over facts and figures. There were no separate territories like Indian and Pakistan during pre- Independence. It was only the divide and rule policy of the British brought the two nation theory. In fact there were meaningful slogans by both Muslims and Hindus, as ‘Hindus and Muslims were bhai- bhai’, and ‘India and Pakistan were two eyes of a Nation i.e. India’ But the post Independence era saw blood bath, and against which the father of the Nation Mr. M.K. Gandhi went fast on to death to bring harmony between the two step brothers. He even sacrificed his life only because he didn’t find any difference between the Hindus and Muslims. Even his death also could not bring harmony between the two countries. Again the emergence of Bangladesh also had strained the relations; besides the already existing burning Kashmir issue. “ Mr. Jinnah why don’t you get her connected on phone?” “ Sorry gentlemen I am sincerely trying, but she is not responding. I think she might have known that the flight is high jacked, and I doubt she may not come into contact with me henceforth” “ Have you honestly tried Mr. Jinnah?” “ Are you suspecting me commander? When the situation is serious and it is the question of life and death how can I betray you gentleman?” “ Then it’s Okay Mr. Jinnah and we will seek another alternative. And Prof. Gandhi please take back your lap top and try to get her” “ Sure” Prof. Gandhi took his lap top and tried his best to get Mrs. Amrin Rahman, but in van. “ Okay leave it Prof. Gandhi, we know how to get her” The leader now targeted Dr. Jinnah. In the meanwhile, Prof. Gandhi as a freelance journalist planned and executed his professional expertise. “ Mr. Jinnah is Mr. Rahman a Hindu?” The leader suddenly asked Dr. Jinnah. “ Please wait for some time to know about his religion gentlemen” “ What the hell is this? Why is his cremation taking place in Hindu burial?” The leader was upset and asked him seriously. Dr. Jinnah was searching in his laptop and finally found the scanned diary of Mr. Rahman and showed it to them in his lap top. “ You madcap, how dare are you to show us his diary?” “ You are very much right gentlemen, Where there are no expressions, no feelings, no attachments, no sentiments, no human values, no true justice; and where there are only questions but not answers, I feel that the personal diary is the one and the only thing to speak out naked truth. Please see it once” “ Are you trying to make us fools Mr. Jinnah?” “ Gentlemen by reading good novels and books on general knowledge, one will be enlightened, but not become fools. And it is not a sin to know about an innocent man, whom the world has forgotten since about thirty years” He said. Now everybody started reading the diary of Mr. Rahman. It was about thirty years back diary, the oldest perhaps in the history of the greatest lovers in the world. “ Who Am I? Am I a Muslim? Am I a Hindu? Am I a Christian? But before judging me, you must know my history first. I am born to a Christian woman, while my father being a Hindu got himself converted to Christianity, because he loved my mother more than anything else in the world, and then he married her as per Christian customs and traditions. When I was doing my doctorate in theology, I fell in love with my colleague. As she was the only daughter to her parent’s she could not hurt their feelings. I understood her sensitivity and her parents and the Mullahs did not allow me to marry Miss. Amrin Begum, since I am not a Muslim. So I got myself converted to Islam, circumcised myself and thereby the orthodox people and all her kith and kin solemnized our marriage. Then started the real problem. This time, it was not with religion but with emigration. My wife was a Pakistani national. On spouse cause I wanted to fly to Pakistan, but there was nobody to look after my father in India as my mother died after giving birth to me. I then looked for an alternative; I tried to bring back my Begum to India. But she was detained in Pakistan. I was quite selfish and flew permanently to Pakistan to live with my Begum. But all days were not happy for selfish people like me. On one fateful day, I received a painful message from India that my father died; and I was not permitted by my in laws and their kith and kin to fly to India to attend to my father’s obsequies in Christian customs and traditions. My wife was quite sober that she could not support me, because she was brought up under strict Muslim customs, and traditions. And I never understood what was meant by family? But on one fine morning I received a letter from the care taker of the Hindu Burial. It contained the painful information that no one turned up to the funeral of my father as he disowned his religion, kith and kin only to marry my mother and as such his body was take to the burial ground as that of a destitute. And no parent in the world for worst of worst happenings, and never could dream of putting fire to the funeral prey of his child. But it so happened that my grandfather conducted the obscures to the dead body of my father amidst protests; and he himself performed the duty of the care taker of the burial, and for which he paid heavy penalty. Such penalty was not found in any jurisprudence, because it was unknown till then to human history. It was such an unethical, inhuman and beyond barbarous, i.e. when my grandfather died, his body remained at home till it is decomposed, and finally on the complaint of the neighbours to Municipal authorities the latter buried the dead body of my grandfather without any honour. And the last sentence in the letter to me by the caretaker of the burial was that between wife and son, my father sacrificed my mother for my life and thus he remained an orphan. When my grandfather tried to come to his rescue, the latter became orphan; and hence he finally advised me not to remain an orphan in this world. And then I came to know for the first time through the care taker of the burial, who had no family and even lineage and he himself being an orphan tried his best to explain me for the first time family meant what? And then I decided not to become an orphan. Good bye Amrin” That was the last letter addressed to his begum by Mr. Rahman, before he left her and stepped out from Pakistan soil. “ Does Mr. Rahman have any children?” One of the militants asked Dr. Jinnah curiously. “ As per his knowledge he has no issue, but Mrs. Amrin Rahman has a son” “ What?” They were shocked. “ Please don’t belittle her womanhood. She is an orthodox lady and she conceived, and before informing her husband, the latter left her and went underground gentleman” “ At least did she inform her husband the birth of her son?” The leader expressed his doubt. “ She tried, but she couldn’t know his where abouts” Dr. Jinnah replied politely. “ But how could she know now?” “ May be Mr. Rahman, who does not want to die as an orphan, might have informed his Begum” “ Then why does he want to be cremated in Hindu passion? And why does he hesitate to be buried in Muslim tradition Mr. Jinnah?” That was the very next question of the leader. “ Because both he himself and his father gave importance to love, which was exploited by the other sects? And his name was changed forcibly and so also he was circumcised at Pakistan. His in laws and the Mullahs are behind his forcible conversion to Islam. For them religion only mattered much. People used to pose quite a number of questions to him while his mother was a Christian and father a Hindu? And why didn’t he like to continue either in Hinduism or in Christianity? Or at least in Islam since he married Amrin, a traditional Muslim girl? And may be now he wanted to came out of the orbit of religion since he didn’t want to become another orphan” Dr. Jinnah spoke what all he knew about them. “ Well Mr. Jinnah will you please reveal who the son of Mr. Rahman is? What is his religion? And where is he now?” It was not a surprise to Dr. Jinnah, as he expected that the commander would definitely ask him these questions; and later obligate him rather threatened him. “ I don’t know” He tried to avoid him. “ Mr. Jinnah do you at least know the where abouts of Mrs. Amrin Rahman?” “ I only read the life of Mr. Rahman through his diary. Now I could only guess that he might have gone to India and his Begum might be staying with her parents in Pakistan; and about their son it is not my duty but it is you to find him out” “ Mr. Jinnah don’t forget that you are born, brought up, and studied in Pakistan only, and then you must have knowledge about them?” “ I agree, but you are also patriots of Pakistan and why don’t you try to find out them; and in fact yours is an international organization and it is very simple task for you” “ Of course, but now we have more important task of jihad rather than knowing the simple things. So we expect the truth from you Mr. Jinnah” “Sorry comrade I am brought up along with the destitute in an asylum and I could hardly know about anybody in Pakistan” “ Okay Mr. Jinnah. But why you are worried about them?” “ I told you gentlemen that I am a psychiatrist, whoever suffers from any disorder whether physical or mental, I try to help them” “ Shut up. Don’t try to make us fools. Unless you have contacts with them how come you know that Mr. Rahman’s body is on funeral prey in Hindu grave yard at India?” “ Good question. After eliciting that much information, anybody will suspect me. But we are in the age of most advanced science and it is not a difficult task to know about them. In fact I am moved on knowing their pain and suffrage as a doctor that’s all” “ Mr. Jinnah are you confident that we leave you to attend him?” “ Yes gentlemen, I am cent percent confident and you only take me to him” “ Shut up. How dare are you to think high of yourself? Are you challenging us Mr. Jinnah? Do you think that we oblige you?” The leader of the militants burst out him. “ I am confident that religious fanaticism knows no bounds; and for protecting your customs and traditions I hope you will definitely come to India, though not to save him, but at least to take away his dead body” Dr. Jinnah said politely. “ What?” The leader got wild. “ I am sorry gentlemen and please see this in my lap top” They all saw live in their lap tops and found that Mrs. Amrin Rahman was about to lay on the funeral prey to Commit ‘Satisahagamana’ (Bride burning) on the soil of Pakistan, “ Oh my God, we got her. But what is that she is doing?” The leader asked him in excitement. “ She wants to crucify herself by burning on the funeral prey of her husband, as a widow of Mr. Rahman as per Hindu customs and traditions” “ But she is a Muslim, and how could she do this?” He expressed his doubt. “ Who told that she is a Muslim gentleman?” Dr. Jinnah challenged him. “ Is it not a fact that she is a born Muslim?” “ May be she is a born Muslim and brought up in Muslim passion, but when once she married an Indian, she becomes his property. She is heir- apparent to his customs and traditions” Dr. Jinnah explained the relationship between wife and husband. “ But this bride burning on the funeral prey is long abolished, isn’t it?” “ Yes, but in certain clans in India few women still don’t care the laws and crucifying themselves” “ It’s okay Mr. Jinnah. Now we are taking the flight to Pakistan. And let us see how could she do this? We are hundred percent sure that your patient Mr. Rahman remains forever an orphan. We certainly protect our religion and the honour of our country” “ Sorry gentlemen, neither you nor anybody can stop Mrs. Amrin Rahman to crucify herself as she has such an attachment to Mr. Rahman” Dr. Jinnah said confidently. “ Mr. Jinnah she has hardly lived and led marital life with him for only a year, and the rest of nearly twenty nine years she has been deserted by him, and even she has not known his where abouts since then, but now how cum sentiments and attachments are playing vital role. People will laugh at you” The leader said. “ Gentleman, it is not time for debate over customs and traditions. And I once again caution you that by returning the flight to Pakistan you may lose both of them, and so please take the flight to India” He said in firm. “ Are you dictating us Mr. Jinnah?” “ No, not at all gentlemen, it is only my request for doing something good to the poor lovers and the unique couple of the world” “ Okay Mr. Jinnah, but why are you insisting us to take the flight to India? What is your plan?” “ And now my concern is to save them. If you take me to India first we will save Mr. Rahman; and when once Mrs. Amrin Rahman knows that her husband is safe, she will not resort to bride burning” “ Mr. Jinnah, don’t tell us full moon stories. You have just said that Mr. Rahman is dead and is on funeral prey; and again you are telling that you are going to save him; after all you are only a doctor not an Almighty?” “ Death fears the noble, but it is only the latter welcome death gentlemen. And by now you could understand what I mean by noble men. Please take me to India first? A mistake committed by a poor man in disowning his clan, country, kith and kin, only to keep up his commitment towards his love, coasted him twenty nine years of self imposed exile. At least at the end of their life journey let Mr. Rahman and Mrs. Amirn Rahman, may be allowed to reunite. And for which whatever you want, I am ready to sacrifice” Dr. Jinnah said in utmost humility. “ Okay Mr. Jinnah we definitely oblige you, but on one condition” They waited for his reply. Dr. Jinnah was thinking for a while and was in dilemma whether to accept their demands unconditionally or not. “ Mr. Jinnah it is not that easy to accept our conditions. Perhaps the true Musalman will never forget his commitments. And shall we expect you to be true Musalman ever ready for jihad” Even then also Dr. Jinnah didn’t reply. “ We know Mr. Jinnah you are not a super human being, and you are after all a doctor just like any other individual” “ Please don’t suspect my bonfires gentlemen; I am just trying to understand your morality” “ You are wrong Mr. Jinnah; and you may not even guess our immediate demand, can you?” “ Yes, I can. Your doubt is whether am I a Hindu or Muslim? “ No, but you must unconditionally accept that you are a true Musalman and say “Allah ho Akbar” “ I am sorry gentlemen. I never expect that people of your cadre will stoop down to that level for man created religion. Anyway whatever your demands might be I will definitely oblige you, but only after saving them from the death prey” “ Sorry Mr. Jinnah we will not accept your proposal and you better say now or never. And there is no alternative for you Mr. Jinnah” The leader said firmly. “ Please oblige me gentlemen. And for you in return, certainly I will accept whatever might be you order? And at the same time I remind you once again gentlemen that all religions are true; and the essence of all religions is being good and do well, and please question yourself once as are we?” There is absolute serenity in the flight. There is only one unanimous feeling among all travelling in the flight that let Mr. & .Mrs. Rahman be reunited at least on the edge of death. “ Oh God please save them” Instead of praying for themselves, which was supposed to be their first priority, but all the co passengers were praying for Mr. & Mrs. Rahman. “ Mr. Commander even a sparrow will drop a leaf in the flooded waters to save an ant. Please note that it is a small bird in the world doing it for a small creature. And we are great human beings; can’t we do that much to our fellow beings? Anyway what I want to convey, I conveyed you gentlemen. And it is up to you to decide. Now my immediate priority is that I must rush to Mr. Rahman under any cost” Dr. Jinnah was very firm in his stand. “ But, we will never leave you; nor permit you to go to India, Mr. Jinnah” Said the leader firmly. “ It doesn’t matter for me at all, and so also I never care anybody. Anyhow, men have even befriended the most ferocious lions and tigers my dear gentlemen, and you are after all my fellow beings, can’t I mould you?” “ No, it is impossible. You haven’t understood our ideology, determination and commitment. You are not aware of our sacrifices. May be the lioness, and tigers sometimes change from their basic instinct qualities, when they are confined in cages in circus, but we are always ready for jihad only for Islam” The leader said point blank. “ Doesn’t matter. If you are committed to your ideology I am also equally strong to keep up my word and deed; and remember that I am going to India under any cost?” Dr. Jinnah said confidently. “ How can you go Mr. Jinnah? Are you mad are what? We shall never allow the flight to leave for India” “ No one can fight against nature. I believe that the nature is only our guide, philosopher, and mentor. When the five forces of the nature are guiding me, no one can stop me gentlemen” “ Are you challenging us Mr. Jinnah?” “ May be, and please don’t forget the fact that the soul travels much faster than any object in the Universe” “ That is only a myth Mr. Jinnah” “ You are wrong gentlemen. Perhaps you don’t understand the nature and its infinity” “ Mr. Jinnah may be you are speaking from the age old Hindu philosophy” “ Philosophy of life as revealed by any religion is one and the same gentlemen. Everything created by the universe may become old and you and I may become old but the nature will never be” “ Okay. And now we have decided your fate Mr. Jinnah. You being a true Musalman turned to be more fanatic than a born Hindu. We couldn’t understand whether you are tutored or you yourself have developed hatred towards Islam. Anyway goodbye and just close your eyes and pray your God and we want to finish you” The leader concluded. The leader pressed the trigger of the pistol, which is just in lip to lip position at the temple region of Mr. Jinnah. All the nine bullets in the 9mm pistol miss fired. And Dr. Jinnah simply smiled. For those who don’t believe may say it is sheer luck. The leader threw the 9mm pistol on the carpet in the flight. Surprisingly, the last bullet in the pistol fired. “ You may definitely feel sorry for your accusations against the Nature’s dharma gentlemen. Dharma in any faith means the truth. Due to my appearance, you may look down me and I don’t mind for that. But don’t forget the saying love thy neighbour, which is the essence of all religions” Dr. Jinnah said finally. “ Mr. Jinnah please don’t over pose and you might have just escaped death narrowly. But sometimes it may rarely happen in some cases. It is just by sheer luck you are saved, but nothing great in it” Said the leader under humiliation. “ I do admit what you say gentlemen. But will you please answer me only one question?” “ Okay, why should we disappoint a dying man, you may carry on Mr. Jinnah” “ I thank you all gentlemen. My first question to you is that why am I saved? By whom I am saved? Who is benefitted out of my survival? Can any of you answer these questions please?” Dr. Jinnah said calmly. “ Mr. Jinnah we only spared you because of one and the only reason that you are born in our land, named after our country’s great leader, and finally we have confirmed that you are a born Muslim. Please try to keep up the honour of our cult, the name of our leader, and support our cause, or simply shut your mouth” The leader advised him finally. “ Sorry gentlemen, you are using religion for creating boarders and barriers among the people. I am sorry to remind you that even to high jack the flight also you have worn the uniform of Dubai cops and taken shelter under their guise. The flight, which you and your comrades have high jacked belongs to India; and now I straight put it to you that can you truly mark the areas and borders of spreading of Islam from where to where? Can you at least show the borders of your Home land now?” He simply asked him. “ Mr. Jinnah, we find you that you are quite arrogant; and in spite of our counselling also you are not moulded; still you have got the edacity to speak against Pakistan; and more particularly against Islam. Don’t forget that you have hurt our sentiments, and belittling our religion” The Commander was roaring like a lion. “ Perhaps you might have understood that I am speaking against Islam, but I put it to you gentlemen do you at least know that with how many faiths you have been antagonising? Is Jihad a holy thing? Is it truly advocated by Islam? I don’t think the word jihad is used for killing of innocent people. According to the Quran jihad means only to protect the honour of one’s own family and children, and it never means to destroy the other’s gentlemen” Dr. Jinnah explained him the meaning of jihad. “ Then undoubtedly you have no knowledge about Quran Mr. Jinnah” The Commander said. “ No gentleman, the creator of this universe is the almighty. And the Satans only created borders and barriers, and that Satans are no other than religious fanatics” Dr. Jinnah replied him. “ Mr. Jinnah you are diverting the issue; and we have understood that you have not read the Quran” “ No gentlemen, I have read not only Quran, but all religions, including humanism, which perhaps you do not know” Dr. Jinnah said. “ Mr. Jinnah we are not kids to hear you anymore” The commander said ironically. “ Then, can you say the age of the universe gentlemen? Who is the Almighty? Who are his children? What happens to them after death? When you speak about religion, don’t restrict it to Islam only; please don’t forget the humanity as a whole. Anyway, you could not convince me, but at the same time I have tried my best to convince you by my word and deed gentlemen” Said Dr. Jinnah. “ You are spoiled on reading the texts on other sects Mr. Jinnah” “ Okay, as you said I am spoiled because I read other sects. But I still do mean what I said? And I let you know that all your doubts will be cleared. You said it is only my luck that saved me and that the nature has no play in it. Then why the misfired bullet fired again gentlemen?” Dr. Jinnah put him an embraced question. “ Because of its contact with the hard surface” The leader of the armed squad answered. “ But do you know the upcoming danger to the flight gentlemen” Dr. Jinnah cautioned him. “ Are you cursing us Mr. Jinnah?” “ No, I am not, you can better confirm with the pilots, whether what I said is correct or not?” “ Comrades please check up and disprove it” The commander ordered. One of the militants went to the cabin, where the two pilots were held as hostages by the armed persons at gun point; and they were giving directions to the pilots; and they were dictating them their destination and alternative route slightly deviating from the route suggested by the DGCA. The militant caused enquiry with the pilots. “ Mr. Commander we are in danger” The pilots revealed the fact that the fired bullet straight went through the air craft’s bottom, which normally never happen, and consequently it caused an air crack to the fuel tank of the air craft” The militants informed the commander after causing detailed enquiry with the pilots. “ My God! Just unbelievable and it is really a miracle. Unilaterally, we all request you Dr. Jinnah sir please save us all” All the passengers prayed him. “ Shut up you mad or what? He is only a human being and down to the earth man; and perhaps a hypnotist but not a Divine” The commander shouted the passengers. “ I am sorry to disappoint you my dear friends; what he said is right and I am not a divine to save you all; and for that matter no human being can become forever a God. If it is so there will be more number of Gods, than the human devils on the Earth. Hence I can only advice you to trust yourself; have belief and faith in nature. Nature never harms you, unless you try to override it due to your ignorance and innocence” Dr. Jinnah assured them. With Dr. Jinnah’s’ verdict everybody was shocked, rather curious to know what was going to happen to the flight and to themselves? There were people of different religions and sects in the high jacked flight. It was a perennial human history, in which humanity was divided into number of faiths and sects depending on their ancestry, domain, and finally belief and faith. All the earthly emotions, inner feelings, debates and discussions, and reactions of the passengers on board, and the apparent challenges of the militancy and the fearless and confident answers of Dr. Jinnah, were kept on live, connected to a popular English channel by Prof. Gandhi, being a professor of Mass Communication and freelance journalist. The entire world, had been witnessing what was going on in the flight? Everybody was eager to know what had happened both in Pakistan and in India; and finally the fate of the flight and the lives of the passengers, crew and the high jacks. The only thing the entire humanity was curious about what happened to the life after death. Which question was not only pertinent to one person or the other; or one country or the other, but also it was universal one. A poor doctor who challenged to prove that the soul would travel much faster than any object in this universe meant something uncommon to the common man. So also the educated, who totally depended on science couldn’t believe it. Whereas the traditional and orthodox people all over the world could believe in life after death. If there was really life after death, and if it was proved beyond any reasonable doubt, it would create a revolution in the human beliefs, traditions and customs. But on the contrary if it was not proved as believed by the atheists; time and again there will be another renaissance and religious unrest in the history of the modern world, just like what happened in 6 th century B.C.   Chapter: 13   In the high jacked flight:   “ I finally appeal to you gentlemen, at least on knowing the forth coming calamity, please take the flight to India” Dr. Jinnah requested the Militants. “ Sorry Mr. Jinnah, it is just impossible and you can neither dream off nor step into Indian soil” “ Okay gentlemen, it means that you will never leave me, and that I can never reach India. Isn’t it?” The militants laughed at him. “ But, I tell you honestly that I will go to India under any cost” Dr. Jinnah said with utmost confidence. “ Mr. Jinnah are you playing jokes with us? Do you know that we are flying more than fifty thousand feet above the sea level? And we have crossed mountains and now we are flying across the seas; then how can you reach India? Don’t try to live in dreams?” Said the commander. “ I pity you gentlemen, I may appear to you a joker, but if you really want to know the ultimate truth of life, after death, you just fly to India. I assure you though the fuel in the flight is being exhausted, the flight will reach and land safely in India; and all the passengers, crew, and your squad will be safe. And finally you can find out whether Mr. Rahman is dead or alive on the funeral prey” He said. “ Why do you feel for a bloody betrayer Mr. Jinnah?” The commander put to him. There was no answer from Dr. Jinnah. He just sat in padamasana and closed his eyes, after taking a long breath. “ Please do something to save him sir” The co- passenger Miss. Sania pleaded them. “ Don’t be afraid off baby. There is neither sprit nor soul. What he spoke is all a cock and bull story only. He is just pretending. If you want to know it practically, you may examine him” Said the leader. Miss. Sania was about to join in the course of sports medicine and she had some knowledge; and she examined both his pulse and respiration. But she could neither find in him pulse nor respiration. “ Sir he is no more” She raised a hue and cry unable to control herself. “ Shut up, you dirty girl, how do you come to a conclusion? You are neither an expert nor a doctor? You first keep your mouth shut and then answer our questions. What is your qualification?” The leader started interrogating her. She didn’t reply him. In fact, she had a reasonable answer, but when once she declared her identity, she would be exposed to her parents, as she was roaming about for a Hindu at India, and henceforth her parents would make her house arrest. “ You are only ten plus two, and at the most you know that failure of respiration is the ultimate cause for death. But, you don’t know the fact that there is a technique to with hold respire in yoga” The leader of the squad warned her. “ Sir, he is dead. If you still nourish a doubt, you please check him personally or get him checked by a doctor” She said confidently. “ Even our commander explained also, you bloody chicken hearted girl, still you doubt us” One of the comrades shouted her. “ Why should we keep the passengers and the crew in puzzle, let us examine him and hit back their quarries if any comrades” The commander ordered them. “ Is there any doctor on board to confirm Dr. Jinnah’s condition please?” One of his comrades caused enquiry. A grand old man, by name Dr. Sirajuddin, who was a retired medical officer from India, who was on a brief visit to Pakistan, as his son and daughter in law were staying in Pakistan, raised his hand. “ Thank you Doctor, examine him please” The commander received him politely. Out of curiosity or may be due to professional ethics, the grand old man, Dr. Sirajuddin wanted to support them. He himself was also interested to satisfy the common man from his inquisitiveness to know what next after death? Then after getting green signal, Dr. Sirajuddin rushed to Dr. Jinnah and examined him. After he was satisfied with his thorough examinations, and before confirming Dr. Jinnah’s health status, he drew the attention of all of them in the high jacked flight. Everybody was anxious and rather scared to know from the expert. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have put in my heart and soul only for understanding the human anatomy all through my life; except which is available in books I could understand nothing on the examination of the body of Dr. Jinnah. But today is a very special day for me as even after my retirement also I felt the need and necessity to learn the final lesson on human anatomy especially after I examined the body of Dr. Jinnah” Dr. Sirajuddin spoke in a state of confusion. “ Please tell us the facts and your findings Dr. Sirajuddin; we are eager to know from you” The leader asked him hurriedly. “ I am sorry commander; after all I am a retired doctor. After examining the body of Dr. Jinnah I could not speak anything about his condition, which is not in my scope or reach” He said quite humbly. “ Sorry Doctor, we couldn’t understand what you mean by that? And now we are forced to suspect your antecedents also” The leader was displeased with his statement and said seriously. “ Then may I request you commander to check him personally” Dr. Sirajuddin advised him in a quite humble way. Then the commander checked Mr. Jinnah in every inch of his body physically with his medical knowledge. To his utter dismay there was no pulse, no respiration, and no normal temperature in the body of Mr. Jinnah. The temperature of the body had gone down. It normally happens, only few minutes after the physical death of any person. Not only the leader and his armed squad but also the crew, who were in the high jacked flight, also checked Dr. Jinnah physically at random for their conformation. “ Ladies and gentlemen, I declare that Dr. Jinnah is dead” The leader of the armed squad concluded and said firmly. On confirmation of the death of Dr. Jinnah, all the inmates in the flight were taken aback.   Chapter: 14   Surprisingly there was shocking news to the world that the flight was again high jacked from the highjacks by another group. But this time it was taken towards India. Who high jacked the flight second time? And who abducted the passengers on board? They all remain mystery and were not known to anybody at once. What was the insurgency or the terrorist organization, which high jacked the flight? Neither any organization nor individual declared so far; nor did the high jacks come up with their demands. This incident also disturbed the air passengers. But all the passengers in the high jacked flight were deeply concerned about the mystery behind the life and death of Dr. Jinnah. They were also curious to know as to what happened to Mr. Rahman? Whether Dr. Jinnah would bring back the life of Mr. Rahman as promised by him? Prof. Gandhi’s Lap Top was still connected to a popular English channel and all the incidents had been live telecasted. Now the entire world was anxious to know about the fate of the flight, which was twice hijacked; one in the very next minute of the flight took off from the runway; and second time in the air, but by whom it was high jacked second time was not declared so far.   Chapter: 15   The second high jacks’ demands are: The Indian government had to make way for emergency landing of the international flight in almost all the domestic terminals situated in towns of all states in India. This trick the high jacks used, may be because to escape themselves easily. To keep ready a convoy of vehicles, along with a pilot and an escort vehicle to clear traffic to reach their destination. And their destination as of now was a hundred billion dollar question to the States and their Heads.   Chapter: 16   The most standard Hindu burial was situated at Tadepalligudem, a small Municipal town in West Godavari district in the state of Andhra Pradesh. The man, who designed the burial with its purity, chastity, besides, it’s picturesque was only the care taker of the burial, who had no name and identity and who had never opened his lip nor spoken single word, ever since he took up the profession. But people used to call him as corpse (The Dead Body) because he used to cremate the dead bodies without charging anything. And there was a church nearby the Hindu burial. And behind the church there was a cemetery in its court yard and Bro. Francis was its apostle. And at far off the Christian cathedral and to its right at a walk able distance the mosque of historical times was situated. And in the adjoining court yard there was the Christian burial ground. Sk. Dada was the caretaker of the burial ground. It was used for burying the dead bodies of the Muslims. From times immemorial, people got adopted to keep their dead in pyramids; some buried in caves with stones; some buried in the graves and later fill them with mud; and few cremated their beloved dead with fire wood; and off late the modern man cremated the dead in electric crematoriums. Before doing away with the dead almost all the kith and kin of the dead in all religions do believe life after death; and accordingly they leave the belongings of the dead either in the burials or in the cremations. And the care takers of the burials used to perform their duties irrespective of the sentiments and attachments of the next of the bereaved.   Chapter: 17   “ We are in danger” There was an emergency call for all the passengers and crew on the board of the flight. “ We are in danger zone. The flight is flying over seas and it is at a height of 50,000 feet above sea level. The fuel in the air craft is being exhausted. It is uncertain whether we end ourselves like that of No. 370 Malaysian flight mystery. Please open the all emergency Exit doors. All of you should wear parachutes and use oxygen masks please. And finally say goodbye to the world, and God may save you all, and alternately may your souls rest in peace” A school going boy of twelve years old, who was also travelling in same flight bid farewell to all, besides cautioning them about the forthcoming calamity. “ How foolish it is! It is sheer nonsense. He is not clever, might be suffering from some phobia, nor might be suffering from neurological disorder. Ladies and gentlemen don’t be carried away by him. He is just a minor and insane and ignore him please” Another co passenger, who was a South African, intervened and advised all. “ Sorry young man, my son is not an insane. In fact he is a member of a flight club. Perhaps with his enriched knowledge, gained through his practical experience only he tried to enlighten the co passengers” The mother of the boy got hurt by the comment of the South African. “ I am sorry. I agree that really you are a great mum having trained your minor son in the most adventurous trade. But please don’t take it personal. In fact I am an aeronautical Engineer. I used to pilot domestic flights. And with that experience only I have assured the passengers” The South African tried to apologize her. After knowing that he was an Aeronautical Engineer; and also an experienced pilot she didn’t raise her voice again. “ Thanks for enlightening us gentlemen. What you have said is correct in normal conditions. But, have you ever experienced this type of situation? And have you ever handled the international flights? Can you give us guarantee for our safety and security, besides our survival and safe landing? Can you handle the situation at once?” Dr. Sirajuddin put him in quandary by posing him a good numbers of questions. “ Sorry gentlemen I can’t” “ Then keep quiet and do chekkabhajana” “ What?” “ What I mean to say is pray your God at once” Dr. Sirajuddin tried to hold his anger. “ I couldn’t understand what chekkabajana is?” The South African asked his co passenger. “ I too don’t know, but I think you can get correct answer from any Indian, as the words appear to be Indian origin” One of the co- passengers advised him. “ Thank you, I will try. Hello can anybody know what chekkabhajana means?” He asked them quite anxiously. Those who were Indians only laughed at him. He was hurt. He felt humiliation that he might have been commented by an unparliamentarily word. “ Sorry young man, I have not commented you. It is nothing but a traditional prayer offered by country people in India to their country God and Goddess” Dr. Sirajuddin explained him. “ Thank you sir” “ It’s okay, and then what have you decided gentlemen?” Dr. Sirajuddin asked him for curtsey. “ Well, I too want to do checkkabhajana along with you gentlemen” The South African also cut a joke. This time all including the militants laughed at him. “ Dr. Sirujuddin, why don’t you pray Dr. Jinnah, to save you all?” The commander advised him. “ Yes commander, but Dr. Jinnah is in yoga mudra, and it is not possible to get him now” “ Wonderful! Ladies and gentlemen I would like to draw your attention to introduce another interesting character in the 21 st century, who is no other than Dr. Sirajuddin, and that we are lucky to have a doctor of BC period” He gave a little pause only to know their reaction. There were neither feelings nor emotions in them, except the same fear of high jack of the flight, and abduction of the passengers. “ Hang yourself with your bloody yoga’s and witch crafts Dr. Sirajuddin” The commander, i.e. the leader of the Indian Mujahedeen said ridiculously. “ Shut up, you bloody fool. Don’t irritate me. He just told you his condition. If you have any doubt you can get him examined by somebody” Prof. Gandhi warned him. Not only the militants and the co- passengers, but also the entire world was taken aback on observing Prof. Gandhi’s anger. The world not only heard the warning through his mouth, but it also saw a pistol in his hands. He appeared to the entire world as a terrorist rather than the peace loving late Mr. M.K. Gandhi. “ Who are you man? How dare are you to point out a pistol to me?” The leader of the Indian Mujahedeen shouted him seriously. “ Idiot, mine is not a toy pistol. Bloody stupid are you questioning my identity? Don’t you know me? I am Prof. Gandhi; I have high jacked the flight along with you and your dirty team. You better stop talking nonsense. Keep quiet and sit right, or otherwise you will be shattered to pieces” He warned them. Eight of the passengers got up from behind the High jacks; aimed at their temple region; and disarmed all the militants within no time. It was the first of its kind in the history of the modern world. It made the whole world to realize that how essay it was to highjack an international flight, in the most advanced century, where the states and their administrative machinery claim that their intelligence organizations and security operations were considered to be the best, excellent and the most advanced and so on and so forth. But after knowing the high jack everybody would feel that it was only a publicity on paper, but not practically possible. “ We surrender to you unconditionally Prof. Gandhi; but before that may I humbly ask you one question please?” The leader appealed to him. Prof. Gandhi raised his eyebrows. But later he gave him green signal with a smile. “ Thank you Professor, and by the way let me know what for you are high jacking the flight and abducting us?” He asked him as a lay man. Prof. Gandhi looked at him little irritated and also seriously. “ Is it for any ransom professor? “ Shut up” Prof. Gandhi said ferociously. “ Sorry Professor; or at least do you have any demands? And to which group you belong?” The commander tried to know from him. “ My answer is straight and simple gentlemen. And my answer is my question only. Did you ever answer these questions of the abducted passengers earlier, when you did the same great feat gentlemen?” Prof. Gandhi asked him simply. But it was not that simple to understand; and the militants including the commander and his comrades became upset. “ I can say definitely that you have no answer gentlemen; except that you declared simply that the flight was high jacked, while holding guns in your hands and put them point blank to us, isn’t it, Mister?” Prof. Gandhi said seriously. Colours changed from usual to unusual; and generally it so happens when emotions over ride human feelings, but here their faces were faded out with guilt. The commander and his comrades were simply standing with folded hands like jokers in front of a shopping mall. “ Mister Commander you must understand that ours is a counter High jack; and hope you also understand what for it is done? And my experience with you reminds me that you have only allowed water to the air passengers. But now I am giving you umpteen choices. If any of you want to have wine or liquor you may have it please. But except the passengers; you and your team should confine yourselves to seats; and of course you can sit comfortably and do checkkabhajana, but don’t expect us to answer your queries please; and also don’t expect us to do chekkabhajana” Prof. Gandhi said politely as a matter of curtsey. “ We thank you Prof. Gandhi and we unconditionally tender our apologies to you for our mistakes” “ Mister Commander you must tender your apologies not to me but to the passengers and the crew all over the world” “ Sure Prof. Gandhi; but will you please do some favour to us Professor?” “What favour?” “ Most of the passengers in the flight are our brothers and sisters from Pakistan; and please save them professor” The commander requested him. “ Mr. Commander are you asking on behalf of you and your comrades and for the Pakistanis alone that means only for Muslims, but certainly not for others, isn’t it?” While questioning him, Prof. Gandhi looked into his eyes straight. “ Sorry professor what I mean--” The commander tried to give some explanation to the professor, but in vain as he could see seriousness in his looks. “ Then are you not selfish gentlemen? Why are you creating differences between the people of Pakistan and the people of other nations even on the edge of death? And why are you so scared about your lives only, but not other’s lives gentlemen? Whether you remember or not, but I still remember that you have said in high sounding phraseology about your great sacrifice and ideology of jihad” He put him in quandary. The commander became silent. “ I just want to remind you about praising your comrades with the greatest adjectives; and now what happened to that courage, commitment and jihad? Is it self-centred only gentlemen?” Prof. Gandhi became furious. “ Sorry professor, our first commitment when once we join Indian Mujahedeen is we have to take a pledge as we are ready to commit jihad for Islamic state. Now I honestly beg you on behalf of all on board to save us professor” The commander came down and requested him. “ But, Mr. Commander did you ever think when you and your comrades high jacked the flights earlier? Or did you ever thought about the women, the children and the old aged, when they were in your abduction?” Prof. Gandhi tried to cut him to size. “ Prof. Gandhi, we truly admit our do’s and undo’s; and that is why we have come down and requesting rather begging you not to resort to any drastic action; and please see that the flight lands safely anywhere in the world” The commander earnestly appealed to him. “ Shit! I never consider you as human beings at all; and you are even worse than the bloody criminals; and beasts are better than you, but for the innocent passengers I am rather obliged to help. Miss. Sania, why don’t you try to wake up Dr. Jinnah as he is just sitting by your side?” Prof. Gandhi instructed her. “ Sure Professor. In fact I have tried few minutes back also, but there is no response. I doubt he has given up” “ No, don’t lose your trust Sania. Have confidence in him. He never said that he was giving up. He only said that he was going to save Mr. Rahman; and I think may be his soul is travelling much more faster than the flight” He took a little pause to have respire. “ What sir? I can’t believe it” she expressed her doubt. “ Any way, its okay Sania please don’t disturb him” Prof. Gandhi advised her.   Chapter: 18   Pakistan was predominantly a Muslim dominated country in the world. In the present context the traditional Muslims in Pakistan formed as militants and suicidal squads to kill Mrs. Amrin Rahman, as she being a Muslim lady had betrayed their customs, traditions and finally chosen to burn herself alive on par with a Hindu bride on the funeral prey of her husband, called satisahagamana (Bride Burning on the funeral prey of her husband) on the soil of Pakistan. The Pakistan civil and police administrative machinery were on their toes to trace her. And the army in Pakistan was hunt after her for preventing her from any attempt of self- immolation. But, the Muslim women forums, students of the women’s colleges, unmarried youth, and the house wives along with their children came on to the roads in favour of Mrs. Amrin Rahman. They had virtually shown their resentment against restrictions imposed only on Muslim women flock in the world. They had even gone to the extent of physically removing their black veils (Burakas) and throwing them on the streets. There was suddenly an outburst of a stern agitation for women’s liberation in almost all the Muslim countries in the world in favour of Mr. & Mrs. Amrin Rahman. And the women all over the world in unison fought for equality with men. They started demanding for their rights, choosing their professions, branch of education; whether Medicine, Engineering, sports, fashions, and freedom to participate in beauty contests. The Muslim women even started demanding to act as mullahs in Mosques. So also there started similar kind of revolution from Hindu women, who started demanding to act as priests in temples, and also to perform both auspicious ceremonies like, marriages, Srimantham (Nineth month ceremony), birthdays, cradle ceremony, and also death ceremonies. The women of other sects were also bent upon for praying the Almighty; there shouldn’t be any restrictions or barriers on the basis of gender. The traditional and orthodox mullahs issued fatwa against the Muslim women coming on to the roads. They unanimously kept the dead line that unless the agitating Muslim women immediately withdraw their demands and return to their home, they would be shot dead. Mrs. Amrin Rahman issue engulfed not only Muslim flock in Pakistan but also the world wide. Now it became not only the issue pertaining to religion, but it also attracted social media, which expressly formed international forum. It became a matter for debate and discussion. Their quarries were, “Is it mandatory to change from one religion to the other, in order to marry a love or lover other than their sect? If it were so, is it the bride first or the bridegroom first to change their religions? And what shall be the fate of their offspring’s? Now it became a hat topic in the world.   Chapter: 19   The most standard Hindu burial in India was situated at a Municipal town, called Tadepalligudem in West Godavari district in the state of Andhra Pradesh. The man, who designed the burial ground with its purity, chastity, besides, it’s picturesque, was Mr. Corpse (dead body) whose actual name was not known to anybody in the town and hence people used to call him by nick name as Mr. Corpse. There was a church nearby the Hindu burial, and behind it there was a court yard and there was a cemetery. And to the right of the Christian cathedral, and Bro. Francis was its apostle. There was a mosque of historical times at a walk able distance. Sk. Dada was the caretaker of the burial ground, situated at the adjacent court yard, which was used for the burial of the Muslims, in the celebrated mosque. From times immemorial, people got adopted to keep their dead in pyramids, some buried in caves with stones, some were buried in soil, and few cremated their beloved dead with fire wood, and off late the modern man cremated the dead in electric crematoriums. Before doing away with the dead, all their kith and kin did believe in life after death; and accordingly they used to leave most of the belongings of the dead, either in the burials or in the cremations. And the care takers of the burials do their duty without fear or favour.   Chapter: 20   “ Ladies and gentlemen, we are in danger. The flight is flying across the seas; and is at a height of 50,000 feet above the sea level. The fuel in the air craft is being exhausted. It is uncertain whether we end ourselves like the fate of No.370 Malaysian flight. Please open all emergency Exit doors. Supply air jacks to all travelling in the flight. All of you should use oxygen masks please. Finally all of you say goodbye to the beautiful world, and pray God to save ourselves, and alternately we all should wish ourselves in advance that may all our souls rest in peace” A school going boy of twelve years old said hurriedly. “ Stop it please. How foolish it is! It is sheer nonsense. He is under the influence of either fear phobia or might be suffering from neurological disorder. Ladies and gentlemen don’t be carried away by the minor boy and please ignore him” A co- passenger, who was a South African, intervened. “ Sorry young man, my son is not an insane. In fact he is a member of a flight club. With his enriched experience only he is trying to enlighten the co passengers” The mother of the boy was hurt by the comment of the South African and replied seriously. “ Pardon me madam. I request you not to take it personal. I have a great respect for you madam. I am an aeronautical engineer and I used to pilot domestic flights. With my practical experience only I have assured the passengers. I am really sorry madam if you are hurt” The South African tried to convince her. After knowing that he was an engineer, she didn’t raise her voice again. “ Thanks for enlighten us young man. What you said is correct in normal conditions, but have you ever experienced this type of situation? Can the pilots handle the flight at the point of gun? Can you handle the flight under these circumstances? Can you give us guarantee for our lives and safe landing of the flight? How do you handle the situation my dear young man?” Dr. Sirajuddin put him in quandary. The aeronautical engineer cum domestic pilot was confused with the bunch of questions posed by Dr. Sirajuddin. “ Sorry doctor so far I haven’t handled International flights. I frankly admit that I can’t handle the situation under unpleasant atmosphere” He replied him truthfully. “ Then keep quiet and do chekkabhajana young man” Dr. Sirajuddin lost his temper and said sarcastically. “ What do you mean by that doctor?” “ I mean do prayers to your God” Dr. Sirajuddin tried to control his anger. “ Sorry I couldn’t understand what does chekkabajana mean? Will you please explain me gentleman?” The South African asked his co- passenger quite innocently. “ I too don’t know gentleman, but I think you can get correct answer from any Indian, as the words appear to be of Indian origin” One of the co- passengers advised him. “ Thank you, I will try. Hello can anybody know what chekkabhajana means please?” The Indians on board, who knew the meaning of chakkabhajana laughed at him. He was seriously hurt. He felt that he might have been humiliated by using an unparliamentry word. “ Sorry young man, I didn’t mean to hurt you. In fact, the word ‘checkkabhajana’ means a kind of traditional prayer offered by people in India to their country Gods and Goddesses” Dr. Sirajuddin explained in order to cajole him. “ Thank you doctor” The South African extended his courtesy. “ I acknowledge and I also thank you for understanding me positively young man. And by the by what have you decided?” Dr. Sirajuddin asked him. “ About what?” In reply he questioned him. “ Are you ready to handle the flight out -powering the high jacks please?” Dr. Sirajuddin asked him gently. “ Sorry doctor I can do nothing in the crisis; and I also do checkkabhajana” The South African also cut a joke. “ Shut up you bloody fools. Don’t forget that the plane is high jacked; and you are abducted by the most dreadful and hard core militant organization, the Indian Mujahedeen” The commander of the suicidal squad warned them by naming their organization for the first time. “ What? Is it Indian Mujahedeen?” All irrespective of the nationality, religion, age, status, professions and positions they were holding in the society, lamented openly. “ Bapurey (Oh my god)” one elderly Indian said openly in Hindi. “ Oh my God! I am a bloody fool to prefer travel by air for the first time. Now you only can save us; I pray you Almighty please save us” Another Air- passenger, aged fifty plus was feeling sad for his mistake of preferring air travel. “ I am sorry mum and dad, please forgive me. I did a mistake, leaving Pakistan without telling the truth” Miss. Sania repented. And by then one after another and almost all including the flight crew confessed their weakness fairly and frankly within themselves, fearing that they were on the edge of death. They prayed their gods to save them from the dooms day. “ Hello sir” The girl was trying to ask the hijacks, but her mother abruptly closed her mouth. “ Mum please let me talk to them” “ Shut your mouth, and don’t try to play with them. They have already declared that they are Indian Mujahedeen and they are militants and they don’t have any feelings, sentiments and attachments” The mother of the girl whispered in to her ears. “ You bloody cultureless lady, why are you stopping the girl, let her speak” The commander warned her mother. She became silent. The girl showed her little finger. “ Wait baby wait; wait for some time, because the honey moon couples are busy in using it as their wedding suit” He said ridiculously. The newly wedded couple went inside a few minutes back, to celebrate their first go fearing that it is their last Honeymoon. “ Mr. Sirajuddin why don’t you pray your godsend man Mr. Jinnah, to save you all?” The commander of the high jacks suggested him, rather sarcastically. “ Yes of course, but Mr. Jinnah is in Yoga Mudra, and it is not possible to get him now Mr. Commander” Dr. Sirajuddin replied him politely. “ Ladies and gentlemen I want to give you all a surprise” The commander of the militants said loudly. The passengers looked at him with a fond hope that they may be freed by the high jacks. “ I am to introduce to you another interesting character in the 21 st century. We are lucky to have a doctor of BC period; who is none other than Dr. Sirajuddin. Hang with your bloody Yoga Mr. Sirajuddin” The commander of the Indian Mujahedeen threatened the doctor seriously. It once again turned the atmosphere from bad to worse. It not only hurt Dr. Sirajuddin, a senior citizen, but also created fear among all the passengers, who are on hostage in the hands of the high jacks.   Chapter - 21   “ Shut up and don’t irritate us; Dr. Sirajudin just told you the condition of Dr. Jinnah; if you have any doubt you better get Dr. Jinnah examined by some other doctor” Prof. Gandhi warned the commander of the high jacks. Not only the militants, but also the co- passengers were shocked on hearing his voice in high pitch. The strength and command in the metallic voice, which came through the mouth Prof. Gandhi and a pistol in his hands made entire world astonished, including the inmates in the high jacked flight as the name ‘Gandhi’ stands as a patent name for peace and non violence for the humanity as a whole. He then appeared to the entire world as a modern Geodesy rather than veteran Gandhi. “ What? How dare are you to aim at me the old man?” The commander of the Indian Mujahedeen said in shock. “ Shut up you bloody idiot; and stop talking nonsense; I am Prof. Gandhi; I have high jacked the flight along with you and your dirty team. You better keep quiet otherwise you will reap the consequences” Prof. Gandhi warned him. The commander of the militants looked all around; and found eight of the high jacks in the guise of passengers already rounded up from behind his accomplice and aimed pistols at their temple region and disarmed them within no time. It was first of its kind in the history of the modern world, as per counter hijacking was concerned. It made the whole world to realize how essay it was to highjack an international flight in the most advanced century, where the states and their administrative machinery claimed their intelligence mechanism and security aspects were considered to be the excellent. But after knowing the hijacking episode everybody would feel it was only a misnomer. “ I beg your pardon; and we all surrender to you unconditionally Professor Gandhi; and will you permit me to ask you one thing please?” The commander appealed to him. Prof. Gandhi looked at him seriously at first. “ Sorry professor I only requested you. If you are not obliged, doesn’t matter, thank you” “ Okay you can ask” After sometime he permitted him to talk. “ Thank you professor what I mean is that are you doing this for any ransom? Or do you have any particular demands like us? And to which organization you belong?” He was eager to know. “ Sure, I will answer all your questions. But before that I want to ask you few questions. And you should answer me truthfully by saying yes or no at once gentleman?” Prof. Gandhi put him in quandary. He was silent for some time. “ Are you afraid to speak truth” Prof. Gandhi suspected his bonfides. “ I am not, and I am ready to answer you professor, and you may proceed please” The commander of the Indian Mujahedeen replied politely. “ Okay gentleman, now tell me why have you high jacked the flight? What do you want to do with the air passengers, if your demands are not full filled? Don’t you ever think of the quantum of pain and agony suffered by the air passengers in the flight, and their kith and kin at home? If you are a true Muslim, will you please answer my questions truthfully from the bottom of your heart gentlemen?” There was no reply from him at once “ I am sorry professor” Finally he said only one word. “ Will it suffice to cajole the victims of terror and their near and dear gentleman?” Prof. Gandhi asked him painfully. Yet, there was no answer from him. “ Now at least, don’t you withdraw your ideology of formation of ‘Islamic state? Will you please stop playing with the lives of the innocent people for achieving it? And is it not the violation of human rights? Why do you go to the extent of committing Jihad? What for and is it not worthless sacrifice gentleman?” Prof. Gandhi did not hesitate to speak out and out against the ideology of the jihadists. “ I am sorry professor, being a true Muslim, how can I withdraw my goal of establishing Islamic State? And even if you insist me to disown my holy path at the point of gun also, I can’t say our Jihad is worthless sacrifice. Even otherwise also if I am convinced by any other means and accept your statement, Allah will not spare me; and even after my death my soul will not rest in peace; and I may not have pious rebirth Professor” He replied with certain pain. “ Mr. Commander yours is a double standards; one way you are going on implementing your committed ideology for doing a legalized war; and in another way yours is only an organized and useless crime. Either ways, yours is a narrow minded analysis gentleman! How heinous and painful it is even to hear, we being in the most advanced culture and civilization, going on committing most heinous crimes on innocent people, who include women, children, aged belonging to all religions and also the innocent Muslims in the name of isms. When you are committing heinous crimes also will your Almighty keep silent? And when doing pious things will he not tolerate? What a wonderful hypocrisy Mr. Commander, you being a religious bigot, showing it so nicely man?” Prof. Gandhi felt so much and said. “ Sorry to interfere Mr. Gandhi, please let me answer him” Prof. Ramakrishna wanted to teach a lesson to the commander. “ Okay, you may please carry on whatever you want to say Mr. Ramakrishna” Prof. Gandhi gave green signal to him. “ Mr. Commander, if you are a True Muslim and champion of the Islamic state, I am a Professor and doctorate in History and Archaeology. According to me there is no life after death; but you are claiming yourselves as pious; and after jihad you want to reborn; and for achieving your goals you are claiming yourselves as true Muslim; and you are doing all sorts of sins; and finally praying Allah, whose existence is uncertain and unknown gentleman” He said confidently. “ Prof. Ramakrishna, do you mean to say that there is no spirit, no life after death and so also there is no Allah in existence?” Prof. Gandhi questioned him, rather politely, while most of the other co passengers looked at him seriously. “ I am sorry sir, if I have hurt any of you, but my research is targeted to find out the mystery behind the existence of God, the soul, life after death and rebirth. Now do you want me to reply as an Archaeologist or as Mr. Ramakrishna?” He replied. “ As you please Mr. Ramakrishna” Prof. Gandhi said cheerfully. Now it turned to be a wordy battle between an atheist and theist. “ As an archaeologist, I am of the opinion that there is no life after death; there is no soul in existence; there are no spirits; and equally there are no ghosts; and about God, I still doubt whether there is anybody who has truthfully seen him, or is ready to show me. And if there is anybody to contradict my opinion, I never get into controversies; as I do feel it is purely their personal; but for me it is truly my subject” He said in firm. “ What a stupidity? What kind of man you are?” One of the co- passengers retaliated, he happened to be a traditional Hindu and God fearing orthodox person. “ I may be a stupid, but not my subject. Please don’t belittle my and thesis; and my experiments with the facts based on science and technology gentleman” Prof. Ramakrishna also equally retaliated. “ Who said you are not a scholar Mr. Ramakrishna; we whole heartedly acknowledge you; and you have done research and you are one of the gems among the world’s renowned Archaeologists. But I put it to you, if there is no superhuman power, why the millions and billions of people in the world are worshiping the Almighty? Why there are massive constructions of churches, mosques, temples, and such other shrines all over the world?” Dr. Sirajuddin questioned him rather politely but firmly. “ Mr. Sirajuddin there are heaps of burials belonging prehistoric periods way back to millions of years old which are unearthed. And of course the Egyptian pyramids are also of historical times. They are all human creations, and they have their superstitions and traditional beliefs from times immemorial for your kind information doctor” Prof. Ramakrishna was also very firm in his stand. “ Sorry Mr. Ramakrishna and I support Mr. Sirajuddin. And my dear friends let Mr. Ramakrishna be put to test whether he can survive or nor? And please throw him out of the flight?” Prof. Gandhi passed an order. “ Sorry professor, you are doing a crime; it is barbarous, unethical, and inhuman; and it is unbecoming of you being named after a great soul, the father of Indian nation” Prof. Ramakrishna appealed to him. “ Sorry Mr. Ramakrishna please don’t forget that you are also named after great Hindu Gods, who are known for Hindu dharma, but you say that you have no faith in them. There are Gods in every religion, whatsoever manner we see and offer prayers to them. And yours is a self contradictory statement. Is it not Mr. Ramakrishna?” Said one of the co passengers, who was an orthodox Christian. There was no immediate response from him. “ No human being has the right to kill his fellow being, since he cannot turn the dead alive gentleman” Prof. Ramakrishna answered him with humility. “ Who said it? Where it is written? Can there be a single example to show Mr. Ramakrishna?” Prof. Gandhi asked him straight. “ I believe that they are not publicized, but they are only felt by the kind hearts Mr. Gandhi; and of course I need not enlighten you what does kind heart mean?” Said Prof. Ramakrishna. In the meanwhile his followers tied the hands of Prof. Ramakrishna as instructed by Prof. Gandhi, and accordingly they opened the exit door. “ Mr. Ramakrishna, before dropping you, may I ask you one last question” “ Yes Mr. Gandhi, I will definitely answer” Prof. Ramakrishna replied at once. “ But you must speak truth only” “ Okay Mr. Gandhi, certainly I will speak truth” “ I straight put it to you; can you jump out of the flight and survive without air jacket? And before doing it so what will be your first and the last message to the world?” He said and waited for his reply. Prof. Ramakrishna didn’t answer him, but he only smiled; perhaps it might be his answer. “ Okay Mr. Ramakrishna, I take your silence, your lovely and pleasant smile as your first and the last message that you are happily dying. My dear friends I hope you might have understood his firm stand, and now you can throw him out from the flight” Prof. Gandhi passed the final order. “ Mr. Rmakrishna you better close your eyes before you are thrown out of the flight” One of the followers of Prof. Gandhi instructed him. Prof. Ramakrishna looked down. The flight was more than 50,000 feet away from the sea level. He couldn’t find anything beneath the flying zone, except the clouds. His eyes were closed with a piece of cloth; and he was standing like a statue. “ I say leave him” Said Prof. Gandhi seriously. And there was no feeling or expression on the face of Mr. Ramakrishna. Prof. Gandhi and all the co- passengers in the flight expected that Mr. Ramakrishna would raise hue and cry just like a LKG boy. But it didn’t happen. The followers of Prof. Gandhi left him. He was about to fall, but the comrades hold him back as they had already kept a rope to the hock, which was already there towards his back and he was pulled inside. “ Don’t you fear the gigantic feat Mr. Ramakrishna; at least on the edge of death also don’t you pray the Lord? Even at this moment also don’t you agree that God only saved you and is in existence?” Prof. Gandhi tried his best to convince him. As a token of reply he just smiled and answered him. “ It is quite unfortunate experience for me in the civilized world. It is more or less praying for peace at the gunpoint; and asking for life after the decomposition of the dead body. And it is all your creation; you only instructed to throw me; and at the same time you hinted your friends to save me professor; and I confidently say that both the actions are human efforts only” Said Prof. Ramakrishna. “ But for me it means two different actions, one is evil thought, which is of human origin; and the second one is divine thought, which is God’s creation” Prof. Gandhi replied politely. “ Never, and it can’t be. And I say it is all your illusion Mr. Gandhi” Prof. Ramakrishna also said firmly. “ I am sorry Mr. Ramakrishna, I don’t mean that I would convince you, but I just put you to test for the better understanding of our good friends i.e. the jihadists only. But you proved yourself much tougher than the Indian Mujahedeen” Prof. Gandhi confessed and frankly. “ That is fine Mr. Gandhi; and for whatever test I am subjected, I agree to the extent that there are as many devotees as, there are also countless number of Gods and Goddesses, and for them equally shrines, and structures are existing in the world; and for me not the first part but the second part is important as it is my subject” Prof. Ramakrishna replied. “ You mean to say all these are human creations only?” The commander of the Indian Mujahedeen asked him. “ Yes gentleman, it is not only me, but the available subjects and the apparent artefacts are revealing that all images are manmade and so also all churches, Mosques, Temples, and such other shrines, which are all human creations and constructions only and are not descendent from heaven or constructed by any super power overnight” Prof. Ramakrishna said. There was absolutely serenity. Nobody intervened in between them. They all know that it was a tough subject besides sensitive too. “ Mr. Ramakrishna, may I expect you to come up with your personal experiences?” The commander of the suicidal squad requested him. “ Okay gentlemen for your understanding I am to speak certain facts which I know from my research. Ladies and gentleman, before I joined as a student of Archaeology, I was under the impression that all the images, idols, sculptures, structures, and shrines of all faiths are just descendents from nature or else created by some super power. But after I started studying the iconography, sculptures, art, architecture, paintings of shrines, temples, Mosques and Churches, I have realized that they are all the hand work of the human beings only. And as an Archaeologist and as a Historian I never fear to speak out the facts. All the characters in the holy books depicted as either Devine or demon are only true history of mankind, which had happened at different ages in different periods at different places; and hence we find the traces of cultures and civilizations in different strata’s of the soils in the world. And if we ask anybody about his personal opinion about soul, life after death, and the existence of God, certainly they reserve their options. Even if any of us still insist them to reveal means it is nothing but infringing their right to religion and faith. But, for you I set at side my profession for some time for discussion with you; and also neither I don’t want to remain selfish nor fear of being exposed to some faith or the other. Ladies and gentle men, I put it to you does any parent tolerate their children being subjected to cruelty? Nobody answered him. “ Is there really any God or some super power in existence to protect his children?” He posed another question and just waited for their reply. Even the orthodox failed to answer him. “ If so what great has the Devine done, when so many of his children washed away in tsunami, which included innocent people, the old aged, women, children and even months babies? And what great sin the months’ babies have committed? Can anybody answer me please?” Prof. Ramakrishna lost his temper and questioned them quite emotionally. “ You are speaking from abstracts Mr. Ramakrishna” One of the passengers who is much older than Prof. Ramakrishna tried to rule out his confusion and impressions on God. But, the commander of the militants never allowed the air passenger to continue. “ Okay gentlemen, give me a chance, I answer you, but before that please tell me how the true believer of truth and nonviolence,Mr. Mohan Das Karam Chand Gandhi, the father of Indian Nation, was killed by his own country man? Can anybody answer what great sin the grand old man did to his country and his people? Is it a great mistake he got independence to India and Pakistan? Does anyone at least wish such a painful death? But why and how the so called ‘the great Devine’ has done a great injustice to such a noble soul?” He waited for reply. “ Sorry gentleman, may it be Hinduism, Christianity or your Islam, even Lord Jesus, the world’s greatest philanthropist having millions and billions of devotees, was not an exception but was crucified by his own fellow beings. But still we call ourselves as human beings. We feel that we are blessed with noble souls; and try to convince ourselves and believe that we have to reap the consequences of Karma (sins) of previous lives even if they are of the noble souls. And there is no science or logic or magic. And it is not far from truth that except the human beings, no other species in this universe will kill its own species, whatever ferocious it is, for their aggrandizement. Then my question is that how can the human beings be called pious? We only go to Churches, temples, Mosques, Dharghas, and such other shrines, whenever we are in distress and when we fail to get help from people around us. Are we not selfish then? It is an ever known fact that no one could answer these questions. Even if I am asked I too may become stale like anybody else. Truthfully everyone knows the facts. Why this type of attitude is only confined to the human beings, but not to any living being on the earth? The reason is that both the Angle and the demon are within us only. But, whom to choose is given to our prophecy. Obviously, for name sake we choose the first one, but in practice the latter is naturally in our every action, because we are human beings having more weakness than any other species in the world” Prof. Rmakrishna concluded. “ No” a strange and an unknown metallic voice has come in high volume of sound and the resound has created vibrations within the flying aero plane. Everyone became panic on hearing an unusual voice in high pitch and with the greatest vibrations, came from an unknown person, which the normal human beings couldn’t hear or bear. “ My dear children, I caution you not to believe his analysis. What he taught cannot be accepted. You have already witnessed what had happened in your presence. It is true that Mr. Jinnah’s soul left his body in the flight itself; and his soul travels much faster than even the races of the sun. And I assure you that the soul of Mr. Jinnah will definitely reach the burial of Mr. Rahman before the soul of Mr. Rahman gets out of his body at the funeral prey” And the voice stopped abruptly. “ Prof. Ramakrishna you are also witness to this, now can you deny that there is no soul? And there is no life after death?” Said Dr. Sirajuddin. “ Sure doctor, I will definitely accept whatever you said, but on one condition” Prof. Ramakrishna replied. “ What is it Mr. Ramakrishna?” Dr. Sirajuddin asked him. “ I want to know one thing from you Mr. Sirajuddin” Prof. Ramakrishna asked him. “ Sure, you need not hesitate to ask me anything professor” Said Dr. Sirajuddin. “ I fear you may get hurt” “ No, not at all Prof. Ramakrishna, you may proceed” “ Thank you, as you have assured me I will. Can you tell us who lectured on God, soul and life after death? And will you please ripe open the mystery Mr. Sirajuddin?” Prof. Ramakrishna asked him point blank. “ I hope it might be the divine spirit Mr. Jinnah” Dr. Sirajuddin replied. “ I will definitely accept and acknowledge your confident reply, provided you show him Mr. Sirajuddin?” Prof. Ramakrishna put him in quandary. “ Sorry Mr. Ramakrishna, you know pretty well that the Spirit is invisible” Dr. Sirajuddin said. “ Mr. Sirajuddin one can say along with the Holy Spirit devil is also invisible. Please don’t forget that you are a doctor, and we are all learned and knowledgeable people, and we only believe in science and technology, rather than the so called holy spirits and demons” “ Yes Mr. Ramakrishna, I admit that. I am also a doctor, but at the same time, even some of the unanswered questions of science are answered by the Holy Spirit, then how can science be greater than the Holy Spirit?” Dr. Sirajuddin said. “ Mr. Sirajuddin I am not disagreeing with you, but before that may I request you to show that Holy Spirit of Dr. Jinnah?” Prof. Ramakrishna again posed another question. “ If it is visible, it can’t be Holy Spirit Mr. Ramakrishna. Anyway I try my best to explain what the Holy Spirit means? There is absolutely no secret in it Mr. Ramakrishna, and it is only our feelings and beliefs that guide us towards Hindu dharma” Dr. Sirajuddin said. “ Sorry Mr. Sirajuddin, you are again bring another abstract thing into picture and trying to convince me” “ I am not speaking anything new about the Holy Spirit,but I am speaking only out of my experiments with the truth and facts Mr. Ramakrishna” “ I am sorry Mr. Sirajuddin, it is only a myth. In the age of science and technology, you being a famous doctor, you are expected by every one of us here to support science and not superstitions” Prof. Ramakrishna became little emotional and said. “ It seems you are angry with me, and I am sorry to remind you Mr. R. K that Indians claim themselves the heritage of Gandhi and so they claim themselves as followers of Gandhi. In fact truth and non violence, peace and love are in Hindu culture and traditions, rather than war and violence are there in Indian blood, which you might have forgotten Mr. Ramakrishna. Anyway here is a modern Gandhi and let us ask him and may I take liberty to ask you Mr. Gandhi to clarify the doubts of Mr. Ramakrishna please?” Dr. Sirajuddin requested him. “ I am speaking professionally nothing personal. What do you say Mr. Gandhi? But our friend is referring the name of the father of our nation and fortunately your parents have adopted you the name of Gandhi with some zeal if I am right, isn’t?” Prof. Ramakrishna made up his mind very clear. “ I don’t know, nor do I really deserve to be compared with such an honourable man. Unfortunately, most of the people couldn’t understand the Gandhian philosophy in true spirit. Of course, it is an ocean. Anyway let us not fight for abstracts gentlemen; better confine to existing things only” Prof. Gandhi intervened and pacified the situation.   *******************************************   And in the high jacked flight in the air, everybody was busy with their own interests, because with the second highjack, the air passengers were feeling little comfort as Prof. Gandhi assured them to feel at home. For the Honeymoon couple there was no end for their enjoyment in the so called Honeymoon suit, i.e. the toilet which was bolted from inside. And the unfortunate girl had been suffering from premenstrual pains and the poor mother couldn’t get chance to take her daughter to the toilet. The sugar levels had gone down to the sugar patients. People of different nationalities were whispering to each other. If they were couples with deep kiss, and if they were parents with a hug with their children, and of course the youth with the opposite sex were doing all types of sexual play, thinking that it was their final moment. “ Please show some mercy on the patients, and also there are children, women and the aged Mr. Gandhi” Prof Ramakrishna requested him. “ You have not understood me Mr. Ramakrishna, I am not a jihadist, nor a man eater to suck human blood in the name of terror; and for your kind information I have freed each and every one of you, except the jihadists; and the crew is also ready to serve you, but unfortunately nobody is placing any order, I think they are still suspecting me” Prof. Gandhi spoke to him very politely. “ I thank you Mr. Gandhi for your kindness. My dear friends and co- passengers, you can trust him. I also assure you that he will not harm anybody, please refresh yourselves and be relaxed, and take some snacks” Prof. Ramakrishna cajoled them. The flight was crossing the high seas and nearing the boarders of India.   Chapter: 22   The flight landed safely.   “ Thank you very much Prof. Gandhi for not only protecting us but also proved to the world that ours is a peace loving country and ‘nonviolence and love thy neighbor’ is our culture and heritage. But, beware of the High jacks, because they may nourish grudge against you professor” Said Prof. R. K. “ It is all over Prof. Ramakrishna when you were in slumbering sleep. The flight landed safely. And all the passengers are taken to their destination. Fortunately I, Dr. Sirajuddin and you only remain here” “ But, I cannot believe this Prof. Gandhi. I am still doubtful about the high jacks?” said Prof. R. K. “ It is fact that I only high jacked the flight; and since then I along with my friends have been with you only Mr. R. K” Said Prof. Gandhi smilingly. “ I am asking about the Indian Mujahedeen Mr. Gandhi” Prof. R. K asked him. “ Their game is over; the leader along with his comrades of the Indian Mujahedeen have succumbed to love Mr. R. K” “ What love, they are hard core militants I don’t think that they have loving hearts” “ Sorry Mr. R K, love is universal, may it be human or beasts. There is no separate titles like lover’s love, terrorists love, but there is only one universal love i.e., the ultimate, which is the result of transformation of everyone from human to humane, may it be physical or spiritual Mr. R K” “ Thank you Mr. Gandhi for enlighten me on the concept of love. But what happened to the jihadists?” “ There is no need to worry about them. I have already told you that the jihadists are also transformed them from blood bath to love bath. In fact, when once the flight as per its schedule flown towards India means that the flight is not high jacked at all Mr. R. K” Prof. Gandhi assured him. “ I am confused sir” “ No confusion, it is very simple. Your doubt is only about the High jacks, isn’t?” He simply said “Yes” “ They joined the mainstream of the society forgetting their concept of Jihad Mr. R K” “ What?" “ Yes, what am I revealing is truth Mr. R K?” “ They are hard core terrorists; how could they over night turn to be lovers of peace and non violence Mr. Gandhi?” Prof. R K couldn’t believe it and asked him to clarify his doubt. “ The lion and the tiger are known for their ferociousness, but still there are people, who are playing with them Mr. R K” Dr. Sirajuddin explain him. It was a surprise to Prof. Ramakrishna, as one side Prof. Gandhi and on the other side Dr. Sirajuddin was taking care of him. “ The terrorists having committed to their ideology, how could they change their mind over night doctor?” Prof. R K asked in a state of confusion and looked at Dr. Sirajuddin. “ That is the magic of love” He said in reply. “ What do you mean by that?” “ Yes, they fell in love with the Indian spinsters” “ Are they Muslims? “ No, they are Hindus” “ Is it?” “ Yes” “ Strange! Do the Indian girls really fall in love with the Muslim boys?” “ Yes, of course! And what is great in it Mr. R K?” “ How could our Hindu spinsters love Muslim Boys?” “ Love at their first sight. Love is universal, and no love or lover in the world so far ever tried to know about their religion, before they fall in love with the opposite sex`, perhaps you may not know Mr. R K” Dr. Sirajuddin took a class on love. “ At least don’t the Indian spinsters ask the Muslim boys to convert into Hinduism?” Prof. R. K asked in frustration. “ No” He reacted spontaneously. “ Nor at least don’t they put some conditions?” Prof. Ramakrishna asked him with some hope. “ What conditions?” Dr. Sirajuddin was surprised to hear and retaliated at once. “ To marry them in Indian style and with Indian traditions and customs and to settle down in India?” Prof. Ramakrishna asked him rather hurriedly. “ No Mr. Sirajuddin, those conditions appear to be quite ridiculous. Is there any example that the bride not only in India, but also anywhere in the world remains with her parents after marriage?” Dr. Sirajuddin posed him a sensible question. “ Of course, I can’t give you any example at once, and I think I need some time to search to find” Prof. Rmakrishna said. “ It is a funny answer, we are not writing any play to perform on the stage Mr. Ramakrishna” “ Then why the Indian spinsters are so sober? Why they simply yielded to the Pakistan bridegrooms without putting any conditions?” Prof. Ramakrishna was feeling for the way the Indian spinsters behaved. “ Who told you Mr. Ramakrishna that the Indian brides are sober and innocent than their counterparts in Pakistan? In fact they have also put some conditions, not to the bridegroom, but to their parents” Dr. Sirajuddin said. “ What?” The professor was anxiously looking at him for reply. “ The conditions put by the Indian spinsters to their parents are that their marriages should be solemnized in the style of Muslim customs and traditions, and they must be freed to go to their in laws after their marriage” “ I can’t believe this Mr. Sirajuddin. I don’t think that the Hindu Spinsters are daring enough to do this. It is quite unbecoming of and Indians may feel bad you know” Prof. Ramakrishna expressed his unhappiness over their behaviour. “ No, and not yet all Mr. Ramakrishna. Likes and dislikes are always above pride and prejudice” Said Dr. Sirajuddin to cut him to size. “ But, there are geographical, social barriers, and finally race and religion come in between them you know Mr. Sirajuddin” “ No, and never and I assure you that it is not history to repeat, but it is practically their lives and not anybody else Mr. Ramakrishna” “ But, I never expected that the Hindu spinsters will stoop down to that level” Prof. Ramakrishna said seriously. “ Mr. Sirajuddin let me answer him as he has been feeling as it happened to his own daughters” Prof. Gandhi intervened and said. Dr. Sirajuddin kept quit. “ Mr. Ramakrishna if you don’t mind may I take liberty to advice you?” Prof. Gandhi obligated him rather politely. “ Sure Mr. Gandhi, you may please” Prof. Ramakrishna said politely. “ Mr. Ramakrishna we are all human beings first and later only social beings. Have you forgotten this universal fact? You have only narrowed yourself to your research, saying fossils and artefacts, cultures and civilizations; and bluntly condemning the universal faiths and beliefs. Even to express your findings also there is a way and it should not infringe the beliefs of others. I feel ashamed to call you Professor; for God’s sake please either you change your attitude or better discard your doctorate for the good of the society Mr. Ramakrishna. And I am sorry I might have hurt you, but I have no other way except to speak harshly, and that is also only to make you understand” Prof. Gandhi made his mind very clear. “ It’s okay Mr. Gandhi, I don’t mind even if the entire world turns hostile to me, but one thing you all must know when Muslims are protecting their cult, so do I expect the same shall be repeated by the Hindus and hence I am not wrong” Prof. Ramakrishna said convincingly. “ Excuse me Mr. Gandhi please let me interact with Prof. Ramakrishna” “ Okay carry on Mr. Sirajuddin” Prof. Gandhi gave him permission. “ Even now also your understanding about your spinsters is wrong; please keep open your options Professor. Please remember that you are not writing history, but you are living in the 21 st century” Dr. Sirajuddin intervened in between them and said. “ It’s okay Mr. Sirajuddin everyone has his own ideology and consequent explanation. Now I straight put it to you some simple questions, can you answer them please?” “ Certainly, why not? Time and again when you are referring Hindu spinsters, I am asking you straight what about your spinster’s Mr. Sirajuddin. I don’t think that are they selfish like ours?” Prof. Ramakrishna said with certain painful feelings. “ Sorry Mr. Ramakrishna, the teenage girls and boys anywhere in the world, more or less are having same emotions and feelings. And love is universal. The problem is not with love and lovers, but with our ego, and with our generation gap in the name of adulthood only” Dr. Sirajuddin tried to explain him. “ Okay Mr. Sirajuddin, please answer me and later I will definitely stand for your scrutiny. Now my doubt is what happened to the pretty girl Miss. Sania?” Prof. Ramakrishna posed a question. “ Okay, let me clarify his inhibitions Mr. Sirajuddin” Prof. Gandhi intervened. “ Okay sir as you please” Dr. Sirajuddin said politely. “ I put it to you Mr. R. K, before knowing that, what your expectation is about the innocent girl Miss. Sania?” Prof. Gandhi wanted to know his opinion. “ I suppose she got her fiancé converted to Islam and later married him in Muslim passion and traditions and later both of them might have flown to Pakistan” Prof. Ramakrishna said as a common man. “ Then you are absolutely wrong Mr. Ramakrishna, as everybody expected; she has married Mr. Samrat, the famous Tennis player of India. But, they have not flown to Pakistan. They have married in Indian passion and traditions; and as Indian bride goes to her in laws, Mrs. Sania Samrat remains with her in laws in India only. Now tell me Mr. Ramakrishna, is religion influenced people or people surpassed religion?” Prof. Gandhi straight questioned him. For a moment Mr. Ramakrishna, the Professor in History and Archaeology was speechless. “ And for your kind information all religions are true Mr. Ramakrishna, and you made research in History and Archaeology, but yours is lacking reality. And your research is only base on abstracts with plus or minus, lacking practicality. In fact you are more knowledgeable than all of us and I need not enlighten you. But, I mean to say few things to you. Religion will never create boarders and barriers Mr. Ramakrishna. But, the man who invented it may perhaps create. And I am sorry I commented you to discard your doctorate. This I said after a great struggle and heartfelt feelings because I am a great fan of Late Mr. Jinnah. He is such a noble man with a kind heart, and generous character that he never spoke a lie; who believed in peace and non-violence on par with Mr. Mohan Das Kharm Chand Gandhi, the Father of Indian Nation in true spirit. And for your information, the father of our nation never spoke against any religion, against human beliefs and values. Please read this novel Mr. Ramakrishna. Of course the man who scribed this is not a scholar like you. But as a lay man with his acquired and limited knowledge he wrote this novel in the language he knew” Said Prof. Gandhi and presented an English novel to him. Prof. Ramakrishna went through some of the pages of the novel and later raised his head to say goodbye to him. So also Dr. Sirajuddin wanted to thank Prof. M. K. Gandhi. But, henceforth they both could not find Prof. Gandhi there. They were stunned, but were convinced that truth was invisible. Prof. Ramakrishna, an Indian and Dr. Sirajuddin, also an Indian only remained there.   Chapter: 23   “ Well Mr. Sirajuddin and then we must accept the fact that the Indians only saved the victims from the high jacks as they have all respect for Hinduism and Hindu Dharma which is more pious and purity than any other religion in the world, and it certainly creates a page for its humanism in the history of terrorism in the world” Prof. R K said as a Historian cum an Archaeologist. “ Mr. R K, I still remember that you said for cultures and civilizations there are no boundaries and barriers; and now have you forgotten your own statement? Or else have you taken all together a U turn? And then what about truth in your research?” Dr. Sirajuddin didn’t hesitate to point out him. “ I beg your pardon Mr. Sirajuddin, but before clarifying your doubts can I ask you few questions?” Prof. R K asked him. “ You are most welcome Mr. R K, but before answering you, I too expect you to answer my few simple and petty questions” “ Sure Mr. Sirajuddin” Prof. R K assured him. “ Okay, you are more qualified and you’re younger than me you may please ask me Mr. R K” Dr. Sirajuddin suggested him to avail the first chance. “ I thank you Mr. Sirajuddin for your marvellous culture and gentle behaviour; and my first question is Mr. Jinnah a Muslim or Hindu?” Prof .R K put to him. “ Well Mr. R K in spite of our fair and frank discussions also, you being a renowned professor and scholar in History and Archaeology still you are interested to know about Mr. Jinnah’s religion. And I really feel pity about your narrow mindedness; leave alone the fanatics and the common man. In fact I don’t want to hurt you, but I am rather pained to tell you the facts and you may decide by yourself. Before deciding please let me know whether you are a Dravidian or an Aryan or blend of the two or the unknown fourth?” This time Dr. Sirajuddin put Prof. R K in a state of confusion. Prof. R K being an Archaeologist and Historian was shocked for the first time. “ Okay Mr. R K, I know that you couldn’t answer me; and for that matter none of us can answer truthfully the questions, and if anybody dares to answer means they will have to go back to millions and billions of years to decide one’s own genealogy, which is practically impossible and even for you as an Archaeologist also. But I must certainly clarify your doubts as per my promise. Please have little patient in hearing, and later you can answer me Mr. R K. “ Mr. X’s grander father is a true Hindu, and his grandmother is a true Christian, and to marry his grandmother in Christian faith, his grandfather has converted himself to Christianity and got married her; and they begot a male child, who is no other than Mr. X’s father. Now tell me to which religion Mr. X’s father belongs? And later Mr. X’s father fell in love with an orthodox Muslim girl. In order to marry her in Muslim fashion, he converted himself to Islam and married her and begot Mr. X; and now you decide to which religion Mr. X belongs?” Dr. Sirajuddin put him in quandary. Prof. R K was confused and he immediately couldn’t guess to whom Dr. Sirajuddin was referring. “ Don’t be hasty, please take your own time Mr. R K. But I expect definite answers from you” Said Prof. Gandhi and left him free. Mr. R K was thinking and trying to recollect the mystery. Chapter- 24   Mr. R K could observe that Mr. Sirajuddin was feeling so much for the injustice done to a nobleman in this world. But later after some pause, Mr. R K could guess it. “ Mr. Sirajuddin, are you not referring the story of Mr. & Mrs. Amrin Rahman?” Prof. R K asked him all of a sudden. Mr. Sirajuddin simply said “yes” “ Is Mr. Jinnah their son?” Prof. R. K continued. Dr. Sirajuddin couldn’t answer him. But, Prof. R K could find tears rolling in his eyes. “ Mr. Sirajuddin, may I ask you one more question please?” He again nodded his head. “ Is Mr. Jinnah alive?” There was absolute serenity. “ Mr. Sirajuddin, if you don’t mind, can I ask you one last question please” “ Please carry on Mr. R K” Said Dr. Sirajuddin. “ Mr. Sirajuddin, if I am not wrong the man who spoke on life, after death, and rebirth, is the soul of Mr. Jinnah, isn’t it?” Prof. R K asked him straight. “ You are absolutely right Mr. R K and I heart- fully thank you for accepting the concepts of life, after death, rebirth, and the existence of soul” Dr. Sirajuddin said with cheerfulness. “Sorry Mr. Sirajuddin, it doesn’t mean that I am deviated from my research in History and Archaeology, but as a common man I only accept your analysis” Said Prof. R K. “ It’s okay Mr. R K, but please go through the book presented by Mr. Gandhi; and later I am sure that you may forget your research and start propagating the concepts of life, after death, rebirth and about the existence of soul. Good luck and goodbye Prof. R K” Dr. Sirajuddin concluded. “ I thank you Mr. Sirajuddin for sparing me your valuable time” Prof. R K said and opened the novel. It was a love story between two nations, three religions in one world Prof. R K was surprised to see that Mr. Jinnah, a Pakistan National was the man who penned the love story between an Indian boy and a Pakistani girl; followed by the post Independent incidents that occurred in both the countries, India and Pakistan. It was nothing but the story of ‘After death, an ultimate truth’ in English. “ Excuse me Mr. Sirajuddin, I can’t believe this. How a citizen of Pakistan could write the most fascinating love story of an Indian, whom he didn’t see at all; nor at least step into the Indian soil to know about him? It struck to his mind, but he couldn’t answer it, further he was put to severe stress and in a state of confusion, as he couldn’t find Mr. Sirajuddin there. He looked all around, but to his dismay he couldn’t find Dr. Sirajuddin at visible distance or anywhere since then. Prof. R K finally understood that it was with the holy spirit of Dr. Jinnah he spent quite a sensible and precious time for sharing the philosophy of life,i.e.the mysterious knowledge about life, after death, soul and rebirth. He then recollected the comments of Dr. Sirajuddin: “As an Archaeologist you shouldn’t have boarders and barriers. Religion is not the off spring of the heaven; but it is groomed in the human minds only; and subsequently there existed a great divide in the form of boarders and barriers and they had been grown up like mushrooms in the world” Now as an archaeologist and a historian, Prof. R K could reconstruct the post Independence incidents that occurred in both in India and in Pakistan. Many families suffered and became victims in the hands of both only after partition in the name of religion only. Prof. R K understood that Dr. Jinnah’s episode was not only a live or an illusion or restricted to only incidents, but it was his Holy Spirit that revealed a true love story of an Indian boy and a Pakistan girl of two different countries of post Independence.   Chapter- 25   “ Ladies and gentlemen for sharing bed and butter, the wife and husband, don’t care for the caste, creed or cultures. And from times immemorial, there have been no marked objections between men and women in the world to cohabitate, irrespective of which continent, country, kingdom, race, and dynasty they belong, and the language they speak, to which cultures and traditions they belong? In fact, there took place great battles and wars between kings and countries not only for territories and royal treasures but also for queens. But now for living as good neighbours, Most of the people in the world are still narrow minded; and they have been creating boarders and barriers between the human beings, forgetting the concepts of universal fraternity, one world state and one World Nation but for in the name of religion clubbing into politics. And the most painful thing to note in this civilised world is that no animal kills its own species; but on the contrary here are some humans, who only kill their fellow beings for their selfish ends. The one and the only cause for the world to be divided into a number of geographical territories and consequent bloodshed are not only racial but also people’s blind faith in religion. Though the apparent cause is religion the affected are the innocent people. Is there no any solitary example to show that there is any relic or shrine or structure, or Sanctum Santorum which really helped the human beings in times of dare necessity? If it is so, why there are heaps and mounds of skeletons found in the strata’s of earth, as a result of unnatural deaths due to natural disasters, calamities like earthquakes, floods, inundations, tsunami, and epidemics, and found in front of the great structures and so also in the Sanctum Santorum’s, than to speak against the invisible Almighty either paying deaf year or to raise huge and cry. There are teeming millions of the grief stricken and needy people in the world, but still they have hope in their future. But what great are the religions, or holy books, and structures of existing cults which couldn’t come to the rescue of the innocent people and the countries in the world in case of dire consequences? And then what great is there to speak about any faith in the universe? In reality it remains only a myth, and practically there has been no relief for any human being either from any religion or by any divine, except thy good neighbours. Now can anybody answer these questions? Is there any religion which guarantees food, clothing and shelter to all mankind in the world? Is there any noble hand which can save mankind from the nature’s wrath and universal catastrophes such as tsunami, earthquakes, tornados, floods, and inundations in the world? Is there any religion that can bear and cure the pain and sufferings of the mankind in the world? Or is there any God sent man who can wipe off the tears of human beings? Is there any faith which can satisfy the mankind from the lust for power, wealth and thrust for pleasures in the world? Is there any cult which creates forever happy mankind in the world? Is there any faith which can create immortals in the world? Or is there any religion which can turn the dead alive in the world? Is there any faith which advocates religious bigotry in the world? If not is there any faith which can bring all religions together under one roof in the world? And now one can read the love story of Mr. M. K. Gandhi, which of course the entire world knows. But still there is something new to know about Gandhi and his philosophy of life. If an Indian prays late Mr. M.K. Gandhi is not a novel. And a South African admires him is quite expected. If the British praises him and unveiled his 9ft bronze statue in London’s Parliament Square, means it is something great that the world must know. A traditional Pakistani Muslim, who doesn’t know about Hinduism, but only learnt and finally accomplished his long cherished goal of scribing the Biography of ‘The Father of Indian Nation’, Mahatma Gandhi is something the world has yet to understand. And from the blood of the peace lover, the biography of Mahatma is reborn. In fact for such noble souls there is no death; because they live forever not only in books in libraries and as statues in museums; but also in the hearts of the human beings, who are the most benevolent” So far whatever queries and answers the air passengers heard, they all are identified as truly the voice of Dr. Jinnah. And again the voice of Dr. Jinnah continued. “ Well ladies and gentlemen it is me, and I am Mr. Jinnah and it is my philosophy of life. It was quite unfortunate that my father lit fire to my dead body, because of the borders and barriers created by the human beings. For which my grandson has been reaping the consequences and since about thirty years doing unpaid service to the dead at the burial ground, he even forgotten his personal identity but was only called under the nick name as Mr. Corpse (The dead body); and to free him from his karma I am born to him and his begum Amrin; and I have performed my duty to relive him from his agony. I hope you understand that I am reborn to my grandson and granddaughter in law, Mr. & Mrs. Rahman alias Ram Mohan alias Mr. Corpse, an Indian and Mrs. Amrin, a Pakistani; but both are human beings and are humane. And now my son Mr. Rammohan would light fire to my corpse. I thank you the Noble world and goodbye my children” Dr. Jinnah concluded and then his metallic voice mixed with the pleasant atmosphere and henceforth there was absolute serenity. “ Indeed it is really a great book written by Dr. Jinnah, a common man, but a nobleman” Prof. Ramakrishna praised him.   Chapter: 26   “ How are you Mr. Ramakrishna? Are you feeling comfort now?” One of the Surgeons in the post operation session asked Prof. R K, while the latter was slowly regaining conscious. Prof. R K looked all around and he understood that it was ICU and he was attended by specialists. He suffered a severe heart attack, while reading a novel while in the air journey. “ Is it open heart surgery doctor?” He asked him in a very feeble voice. “ No, it is just a simple operation and it is quite successful, nothing to worry Mr. R K, please take rest” The surgeon told him a lie to save him from critical condition. In fact it is the primary duty of every expert while treating his patient to strengthen him mentally and also to cajole him. Now Prof. R K, who was in ICU, could visualize what all he experienced was narrated in the novel; and while reading it only he dreamt off but not in reality; except travelling in international flight; the announcement of high jack of the flight by the militancy; and subsequently himself suffering from heart attack that followed by an operation, which was known to him only through the cardiologist. “ Doctor what has happened to the high jacked flight?” Prof. R K asked him anxiously. “ You shouldn’t think unnecessary things Mr. R K; and as a doctor I advise you to take complete rest” The doctor said politely. “ I am alright doctor, please tell me what exactly has happened” He was firm and wanted to know it under any cost. “ The high jacking episode is a happy ending, as you only saved the situation Mr. R K” The doctor revealed the mystery. “ What!” Prof. R. K asked him in little emotion coupled with curiosity. “ Yes Mr. R K it is because of your health condition only, the plane is forced to land in Indhira Gandhi International Airport, New Delhi and you are admitted in our hospital. Now you are given a small dose of sedative and please sleep comfortably” The surgeon replied him. “ But I fear if I go to sleep, I may again dream and this times something more serious, please let me awake doctor” “ What dream?” As the surgeon did not know about his dreaming episode, he was confused. “ Please tell me doctor what happened to the Air passengers and high jacks?” “ Oh! Even at this stage also you are not leaving it. It seems you are quite sensitive and so curious to know about them just like cops. Okay, if my information helps in getting you speedy recovery certainly I let you know Mr. R K. You need not worry about that incident at all; and all air passengers are safe and the high jacks surrendered themselves because to save you from heart attack Mr. R K” The surgeon said in brief. “ But it is just unbelievable doctor; and I doubt how could the hard core militants and the most dreadful jihadists simply surrendered to save me?” “ It was all designed by the air passengers” “ What?” “ Yes Mr. R K, all the passengers on board requested, rather threatened the high jack’s that they would force open all the exit doors and threw the militants, if the latter don’t respond to their request. As there was no alternative for them, the high jacks were forced to oblige their request” The surgeon told him what all he knew through the media. “ If I say thanks to you means a very small word; but I must say that I owe much to you. By the way I was reading a book, can you help me to find it doctor?” Prof. R K requested the doctor. “ What book?” The doctor cross questioned him. “ I mean I was reading a novel while flying to India” Prof. R K told him. “ Okay Mr. R K you relax and I will certainly find it” The doctor immediately instructed one of his staff members to search it. Accordingly his baggage was brought and handed over to the surgeon. The doctor took out the book and gave it to Prof. R K. “ Really I am forever thankful to you doctor” Said Prof. R K. and looking into the pages of the novel curiously. The surgeon was surprised on notice Mr. R K’s anxiety in receiving the book ‘After Death, an ultimate Truth’, a novel written by Dr. Jinnah in English. Generally the post operated patients ask only for Holy books like Bhagavad-Gita, Quran, Gurugrandh and Bible. But in contrary Prof. R K asked for a social novel. “ Is it that interesting Mr. R K? ” The surgeon asked him out of curiosity. “ Yes doctor” The doctor was surprised to hear from an operated patient, because while in ICU Prof. R K didn’t ask for any of the holy books, but was truly fond of a love story. “ Yes doctor, indeed it is a great book and one has to read it at least once in life time, as it touches our hearts and teaches us the true human relations but not isms” Prof. R K said quite emotionally. “ Any way, after surgery I could see some change in you Mr. R K and you are becoming quite emotional; are you feeling any discomfort Mr. R K?” The surgeon enquired him on seeing his abnormality. “ I am alright doctor, in fact earlier I used to read my subject books only, but for the first time I have read, an Indian love story in English, written by a Pakistan National. The story is not a fiction. In fact it has really happened and it leaves a message to the world regarding life, after death, about the existence of soul and that is why I troubled you to bring it. Anyway I thank you and your staff for your timely attendance, surgery and treatment to me” He said in jubilance. “ So you are proving that from now onwards you are turned from Archaeologist’ to Archaeobibiologist (Person interested in reading books)” The surgeon said smilingly. “ You are absolutely right doctor, and who so ever read the books like ‘After death, an ultimate truth’ may certainly become Archaeobibiologists” Said Prof. R K. And later he preserved the book under his pillow; perhaps he may start propagating the existence of life, after death, and finally the existence of the soul. Chapter: 27 “ Truth and nonviolence are as old as human existence. Truth is not a lie. It is not hypocrisy. It is what the humane practice. It is what the mankind is supposed to think about. It is not something else, which one needs to search somewhere, but it is within human beings only; and they have to make a sincere effort to explore it and finally understand it. It can only be possible when the human beings open their mouth to speak truth; open their eyes to see truth; and alert their ears to hear truth. Then what is truth need not be explained to human beings. And then truth alone triumphs in the world. But in the modern world most of the human beings are only thinking about themselves and not for their fellow beings. Their only concern is their self. Most of the people have almost forgotten the concepts of live and let the others also live is happily. And no where we can find the one world nation and universal fraternity and they almost remain as Ethiopian. Even the ferocious lioness will never hunt its prey if it is not hungry. But, the human beings are ready to kill their fellow beings only for their aggrandisement. Even the lioness never sores anything as reserve, but here are humans who are greedy to accumulate as much as possible. For them there is no scale to satisfy their thirst to exploit more and more. And then the most selfish and cruellest living being on the surface of the earth obviously is the mankind. In search of the truth only many great and historical personalities tried, still there have been few great people trying, but nothing could be found. If the concept of truth is understood by the people, the net result is equally there is no fear of life after death; and they never commit sins in their aggrandizement for selfish ends. Intellectuals, philosophers, philanthropists, God sent men like Lord Buddha, Jesus, Mahatma Gandhi, Mother Theresa propagated peace and non violence. And they left a great legacy to the world and to the mankind. Certainly, it is not war and violence, but peace and nonviolence and be good and do well, which is the ultimate truth and a benevolent message they have finally given to the wonder world. There is nothing to gain or lose in this materialistic world for any being, except leaving a page or two to remember thy good experiences. But do any of us are having any such enriched experiences? To answer this question is rather difficult for us as we are still human than humane. But, it got to be answered by everybody at some point of time in this life only before we die; and the answer should be definitely positive. For those who practice this in true spirit, certainly death fears even to touch them because they live forever not only in books in the racks of the libraries, as statues in streets and in museums but also in the hearts of the people forever as long as the human civilization flourishes”   Truly yours, Dr.Jinnah.   Epilogue:   “ Ladies and gentlemen, be at the cremation/burial of the dead of your beloved alone after the funeral for one complete day and night to know what next ‘After death’ and so also to answer the ultimate truth or mysterious questions: What is life? What is death? What happens after death? What is soul? Where it is? Does all living beings are having souls? It is not far from truth that except abnormal persons and those making thesis over the subject, almost all persons in the world may not stay back alone at the cremation/burial. And at the same time, we shall not forget the fact that the cremated/ buried is our beloved one, but still we fear to stay back at the cremation/burial. Does it mean that we fear our own beloved for whom we wept, and offered final rites? Do we fear that the soul of our beloved dead may turn to be a spirits and move from the burials? It is not a strange thing to know the fact that the care taker alone is staying at the burials. Neither the care taker of the burials; and the custodian of the mortuary; nor the doctor who conducts Post mortem over the dead bodies; and the persons carrying the corpse, what shall be their feelings while discharging their duties? How could they do their job without fear or favour? It is a fact that while they are attending to their legitimate duty, they don’t have any belief about life after death, and also about the existence of soul after death? If at any stage, they believe or feel that there is really life after death; can they attend to their professions? If there is truly rebirth after death, everybody wants to be reborn as Mahatmas rather than devils.Then there will be race for doing good things, rather than doing evil things, for attaining noble birth at least in the next life after death. And if really the soul of the dead is in existence, will it allow it’s next of the bereaved to commit sins? Will it not save them from earthly bondages? Now the unanswered universal queries are:- What happens after death? Whether there is rebirth or not? Whether the soul is in existence or not? Though these questions appear to be abstracts, so also the answers could be. Now, it is the turn of the common man to think and decide by himself, as he is only the better judge than anybody else. There are certainly some answers for the quarries in this materialistic world. And they are very simple. The ultimate essence of life and death is whenever there is birth for all living beings death is also inevitable part of life. As the sun rises and sets the seasons may come and go; beautiful flowers become withered and brown, some yield fruits, out of which some ripen, and after sometime they produce seeds later the cycle will continue and the tree will succumb to either nature’s wrath; so also people and other beings are born, live for some time and finally die after continuing their span of life. And since the birth of the cultures and civilizations, there is no house where no one had ever died. But, some people believe that there is life after death; there is rebirth and finally there is soul in existence.   But can we answer the universal quarries.   1) If a brain dead person’s organs are donated and transformed to five persons, who are on death bed and all the five are survived. And shall we pray him as Lord Brahama, the creator of all living beings, as the former blessed the five with rebirth, who are ailing on the death bed. 2) Alternatively let the brain dead be treated and let his brain may be re-transplant by the brain of one of the five struggling for life and the former is saved and all the five die due to the fact that the brain dead did not donate his organs as he is survived. Then shall we curse the brain dead person as if he is the incarnation of Lord Yama (God of Death in Hindu mythology)? 3) Suppose the spermatozoa of the brain dead person is extracted before his death; and later injected to a woman’s womb for fertility and the latter conceives and begets a male child. Then can we call the boy, the son of the brain dead? Or the brain dead is reborn to her? Or is it the creation of science? Or is it God’s creation? These are all only abstract questions. But in reality the lungs carry air, blood carries water, the body contains vitamins, minerals and metals, which all come from cereals, vegetables, fruits, meat, fish, chicken, eggs, and dairy products. And the temperature in the body is nothing but fire. And all the matter above ultimately comes from the cosmic energy, which is nothing but the panchaboothas. And the DNA/gene is the bloodline of the one’s own dynasty. There is no rebirth of DNA of course, but there is reproduction only through physical or scientific conjugation of man and woman, made through artificial fertility and delivery through surrogacy. There are certain creatures in the universe, which die after giving birth to their off spring. Then can we say that it is reborn or reproduced? It is difficult to answer. So far there is transformation of all human organs from one person to another person, except the soul, because it is invisible. There can’t be the existence of soul as per the Charvakas and Buddhist monk and King Gautama Siddhartha. But, still there are some people believe in the existence of the soul. For them, the science can give probable answer; the DNA/ gene are imperishable as long as the universe and all the living beings are in existence. Hence the DNA/ gene are the soul of the lineage of the family or the blood line of the dynasty. And there are also theories and beliefs that the panchaboothas are responsible for the creation of all living beings on the earth. Hence they can be called as Nature Gods with different names like Pruthivi (Earth) and Akasa (Sky) Vayu (Air) Agni (Fire), and Varun (Rain). ----Modern Science.   Post Script:   But, still there are possible and probable answers for the quarries for the ultimate essence of life, death, and after death. “ Whenever there is birth for any human being or living being; death is also inevitable part of life. As the sun rises and sets; the seasons come and go; beautiful flowers become withered and brown, some yield fruits, out of which some ripen, and after sometime they produce seeds. Later the cycle will continue and the tree will succumb to nature’s curse and die; so also people and other living beings are born, live and after continuing their span of life on the earth. And since the emergence of cultures and civilizations, there is no house where no one had ever died. Finally, it is imperative for everybody to accept and be aware of death, because every living being has unnoticingly accepted birth. Let us stay back near the dead body of our beloved, pet animal, bird and the fallen plantain tree for more than twenty four hours, to know about what is life? What is death? What happens after death? Now let us speak out the necked truth, what all we are experienced? Undoubtedly we all must have experienced foul smell after some time from decomposition of the four dead bodies of the human, the animal, the bird and the fallen trunk of the plantain tree respectively. It means after death rigormortis sets in the dead body of either the human being or flora and fauna, followed by putrification, and decomposition. Later maggots will eat away the fats, tissues, and of course beasts will eat the flesh and other organs in the dead bodies and only the skeletal remains of human beings and carcasses of the animals will remain on the earth and the latter also wither away after lapse of time and later mix with the panchabhoothas. There is nobody who can say no to these physiological changes in living beings after death. Finally whether we believe it or not, it is honestly ‘the ultimate truth after death’ of any human being or flora and fauna on the earth. And coming to the soul, there are different theories and beliefs. Some say when once the communication link between the brain and the body is lost, which means physical death, but the soul does exist. After death, the soul gets out from the human body joins the cosmic energy and it again joins the body of the newly born baby according to its karma (Deeds) And if it is so, according to Jainism every matter in this universe has life and soul. Then the next question which strikes to our mind is what happens to the souls of flora and fauna along with that of the human souls? Some say that it is definitely uncertain about the existence of soul, while others believe in its existence even after the death of the human beings. Scientific study of life, death, soul and reproduction:- The ancestry of DNA and gene factor, as they both remain immortal since the existence of human beings on the Earth, who formed civilizations and cultures along with their customs and traditions. And for the existence of soul, the DNA and the gene can be taken as substitutes as they have only birth and are immortal. And the panchaboothas, which are responsible for the existence of life on the planet earth only, can be treated as Gods of Nature. We can read and know more and more about DNA; and gene factor by visiting the experts work on them, which are available in U.S. National Library of Medicine. DNA, or deoxyribonucleic acid, is the hereditary material in humans and almost all other organisms. Nearly every cell in a person’s body has the same DNA. An important property of DNA is that it can replicate, or make copies of itself. Each strand of DNA in the double helix can serve as a pattern for duplicating the sequence of bases. This is critical when cells divide because each new cell needs to have an exact copy of the DNA present in the old cell.   DNA is a double helix formed by base pairs attached to a sugar-phosphate backbone.   Gene:   A gene is the basic physical and functional unit of heredity. Genes, which are made up of DNA, act as instructions to make molecules called proteins. In humans, genes vary in size from a few hundred DNA bases to more than 2 million bases. The Human Genome Project has estimated that humans have between 20,000 and 25,000 genes. Every person has two copies of each gene, one inherited from each parent. Most genes are the same in all people, but a small number of genes (less than 1 percent of the total) are slightly different between people. Alleles are forms of the same gene with small differences in their sequence of DNA bases. These small differences contribute to each person’s unique physical features.   Genes are made up of DNA. Each chromosome contains many genes. Chromosome: In the nucleus of each cell, the DNA molecule is packaged into thread-like structures called chromosomes. Each chromosome is made up of DNA tightly coiled many times around proteins called histones that support its structure.   Gene families: A gene family is a group of genes that share important characteristics. In many cases, genes in a family share a similar sequence of DNA building blocks.     Panchaboothas   The Five basic elements called Panchaboothas are kept in a certain balance in the Universe and the body. The variation in this balance ends in natural disasters, and diseases in the body. For example, the Human body is also made up of Panchabhootas 1) The physical body with muscles and bones refer to Earth, 2) Blood and other fluid in the body refer to water, 3) The temperature of the body refers to Fire, 4) The oxygen and carbon dioxide in the body refer to Air, 5) The Athma (Soul) refers to Space.   According to Hinduism life and the various species originated by the combination of planetary globes and the five manifestations of nature namely air, water, fire, land and sky. Bhoota in Sanskrit means compound and Maha-bhoota indicates a big compound. ------Science & Nature   Acknowledgements: The essence of scientific achievements along with illustrations cited above are only to impress upon the readers as how the scientists and experts have been working on human anatomy and revolutionized the human science and the mysterious knowledge about DNA and about the lineage. I wholeheartedly thank and congratulate all the scientists and experts who strained their each and every nerve to work on DNA.   ----- Harshavardhan C The writer & novelist                                                                     Publisher: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG Implerstraße 24 81371 Munich Germany Text: Harshavardhan C Editing: Harshavardhan C All rights reserved. Publication Date: August 25th 2017 https://www.bookrix.com/-vh1aa2e122d9e45 ISBN: 978-3-7396-2518-8

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-ameera-butt-what-039-s-hidden-within-me/

Ameera Butt What's hidden within me Chapter One I sit here in confusion. Words wonder around my mind. Not sure what they are trying to express. Not sure what they mean. Not even sure what they are. But those words, they seem so aggressive and painful. Those words, they seem loud and clear yet I still cannot manage to get rid of my confusion. There's no one that I can ask. There’s no one that would know. I beat myself down to every word that is shown in this vision. It’s like random letters put together to show words that do not even exist. It’s like something old is trying to come out as something new and it’s a puzzle I need to solve to take it out. It’s like... ...I sit here confused with my eyes half open half shut. I can see everything so blurry as my eyes are half-watery half dry. I feel the atmosphere being so energetic as everyone is moving around me. Everyone rushing around in their own little world, everyone not having time for anyone else. Everything apart from me seems so lively and quick. But I feel myself being so negative, not reacting to anything. Also being so dead, almost not being me. My body being so still and extremely stiff, it doesn't want to respond to anything. My mind being full of things, things I can’t even imagine. I do not know what's going on. I have no awareness of anything. I feel completely lost within my own mind and there is no way I can come out of this. I admit I feel this warm heat around me, as it may be that season of the year but beside the heat from the sun, which is directing that at me from the corner of the nearest window I simply can’t feel anything else. I try to move around my hands but I can no longer feel them either. I think I have no idea what is wrong... But inside I know exactly what’s wrong. But my mouth is more stubborn than my mind since it won’t take out anything. “Your name?” A loud half annoyed half-tired sounding old lady asks out sitting at the reception desk with a form in front of her as well as me. She keeps looking up at me and then down at the piece of paper as she sighs after every two seconds. Sitting on that tall which seems very old and weak chair, she seems to feel very agitated. “Marwick” I look up at her and with a silly small thought I whisper out my full name. “Lillian Marwick.” “Age?” “Twenty-one” “Gender?” “Female” I respond. I look up at her feeling very confuse. Can she really not tell the difference between a male and female? Does she really not know how the both different genders look like? The receptionist gives me deep glares as she continues asking me questions so she can fill in the form. After a good ten minutes she orders me to take a seat near by to her desk so that I could easily hear her when she calls out for me. She seems very rude and strange. It was like she didn't like her everyday job. She was forcefully sitting at her desk and has no other option but to sit there and receive new customers everyday. She really doesn't seem like a people person, even if she is one she isn't a really good one. Definitely not a good communicating person, without a doubt! Hair pulled up with a bun as she has a small white work cap to cover the top of her hair. Wearing a dull brown with olive colour shade dress with dark brown and half-chipped heels on. Fare skin with a combination of dark red lipstick with thickened eyeliner across her eyes and what I am assuming is light pink shaded blusher across her pure white cheeks. She has thick fat glasses hanging of from her neck, which is attached to a small thin glasses chain. Her hands are covered with different shapes of rings with a range of colours on each finger and different types of necklaces surround her neck. They seem more like charms but with her personality charms isn’t really going to work as far as I was concerned. As I slowly come out of my thoughts about her I slowly start drifting away into a sleep. My eyes not knowing what to do they keep dropping shut; they hadn’t rested in days. I have no idea how they all a sudden wanted to shut and rest now. Every night I spent trying to force my eyes to sleep as well as my mind. But them being wide-awake and not listening to any of my instructions ruining my sleep for the past however many months. It was actually starting to get really annoying and stupid. As I get deeper and deeper into the mood of sleep a name is shouted out and breaks me wide-awake. “Miss Marwick! Are you there Miss Markwick?” The annoyingly loud receptionist shouts out being lazy sitting on her desk whilst having a small black phone in her hand. I bring myself up and stand on my feet giving her a confident nod. She looks at me as she continues speaking “Mrs Whitelock shall see you now.” She points to the nearest passageway and gives me instructions to get to Mrs Whitelock’s room. Nervously I catch on a speed and walk towards the room I was instructed to go to. As I reach to door number fourteen I look up at it and knock twice patiently waiting for a respond. Holding my hands together, fidgeting with my fingers in tension the door opens and a beautiful and probably just a little older than me lady stands in front of me with a smile across her face. Light blue shinny eyes with short yet silky straight brunette hair. As she looks so pure and natural not wearing any sort of make up. She is dressed in beautiful purple knee length dress with a black colour cardigan on top, finishing her look with small black heel shoes. “Hello there, you must be Lillian; I’m Faith Whitlock. Come on in.” Faith says in such a pleasant and gentle voice. Me being still very nervous I walk into the room. It was a pretty average sized room and wasn't full of what I had expected. It wasn’t so colourful, but it definitely wasn’t dull. It was bright and white. It smelt so fresh as it contains such beautiful colourful flowers at the corner of the room on the window shelf. On the left side of the room was a big bookshelf filled with a different range of books with different sizes and all of them have a familiar cover colour. Most being dark brown shaded and rusty, seeming very old. Faith looks at me observing the bookshelf and with a giggle speaks out “Ah, my books. I haven’t been through them for a long time. I think I need a break from work and get with them again.” I looked back at her and gave a small smile whilst looking at her clear her desk. Her desk was full of papers; papers scattered around on her big strong looking light brown desk that had an unusual pattern on it. The desk was made out of wood for sure but the woody pattern on it was very different to the usual wooden desks. Sitting on top of the desk was a small black with a red outline pen holder which was full of different colour pens and had only three pencils in it, not forgetting the orange and green colour highlighters hidden within them. Next to the holder was a small note holder, which was full of little sticky notes that had appointment and other important notes for Faith to remember. I didn’t read anything of there as it was her personal thing and I didn’t want to be all nosey. Lying in front of the note holder was a thick notebook covered with scribbles and writing that didn't seem understandable. I would actually criticize her handwriting but then again my eyesight is terrible anyways so there's no point in criticising. Moving on from the notepad right in the edge yet centre of the table sat a half filled glass of water and a small plate that had a half-bitten biscuit on it. Finally next to that was a small lamp that had a strange yet unique and amazing colours of bright summery yellow and green mixed together on it. Of course lying in front of all that was the scattered papers as I have already mentioned. “Sorry, this is taking a while. I feel so unorganised, you see the person I had before you I saw about nine months ago and they suddenly came back for some paper work. Now I have to search through some files and everything is just everywhere as you can see. Please take a seat I won’t be much long.” She rushes around whilst speaking to me. I kind of felt sorry for her because she didn’t really know what she was doing running around looking for files as she said. I quietly nod and sit down on the couch that was put right next to the window where the sunlight hit against me once again. This time I seem to enjoy the heat on me, it felt more relaxing. It felt more energetic. I shut my eyes and tilt my head a bit towards the window shelf as I wait patiently for Faith Whitelock to finish with whatever she was doing. My eyes start resting once again as everything starts becoming more cosy and light. Everything starts becoming dark... “Lillian, have you fallen asleep?” A voice echoes from the back as I suddenly realise that I have fallen asleep waiting for Faith. With a moment of shock I quickly pull myself up and try to open my eyes wide. There I see Faith looking down at me seeming a little confused. “Are you okay?” She asks politely. “Yes, sorry I just dozed off.” I reply getting words out of me as quick as possible whilst rubbing my eyes. “You must’ve waited for too long and fallen asleep. I am truly very sorry for making you wait so long. I’m not actually like this.” She rushes back saying to me, sounding very apologetic. “No, honestly it’s okay. I understand you had some things to sort out.” I reply back sounding very understanding. “Well I’m certainly finished with all that work so now I can give you all the time you need and we can discuss why you are here today.” She happily asks. I could feel my body going really numb as I look into her eyes trying to answer her questions. I can’t find any specific words that could answer her questions to be honest. Confused I just stare at her thinking that maybe she’ll understand but seeing how her face was reacting I knew she is equally confused and perhaps a little worried at the same time. Trying to not make the situation more awkward or silent I try to open my mouth and get words out but instead only gibberish mumbling was coming out of me. I was well prepared before coming here so why was I like this now? What was it? Fright or fear of something? A judgemental worry? I was now more confused than before as I sat back down on the soft couch and Faith came and sat beside me holding a glass of water in her hand. “Here, take some water.” She offers me some water thinking it may help me and calm me down. I quickly grab onto the glass and take a small sip from the glass. “Thank you.” I’m able to take out as a quick shiver comes out of me. “Are you now okay to tell me what you wanted to tell me Lillian?” She asks still sitting beside me. “Please, call me Lilly. Everyone calls me Lilly.” I tell her. “Okay Lilly, you want to share your problem.” She giggles and then in a serious tone asks. I look up at her, as her face seems to look more relax and shows a sort of interests in what I am trying to say. I take give out a small sigh and then take in a deep breath then realising out that random weird pressure in me. “Well, lately...” I pause myself and think of a way to put out what I want to tell. I figure half of it out and start talking again. “Lately I haven’t been getting much sleep.” “And why is that?” Faith asks trying to figure out herself why wouldn’t I be getting much sleep. “Well, it’s not really much sleep. It’s more about no sleep at all.” “Okay, well why do you not get any sleep at all Lilly?” I knew the answer to what she has just asked me yet I couldn’t answer the question. I was thinking of different ways of getting some sort of reply out of my mouth always seeming to fail. “I don’t know why I don’t get any sleep at night.” I manage to take out. “Are you sure you don’t know Lilly?” Faith starts to sound like she knew I was lying. She has some sort of deep seriousness in her voice. “I don’t know!” I yell out to her feeling a little pressured even though I wasn’t pressured at all. “Okay, calm down Lilly. Just stay calm. All I want to know is why do you think you aren’t getting your sleep at night? Is something bothering you? Perhaps something is in your mind?” She tries to calm me down and softly asks me. “I have some things mind. Thing I do not know about...” I pause myself once again. “Go on, I’m listening.” She assures me. “Things that even confuse me.” “Do you get nightmares or anything like that?” “I don’t sleep remember? If I don’t sleep how could I possibly get nightmares?” “Have you ever thought that you may be sleeping but you think you’re awake?” She questions me, making me have a doubt on it. “No, I just don’t sleep. Even if I do sleep it stops me and brings me wide-awake again.” “What brings you wide-awake?” “It’s...” I stop myself from using a word. Faith looks deeply into me trying to spell out something but my lips were stick so hard together. I shut my eyes for two seconds and open them up again whilst continuing speaking. “It’s a vision Faith.” “A vision? A vision of what?” “A lot of things. But there's this one thing that specifically runs around my mind. Even though everything else seems so vivid this is pretty clear.” “Is anything you see true by any chance? Have any of those thoughts or visions already happened in your past?” As she asks me those last two questions my mind clocks out of the situation as I rush myself of the couch and find myself standing up. “What's wrong Lilly? Why have you stood up?” “No! I have to go. I don’t want to be here anymore!” I express out to her trying to get a grip onto my bag, which was lying, beside the couch on the floor. As I’m about to move forward Faith grabs onto my wrist holding me back. “Wait!” She yells out as my footsteps hold themselves back and she slowly lets go of me. “Why are you rushing away? What are you hiding? You are here to tell me this problem right? Then trust me and tell me.” I look up at her and try to relax myself. Relax my mind, relax my heartbeat and relax my entire body. But after a second I couldn’t, I failed that relaxation and I give her a small push back and run towards the door as I give a quick stop. “Sorry but I can’t. I have to go.” I whisper to her and exit her room running out. As I try to exist out of the entire building my eyes contact with the rude receptionist I saw earlier. She looks deeply into my eyes and gives me another strong glare as she had given before. I avoid giving her any attention and focus on getting out of the area. My heartbeat has increase so much that I can just about feel my heart coming out of my body. Pretty figurative but in this moment of time it can happen you never know! I rush towards my car, which is parked in the local car park on fifth floor. I open up my bag and look for my car keys, which I had thrown in when I had got out of the car earlier. Being in a total hurry, I can’t seem to find my keys with my breath not taking a normal speed. My hands moving around everywhere in my big bag not being able to reach out for my keys. I start to anxiously empty out my bag stood in this cold car park. Public driving past me looking for their own places to park their cars observing what I was doing probably assuming I’m some sort of mad and lost human not knowing what I am doing. Feeling totally clueless. After a good three minutes of searching I give up on the search and fall down to my knees as tears start bursting out of my eyes. I sit here being so lonely. Lonely then ever! Crying my eyes out, crying where many could’ve heard me but no one can actually hear me. Feeling physically and mentally disturbed; my mind is rushing through many things. I don’t know what I am doing or what I should do. I have no consciousness of anything! I feel useless and trapped and I can not even express myself out. I sit here for about half an hour crying my eyes out not caring about anything else as my stuff are scattered everywhere on the floor and me sitting against my car as my tears themselves slowly start drying away. A few minutes late my phone, which was now on the floor as well as everything out, starts buzzing. I can’t seem to find the energy or movement to reach out or look at whose call it is so I let it ring. After a few rings it stops ringing. I don’t move nor reach for the phone; I sit there in silence and do nothing. My phone once again rings, this time I am able to look down at my phone and read who the caller on the phone is. ‘Mass’. Mass was my best friend. Since forever he has been with me, never to let me go. I’ve grown up with him as he used to be my neighbour but now that he has moved to another house still being pretty local our friendship was still that tight. It was always the three best friends. Mass, my elder sister Kat and me Her actual full name was Katherine Marwick but we always called her Kat just how they all called me Lilly instead of Lillian. I’m sure you’re thinking Mass? What sort of name is that? But honestly that isn’t his actual. His full name is Mason Mayson. I know you must be thinking two masons at once? Since the day I had met him I’d been asking him and myself the same question. Apparently his parents were very drunk and high the day he was named. Still he doesn't complain. The worlds most adorable, patient and calm guy that could’ve ever existed. That was him for sure! I remember when we were young as soon as it used to hit one o’clock Mass used to ring at our doorstep and come in to play with us. We would just spend the whole day together. Mass and me were the same age so we were in the same school year and we went to same college and university together. We both had this love for literature. He was more of the long essay writer and reader don’t know how he survived all that. On the other hand I used to love my creative writing and my poetic side. No one ever used to listen or read anything I used to create not even Kat. But Mass, he would always be there to read my stuff. He always believed in me and he still does. No matter what I know when I need something or someone I know Mass will always be there for me. Our parents that are like best friends too they do everything together. In fact every once a month the two families get together and do some sort of fun day out. Sunshine or not, nothing can actually stop us. Even if we were indoors either Kat or Mass’s younger brother Max would come up with the most ridiculous ideas, surprising we always go for what they plan for us. Pretty silly but that's just how our happy family was. We weren't blood related but we are sure happy with who and how we are! Coming back to the present, I came out of this random misery I went into and trying to wipe away the dry tears across my face. I slowly get everything from the floor and randomly in a second of thoughts I quickly start rushing it all back into my bag looking carefully at the time. I spot something fall out of my contact diary. Something I had been searching for insanely. Something that made me realise how lost I was. Something that made me start to cry. I find my car keys falling out from in between my small contact book as I stop for a second and give a stupid idiotic laugh at myself seeming so pathetic and silly in this moment. I grab onto everything and start walking very fast back to the building I had rushed out of. Back to Faith Whitelock’s room... I can feel myself go so weak as I get closer and closer to the building I had rushed out from about an hour ago. Walking in after opening that big white see through door wide open as a strong from behind me pushes me in as I was meant to go in. As if the wind was afraid I would just leave and run away again. As if the wind itself was forcing me to do what I was going to do. Leaving my mind of the winds encouragement I slowly walk into the building. The rude receptionist still sitting in her seat probably hadn’t move since forever looks up at me again and this time doesn't give a rude or bad glare at all. She sits there on her small black phone, to a customer I was assuming. As she looked at her nails moving her eyes off me I confusingly I walk forwards towards Faith room not looking left or right. Taking small gentle slow breaths inhaling and exhaling calming I reach to room number fourteen once again. Once again I stood outside Faiths room. Still worried yet a little more confidants than what I had before. Without a thought I didn’t knock on the door and I open it as she stands there with a smile. Like she knew I would be back somehow. Like she knew I needed something... She gives me a politely side smile and I close the door behind me whilst entering her room as she speaks out “Are you ready for your therapy sessions now Lillian Marwick?” Chapter Two As the sun goes down the stars start to appear. The moon comes out and greets you all the night. You wake up in the morning pretty lazy and relaxed knowing you’ll seep at night again being so sleepy. The day goes through being so crazy that you don’t know what will happen. You don’t even know what you will get to see... By the time I was eighteen I was pretty crazy and when I say crazy trust me I mean crazy. My morning would start in the afternoon and my afternoon would start in the evening. But my evening, it would start when I wanted it to start. Becoming so independent in life I had started to come out of the young me and growing into the older crazy me. This meant I based my small yet beautiful life on friends, parties, risks etc. To be honest I used to do whatever I felt like and no one could stop me. I had no fear; no worries, no restrictions and I definitely had no limits. Actually if I'm going to be fully honest with you I did have one fear. Fear that I actually never wanted to ever occur in front of me or trap me because this fears it’s the most evil one. The most risky and dangerous one, on top of all that this poisonous fear could harm you in many ways and once its in you it never wants to let go. “And what is this fear?” Faith breaks into my story and asks. I look up at her as I was sitting on the chair at her desk, her sitting opposite me with a pen in her hand. I give her a quick little chuckle as I close my eyes and breath really slowly. “Lilly, what is that fear?” She asks again sounding very worried, this time she looks very suspicious as if it was a massive harmful horror that would be hurtful to everyone and everything. “Oh don’t worry. This fear isn’t for everyone. It’s just specific people, the rest a blinded in it.” I laugh and reply. “So what is it?” I take a deep breath once again but this time opening my eyes wide open and smiling at Faith making Faith seem very puzzled. “Love Faith, love.” I take out of myself. “Really, love? That’s your fear?” “It was my fear, now the only fear is too...” I stop myself and pause in the moment. “Too...” Faith asks trying to make me continue what I am saying. “You’ll find out if you let me continue telling you.” “Our session only has another forty-five minutes Lilly.” “Well you better start listening, Mrs Whitelock.” “Okay, but can you tell me why love was your only fear?” She curiously wonders. “When you’re in love you have some sort of blindness in front of you. You cannot seem to see much except that love. It has some great power over everything else. If you are loved back from the person then love is the most amazing thing you can ever have however if you are not then you are stuck with thoughts. But these thoughts are just any thoughts. They are the worlds most evil thoughts ever Faith!” “What do you mean by that?” “In all the love pains someone goes through the thoughts hurt the most. This is because you can avoid or stop anything, anything except the thoughts. They are very evil and mysterious. They haunt in every step you take; they drag you around and play with your feelings. Thoughts have no emotions they are pretty heartless. If a thought gains such powers it can take over the whole of you and make you as bad. It can make you violet, aggressive or pathetic. It makes your personality ugly, dead or raw. It can play such terrible tricks on you, your mind, and your heart to be honest your everything. It's like a strong poison just spreading around you. The worst part is the thoughts never go away. Just like that you think of the person you love at all times. Stressing out on something that isn't yours. Wishing your life didn't exist because of your thoughts. You think day and night. You think morning to evening. Time ticks, you may try focusing on something else but all you think about is one actual thing. Surrounding that one thing is a hundred questions. This can make you mental; this can ruin your mind. This could kill you.” I finish my explanation about thoughts as I look back at Faiths face since I was facing the window. She looks at me with such watery eyes like if she wanted to cry or something. Perhaps she understands what I was trying to say. If she did understand that would be such a relief but at the same time I was really hoping she hadn’t gone through any of that. “I don’t know what to say to that thought Lilly.” Faith manages to whisper out her voice sounding so gentle and quiet. A small sniff comes from her as she continues writing her notes. “You have so much more coming up Faith. Just wait.” I laugh and answer her back. “Now shall I go back into my story or you need to ask something else.” “Please go back into your story.” She laughs and gets me back into my story. Like I was saying no fear, no nothing to be honest. I was the most adventurous girl anyone could ever meet. My dreams had such weird limits that not even I could explain them properly. Eve always use to say how mad I was. I used to surprisingly agree because honestly she was speaking the truth. But that madness made me who I am. “Wait! Who’s Eve?” Faith again interrupts as I give her evil eyes. “Evelyn Thomson, known her since college. We got into a massive fight in our first meeting after that god knows what magic happened and we became such good friends.” I reply giving such a weird laugh. “Why did you fight?” Faith asks being in a fun and excited mood. “Long story, back then she had this weird crush on Mass. Remember him my best friend?” Faith nods and I start speaking again, “Well she would stalk him everywhere, not leaving a sight in college. It actually started scaring him. Him being so typically him, he would never harm or hurt anyone mentally, physically or even emotionally. No matter how hard he tried. He came to me and told me everything and we got into a fight. It was actually funny how we got out of the fight.” “And how did that happen?” “Gosh you ask a lot don’t you Faith? Well it all randomly happened. We were arguing whilst Mass stood there looking at the two weird girls arguing as Kat was standing beside him and Max. We argued for almost half an hour I think. We fought until we just couldn’t think of anything bad to say and randomly started laughing so badly. It was just so strange. We laughed and laughed and then laughed a little more. Mass stood there clueless on what was going on along side with half the crowd who were starring and Eve and me. From that moment of laughter we had decided to become good friend. But I did make it really clear to her to keep distance from Mass, as he was at the end of the day my cute best friend.” “Wow Lilly that was just very strange to even understand for a moment.” Faith tries to take out concluding what I had just told her as she notes down everything and I start continuing with my story again. On a warm July, in sunny summer Mass, Kat, Max, Eve and me lay straight on the soft fresh grass. Lying there thinking as it was summer and we all had holidays from either work or education we were trying to plan a holiday for ourselves. Every year we all went on something so small or simple. It used to become so boring that we used to ruin the place and come home extra early then our usual dates. There was year, I think I was about eighteen. This is of course in my early stage of craziness we weren't allowed to go on a holiday out somewhere due to our actions on the year before. It was pretty amusing to be honest. All I can say is from that day I was banned from playing truth and dare and even if I did play that game I could only choose well, only choose truth, which pretty much sucked for sure! Anyways back to thinking about what we could do for our holiday we are running out of ideas. Every suggestion I gave was always either avoided or giving a straight no in advance. Felt a little rude and annoying but lets be honest it was kind of the right decision. “Sky diving, why don’t we do that! Oh c’mon guys that's a great idea!” I yelled out of nowhere sitting on my knees seeming like I was begging the rest. “Hey that’s not a bad idea to be honest.” Kat expressed. “Lets do it people!” I started yelling out trying to convince them. “NO! Remember last time we were going to do that and Max fainted because of his fear of heights?” Mass opened out saying killing Lilly’s excitement. “Mass you annoying little piece of...” I took my words out of my mouth in such anger. I didn’t want Mass to bring that up again, but he did. That idiot did. But he was right. Last time we planned n going sky diving we were literally at that height and Max fainted din the helicopter we all had to reach ground and take him hospital. He sure came out alive. “How about a beach holiday?” Eve suggested. “That sounds very relaxing.” Mass continued speaking after Eve suggested. “Well, I guess we could. But what are we going to do there?” I questioned them being half-confused. “Are you being serious Lilly? We can do so much!” Max exploded out saying in excitement. “Okay fine, beach holiday it is then.” I agreed to that and we all spent the rest of the evening trying to convince our parents, which wasn't that hard usually. I had no idea what was wrong with them that night. Eventually we got everything sorted and the holiday began! “Lilly which number is your seat?” Eve asked me in such a hurry as we all rushed onto the plane dragging our small baggage's behind us. “The number that is definitely not next to you!” I claimed in such happiness. You see Eve was a great friend and all but was a horrible traveller. She literally would ruin the beginning of your journey. She has these stupid height frights. She thinks the plane will break in half and she’ll go falling down. Her imagination really goes out of the box. “Lilly what is your seat number?” Mass asked sounded curious. “D14, why?” I asked thinking why everyone is asking for my seat number. “Oh man so it’s you. Basically in us lot one person had seat away from all of us. So that unlucky person is you. Enjoy your flight, I’m off to seat number M11.” Mass smiled and rushed off whilst finishing of his sentence. Lilly gave him such evil eyes as all of them walked passed her. “Well at least I have the window seat.” I whispered to myself and sat down on my seat not knowing what this journey was going to introduce me too. As the plane engine started and the seat belts were clucked on tight. As the journey was about to start, as all of us were going to be up high. As the excitement raised in my mind, as the cloud were closer tonight. As I met my eye contact with him. Him who made my life. “Excuse me are you going to switch of the light up there?” My eyes squinting half open half shut as I asked the guy sitting next to me angrily. I moaned and turned my head to the side trying to avoid the small flash of light facing down on me. I was really sleepy and that light was becoming pretty annoying. I had got no respond, hoping the person would understand and switch the light off, I waited for two minutes. Obviously I had failed in giving that order to whomever was next to me as I found the light still being on after the two minutes of aggressive silence. I wanted to literally turn around and slap that person across the face for ruining my sleep. He was really asking for it! In anger I bring my body up as I do a quick aggressive sigh and turn to look at the person who was sitting next to me. Shockingly he was lying there in his seat sleeping with a blindfold on his eyes with that flash of light on. Why on earth would he have it on when he was sleeping himself? Which idiot does that? In this moment I thought I had the perfect chance to just grab onto his neck and strangle him to death! But good thing those stupid anger management lessons Mass had been giving me came in hand. I slowly calm myself as I poke the guy next to me softly on the arm waiting for him to respond. A few seconds later he didn’t respond, I assumed he was probably in some deep sleep. Ruining my sleep how can he go into deep sleep this seemed pretty impossible! He had to be punished in some sort of way. As I sit back and start thinking I look through the gaps of the two seats in front of us as a small child and it’s mother were sitting together as the child was drawing with a permanent black marker. In that moment a beautiful and interesting yet very creative idea came to my mind. Let’s just keep in my mind my age was still young then. I gave a quick small cheeky side smile to myself and leaned forward to disturb the child and mother as I approach forward I whisper out to the kid “Hey there little buddy. Is it okay if I can burrow your marker for a second? I’ll be really quick promise!” The child looked at me seeming so baffled. Like if I had asked for its entire life or something. It was only a marker and I did promise to give it back. “But it’s mine and I'm using it right now!” The kid spoke out seeming so annoying in that moment. “I will be only two minutes if that, I promise I will give it back!” I spoke out trying to sound very convincing to the kid as he makes a thinking face and hands over the black permanent marker. I came and sat back on my seat as I looked at half of the person’s face that was sitting next to me. Only half because his upper face was covered with that massive blindfold. It didn’t even seem like a blindfold it was more of a big cloth that was resting on half his face. But I didn't need the upper face anyways; my work was related to the lower. “Oh gosh, what on earth did you do to the poor guy?” Faith breaks into my story once again asking in such enthusiasm. I look at her and give her a wink as I continue saying my story again. So I broke off the lid of the marker, accidentally obviously. This had nothing to do with the fact that the kid I took it from was annoying or stupid in any way or so! I started deeply thinking about what I could do as I reached forward towards him being so close I could almost hear him breathing loud enough. His skin seemed so soft and clear, also being so pure at the same time. For a second I thought to myself if I really wanted to ruin it by doing what I had planned to do. I look up to the blindfold on his upper face as I was slowly going to pull it off. However, in no matter of time I quickly get out of my serious moment and started drawing on his face like a little kid. Giggling away being as imaginative I could ever be I continued drawing. Inside me I really did hope then that the marker would come off but knowing the work ‘permanent’ being with it I knew he wouldn't be going around a lot with that not on his face. I gave a lost finally touch as the pen hit a little hard against his cheek and he gave a strong movement trying to take the blindfold of his eyes. Realising he had now woken up I quickly rushed backwards to sit on my seat properly before he could noticed I was up to something throwing the kids marker back to him. The guy pulled of the blindfold and he squinted for two seconds and pulled himself up. I’m assumed he was about to shout at me or something instead he came out with something totally different as he looked up at me and spoke out “Ow” As he took a deep look at me he continued speaking just making his pace a little slow. “Wow... How... Now?” He kept looking into my eyes and he tried to observe my face as I sat there trying to act so innocent. “Well hello there!” The man said clearing his voice after he finished speaking. I looked at him seeming so puzzled. Did he not realise what I had just done? I tried to get words out of my mouth but instead only random mumbling came out. Which he obviously couldn't understand? He looked at me with those hazel green eyes which had an interesting effect of grey mixed within it. Seemed pretty mysterious if I'm going to be honest. “Do you have a name? Wait you can hear me right?” He continued speaking whilst I sat beside him frozen not knowing what on earth I was doing. “Are you okay?” He asked now seeming very scared at how I wasn't reacting to anything. I looked away from his eyes as I focused on the rest of his face. I looked around seeing what kind of amazing art I had created on his lower face knowing he would be pretty furious once he finds out. I couldn’t take it in me any long as I burst up laughing so loudly and hard that everyone could hear me laugh. Even Mass and the group could all the way from section M. I laughed and laughed and then laughed a little more. I couldn’t stop laughing. They’re actually came a moment where I had forgotten why I was laughing and was just stupidly laughing. It seemed so ridiculous. At first the boy looked at me so perplexed on why I was laughing. I’m pretty sure he thought I was mentally disturbed or something without a doubt! After a while he looked so intensely into me that he started smiling at me laughing. I don’t know if he was smiling at me in a good or bad way but the smile sure seemed dreamy then. I managed to finally stop laughing as I sat back down in position trying to still calm down. I look back at him as I expressed to him “you have something on your face. Lower down.” I instructed him to a mark as he tried to rub it off not knowing half his face is covered with marks. I couldn’t control it again and burst out laughing one more time this time laughing for longer. Eventually I was able to stop laughing. It was really a mission but I survived it. “Are you okay now?” The guy asked being very worried. “Yes I’m good thanks.” I replied still chuckling. “Good, I’m Lionel by the way. Lionel Mitty. That’s two T’s but one T being silent.” He told me his name, clearing out the explanation of his surname. “Ah Mitty. Sounds unique, I’m Lillian Marwick. You can call me Lilly.” I replied back thinking it’s safe to tell him my name. “Lilly, beautiful name you have there. It matches with your beautiful eyes.” He complimented me. Usually I wouldn't be so flattered about these sort of cheesy lines. But I don't know why he made me giggle when saying it as a weird seriousness had appeared on my face. “So Lilly, what are you planning on doing in Spain?” Lionel continued saying. “Well, my friends wanted to have a beach holiday. Spain seemed just about right.” I replied. “And where are these friends?” “Sitting back in aisle M11, M12, M whatever...” “And you are stuck here with me in D?” “Sounds pretty much right to me dude.” We spoke for the rest of hour journey getting to know each other becoming mainly just friends. Even he was going for his holidays, but he was going alone. Me being crazy yet so kind I offered him to join me and my friends thinking what would the guy do alone in Spain even though there are many things he could do. Not that I forced him to come with us or anything... “And that’s your time up for the day in fact we went on two minutes extra Lillian Marwick.” Faith shakes me out of my own story and tells me. “Oh, that was pretty quick Faith.” I reply in a shock. “Yeah when you are telling something interesting, you kind of forget the time going past Lilly.” “Well thanks for listening to all this.” “Wait this is just the beginning right? This is just the little part.” Faith asks curiously. “Indeed faith. Indeed.” I grab onto my bag and walk towards the door and look back at Faith as she puts her pen and note pad back in place. “See you tomorrow Faith” I say promisingly. Starting a story can be easy; dragging it a long can be difficult. You need to come in with every detail and situation and you need to face the truths and facts. Life brings a person to many stages. They face the ups and the down, but the better person is that strongest person who goes to a million yet is still stood on two feet with that smile across its face and a mind full with idea of future and new opportunities. Chapter Three “You’re late.” Faith states out as I enter her office walking in very calmly and actually seeming happier than before. “By a minute or two.” I say trying to seem apologetic but failing. “Every minute counts in life Lilly.” “Sure does Faith!” I agree and sit on the chair opposite her. “I booked you today for two hours. Hope that’s ok I just want you to finish your story as quick as possible honestly.” “Wow, two hours really? Why do you seem so desperate to know the story Faith?” “Well...” she stops and thinks of what to say as she continues speaking “Well, I just want to hear it all out and start working on how I can help you.” I look up at her and smile. We’ve never seen each other, yet we are always there for another. You seem like this imaginary friend living every moment with me even though you’re so far. I imagine ourselves being good friends forever even if we die. Yes, that last bit was figurative but it’s worth trying I won’t lie. The moment we met I didn't know how important you would mean to me, it’s a shame I can’t seem to express the feel. I may be a total weirdo but you don’t let me be one alone. I feel the love for you more and more knowing somewhere inside you without me your heart would be a little sore. Our friendship is pretty rare that’s for sure and our opinions for each other are so pure. Ask me my true opinion about you, I’ll look into your eyes and say there’s no specific words that can describe you. I know this is all true, I hope you think so too! “Mass, Max and Kat. Kat is my sister and the two boys are my neighbours. Unfortunately Mass is my best friend as well.” I explained to Lionel, now going back into my story. “Unfortunately?” Mass asked giving out his evil eyes to me. “I was joking, honestly your sense of humour is fading away the older you get Mass!” I spoke out laughing as everyone else started laughing with me. He looked away whilst grabbing onto his suitcase and started walking off. Kat and Max following behind him as Lionel and me stay back waiting for our baggage's to come. “So Mass? Just best friend?” Lionel asked curiously but trying to make it sound like a little tease. “Mass? Yes, pretty much. Although first time I met him, I thought he had this ridiculous crush on me but then when we became best friends that doubt went in time thankfully.” I responded with a silly laugh. “Is there any chance he does like you?” Lionel asked in such seriousness. I stopped searching for our bags and looked up at him “you think so?” I whispered out to him. “I don't know. I don’t know anything really. I’m just assuming stuff here. Anyways we better get our bags and catch up with them now!” He broke the tension and we rushed to get our bags. “You never liked anyone?” I questioned seeming very interested. He looked at me and gave a small yet very cute chuckle and then looked down putting his phone in his pocket. He didn’t say anything, I assumed he didn't want to discuss something like this with me. Perhaps we were still a sort of strangers to one another since we only met a few hours ago. We started walking out of the airport as I was wondering in my own thoughts. “I want to go to the toilets!” Kat demanded as she stopped quickly and Max banged into her. “Really now? Can't you wait until we get to the hotel?” Max questioned seeming so desperate to get to our accommodation. “No! I shall not wait! In fact hold onto my suitcase I'll be two minutes!” She passes her baggage to Max and rushed off whilst then Mass and Max go to get a drink from the closes shop within the airport. Lionel and me stood there in patience waiting for everyone to come back. It kind of felt a little awkward since we weren't saying much. We actually hardly spoke. I had no idea what was in my mind since I'm always just really clueless. Lionel took a deep breath as he turned to look at me and eventually took words out of his mouth. “I don’t go around looking for much or many. I walk in and out, day and night, seasons to season in search of one specific. Eyes that lighten in every darkness. Smile that rises every heartbeat. Voice that calls out so pure. Hair that dances through the cold breeze. Skin that lays thin and beautifully. But I'm afraid this is just in every dream as now I live in reality, where there's nowhere to search. Nowhere at all.” I looked up at him as I starred right into his light brown shinny eyes. His words, they were so touching. So pure, so amazing. The way he spoke out it was kind of freaky because he didn't seem like himself but they were definitely his words. They were really his thoughts. He amazed me in the way he spoke those words out of his mouth standing right next to me. Whilst he spoke that small awkwardness that was there had vanished. Gone forever it seemed like. I could feel myself seeming so shocked and my face showing my feelings as my eyes wouldn't stop looking up to him and were stuck at him. I wanted to reply back saying something to him but I couldn’t seem to say anything. I was too involved in the moment. I felt like I was... “In love?” Faith breaks out asking as she takes me out of my story and breaks me from the thought. “Faith! No, honestly how could you think of such a thing! It was nothing. It just felt like I could really get use to him.” I reply back at first seeming in a horror then relaxing myself down. “Oh? Really Lilly?” “Yes Faith, beside he didn't really seem my type. Well he didn't back then.” “So that means he is your type now? That means you are together now?” “Am I going to finish the story or not?” “Oh yes, please continue.” She stops herself from talking and lets me continue my story. The other three were back from where they had gone and we left the airport to go to our hotel. We got a cab and waited in the busy traffic as it took use about one hour to get to where we were going to stay. It was pretty ridiculous, as the journey from the airport to the hotel was maximum twenty-five to thirty minutes. I sat there with everyone just being so impatient cursing the traffic. I was a really impatient person; in fact I still am but back then in that young life I was way more impatient. I can see within the years how much transformation has occurred within me. I see the difference and I see me being a whole new person but then again not everything can be changed in a person. I still have some things in me. I still have the craziness I had back then. I guess not everyone get to see that part. “This is just typically ridiculous!” I blabbed out sounding so annoyed and frustrated. “Oh calm down Lilly. Stop being such a pain.” Mass demands making me even more annoyed. “I’m hungry!” Max stated out. “Aren’t you always hungry!” Kat laughed out saying as Max looked away to the other side. “Shut up everyone. I’m exhausted and tired and bored and hungry and...” I broke out speaking. “And you seem very annoying!” Lionel interrupted me and took over what I was saying as I quietened down and look at him. “You are pretty annoying right now Lilly.” Mass agreed as well as Kat and Max nodding their heads. I sat there in shock thinking how rude Lionel sounded in that moment. He didn't seem like one to sound so rude or say something like that to anyone. Or was someone who would be rude? I was so puzzled. I finally got out of the confusion and with anger in my voice I replied back to him. “Annoying? I am not annoying!” And then I went into a small thought and continued talking. “You’re annoying!” Everyone looked up at me and started laughing including Lionel himself. I again sat there in confusion thinking why they were laughing. Have they gone insane or was it me? Even the cab driver had eventually started laughing. “Lilly, listen to yourself. I am not the one complaining and moaning all the time and complain about some silly traffic.” Lionel backfired saying as I gave him such a horrendous look. “Yeah well... No one wants you here! If you have a problem you can go and get another cab!” I hit back now making it seem like this was some sort of war. The problem with me back then was I could get annoyed and angry very easily. It didn't take much to annoy me or get my anger out. Everyone knew how bad my temper was. I feel now I still have a bad temper but it’s more controlled than before. At least now I don't go around breaking stuff. Thankfully. “Lets vote. Who over here has a problem with me being in the same cab with all of you?” I raised my hand up in such a hurry hoping everyone else would raise his or her too. Well I know this would sound just stupid but back then no one raised their hands! Seriously, how can you stay in a cab with such an annoying person! I think my thoughts for Lionel was actually wrong. He is this rude, annoying and stupid person. I had now really started to dislike him. Even though he came out so annoying somewhere inside me I still was glad that he was there. That he was in the cab with us. Being with my three idiots and me. Inside somewhere I was happy that he was there. But this doesn't change the fact that he was so annoying! “Do you know what! I’m just not going to talk to anyone of you from now!” I spoke out sounding so firm and confident with what I said. They didn’t reply to what I said and we continued waiting to get to our hotel as the traffic was now reducing and he heat out there was now lowering down. We all finally reached and got out of the cab taking out our suitcases with us and walking into the hotel. Being so stubborn and sticking what I had said earlier I didn't talk to any of them and went first to the hotel reception where a young man sat waiting to greet me. He had a black and blue uniform on with a random shade of colours on his tie. He has an amazing little cute smile on his face. He seemed like on of those charming men. I got my room keys from him and walked off giving him a quick wink and half a smile not worrying about the others behind me. “Wow, you were a stubborn one.” Faith takes me out of my thoughts and stories, whilst establishing my character. “That hasn’t changed.” I reply back saying, though it is more of a mumble. “And Lionel, you started to dislike him?” “Did you not hear what I said? He sounded so rude!” “So you liked him then disliked him? Is it a love hate friendship?” “The thing is Faith, it wasn’t just friendship. Back then honestly I didn't know what it was.” I tell Faith knowing in mind exactly what it was. “Well you better continue you’ve only got fifty minutes left of your session.” Faith reminds me as I continue. The day went passed so easily and fast as when the evening appeared I knew it was my turn to shine. As I had already mentioned I was that crazy girl, risky girl, the party freak. I couldn't miss any moment of my holiday focusing on how annoying I was. I knew they were all missing me. Even somewhere in Lionel’s mind he was missing me as well. They were just testing how long the not talking thing would last. My friends and I had a very strong bond. Kat and me are very close sisters, she was someone who could understand me and just know everything. Katherine was amazing. But no one really could take Mass’s place. Growing up with Mass and Max we had become so close that even if we argued we couldn't stay angry for such a long time. I knew eventually either I would go and start talking to them or they would come to me. “Wait sorry Lilly but can you describe your friendship. What is it really that keep you lot together? What is your actual thought about it? What is this bond?” Faith rushes me into present and asks. I was at first very peculiar about why she would want to know that. But then again I was with my therapist. “You know what’s funny Faith? They asked me the same question once.” I laugh and tell her. “Really and what did you reply saying back to them?” “I believe in us that's for sure. Our friendship will grow more and more. Through the time I've known you, you have made everyday moment memorable. I cant stop thanking you it just has to be understandable. Even if I tried to drift away from you it’s just impossible. Because distance from us isn't possible. My life without you would actually suck. You being in my life is my luck.” I look up at Faith as a tear drops out of her eye. I grab a tissue from her desk and pass it on to her. “How can you love them so much?” She questions me, her voice half cutting. “Magic” I reply sounding half-serious half-joking. “Only if everyone could do those kind of magic Lilly. Anyways continue your story.” I hurried changing into nice fancy clothes not actually caring about my shoes. Thing was I would love wearing all nice fancy clothes but when it came to shoes I just wanted something simple. I hated heels! This was due to the fact that in high heels I wouldn't be able to move around easily and do all those crazy things I use to do. For example, getting drunk and being chased by a total random person. How could I possibly run in heels? Last time I tried I remember myself in bed the next day with a broken ankle. I wouldn't ever go down that side again! After getting ready and wearing comfortable shoes I grabbed onto my phone and keys and rushed down to what they called a nightclub. The horror of seeing what was there was just so much to take in that moment. What I had entered into was definitely not a nightclub. It was in fact nothing! What was this hotel thinking when making this outrageous thing! Very dim light, in fact light that was hardly shown! Smoke everywhere, I could’ve roasted in there. Staff so poor and service so rubbish. I had to wait fifteen minutes for my first drink. This was just so pathetic! In a silly depression of where I was and not knowing where on earth the others were I sat at the bar drinking a few shots. One went down, following by two, three, and four. Seven followed by eight, nine and finally ten. I officially had no control on what I was doing until I met someone. Someone who interested me in such a weird way. “Calm down there, you’ll finish the whole bar in that drinking speed!” A voiced demanded from the side of me. I looked to my right side as a boy and a girl sat there looking at me trying to hold onto my balance whilst sitting on the tall black stool. “Pardon?” I asked not sure if the person was talking to me or the girl next to him. “The drinking, calm down with it. You’ve had about ten shots.” The boy called out still sitting next to a girl. “Ten, really?” I asked in shock now not even knowing where I was. “My names Shern. Shern Smith.” He introduced himself as the girl next to him started walking off somewhere. I assumed she was leaving to go somewhere else. “Lillian Marwick, but you my friend can call me Lilly.” I laughed and told him. “Lilly, that’s a cool name there.” “I know right!” “Hey Lilly, are you ok?” “Why wouldn’t I be?” “Well, you've had about ten strong shots and you are here alone.” “My friends are here somewhere. I don't know where but here. Am I making any sense to you Sh-sh? Wait what did you say your name was? Sting, String, sherp what?” “Shern, but you can call me Sherry. Everyone likes to call me that instead of Shern.” “Sherry, I see. Like the drink.” “Yes indeed. Do you want some help getting back to your room or something?” He asked politely and seeming caring. “NO Sherry! I need to make a big complaint! I very BIG complaint!” Sherry nodded his head and chuckled then asked “and what is this complaint about?” “Look how terrible this place looks! This is the worse place ever! It’s ruining this hotel and it is so dead!” I established all the bad things to him as he sat there for about twenty minutes listening to all the rubbish I was blabbing out being more drunk than ever. “Ah I totally understand what you are saying. We should go and complain!” He spoke out laughing when speaking knowing how hilarious this was going to be. We walked out of the horrific place and walked towards the reception. I was kind of hoping that young male receptionist was there. The one that greeted me in the morning but my hopes were just failing from the moment I had landed. As we reached to the reception Sherry pulled me ahead and stood me up straight and waited for me to say something as the receptionist looked at me having a really weird and expressionless face. There stood a old yet seeming very grumpy man who had a pretty much fake smile across his face and his hair was half burnt off I'm assuming. Since I was so drunk I actually don’t know what I was looking at for all I know it could’ve been some random lamppost or something. “Sir, I have a complaint to make.” I exploded saying not knowing what I was actually going to say. Whilst I started speaking with that opening sentence Sherry stood behind me trying to control his laugh as well as trying to act very serious as I then continued speaking. “You call that a nightclub?” “Madam, I'm confused on what the problem is here.” The old man spoke out seeming very confused. “The filthy club you have. The bar, the roasting area. Whatever that is, it is horrendous!” “But madam...” “Don’t but me young man” I stopped for a second and thought about what I just said. Did I just call an old man a young man? I quickly froze out of my thought and try to correct myself making it worse. “I mean old man, young old man. I mean MAN!” I took a step back as I saw the man being very angry at what I ha said. I could assume that he would slap me if he got the moment to do that. I took a deep breath and stepped back. “You have this! You’re doing it right. Keep going Lillian.” Sherry encouraged me knowing how bad I'm doing in that moment. “Sherry I think he wants to slap me or something. Just look at his face. It’s redder than a tomato!” I spoke out to Sherry not knowing that what I thought was whispering was in fact just me normally talking. The man looked at me in such anger and Sherry started pushing me away and taking me out to cool down. “Hey Sherry why are we out here? I still have so many complaints to make!” I questioned him in a worry. “Well I think you’ve done enough for the day Lilly.” Sherry told me whilst doing a little giggle. “I did? Anyways I want to sleep now I guess I’ll go back to my room. Nice meeting you Shern.” “Ah, that’s probably a good idea. Nice to meet you too Lillian.” I slowly started walking backwards not knowing where I was walking as I was trying to say bye to Sherry “Goodbye my dear friend, I shall see you an...” Loosing my pathetic balance I fell right down the pool that I hadn't noticed was there as I splashed around not knowing what just happened. Sherry rushed to the side of the pool to see if I was ok as I came upwards and gasp for air. He looked at me in such a fret to see if I was harmed as I laughed and yelled out to him “I’m ok Sherry and I’m alive!” He laughed at my stupidity and gave his hand out to me helping me get out of the pool. I started shaking myself like a little kid side to side to get half the water out of me and dry up a little because I was soaked up. I finally said my goodbyes and went straight to my room falling down onto my bed still being so wet. Not giving a thought about anything. I fell asleep and hoped for a better morning tomorrow. Life is given in such strange ways. Do you remember when you were little and you were raised? Then it came to a point where you had too much to face. Life continued going ahead like a race. You don't know what happened and how, but you start to realise what you want to do, you do it now. Your life is full of memories that can’t leave. Good ones to make that’s something to achieve. You never know when life will end, so be happy in life and don’t always try to pretend! Chapter Four “So let me sum all this up. You decide to go on a vacation with your friends and your sister. You meet a guy name Lionel on the plane and he tags along with you. Coming out of the airport you get stuck in traffic and Lionel becomes the bad guy in your mind. You don't spend the first day of your vacation with your friends but instead get ridiculously drunk and end up falling in a swimming pool and spending your evening with a random guy that you didn’t even know.” Faith concludes the story making it sound so short and easy to remember. “Ah, vacations, Lionel, traffic, Sherry, pool yes they all sounds pretty much right me Faith!” I agree with what she tells me as I reach out for a glass of water and take a quick sip. “You were really drunk right?” Faith asks knowing the answer already. “Yes I was.” “So did you meet Shern again or was that the only time?” “Faith relax, we still have another two weeks to go though!” I laugh and reply. We are in this moment here. Don’t know where we’ll be tomorrow. We may or may not meet; we may or may not be there. But we stay in hearts forever. “Ah, my head!” The bright sun shinned right through the light curtains and shinned over me as I lay on top of a big cosy bed. The light struck right my eyes and I squinted them and turned out knowing how much of a bad headache I had. Morning headaches are the worse things! I’ve always hated them, but then again hasn’t everyone! I forced myself of my bedding landing hard on the floor realising drinking last night wasn’t my best idea! Not knowing anything about last night I crawled towards the bathroom and brought myself up as I started washing my face and brushing my teeth. I could still feel my body be a little wet though as I changed into something more decent a flashback came my mind. It was very odd. I could remember falling into a swimming pool which basically explained me feeling so wet. Randomly random flashes started appearing to my mind. I could remember me talking to an old man. I could remember me drinking heavily. I could remember talking to guy whose name I honestly didn't remember. Forgetting about my yesterday I got fully dressed and went to have breakfast knowing everyone would have already booked a table and attacked the food. “Morning all” I entered the dinning area where I saw everyone including Lionel. Sitting at the table stuffing their faces with food. I walked around the big table and went and sat in between Lionel and Mass as they all looked at me with a smile on their faces. “Well good morning Lillian!” Max replied back saying trying to sound a little cheeky. I grab a plate and started putting a variety of food on my plate not knowing what I would eat first. Usually I wouldn’t eat much however that day I was so hungry, stuffing my mouth with food. I don’t know what this hunger was but it was definitely a lot of it! “Hey Lilly, I’m sorry about yesterday. Don’t know what happened to me yesterday.” Lionel spoke out sounding very apologetic. “It’s ok Lio I guess I’m sorry too.” I replied forgiving him. “Well then what shall we do today?” Kat asked in excitement. “I have no idea!” I said thinking. “What about doing something on the beach. Let’s relax for today.” Lionel suggested. “You’re going to be with us for the two whole weeks?” Mass asked sounding like he wanted to get rid of Lionel. “Oh no, my friend Logan is coming in three days. I’ll be with him.” Lionel replied. “Logan, who is that?” I asked sounding interested. “Logan Akins is my childhood best friend. We’ve been together since the age of five. Since then we go everywhere together. He had some certain things holding him back this time so he will be coming after and I came here before him.” Lionel explained. “Ah, well I want to meet him!” I ordered as he nodded with an agreement and we all finished eating our breakfast so we could move on to our day. This is something, something to you. Something from my heart, something that's the truth. I looked at my life a year before and I look at it now. I saw myself bad but now that I have met you I don't feel sad. There was no time taken for us to become good friends. No time taken for us to tell each other our issues. Obviously I was the one to blabber more. There took no time taken for us to realise our stupidity and awesomeness. There was no time taken for us to be how we are now! Grateful isn't the word I look for when I think of our friendship. It’s not that I am not grateful, I'm more grateful than anything but the word itself gives our friendship a low level. Our friendship is so powerful that no word can specifically describe it. Our friendship is so confident that no one can lose it. OUR friendship is so amazing that no one can take it and lastly our friendship is so beautiful that no one can break it. You seem to have this fear of lost but I can assure you, assure you that you will only just gain. Gain love, trust, honesty and a stronger friendship. I could make this description full of big heavy meaning and powerful words but why would I if there are small simple words that are easily understandable and simple to use to describe our simple beautiful friendship. “So a new person introduced. Faith notes down talking to herself I presume. “Yes, but there’s more to come.” I say right after and then go back into my past. We all ran across the sandy beach in that hot sunny day. As the sun shinned on us like a spotlight we laid there for sometime just enjoying the moment. There was this relaxation in that moment. My mind and heart were both very calm. I could hear the nearby seagulls calling out to one another. I could hear the waves clashing against each other. From the distance were couples, friends, and families playing and enjoying life. I could feel a satisfaction in me for no specific reason. “Let’s make a sandcastle!” Kat demanded whilst getting up in such excitement. “Yes, let’s do it!” Max jumped up right after her. “Oh Katherine, you are a pain sometimes.” I spoke out lazily. We all got up and grabbed onto either a bucket or a small plastic shovel and started building. Seemed pretty childish but I must admit it was funny and amusing. After making an amazing first sandcastle it was becoming really easy and boring so we had to make it more interesting. “How about two teams and sand castle competition?” I suggested knowing I would win. “Fine” Lionel agreed to the suggestion. “Me, Max and Lionel on one team again you and Mass.” Kat ordered the team and we set of making out sandcastles. I rushed to gather sand in my bucket whilst Mass stood there knowing I have control of everything whilst Kat and Max on the other side argued on who does what and Lionel building something for their team ignoring the argument. I laughed knowing I will be done before them as I was indeed an expert on these kind of things. I knew that and even Mass knew that very clearly. “Done” I yelled out in such happiness as Mass came forward for a hug of victory. “Well, so are we I guess.” Lionel said right after looking so disappointed. As I took a quick look at what he had created laughter exploded out of the others and me as I continued to laugh the most in all of us he looked at me in such embarrassment and started laughing at what he had made himself. It was really a half-broken square shaped sand stuck gathered together with random stones stuck within it. “Well this is interesting! You should build us a beautiful house just like that so we all can live in it!” I spoke out sarcastically. “Oh really Lilly?” “Yes Lionel, indeed!” I managed to take out of me still laughing about it as he approaches up and come after chasing me. I push Mass out of the way and start to run directing to my right side. Leaving everyone else behind I ran Lionel chasing behind me. We ran ahead for several minutes going further away from Kat, Max and Mass. Slowly Lionel and me were running out of breathe since we had been running for some time non stop! I hadn’t run this much in such a long time. It was tiring but it felt good for sure. He finally caught up to me and grabbed me from the arm as we both tripped over me falling on top of him. We lay there on the sandy cool beach as the sun started going and the moon started to appear. We lay there catching back our breath and still laughing so much. I eventually rolled off him to side and then was lying next to him. “Lionel” I took out of me. “Yes Lilly?” He asked. “I'm glad I met you. Even though it was really random I’m glad we met. I thought wrong of you.” “I'm glad we met too Lilly.” “Lio” I called out. “Yes Lillian?” “I’m sorry.” “Well I hope you’re only apologising for the drawing you did on my face during the journey!” I looked at his and gave a big smile as a little giggle came out of me. “Ah, you realise. Well yes I'm sorry about that.” “Don't worry about it. It only took me about four hours to get rid of it!” He replied sounding half-sarcastic. I continued smiling. “You’ll stay in touch when we get back right?” “Of course, I think we will be great friends from now onwards.” I looked into his eyes and saw some sort of truth in his words. Maybe we weren't so much of strangers now. Maybe it was a new level of friendship. I was glad I had apologised to Lionel. The apology wasn't actually for what I did on the plane. It was specifically for how I had acted with him the day before. How I thought he was rude and annoying. Maybe I judged him too quickly. He was without a doubt an amazing guy. I was proud to know it now. I closed my eyes for a second now lying beneath the half-bright half-dark sky. Evening was now appearing and the sea had become calmer than before. The atmosphere seemed more relaxed and I finally found some sort of peace. Peace until a loud horrific sound came from nearby as I broke out of my moment and sat up straight, Lionel getting up with me. “What on earth was that?” I asked Lionel in horror. “I have no idea lets go and see” Lionel suggested. We walked across the beachside onto the entrance of the hotel we were staying at. Ahead I saw a white with a highlight of yellow and blue surround the outline of a car. A car was crashed against the side of the hotels big bins. I stood there being puzzled thinking how can such a small thing make so much noise and ruin that peaceful moment I was having. Smoke started appearing out of the front bonnet of the car as it was all crashed and broken apart. It looked like the car had crashed into a big solid brick wall instead of big plastic bins full of dirt. It was all just very confusing. Whilst I stood there trying to figure out what exactly happened Lionel standing beside me was smiling so happily. It gave the impression that he knew what had happened. It seemed like he had figured it all out. “Ah” Lionel whispered out to himself still having that smile on his face. He walked slowly towards the car me following behind him. “You landed here early” he continued saying. At first I thought he was talking to himself since I couldn't see anyone there but then when I got out of my confusion and looked closely there was some movement in the crashed car. The door opened out wide being half broken and a guy came out in such slow motion. He looked up at Lionel with a cheeky smile and grabbed onto him giving him such a massive hug like if they were long lost brothers who had just reunited. There it stood. The person who stole my peaceful moment, who dramatically entered into my life through a small car crash that I was still a little bedazzled about. Lionel interestingly talked to the person as I stood there behind him hardly being noticed as I observed the person. He was a little taller than Lionel, an inch or two. He had spiked up his hair and got a stylish trim on his sides. His skin being so pale clashed with his light blue eyes. His voice tone was sort of decent, not too deep nor too low. He stood there wearing jeans with a purple colour vest and a half-black half-grey colour hoody around his waist. “And how did you manage to give such a dramatic entrance at our accommodation?” Lionel’s voice started fading in as I started concentrating on what they were talking about. “Don't even ask” he replied in a cheeky tone. “Don't make me ask again fool.” Lionel expressed back to him. “Ok fine, well I got here early as you can see. My meeting was cancelled so I decided to give you a surprise.” “Big surprise that would be mate.” “Yes, big surprise. So I landed here and I really didn't want to come by taxi so I brought a car. Cheap deal really, shouldn't have listened to that Spanish boy. You really can’t trust these kinds! “If you say so buddy.” “I missed you a lot buddy.” The guy said sounding a little emotional. “I missed you too” Lionel replied with half a chuckle. Standing there for about twenty minutes sharp now the two boys paused from their conversation and the person’s eyes met mine. Not being able to have a long contact I lost the eye connection and looked to Lionel as he noticed me standing there. “Hello there” he called out to me. Lionel looked at me and brought me forward holding onto me. “Oh my bad, this is Lilly. Well her actual name is Lillian but we all call her Lilly. I met her on the plane and now we’re good friends.” Lionel quickly introduced me to a stranger who I really didn't want to know about. “Ah, Lillian and Lio’s friend ok.” He summed up what Lionel had just told him as he glared deeply at me. It felt uncomfortable in the moment as I grabbed onto Lionel's arm. “Lilly, this is my best friend. Remember I told you about him, Logan. He just arrived too early.” Lionel introduced me to him as I was trying to think back to when Lionel told me about him. I nodded and stood there with my arm within Lionel's as Logan still had his eyes on me. “What do you plan on doing with this car now?” Lionel asked knowing the answer will be nothing. “Nothing, just leave it. I’m sure someone will come running after it Lio.” Logan replied satisfying Lionel's already known answer. “Lionel, I'm going to go and find the rest now. You spend time with your friend.” I said to him as I tried to get out of their ways. “Are you sure Lilly? Do you want me to drop you?” Lionel asked caringly. “Hey Lilly, don’t go. I just met you; maybe we could get a coffee or something.” Logan suggested. “I don’t drink hot drinks unless it includes chocolate in it.” I replied sounding very stern I guess. “Ah, a choco girl” he replied smiling. I left them alone and walked off as I could hear them laughing loudly. I looked back once as the pair of them were taking Logan's luggage out of the car boot and continued walking. Just before I turned to walk out of the area I looked back again as I saw Logan looking back to me whilst me looking back to him. There was something about this person. He seemed risky, he seemed outgoing, he may seem a bit fun but he really seemed dangerous. There was something in the way he looked, like if he was observing. Like if he wanted to open out something. Just when I was about to turn I saw the two of them running behind me having such horrified expressions. I wondered why they were running as I noticed everyone behind them running as well. I ran back to them to ask what happened. As I reached to Lionel he grabbed onto me and made me run back with him. I ran in confusion thinking when to ask him why everyone were running. As we stooped against the hard brick wall a big explosion appeared right behind me as I turned to see the flames high up in the air. “Don’t trust Spanish car sellers you say?” Lionel managed to take out saying it to Logan as he tried to catch his breath. “I told you Lio, I’m warning you.” Logan spoke out trying to catch his breath too. They answered my question before I could even ask. It was Logan’s car that had exploded, obviously it had to eventually since the front of the car was busted. What played around my mind was how did it take so long for the car to actually explode. We were standing there for about twenty to fifteen minutes. I was glad we were far away from it though. I was glad no one was harmed. The only thing that was actually harmed was the hotel dust bins, the side walls of the hotel car park, a few of the ground floor windows and some other things, it wasn’t very vivid. Thankfully the hotel itself wasn't damaged, but I knew they were a lot payments Logan would have to pay. “That sounded like an eventful time!” Faith calls out sound half-sarcastic and giggling. “Sure, why not” I mumble out. “Logan, why weren’t you into him? Why did you have a sort of distance?” “I don’t really know myself. It seemed safer like that.” “Well your sessions over. Wow the two hours went so fast.” “The speed was pretty decent to me.” “How much more is there to the story.” “Ah, there's some time Mrs Lockwood.” “Ok, well I will see you tomorrow again. Please don’t be late like today.” “Ah, sorry about that. I just had a little distraction on the way.” “What sort of distraction Lilly?” Faith asks me inquisitively. I look up at her trying to get rid of that seriousness as I manage to take out of me “Traffic Faith.” I start laughing as the seriousness on her face starts to vanish and I walk out of her office. Walking pass the passageway and out of the building giving a small wink to the grumpy receptionist on my way out. Chapter Five You’re hard to get away from trust me on that. You’re always in my head no matter what. I don’t know why its you that’s there. Seems like your haunting me everywhere. When it gets dark you shine the light. Reminding me of the things that haven’t happened right. There is no conclusion to the mystery. You always give me a thought of my history. “May I come in dear Faith?” I knock on Faith’s door asking her. “Lilly, you’re on time today. That’s something new.” Faith responds back in happiness. “Oh, that’s not the only thing new. There are a lot of new things Faith.” “Really, such as?” “When time comes you’ll find out Faith.” I speak out and go and sit on the chair. “I started looking through your story I’m sort of confused about something.” Faith establishes. “And what may that be?” “Lionel and Logan they have some sort of like love towards you? Sherry came one night. He didn’t come back again?” “Ah Sherry, maybe we should get straight into the story to get rid of that confusion.” I recommend and start from where I stopped yesterday. Faith nods and lets me continue. A few days went passed and Lionel was still with us having fun obviously Logan tagging along too. Now Logan was fully introduced to everyone else and he fitted in pretty well with them but still I had this thing where I couldn’t be myself with him. It felt like he wanted something from me, he always looked at me in such a weird way. I was confused about him. Even Mass had a funny feeling about him. Being my best friend he was very protective about me. Imagine if I was his girlfriend, he wouldn’t even let anyone look at me. That’s how bad he was! But since Logan was Lionel’s best friend I guess I could accept him as a friend too. “Guys guess what?” I rushed into Max and Mass’s room since Kat was there with them. “Yes we know what you’re going to say and no we don’t want to go!” Max replied saying breaking down my excitement. “Oh c'mon people, I want to have some fun!” I exploded out demanding. “No Lilly, we don’t want to go to a beach party. We were thinking of going for evening sailing.” Kat took out. “Evening sailing, that’s your big plan?” I said angrily. “Yes and Lionel and Logan are coming with us!” Kat replied in happiness. “Well you guess have fun! I’ll just go to the beach party myself.” I said to them whilst walking out of the room going to my room. The afternoon went by so quickly as the evening started appearing. Everyone went to evening sailing whilst I stayed behind to get ready for the beach party. I knew I would be there alone but I had some sort of hope in me. A hope that I wished to come true. A wish for someone to be there. For someone to control me if I got too drunk. After getting ready grabbing onto my things I walked out in excitement and reaching the beach party. I could hear the beats of music from a far distance, which made me want to get there quicker. Reaching to my favourite place the bar I ordered a drink and took my first shot. A boy appears next to me holding a little glass in his hand as he came and sat on the stool next to mine. “How did I know you’d be here?” Sherry said in a relief. “I was hoping to meet you here.” I said back sounding more relieved than him. “You’re alone again?” “No, my friends have turned invisible.” I point to left and right as I introduce my ‘invisible’ friends sarcastically. “On the left you can see Mass and Max and on my right is my sister Kat. Say hello to Sherry guys!” “You just drank one shot. You can’t be drunk already Lillian.” “I am not drunk S-s. I’m sorry what was your name again?” “Shern, but you can call me Sherry remember.” “Ah, yes Sherry like the drink! Cheers to that.” I whispered and drank another shot. “Here you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” A girl appeared from behind Sherry talking to him. She had blonde hair with light green eyes and her skin being quite fair. “I just found a friend and started talking. I’m sorry, would you like to get a drink or something?” Sherry replied back to her. “No, I think I’ve had enough. In fact I’m going to go back to room and get room service. I’m hungry and tired.” She expressed and looked up at me. “Ah, this is my friend Lilly. I met her a few days ago; we had some complaints to make.” He said that laughing as he continued speaking “and this is my sister Alexandra.” “But you can call me Alex.” Alex interrupted Sherry’s introducing. “Hello Alex, I’m Lillian but everyone calls me Lilly.” I greeted her in a polite tone. “Pleasure to meet you Lilly, well I’m going to leave you two alone. I want my bed now.” “Well see you around Alex.” I waved to her whilst she walked of after giving a sisterly hug to Sherry. As I started talking again, “she seems nice.” “That’s because she is nice.” He replied chuckling and started talking again. “So what is the reason for you being alone tonight?” “They didn’t want to come here.” “And where are they now?” “Evening sailing or something.” “Sounds fun, so why don't we have some fun here!” He suggested. “What are you suggesting Sherry.” I asked seeming interested and he smiled at me giving a small left eyewink. “You two got all drunk didn’t you?” Faith interrupts showing out in thrill. “Yes, that pretty much concludes it.” I laughed in happiness. “How much did you do?” “As much as we could cope with.” “How much is that?” “Ha, I lost count Faith. I lost count.” “So you got drunk, and then what did you do?” She asks getting really into the story. “Well...” I continue. You’re a memory that won’t leave. You’re a memory that won’t go. You’re a memory that will haunt. You’re a memory that will hurt. You’re a memory forever. I woke up the next morning not being in my bed. The sun was shinning strongly on me but I wasn’t anywhere inside the hotel. I was at some unknown place. As I bumped up and down lying on whatever I was I rubbed my left eye and gave out a small yawn. I could feel me not being alone. I knew someone was there with me. As I looked to my right I saw Sherry lying there beside me fast asleep. I tried to remember what I did the night before but I kept failing. I wasn’t fully sure of what happened and when it all happened. In a little shock I pulled myself up getting into a more shock! Where on earth was I? I looked down too Sherry shaking him, trying to wake him up. It was actually impossible to wake him up. He wouldn’t seem to want to get up. Like if he was knocked out or something. I hit him, slapped him, and even tried to tickle him. I was hopeless, like the tickling would actually work. I was such a fool. I sat there tears a second away from my eyes as I heard a small movement from Sherry. His eyes opened wide as he brought himself up and looked at me. “Where are we Lilly? Why are we in a boat?” He looked around his surrounding. We were in fact in a small boat all alone surrounded by water everywhere. Not knowing where we were and where the boat was leading us too. Unaware of our location and how we even ended up in a boat we sat there puzzled. “Where and why you ask Sherry? How did I even get into a freaking boat? Why am I even in a boat?” I screamed out to him having a bad headache. Sherry’s face was very expressionless he didn't even know how to react. I waited for him to fix himself but instead he sat there being useless. “Well look on the bright side Lilly.” He smiled and said. “There is no bright side here Sherry!” I yelled out to him! “Well yes there is! You have me here.” “You call that the bright side?” “Fine, I have you here!” “Again, that is the bright side?” “Fine, there is no bright side!” He sat there crossing his arms with a little grumpy face. I signed and went a little closer to him and put my arm around his shoulder saying “ok, maybe there is a bright side. This would be a kind of adventure. Only if we survive it.” He smiled and replied saying “yes, an adventure! Ah, this will be fun Lilly!” “Yes, yes it will Sherry.” I looked at him as he observed what was around him. I had forgotten about everyone back at the hotel and involved myself in where I was now. I had no idea where I was or how I got there. All I knew was I was with Sherry. “You two got stuck somewhere on the ocean not knowing where on earth you were?” Faith exclaims out. “I still don’t know what I did that night. Eventually we were able to remember falling into a boat making it land in the sea. I also remember us singing very loudly. That’s about it.” I respond to her. “That’s definitely not about it. I can assure you, you did more than that. You just don’t remember.” Faith brings out. “I know I just don’t know what I did.” I reply laughing. “And what about the others?” Faith asks worrying. “So you met Lionel on the plane and he seems like a really good guy.” Sherry spoke out as I started telling Faith what I remembered from that night. “Yes, he is adorable, I’m still not fully aware of Logan yet though. I don’t know why.” I believed. “Do you think he has a like for you?” “Lionel or Logan?” I asked him seeming confused. “Both I guess.” “ Well I don’t think Lionel likes me. But Logan, he has something for sure. It may not even be a like but there's something that makes him concentrate on me.” “What about Mass?” “What about him?” “Doesn’t he have feelings for you?” “No, he’s just my best friend. Everyone seems to say that. I don’t know why.” “Well maybe they see what you don’t.” “No, it’s nothing he’s just my best friend that's all!” I demanded. Sherry looked up closely too me as our eyes connected. That smile I had on my face had started disappearing as he looked deeply into my eyes. He held onto my hand and took a deep breath and spoke out “what do you think about Lionel?” In a weird thought I replied saying “I’m not specifically sure what words would describe him. Honestly Sherry, when I’m with this random stranger he keeps me alive. He keeps me more than happy. He’s a great friend without a doubt and he brings this energy to me whenever I see him. Sometimes we argue and annoy each other but isn’t that part of friendship? If I knew him more I could almost say that I” I stopped for a second as I looked away from Sherry and he gave a small chortle. “Love him” he finished my sentence. I didn't want to say love as I was always so afraid of it. “Oh don’t me so daft Sherry!” I yelled out trying to break the awkward serious tension. “You know Lilly, I have no rights to actually tell you what you should or not do. But when the fact is stated that is so obvious you should agree with it.” “I have no idea what you are talking about! I want some more drinks, you coming or not?” I broke out of the conversation and went of in search for some drinks Sherry following behind. From there everything became clear. We got our drinks and sat nearby the sea drinking away and laughing. We talked for some time until I had the urge to walk around and do stuff. Again I’m not so clear on what I did but it wouldn’t have been the best things. Finding a boat during the walk we went and stood in it thinking it would be tied to something and wouldn’t just go off somewhere. Laughing and yelling out singing we didn’t realise that the boat was moving as it hit a big rock on the side and we fell down in the boat being unconscious. “So you admitted you were in love?” Faith broke out saying. “Not really Faith” I say in shock. “Yes Lillian, you did admit. You just didn’t say it in an obvious way.” “No, I didn't!” “Yes you did, you stated it in front Sherry.” “Do you want me to complete this story or not?” “Please, continue your interesting story.” Faith says whilst noting things down again. “I’m hungry Sherry!” I explode out informing him whilst still sitting in the boat as the sun shinned out so bright. “I'm hungry too Lilly!” He agreed and spoke back. I could hear the birds freely flying above us, the fishes swimming below us and the water splashing against the bottom part of the boat. In search for a place where we could stop, maybe an island I spotted something from a distance. “Sherry look, an island!” I showed him. “Thank god, we found a place!” “We?” I asked with a grumpy face. “Fine, you found it. Same thing Lilly.” We reached to the island and jumped out of the boat and started running onto the sandy island, me running ahead as Sherry runs behind me. “I bet you can’t catch me!” I screamed out to him still running. “Oh, are you sure about that?” I answered sounding very confident as he took control of his speed and started running fast behind me. I had randomly gained so much energy in me as I ran so fast ahead of me, running into some sort of forest. Running of the sandy beach into a forest full of trees and leaves all around. It felt a moment of freedom. I had nothing to worry or focus about; all I had in mind was to run, run as fast as I could. Having running for a while now I looked back to see where Sherry would be as I could see him running behind me not being too far from me still having confidence across his face as I looked forward in such a hurry and banged into someone. I grabbed onto my breath and gasp for some oxygen as I brought my heartbeat to normal and looked up to see who caught onto me. My eyes opened out in a shock and my mind went totally blank. My face turning pale from the redness that was on it first and my throat went half-dry. I looked up to find myself banging into Logan. Many questions came to my mind. Many of which I couldn’t really answer myself. What was he doing here? How did he get here? Did he already know I was here or lost? I wanted to ask him but was afraid to say anything to him. I never used to talk to him much before either. In my entire life he was the first person I wanted to keep distance from. Slowly behind me Sherry caught up and he stopped beside me catching his breath and half bending down his hands being on his waist. I assumed he had a small cramp from that entire fast running. He looked up at Logan with a surprise on his face as well as mine. “Shern Smith, what a pleasant surprise to see you here.” Logan called out him as I looked at Logan in such confusion. How did Logan know Sherry? “Chasing girls I’m assume.” A voice came from the side as a tall girl walked out through the trees to our right. “Ah, Abigail you are here too.” Sherry spoke out with a side smile. “And you must be Lillian Marwick.” She came to me holding her hand out expecting a handshake. “Lilly, everyone call me Lilly.” I managed to take out. “Well everyone call me Abi.” She told me. “Good, I guess.” “Yes, yes it is.” She looked at me very deeply and then turned her face to Logan. “You three know each other?” I asked in confusion. “We go quite back, don’t we Sherry?” Logan spoke out. “Long time hadn’t seen you my buddy!” Sherry spoke out in a humour. “Let’s all just go back to the hotel, I'm sure we all have to meet someone.” Logan demands as we all agree at start walking back to the hotel. I held onto Sherry's arm as we walked feeling a little nervous. He felt like a really good friend now. Being with him I felt a little safe. Being with him I felt a little calm. It felt insane but good at the same time. Remember when we were together, remember when we were friends? You were my protector and I was your happiness. You were the one I told everything to and I always tried to take things out of you. You were the one I trusted the most, I was the one you would run to, no matter how many miles away you were. You were the one that always kept a smile on my face and listened to all issues I've ever faced. You were the one that supported me. You are the one that helped me. You are the one who truly knew me. You are the one who always somehow understood me. You are the one who assured me no matter whatever happens you’ll be there for me. You are the reason for my old happiness. You are the one I could be angry with but know I would come back to you. You are the one that took me for who I was. You were the one who tolerated my stubbornness, my randomness, my stupidity, my weirdness, my anger, me. You are the one who loved me for how I was. You were the one that used to take me out of my confusion... Chapter Six ...So tell me this, why aren't you the one you were first? Because you were indeed the one that was my best friend. You are the one I always rely on. You are the one I cannot live without. You are the one that no one can replace. You are the one who knows my fears. Then why are you being the one that’s slowly leaving me alone knowing my fear? “Look who we found when searching for dear Lillian.” Abi spoke out when we reached to on of the hotel rooms, having Lionel already standing near the big window in the room. Sherry looks up at Lionel and with a smile on his face he goes towards him greet him, “Lionel my buddy!” “Sherry, we found you quicker than last time.” Lionel spoke out to him, me standing in the back still in confusion. “Lionel?” I looked up at him in such happiness and take a step forward to go and hug him as Logan took a strong grip onto my arm and stopped me from going forward. “Logan let go of her.” Lionel demanded. “No, I think I'm going to hold onto her. I don’t want her getting drunk and getting lost again.” Logan declined what Lionel demanded. “Let go of her Logan, let her go and see her friends.” Lionel demanded again. “No” Logan said back to him. I stood there whilst the two best friends communicated. “Guys stop it; I'll take Lilly to her friends. You two and Sherry have a little talk here.” Abi breaks the tension apart and grabs onto me taking me out of the room. As much as it was weird with Logan it felt even more weird with Abigail. My character was starting to change. It was like the girl who would fit in with everyone and would be ok with everyone was now finding it hard to be comfortable with certain people. What I was finding weird to believe was how did Lionel and Logan know Sherry. Even if they knew each other why didn't Sherry tell me the night before when I was discussing about them to him. What kept him quite from telling me he knew them? We reached to Kat’s room assuming all of them would be in there. I walked in not expecting what I saw there. The room was in such a mess. Everything either fully or half broken. My eyes looked around the room searching for all of them three but my eyes caught onto no one. Worrying I said to Abi “they all must be in Mass and Max’s room. I’ll go there.” As soon as I turned around a sound of movement and a moan came from somewhere in the room. I looked closely as I saw a movement from the duvet that was spread on the floor. In a fear of moment I slowly walked towards it Abi slowly walking behind me seeming very curious. I pushed my hand forward slowly to move the duvet to the side as a revulsion rushed in front of me as I saw something so horrific. Something I never imagined seeing. “Kat!” I screamed out as I saw my sister half-dead half-alive covered with blood lying on the floor taking her last breaths. “Lilly, she came.” Kat whispered out her voicing breaking in between. My eyes all a sudden became so blurry and watery that I couldn't even look at Kat properly as she continued to speak, “she came and asked for you. She asked for you Lionel and Logan.” “Who was she?” Abi asked inquiring whilst I froze holding my sister within my arms my eyes being blurry. “I don’t know, we didn’t tell her therefore she shot Max and she got me. I can’t believe I'm still alive.” She said laughing at the last bit. Abi left us and ran off in search of this stranger. I sat there crying as her blood kept pouring out and staining onto my clothes. She forced her right hand up to my face and tried to wipe away my tears. She didn’t realise that wiping my tears wouldn’t get rid of my pain. It wouldn’t change the fact that she was now dying in my arms. She closed her eyes and spoke again, “Mass ran after her, don’t lose him. He loves you a lot Lillian. He’s always loved you. Everyone saw it, everyone except you. I saw that love in your eyes for Lionel but don’t forget that Mass has been there for you when you couldn't even hold yourself up. Mason loves you a lot.” I didn't reply to what she just told me. Instead I cried even more in a thought that what if somewhere in this place that girl that killed my sister and Max had now killed my best friend. “Lilly?” Kat whispered in my ear whilst opening her eyes slowly. “Yes Kat?” I answered. “I love you.” “I love you more.” “Not possible” Katherine shut her eyes and stopped talking. I could feel that I was losing her now. Her heartbeat was stopping and her body was becoming colder. I hugged her tightly against me wishing she would magically come back to me but my hopes were useless. She was gone forever. I let her down slowly as I rushed out of the room in search for Mass. What if the girl did something to him? Why was this person looking for me? Why was she in search for the other three guys? Who actually are they? My mind was filled up with questions not knowing who to actually go and question. I walked off so furiously; it was like a revenge that I needed to get back. She made me loose my sister, my other half. I would make her loose her life! But before I could do anything I had to get a few answers to get and the only people I could get my answers were from Lionel, Logan and Sherry. Angrily I walked towards Lionel's room. Anger in my eyes and determined for revenge in my mind, I aggressively walked into the room. Everything was broken into pieces here too. Had that girl come here and tried to kill them as well. I slowly walked around his room in search for any dead bodies on the floor hoping there was nothing to see, as I wouldn't be able to cope with another death. My back facing the window I looked around and all a sudden the window behind me breaks apart as two guys fall through it and land in front of me as I looked down to them. Sherry and Logan. Not realising me being there, they push me out of the way as I hit my arm against the brick wall. Both bleeding from their faces not caring about anything aggressive fight against each other. Sherry punches Logan hard across the face as Logan falls back hurting his back against the corner of the bed as he falls he kicks Sherry in the stomach as he falls down with him. Not being able to stand up and fight they forcefully fight being on the floor. Being at times over and under each other, tangling their legs within each other and trying to get a good control of each other. Bleeding away from almost every area on their bodies they wouldn’t give up. I didn’t know why they were fighting by they kept fighting non-stop not giving up. A few minutes later Lionel entered recognising me standing in the corner holding onto my arm. He ran across the room and grabbed onto me taking me out of the room leaving Logan and Sherry behind to fight or kill each other to death. “Let go of me Lionel!” I ordered him, as he didn't listen to whatever I was telling him. I kept yelling to him and he kept ignoring what I was saying, just dragging me out with him. “Lionel, they will both kill each other to death! Go stop them!” I yelled to him yet he still didn't respond and kept dragging me out of the hotel. We rushed out of the hotel’s entrance and he dragged me onto the beach. No one was around; it was just him and me. The only witness we had around us was the birds flying around and the smooth water beside us. “Lilly listen to me clearly, you get your stuff and you get out of this place and go back home! Do I make myself clear?” Lionel demanded. “But Lio I can’t just leave and go!” I expressed. “No Lilly, you leave. You leave right this instant!” “What about Mass?” “Don’t worry, I’ll find him and send him to you. I won’t let anything happen to him or you.” “Lionel...” “Lilly please we don’t have enough time.” “That girl killed my sister Lionel. She killed Max and now she is probably somewhere near Mass. She was looking for Sherry, Logan, you and me. I’m not going to leave without revenge.” He took a deep breath and brought himself close to me holding me against him as he spoke “I'm sorry for putting you into this Lilly. I’m sorry for all of this. If we hadn’t of met then you would of never been involved.” I looked up into his eyes as I felt him being very remorseful as I replied back to him “Lionel I’m in this now. So please just tell me and take me out of this confusion.” “Us three were once best friends. Nothing could separate us not even god. But I guess we were wrong. Something could separate us. Life brought us to certain circumstances where all we ever did when seeing each other as fight. Fight until we couldn‘t move anymore. Logan and me were always one, our friendship wasn’t breakable but ours and Sherry’s friendship was breakable as it broke due to misunderstanding and death.” “Misunderstanding and deaths?” I asked with a tension in my voice. “On the day of when Sherry was going to get married his fiancee Elizabeth was murdered. Stabbed to death is what they said. In that moment Logan was there when it all happened and was found with Elizabeth which made Sherry think that Logan killed her. Logan denied so many times as well as I did but Sherry didn’t listen to neither of us. I got into a fight with Sherry but eventually gave up but Logan didn’t give up.” “What did you lot do then?” “Well, for revenge one night Sherry got into Logan's fiancée's house and murdered her stabbing her to death just like how his fiancee was murdered. From that day the pair of them have been taking revenge on each other. Whenever they come in front of each other its like two big flames being built. They fight until their energies run out thankfully no one dies.” “How does this involve me and who was that girl who killed my friend and sister?” He took a step away from me and turned around facing towards the sea. He didn’t really want to answer that question because it would mean he would have to express his feelings but I didn’t care. I wanted my answers! “You know the day we met you asked me if I liked or loved someone.” He spoke out as my mind went into a quick flashback and remembered the exact words I asked when collecting our luggage. I nodded and he continued speaking “ the moment I saw you I knew I was stuck. Stuck in love because something like you I would never let go off. At first your character came out very different. You came out to be a girl who was so self involved you didn't know what to do or what was happening around you. Stubborn, impatient, always in anger, whatever you had in you Lilly I loved it and I always used to try to make those things appear in you when I was with you because it was fun seeing you like that. You always showed the real you. The time I got to spend with you was so amazing. Remember how I wanted something pure and I said I wouldn’t be able to find that because I live in reality. After finding you I didn't want any of that, it was just a dream now. I wanted you because in all the people I've ever met I couldn't accept all of them for how they were but I could accept you. It wasn’t just your beauty, it was something way beyond that which attracted me towards you. Spending time with and your friends made me realise how wrong I was in life and it made me realise how I wanted to spend the rest of my life. When I landed off that plane I came off as someone else Lillian.” I looked at him as a tear dropped out of my eyes. It was something I wanted to hear but wasn’t sure how I wanted to hear those words. He said it so perfectly that for a minute I had forgotten what had previously just happened. I wiped the small tear of my cheek and managed to take out some words. “You’re in love Lionel.” “The problem is Lilly, I’m not the only on in love with you.” He said feeling a little more down than before. I gave a little sniff and replied saying “Mass, I know.” “He isn't the only one after me Lilly.” “Who else?” I asked hoping the names running in my mind isn't true. “The day you first met Sherry in the nightclub was the day he found out I had some sort of feelings for you. He didn’t want to kill you because I wasn’t Logan, but he wanted to know you.” “If Logan liked me instead would he have killed me that night?” “I won’t lie to you Lilly; there would have been a strong chance.” I looked down as he continued speaking “he got to know you a bit and he realised killing someone like you wouldn't be fair since I had done nothing to him anyways. The day Logan met you his eyes didn’t leave off you. I know you noticed that as well as I did that's why that day you held onto me so tightly. Sherry found out that Logan was very fond off you and the night you went to the beach party he caught up with you.” “He got me drunk and wanted to kill me then?” I questioned in horror. “That was his plan until a strange thing happened. You don’t remember much from that night do you Lilly.” “No I don’t, not clearly anyways.” “He spent that evening with you getting to see that real you Lilly. Instead of killing you he fell in love with you. His weakness is love Lilly and out of the blue you became his weakness as well as Mass’s, Logan’s and mine.” The shock that appeared to me was just not describable. Four different guys were in love with me at once. What was I supposed to do. I was clueless on what to say and what to do. I didn’t want to focus on this. Now I was just confused on who I even loved. My heart said Lionel but my mind played stupid games. For a second I tried to forget about what Lionel had just told me and focused on my sister and friend. “Who was the girl that killed my Kat and Max?” I asked. “Aiste Jones, sister of Elizabeth Jones. It was more of her own revenge. Her mind was full of revenge just how yours is right now. She would kill anyone that came in her way. The only person she had in her life was Elizabeth and she was taken away from her. I understood her at first but then she truly became insane starting to murder innocent people for no reason.” “Innocent people such as Max and Kat.” “Correct, just like Max and Kat. She either dies or continues killing people.” “She must die Lionel, no matter what she must die!” I demanded. “She will Lilly, she will.” Lionel agreed wiping a small tear of my face. “But Lionel we need to go back and stop Logan and Sherry from fighting. They need to stop this!” “They will never stop Lilly.” “We will make them stop.” I held onto his hand so tight and continued speaking “We’ll do everything together.” He held me hand tighter. We rushed back to the hotel room but there was no one there. We looked around everywhere in the hotels round floor and out near the pool but Logan and Sherry were nowhere to be seen. I was worried if one of them was seriously harmed or what if one killed the other. At the same time my mind was focusing on Mass as well. I hoped he was ok, everyone was running around my mind that I didn’t know who to specifically concentrate on. We came out of the hotel and looked around as the rain appeared all a sudden and I looked up towards it finding what Lionel and me were searching for it. “Lio look!” I yelled pointing up. He followed up where my hand was directing as he saw Logan and Sherry on the hotel terrace not being alone. With them were Abi, Mass and Aiste. We ran back into the hotel and rushed up the stairs since the lift was overloaded already. Running up a five floor building would seem so easy when thinking about it but actually being there running was one of the most hardest thing s to do especially when there was other people surrounding you. We hurried up and getting there in time. “Ah Lionel, I was hoping to meet you up here soon and you brought a guest, perfect.” Aiste spoke out with a crazy laugh. “Let them go Aiste.” I came in front of Lionel and spoke out to her as her eyes focused on me. “Let go of them? So easily, just like that. You must kidding me!” “Let’s make a deal Aiste.” She looked at me whilst I spoke out slowly to her and then I continued talking “you leave them and you take me and do whatever you want to do with me.” “Lilly have you gone insane!” Lionel shouted out holding me back. “No, I’m pretty sane compared to you lot.” I yelled back to him and then looked towards Aiste and spoke to her “take me and leave the four boys. Everyone one of them loves me. You kill me means you’ve killed them. Let them live in their regret and guilt.” “Not a bad idea Lilly.” Aiste agreed. I walked slowly towards her going pass Logan, Sherry and Mass. I looked at Mass deeply and very quickly before reaching Aiste. I saw that look he gave me that he always gave me. That wasn’t a friendship look that was a love look. I wish I could stop and apologise to him but I couldn’t. She grabbed onto my by my neck as all the guys took a step forward and stop. She held a gun towards my head and walked through them taking me away from them, down the lift and out of the hotel, putting me into a car and making me drive off. The guys couldn’t wait they all tried to rush out of the place together all fighting against each other to get out through the door first. Not caring about anything they all pushed Mass back as he hit his head against the wall and falls down being unconscious. Abi let the three of them run and stayed back with Mass. The other three ran down and got into a car following behind me. “You have no idea what I'm going to do with you.” Aiste yelled in happiness. “Be happy as much as you want girl, at the end of the day we both are going to die.” I calmly said with a smile across my face. “What do you mean both of us?” She asked enquiringly. “Well if we think about it, I’m the driver here and you are the passenger. I’m in charge of the locks in this car and having a car safety thing going on in my mind the cars been put on child lock so there's no chance of you randomly jumping out of here, girl.” “What on earth are you on about! Stop the car right now before I shoot you!” She ordered being a little scared. I laughed out knowing how I would fully scare her. “One gun and five bullets Aiste. You wasted one on a vase two on Max and two on my sister Kat. With what built are you exactly going to kill me with?” She looked at me in such terror, how did I figured all this out all a sudden? I could see her face filling up with sweat, as her throat was becoming drier and her life... Her life was becoming shorter. “You killed my sister Aiste not some random innocent person. You’re going to pay for it. Not with money, with your life!” I broke out to her as she sat there frozen and confused. “You realise we die together?” She tried to scare me. “I’ve never been scared of death. I’ve only been scared of love and that fear... That fear I’ve overcome.” As we reach near the edge of a cliff I increased the speed of the car realising that the guys were behind me increasing their speed too. Getting right near the cliff end I drift the car side ways and jump out of the car rolling down the rough dusty ground as the car fall of from the edge of the cliff with Aiste being in there. Even though I said to her that she wouldn’t be able to escape from the car because I had it on child lock she forgot that the drivers door isn't on the same lock setting. In a sudden the guys reached where I was and since their speed was so fast they couldn’t slow it down easily. The car stopped right at the end of the cliff half hanging off and the first person to break through the back car window hanging off was Logan followed by Sherry. They tried to pull themselves up as Lionel rushed to the back of the car and gave his hands out to both of them. The balance of the car was too much on their side, as the car couldn't keep self-balance. I rushed to side to see what was going on more clearly. I saw the three of them and couldn't find Mass. I was too worried about the three hanging guys to save their lives than Mass. Lionel's hand slip from Logan and Sherry as they both loose their control and fall down the deep cliff fading away the lower they went. The fear of losing them hit me hard as I closed my eyes so tight and thought of Lionel. I ran towards the car and tried to get around to grab onto Lionel. I lost Sherry and Logan but I didn’t want to lose Lionel too. First time I loved someone, I couldn’t lose him. I had lost everyone I loved; I just simply couldn’t lose Lionel. I finally got a good grip of his hand as the car started moving about. I held him so tightly by the hand, it felt like I would never let go of him no matter what! The car fell of the cliff edge as Lionel was dangling of the cliff holding half onto my hand and half onto a rock that was against him. I looked intensely at him. After meeting him I found love, after knowing him I moved from my one and only fear. But after knowing him I lost a best friend and a sister. I don’t know where Mass is now, dead or alive? Lionel knew what was going on but never mentioned anything to me before everything got worse. I looked at him and saw the goods and bad. I was in confusion in what I wanted to do. Blood spread everywhere on the floor. It didn’t miss a spot it was even on the door. It was pain that it showed. It was like every bit of me had exploded. It wasn’t war or love, neither was it pure as a dove. An unexpected rush, every part of me crushed. Simply felt like burning hell. Not soon after the horrifying sound of the bell. Breathing is becoming unfeasible. I was trapped not being releasable. Now I’m here unaware. The tension around I can not bare. Help me from where I am trapped. A bit of me is totally snapped. Help I beg the burning started raising above my legs. I think its death, now I have no breath! “Lilly let go of me.” Lionel whispered hanging off, having one hand in my hand. “Lionel what are you saying?” I was astonished by what he had just told me to do. “Seriously, let go. I don’t deserve it Lilly, let go of my hand.” “You want to leave me like everyone else?” “I’m never going to leave you Lilly; I’m in your heart now. I’m not going to get out of there that easily.” “Lionel I don’t want you to leave me.” “But I have to Lillian Marwick. I have to leave you.” “Lio please...” “...Let go Lilly.” Lionel interrupted. I slowly shut my eyes as a teardrop fell down onto his hand. I didn’t want to let go of him even though a bit of me forcefully wanted to let go. “You are the one I cannot live without. You are the one that no one can replace. You are the one who knows my fears. Then why are you being the one that’s slowly leaving me alone knowing my fear?” I whispered to him with a little sniff. “I love you Lillian.” “I love you more Lionel.” I gently let go of his hand as he closed his eyes and fell off. I didn’t close my eyes, I saw him leave me fading away slowly, very slowly. As he started disappearing a vision came in front of my eyes. From the moment I met him till the moment he was hanging of a cliff having his hand in my hand. “You let go of him Lilly?” Faith asks, her voice breaking in between. She stood leaning against her book cupboard with tissues held in her hands. “Sometimes we have let go of stuff. But now I live, well lived in guilt that I killed him. I let go of him and he died.” I reply in a soft and slow tone of voice, with my eyes being so watery and red. “And that's why you came to see me so you could release yourself and tell me your guilt.” “Not just that, I just needed for someone to know this before I go. Anyways the session finished, sorry for going a little over time.” I wiped my tears and got out of my seat. “Ah, it was worth taking my time. I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you when you come and see me next.” “Oh you won’t need to see me again.” “I might have one more time.” I walk out of her room saying nothing, not even a goodbye. I walk out of passageway without looking around. I walk pass the receptionist giving her a big smile. I walk out of the building looking back one last time. I walk off to where I should be. Next day came and Faith is so desperate to see me. She rang my mobile but I didn’t pick it up so she looks for my second emergency number, which is my house number. In happiness she rings my house number as my mother attends the call. “Hello is this Lillian Marwicks house?” Faith talks kindly on the phone. “Yes, yes this is Lillian’s house. Who’s speaking?” Her mother asks on the phone. “Well I am her therapist, Faith Lockwood, I was just wondering if I could talk to Lillian so that we could make an appointment for today.” “An appointment for therapist?” My mother replies seeming confused. “Yes, I did tell her yesterday I would ring her and make an appointment.” “Yesterday? Are you sure you have called the right Lillian? Lilly died three days ago.” Faith’s face brings up a big shock as she holds the phone against her ear and drops the phone down. “She’s dead?” Faith tells herself still being in shock. “Then who was the one that told me the ending of the story?” She asks herself now being part of a mystery... Your age?” The old receptionist lady asks out sitting at the reception desk with a form in front of her as well as a new customer. Sitting there still being loud and half annoyed half-tired sounding. She keeps looking up at the new person and then down at the piece of paper as she sighs after every two seconds. Sitting on that tall which still seems very old and weak chair, she seems to still feel very agitated. “Twenty-three” the person answers “Gender?” “Male, last time I checked.” He giggles and replies. “Sorry what did you say your name was again?” “Mity, Lionel Mity.” The new customer answers. Publication Date: October 30th 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-ameera1411

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-kaela-greenberry-my-singers/

kaela greenberry my singers sing Newer Newer Older Older Wed, 23 June 2010 at 2:30 pm Tweet Ariana Grande: Special Ustream Chat Friday! Ariana Grande: Special Ustream Chat Friday! Ariana Grande is famous for her Ustream chats and this week’s is a special one! The 16-year-old actress is inviting you to her pre-birthday party and counting down the hours and minutes until her 17th birthday! Ariana tweeted about the chat, “I will be doing a Ustream with my brother, @FrankieJGrande as we countdown to my 17th birthday.. Please join us!! :) WOOO.” It all starts @ 6PM PT/9PM ET THIS Friday, June 25 on Ari’s You-tube. Don’t forget to catch an all new Victorious on Saturday, June 26th @ 9PM ET/PT on Nickelodeon — it’s a big one for Cat! Share This! Like what you see? E-mail it to a friend or post it on Face book, Dig g, My Space and more... Share-this Credit: Michael Buckner; Photos: Getty Posted to: Ariana Grande Related posts: * Ariana Grande is Herve Leger Hot * Happy Birthday, Ariana Grande! * Ariana Grande: Mr. Fox is Fantastic! * Ariana Grande: Shrek Forever After * Ariana Grande & Elizabeth Gillies: 'Give It Up' Video! JJJ Links Around The Web Publication Date: February 18th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-kaelavampirefan

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-amber-black-partner-in-crime/

Amber Black Partner in Crime For you, as inspiring as you are. 1 When she entered the pub, the fumes welcomed her. Ella ignored the guys she passed, who stared at her as if she was nothing but a piece of meat. Her way led straight to the bar where Lukas waited for her, grinning. “Hey Sweetheart! How’s it going?”, he asked, charming as hell. She couldn’t stand it, loving his humor at the same time. “I need one of those cocktails”, was all she said. Lukas nodded gently. “Just a second!” He prepared the drink and gave it to her. “Cheers!” Ella took a sip and smiled. He never got them perfect. It was either too much alcohol or simply not enough. That’s just the way he was. Lukas was the American boy in a British small town. He had all the girls. The pretty ones, of course. However, he never tried to flirt with Ella. At first it made her feel insecure, even disappointed because she assumed he didn't consider her pretty enough, but she kept telling herself that she deserved something better. She preferred being something like friends with him. Ella was married to her job. She was the Dutch girl who had left home because her world had become too small for her. As a journalist, she saw herself as a writer in first place. It was her mission to write stories, real life stories that had protagonists and antagonists and conflicts, intrigues and suspense. That's why she loved the crime reports. None of her colleagues wanted to write them, and Ella took these stories with all her affection. It was not the sensation, not the fascination of evil; she didn't took the place of a voyeur. She spoke for someone. For the people. Every victim left a family and friends full of grief and sorrow behind. Those emotions were real, they were touching. No novel would ever be like this. This was reality. But reality didn't always do what she wanted. "Tough day?" Lukas asked, cleaning empty glasses full of despair. Ella nodded. She was done talking for today. That was the problem of her job: You run out of words if there's nothing to say. "Tough story?" The questions surrounded her. It was strange as always with him. One day he was the best friend on earth and the other day he barely even talked to her at all. "I'm the journalist, so I ask the questions, I assume", was her answer. Lukas simply smiled. "Let me take an educated guess: no story at all." He leaned towards her, his arms placed on the bar between them, and captivated her look so she couldn't turn away. Damn, he was handsome. Ella took another sip from her drink. "The dirty little secrets of Susana May." She frowned, which made him grin. "That young model? What, did you do researches on how many plastic surgeries she had?" He laughed; it sounded wonderful. No wonder all the girls fell for him. Ella took a look around. The bar was full, but not overcrowded. Most of the men drinking here were too desperate to commit suicide. She'd never understood why Lukas didn't work in one of those nice hip pubs for young ladies and their boys. Probably because they were nice and hip. He was too manly for kids clubs, but not for their visitors. Paradox, but Lukas. She stared into her glass. "Who reads this shit?" She emptied it in one gulp. Lukas looked at her closely. "No crimes for you to solve?" He raised his eyebrows. Ella shook her head. "I'll just go to bed now. Tomorrow just can't be worse, so I'm really looking forward to it." She paid for her cocktail, got up and walked out of the bar. In the doorway, she turned around and waved at Lukas. He waved back smiling. Ella turned around - and ran into a huge guy, wearing a brown coat. "Sorry", she said, but he didn't even look at her. He went straight to the bar. That's all she could see before the door closed. She reached her apartment twenty minutes later. After she closed the door behind her, she let everything fall down from her shoulders. This day was so over for her. Slowly, she scuffed towards the kitchen. Her apartment consisted of three rooms, basically; a bathroom, a bedroom and a large living room with an open kitchen. Ella opened the fridge and took a bottle of milk out of it. Her brother would’ve drunk from the bottle, but she took a glass out of the cupboard. She just stood there for a while, staring at the now empty glass on the sideboard. Eventually, she cleaned it and put it back where it belonged. The ringing phone made Ella start up. She took the receiver and answered the call. “Van Veen!” “Hi Ella, it’s Herman calling. I have some bad news for you. Dick wants you to do an interview with Susana May; tomorrow.” Ella moaned. “Don’t shoot the messenger”, Herman said friendly. “No, it’s alright, Herman. I’m happy that you called and not Dick. It’s just not my day today”, she answered honestly. Herman smiled. She could hear that. Herman was one of favorite colleagues. The 56 year old man came from Austria and had worked as a journalist since he was seventeen. He was inspiring in his working manor and as a friend. His helping hand had saved Ella more than once, in almost every sense. Now he warned her again. Dick wasn’t interested in value at all, especially when it came to news; or at least what he called “news”. “Thank you for calling, Herman. I’m looking forward to Dick’s next holiday”, Ella said. Whenever Dick was on holiday, Herman was the head of the editorial department. These days were the only ray of hope for Ella, and for the magazine. After hanging up the phone, Ella went to her bedroom. She set her alarm clock and took off her clothes. Sleepiness came over her. This day was more than over. She crawled under her blanket and turned all the lights out. Only the shining numbers of her clock grinned at her, reminding her of her insomnia and making her think about Lukas and what he might be up to now. No good idea at all. She tossed and turned for over an hour, fighting her mind. When she eventually fell asleep, she saw nothing but black. Ella woke up at 6:45 AM. Her clock was set for 7:30. She stretched her whole body, yawning. About thirty minutes later, she sat at her small kitchen table and had her live saving breakfast without which she would run around like a zombie all day long. She checked her phone; mails, messages, missed calls from home and work, social media. It took her one hour to be prepared and informed for the day; one of her every day rituals she just couldn’t miss. She cleaned her cup and plate, took on her light leather jacket and finally went to work. The redaction was already filled with life, stress and noise. Ella went inside and took seat at her desk. She checked her mails again while having her third cup of tea. “Shit”, she whispered when she saw Dick heading towards to her. She turned around and tried to look busy, but her boss didn’t care. “Ella, my dear. How are you?” he asked. He brought his face close to hers, so she had to lean backwards to get away from him. “Good morning, Dick”, she replied with a fake smile on her face. Richard Garner had won this job in a poker game, at least that’s what Ella always imagined. He had absolutely no interest in valuable news, founded researches or a good writing style. He didn’t even know how to speak proper English, and he was one of the very few native speakers here. It was his special manor to consequently ignore the third person singular “s”. Nobody understood why. “I’m glad that you will write about this model. That’s exactly the right story for you. You are our little gossip girl.” Ella didn’t listen to him. He didn’t notice. His monologue wasn’t finished yet, but actually, it never was. Ella kept working while he kept talking. That’s the difference about them. She found the phone number Herman had put on her desk and called Susana May’s manager while Dick was still talking about himself to himself. It took the manager almost five minutes to answer the call. “Hi Mr. Jefferson! I’m Ella van Veen from the Independent Magazine International . I think you can help me to get an interview with Ms. Susana May”, she started the conversation. Mr. Jefferson coughed. “Sure, we already expected this. Ms. May told me that she really wants to do this interview to get some facts clear that circle around in the press. She will meet you at 2 PM at the café Corneille.” Ella took some notes and wished him well. She looked at the clock. It was just 10 AM. Dick had gone when she’d started to talk to Mr. Jefferson. She decided to do some more researches about the current media situation of Susana May. Always be prepared. That was one of her main rules. The results weren’t surprising Ella at all. There were naked pictures of Susana May which the whole world had seen already, articles about her getting drunk at parties, some model pictures, and some advertisement campaigns with her. Nothing spectacular – just as Ella had expected. She wanted to hit the wall with her head. No one would want to read about Susana May telling the press that she’s a nice girl and that her ex-boyfriend or whatever was the reason why she got drunk at that party; only once, of course. This was definitely not worth to be printed in a magazine. But as usual, Dick thought differently about that. “Ella, that’s why I love you so much, my dear! You’ll get us the best story ever! And now go find the dirty little secrets of that girl”, he said when she told him what she’d found out. Not that he cared about how true the information she collected was. Ella tried to kill some time. She read the online articles of De Telegraf and did some more researches about what was going on in her small town here in England. Maybe she could find a better – a real – story and just write it in addition to the crap she would produce about Susana May. When did people start to care about models? Finally, Ella decided to go to that café and wait for Susana May there. She left the office and felt the relief right away. Life was so much easier without Dick’s smutty face being around. She took the bus and drove to the city center where the café Corneille was. When she arrived there, she took place at one of the small tables and ordered a cappuccino. She watched the people passing her by. That was the journalist in her; she couldn’t resist the need to watch everything that was happening around her. People were the most inspiring elements on earth; especially people like Lukas. She didn’t want to think about him, but it was too late. She already saw his face in front of her inner eye. Now she felt the need to write him although she knew that he hated texts and that he probably wouldn’t answer and that would drive her crazy again. But in the end, she gave in and took out her phone to text him about her day and her plans and everything he wouldn’t want to know. It was 1:30 PM by now. The streets were full of life. People were rushing through the city. Even though she lived here for almost six years now, Ella still felt like a stranger in this city. She’d never really been part of this, and whenever she watched the people here, she had the feeling that she would never belong here. She didn’t even know the reason why she still stayed here. Or maybe she did, but she wouldn’t admit it. Time flew, people came and went, and Ella waited full of patience. But at 3:30 PM she started to believe that Susana May wouldn’t come - which was pretty cool because she wouldn’t have to do the interview. Unfortunately, she would’ve to explain Dick why she couldn’t come up with a “good story” today. Damnit! And she thought yesterday would’ve been a bad day. Ella paid for the coffee, got up and went through the city when something caught her attention. At first she couldn’t say what it was, but then she realized that there was a blue light flashing to her right. She turned around and saw the police cars surrounding a white limousine. It took her a second, but then she recognized that limousine. She’d seen it on a photo. It belonged to Susana May. Motivated, she ran towards the police officer standing in front of the cars. “Hi! My name is Ella van Veen, I’m a journalist for the Independent Magazine International. Is this the limousine of Susana May?” He looked at her, his facial expression was rather unfriendly. “Yes”, he answered unexpectedly. That motivated Ella even more. “Really? I wanted to meet her, over there in the café, but she didn’t come. And now I see her limousine and all the police. Did something happen to her?” Ella asked again. The officer’s look changed. “You wanted to meet her? When?” Now it was up to Ella to answer his questions. “Well, her manager told me that she would come to the café Corneille at 2 PM. But – as I just said – she didn’t show up. I just wanted to go back to the redaction when I saw this scene. So, what happened?” Ella tried to take the role of the journalist again. She didn’t like the witness perspective. For a while, the policeman didn’t say a word. Then he suddenly replied: “We don’t know what happened. Ms. May disappeared, that’s all we know.” Ella looked at him with big eyes. She had to resist the need to cheer. This story had just become a story. Now she was into it. “What do you know? Are there witnesses? Do you think this was a crime?” she asked all the questions that came to her mind. But the officer shook his head. “I won’t talk to the press”, was all he said. Ella never gave up quickly, but she could tell when someone really wouldn’t talk to her. So she left the crime scene – she was sure it was one – and looked around. A few people were standing close to the scenery, watching it curiously. But those who stood in groups weren’t those Ella was looking for. And then she found him. He was standing alone, a little closer to the police cars than all the others, and he was nervously checking the streets. Ella went straight towards him and stopped right in front of his face. “Hi! I’m Ella van Veen of the Independent Magazine International. Did you see what happened here a few minutes ago?” The man just stared at her. He was very tall, but thin, and his dark blonde hair looked a little tousled. He was probably in his mid-twenties. “Y-Yes. I mean, no. Not really”, he stammered. Ella smiled at him. She put a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear and looked at him from beneath. “What did you see?” she asked in a soft voice. The man seemed to calm down. “I was on my way back to work after my lunch break. I was a little late and therefore in a hurry, so I didn’t watch what surrounded me. I crashed into a man wearing a long brown coat and a strange hat. A girl was with him and I thought I’d seen her before, but I didn’t know where. She couldn’t walk, he had to carry her. I thought maybe she didn’t feel well. But then I saw the limousine with its open door and that it had crashed into the street lamp.” Ella turned towards the car. She hadn’t seen the street lamp before, but the man was right. The limousine had hit it and therefore was demolished in the front. She turned back to the man. “That man you saw, could you describe him a little more?” The man seemed to think about it. Then he added: “He was a big guy, tons of muscles. And he had a tattoo around his neck, barbed wire, I’d say.” Ella smiled at him again. “Thank you! That was really helpful”, she said. As she saw the policeman approaching her and the witness, she decided to leave. On her way back to the redaction, she checked her messages and mails, but she didn’t find what she’d hoped for. Of course not. Back at her desk, she wrote down all her notes in her little black notebook. She preferred handwriting over computer documents. It didn’t take long before Dick arrived at her desk. “What happened?” was all he asked. Ella took a deep breath and counted to five silently. Then she answered: “Susana May disappeared.” Dick looked at her, puzzled. “Could you do the interview first?” he finally wanted to know. Ella could just stare at him. “Did you listen to me?” the question broke out of her. Dick didn’t understand. Of course not. “I just told you that a young somehow famous woman disappeared and you still want to publish more naked pictures of her? What the hell is wrong with you?” Ella couldn’t believe she just said that. The whole redaction fell into silence. Herman watched her, his facial expression caught between the most worried eyes on earth and a big fat smile. For about five minutes, nobody said anything. Then Dick found his voice again. “Just come up with a good story. As soon as possible!” He rushed away without looking at Ella or anybody else. Publication Date: May 12th 2015 https://www.bookrix.com/-ctf7351176e5935

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-alexandre-dumas-pere-mary-stuart/

Alexandre Dumas père Mary Stuart Celebrated Crimes MARY STUART--1587 CHAPTER I Some royal names are predestined to misfortune: in France, there is the name "Henry". Henry I was poisoned, Henry II was killed in a tournament, Henry III and Henry IV were assassinated. As to Henry V, for whom the past is so fatal already, God alone knows what the future has in store for him. In Scotland, the unlucky name is "Stuart". Robert I, founder of the race, died at twenty-eight of a lingering illness. Robert II, the most fortunate of the family, was obliged to pass a part of his life, not merely in retirement, but also in the dark, on account of inflammation of the eyes, which made them blood-red. Robert III succumbed to grief, the death of one son and the captivity of other. James I was stabbed by Graham in the abbey of the Black Monks of Perth. James II was killed at the siege of Roxburgh, by a splinter from a burst cannon. James III was assassinated by an unknown hand in a mill, where he had taken refuge during the battle of Sauchie. James IV, wounded by two arrows and a blow from a halberd, fell amidst his nobles on the battlefield of Flodden. James V died of grief at the loss of his two sons, and of remorse for the execution of Hamilton. James VI, destined to unite on his head the two crowns of Scotland and England, son of a father who had been assassinated, led a melancholy and timorous existence, between the scaffold of his mother, Mary Stuart, and that of his son, Charles I. Charles II spent a portion of his life in exile. James II died in it. The Chevalier Saint-George, after having been proclaimed King of Scotland as James VIII, and of England and Ireland as James III, was forced to flee, without having been able to give his arms even the lustre of a defeat. His son, Charles Edward, after the skirmish at Derby and the battle of Culloden, hunted from mountain to mountain, pursued from rock to rock, swimming from shore to shore, picked up half naked by a French vessel, betook himself to Florence to die there, without the European courts having ever consented to recognise him as a sovereign. Finally, his brother, Henry Benedict, the last heir of the Stuarts, having lived on a pension of three thousand pounds sterling, granted him by George III, died completely forgotten, bequeathing to the House of Hanover all the crown jewels which James II had carried off when he passed over to the Continent in 1688--a tardy but complete recognition of the legitimacy of the family which had succeeded his. In the midst of this unlucky race, Mary Stuart was the favourite of misfortune. As Brantome has said of her, "Whoever desires to write about this illustrious queen of Scotland has, in her, two very, large subjects, the one her life, the other her death," Brantome had known her on one of the most mournful occasions of her life--at the moment when she was quitting France for Scotland. It was on the 9th of August, 1561, after having lost her mother and her husband in the same year, that Mary Stuart, Dowager of France and Queen of Scotland at nineteen, escorted by her uncles, Cardinals Guise and Lorraine, by the Duke and Duchess of Guise, by the Duc d'Aumale and M. de Nemours, arrived at Calais, where two galleys were waiting to take her to Scotland, one commanded by M. de Mevillon and the other by Captain Albize. She remained six days in the town. At last, on the 15th of the month, after the saddest adieus to her family, accompanied by Messieurs d'Aumale, d'Elboeuf, and Damville, with many nobles, among whom were Brantome and Chatelard, she embarked in M. Mevillon's galley, which was immediately ordered to put out to sea, which it did with the aid of oars, there not being sufficient wind to make use of the sails. Mary Stuart was then in the full bloom of her beauty, beauty even more brilliant in its mourning garb--a beauty so wonderful that it shed around her a charm which no one whom she wished to please could escape, and which was fatal to almost everyone. About this time, too, someone made her the subject of a song, which, as even her rivals confessed, contained no more than the truth. It was, so it was said, by M. de Maison-Fleur, a cavalier equally accomplished in arms and letters: Here it is:-- "In robes of whiteness, lo, Full sad and mournfully, Went pacing to and fro Beauty's divinity; A shaft in hand she bore From Cupid's cruel store, And he, who fluttered round, Bore, o'er his blindfold eyes And o'er his head uncrowned, A veil of mournful guise, Whereon the words were wrought: 'You perish or are caught.'" Yes, at this moment, Mary Stuart, in her deep mourning of white, was more lovely than ever; for great tears were trickling down her cheeks, as, weaving a handkerchief, standing on the quarterdeck, she who was so grieved to set out, bowed farewell to those who were so grieved to remain. At last, in half an hour's time, the harbour was left behind; the vessel was out at sea. Suddenly, Mary heard loud cries behind her: a boat coming in under press of sail, through her pilot's ignorance had struck upon a rock in such a manner that it was split open, and after having trembled and groaned for a moment like someone wounded, began to be swallowed up, amid the terrified screams of all the crew. Mary, horror-stricken, pale, dumb, and motionless, watched her gradually sink, while her unfortunate crew, as the keel disappeared, climbed into the yards and shrouds, to delay their death-agony a few minutes; finally, keel, yards, masts, all were engulfed in the ocean's gaping jaws. For a moment there remained some black specks, which in turn disappeared one after another; then wave followed upon wave, and the spectators of this horrible tragedy, seeing the sea calm and solitary as if nothing had happened, asked themselves if it was not a vision that had appeared to them and vanished. "Alas!" cried Mary, falling on a seat and leaning both arms an the vessel's stern, "what a sad omen for such a sad voyage!" Then, once more fixing on the receding harbour her eyes, dried for a moment by terror, and beginning to moisten anew, "Adieu, France!" she murmured, "adieu, France!" and for five hours she remained thus, weeping and murmuring, "Adieu, France! adieu, France!" Darkness fell while she was still lamenting; and then, as the view was blotted out and she was summoned to supper, "It is indeed now, dear France," said she, rising, "that I really lose you, since jealous night heaps mourning upon mourning, casting a black veil before my sight. Adieu then, one last time, dear France; for never shall I see you more." With these words, she went below, saying that she was the very opposite of Dido, who, after the departure of AEneas, had done nothing but look at the waves, while she, Mary, could not take her eyes off the land. Then everyone gathered round her to try to divert and console her. But she, growing sadder, and not being able to respond, so overcome was she with tears, could hardly eat; and, having had a bed got ready on the stern deck, she sent for the steersman, and ordered him if he still saw land at daybreak, to come and wake her immediately. On this point Mary was favoured; for the wind having dropped, when daybreak came the vessel was still within sight of France. It was a great joy when, awakened by the steersman, who had not forgotten the order he had received, Mary raised herself on her couch, and through the window that she had had opened, saw once more the beloved shore. But at five o'clock in the morning, the wind having freshened, the vessel rapidly drew farther away, so that soon the land completely disappeared. Then Mary fell back upon her bed, pale as death, murmuring yet once again--"Adieu, France! I shall see thee no more." Indeed, the happiest years of her life had just passed away in this France that she so much regretted. Born amid the first religious troubles, near the bedside of her dying father, the cradle mourning was to stretch for her to the grave, and her stay in France had been a ray of sunshine in her night. Slandered from her birth, the report was so generally spread abroad that she was malformed, and that she could not live to grow up, that one day her mother, Mary of Guise, tired of these false rumours, undressed her and showed her naked to the English ambassador, who had come, on the part of Henry VIII, to ask her in marriage for the Prince of Wales, himself only five years old. Crowned at nine months by Cardinal Beaton, archbishop of St. Andrews, she was immediately hidden by her mother, who was afraid of treacherous dealing in the King of England, in Stirling Castle. Two years later, not finding even this fortress safe enough, she removed her to an island in the middle of the Lake of Menteith, where a priory, the only building in the place, provided an asylum for the royal child and for four young girls born in the same year as herself, having like her the sweet name which is an anagram of the word "aimer," and who, quitting her neither in her good nor in her evil fortune, were called the "Queen's Marys". They were Mary Livingston, Mary Fleming, Mary Seyton, and Mary Beaton. Mary stayed in this priory till Parliament, having approved her marriage with the French dauphin, son of Henry II, she was taken to Dumbarton Castle, to await the moment of departure. There she was entrusted to M. de Breze, sent by Henry II to-fetch her. Having set out in the French galleys anchored at the mouth of the Clyde, Mary, after having been hotly pursued by the English fleet, entered Brest harbour, 15th August, 1548, one year after the death of Francis! Besides the queen's four Marys, the vessels also brought to France three of her natural brothers, among whom was the Prior of St. Andrews, James Stuart, who was later to abjure the Catholic faith, and with the title of Regent, and under the name of the Earl of Murray, to become so fatal to poor Mary. From Brest, Mary went to St. Germain-en-Laye, where Henry II, who had just ascended the throne, overwhelmed her with caresses, and then sent her to a convent where the heiresses of the noblest French houses were brought up. There Mary's happy qualities developed. Born with a woman's heart and a man's head, Mary not only acquired all the accomplishments which constituted the education of a future queen, but also that real knowledge which is the object of the truly learned. Thus, at fourteen, in the Louvre, before Henry II, Catherine de Medici, and the whole court, she delivered a discourse in Latin of her own composition, in which she maintained that it becomes women to cultivate letters, and that it is unjust and tyrannical to deprive flowery of their perfumes, by banishing young girls from all but domestic cares. One can imagine in what manner a future queen, sustaining such a thesis, was likely to be welcomed in the most lettered and pedantic court in Europe. Between the literature of Rabelais and Marot verging on their decline, and that of Ronsard and Montaigne reaching their zenith, Mary became a queen of poetry, only too happy never to have to wear another crown than that which Ronsard, Dubellay, Maison-Fleur, and Brantome placed daily on her head. But she was predestined. In the midst of those fetes which a waning chivalry was trying to revive came the fatal joust of Tournelles: Henry II, struck by a splinter of a lance for want of a visor, slept before his time with his ancestors, and Mary Stuart ascended the throne of France, where, from mourning for Henry, she passed to that for her mother, and from mourning for her mother to that for her husband. Mary felt this last loss both as woman and as poet; her heart burst forth into bitter tears and plaintive harmonies. Here are some lines that she composed at this time:-- "Into my song of woe, Sung to a low sad air, My cruel grief I throw, For loss beyond compare; In bitter sighs and tears Go by my fairest years. "Was ever grief like mine Imposed by destiny? Did ever lady pine, In high estate, like me, Of whom both heart and eye Within the coffin lie? "Who, in the tender spring And blossom of my youth, Taste all the sorrowing Of life's extremest ruth, And take delight in nought Save in regretful thought. "All that was sweet and gay Is now a pain to see; The sunniness of day Is black as night to me; All that was my delight Is hidden from my sight. "My heart and eye, indeed, One face, one image know, The which this mournful weed On my sad face doth show, Dyed with the violet's tone That is the lover's own. "Tormented by my ill, I go from place to place, But wander as I will My woes can nought efface; My most of bad and good I find in solitude. "But wheresoe'er I stay, In meadow or in copse, Whether at break of day Or when the twilight drops, My heart goes sighing on, Desiring one that's gone. "If sometimes to the skies My weary gaze I lift, His gently shining eyes Look from the cloudy drift, Or stooping o'er the wave I see him in the grave. "Or when my bed I seek, And-sleep begins to steal, Again I hear him speak, Again his touch I feel; In work or leisure, he Is ever near to me. "No other thing I see, However fair displayed, By which my heart will be A tributary made, Not having the perfection Of that, my lost affection. "Here make an end, my verse, Of this thy sad lament, Whose burden shall rehearse Pure love of true intent, Which separation's stress Will never render less." "It was then," says Brantorne, "that it was delightful to see her; for the whiteness of her countenance and of her veil contended together; but finally the artificial white yielded, and the snow-like pallor of her face vanquished the other. For it was thus," he adds, "that from the moment she became a widow, I always saw her with her pale hue, as long as I had the honour of seeing her in France, and Scotland, where she had to go in eighteen months' time, to her very great regret, after her widowhood, to pacify her kingdom, greatly divided by religious troubles. Alas! she had neither the wish nor the will for it, and I have often heard her say so, with a fear of this journey like death; for she preferred a hundred times to dwell in France as a dowager queen, and to content herself with Touraine and Poitou for her jointure, than to go and reign over there in her wild country; but her uncles, at least some of them, not all, advised her, and even urged her to it, and deeply repented their error." Mary was obedient, as we have seen, and she began her journey under such auspices that when she lost sight of land she was like to die. Then it was that the poetry of her soul found expression in these famous lines: "Farewell, delightful land of France, My motherland, The best beloved! Foster-nurse of my young years! Farewell, France, and farewell my happy days! The ship that separates our loves Has borne away but half of me; One part is left thee and is throe, And I confide it to thy tenderness, That thou may'st hold in mind the other part."' This part of herself that Mary left in France was the body of the young king, who had taken with him all poor Mary's happiness into his tomb. Mary had but one hope remaining, that the sight of the English fleet would compel her little squadron to turn back; but she had to fulfil her destiny. This same day, a fog, a very unusual occurrence in summer-time, extended all over the Channel, and caused her to escape the fleet; for it was such a dense fog that one could not see from stern to mast. It lasted the whole of Sunday, the day after the departure, and did not lift till the following day, Monday, at eight o'clock in the morning. The little flotilla, which all this time had been sailing haphazard, had got among so many reefs that if the fog had lasted some minutes longer the galley would certainly have grounded on some rock, and would have perished like the vessel that had been seen engulfed on leaving port. But, thanks to the fog's clearing, the pilot recognised the Scottish coast, and, steering his four boats with great skill through all the dangers, on the 20th August he put in at Leith, where no preparation had been made for the queen's reception. Nevertheless, scarcely had she arrived there than the chief persons of the town met together and came to felicitate her. Meanwhile, they hastily collected some wretched nags, with harness all falling in pieces, to conduct the queen to Edinburgh. At sight of this, Mary could not help weeping again; for she thought of the splendid palfreys and hackneys of her French knights and ladies, and at this first view Scotland appeared to-her in all its poverty. Next day it was to appear to her in all its wildness. After having passed one night at Holyrood Palace, "during which," says Brantome, "five to six hundred rascals from the town, instead of letting her sleep, came to give her a wild morning greeting on wretched fiddles and little rebecks," she expressed a wish to hear mass. Unfortunately, the people of Edinburgh belonged almost entirely to the Reformed religion; so that, furious at the queen's giving such a proof of papistry at her first appearance, they entered the church by force, armed with knives, sticks and stones, with the intention of putting to death the poor priest, her chaplain. He left the altar, and took refuge near the queen, while Mary's brother, the Prior of St. Andrews, who was more inclined from this time forward to be a soldier than an ecclesiastic, seized a sword, and, placing himself between the people and the queen, declared that he would kill with his own hand the first man who should take another step. This firmness, combined with the queen's imposing and dignified air, checked the zeal of the Reformers. As we have said, Mary had arrived in the midst of all the heat of the first religious wars. A zealous Catholic, like all her family on the maternal side, she inspired the Huguenots with the gravest fears: besides, a rumour had got about that Mary, instead of landing at Leith, as she had been obliged by the fog, was to land at Aberdeen. There, it was said, she would have found the Earl of Huntly, one of the peers who had remained loyal to the Catholic faith, and who, next to the family of Hamilton, was, the nearest and most powerful ally of the royal house. Seconded by him and by twenty thousand soldiers from the north, she would then have marched upon Edinburgh, and have re-established the Catholic faith throughout Scotland. Events were not slow to prove that this accusation was false. As we have stated, Mary was much attached to the Prior of St. Andrews, a son of James V and of a noble descendant of the Earls of Mar, who had been very handsome in her youth, and who, in spite of the well-known love for her of James V, and the child who had resulted, had none the less wedded Lord Douglas of Lochleven, by whom she had had two other sons, the elder named William and the younger George, who were thus half-brothers of the regent. Now, scarcely had she reascended the throne than Mary had restored to the Prior of St. Andrews the title of Earl of Mar, that of his maternal ancestors, and as that of the Earl of Murray had lapsed since the death of the famous Thomas Randolph, Mary, in her sisterly friendship for James Stuart, hastened to add, this title to those which she had already bestowed upon him. But here difficulties and complications arose; for the new Earl of Murray, with his character, was not a man to content himself with a barren title, while the estates which were crown property since the extinction of the male branch of the old earls, had been gradually encroached upon by powerful neighbours, among whom was the famous Earl of Huntly, whom we have already mentioned: the result was that, as the queen judged that in this quarter her orders would probably encounter opposition, under pretext of visiting her possessions in the north, she placed herself at the head of a small army, commanded by her brother, the Earl of Mar and Murray. The Earl of Huntly was the less duped by the apparent pretext of this expedition, in that his son, John Cordon, for some abuse of his powers, had just been condemned to a temporary imprisonment. He, notwithstanding, made every possible submission to the queen, sending messengers in advance to invite-her to rest in his castle; and following up the messengers in person, to renew his invitation viva voce. Unfortunately, at the very moment when he was about to join the queen, the governor of Inverness, who was entirely devoted to him, was refusing to allow Mary to enter this castle, which was a royal one. It is true that Murray, aware that it does not do to hesitate in the face of such rebellions, had already had him executed for high treason. This new act of firmness showed Huntly that the young queen was not disposed to allow the Scottish lords a resumption of the almost sovereign power humbled by her father; so that, in spite of the extremely kind reception she accorded him, as he learned while in camp that his son, having escaped from prison, had just put himself at the head of his vassals, he was afraid that he should be thought, as doubtless he was, a party to the rising, and he set out the same night to assume command of his troops, his mind made up, as Mary only had with her seven to eight thousand men, to risk a battle, giving out, however, as Buccleuch had done in his attempt to snatch James V from the hands of the Douglases, that it was not at the queen he was aiming, but solely at the regent, who kept her under his tutelage and perverted her good intentions. Murray, who knew that often the entire peace of a reign depends on the firmness one displays at its beginning, immediately summoned all the northern barons whose estates bordered on his, to march against Huntly. All obeyed, for the house of Cordon was already so powerful that each feared it might become still more so; but, however, it was clear that if there was hatred for the subject there was no great affection for the queen, and that the greater number came without fixed intentions and with the idea of being led by circumstances. The two armies encountered near Aberdeen. Murray at once posted the troops he had brought from Edinburgh, and of which he was sure, on the top of rising ground, and drew up in tiers on the hill slope all his northern allies. Huntly advanced resolutely upon them, and attacked his neighbours the Highlanders, who after a short resistance retired in disorder. His men immediately threw away their lances, and, drawing their swords, crying, "Cordon, Cordon!" pursued the fugitives, and believed they had already gained the battle, when they suddenly ran right against the main body of Murray's army, which remained motionless as a rampart of iron, and which, with its long lances, had the advantage of its adversaries, who were armed only with their claymores. It was then the turn of the Cordons to draw back, seeing which, the northern clans rallied and returned to the fight, each soldier having a sprig of heather in his cap that his comrades might recognise him. This unexpected movement determined the day: the Highlanders ran down the hillside like a torrent, dragging along with them everyone who could have wished to oppose their passage. Then Murray seeing that the moment had come for changing the defeat into a rout, charged with his entire cavalry: Huntly, who was very stout and very heavily armed, fell and was crushed beneath the horses' feet; John Cordon, taken prisoner in his flight, was executed at Aberdeen three days afterwards; finally, his brother, too young to undergo the same fate at this time, was shut up in a dungeon and executed later, the day he reached the age of sixteen. Mary had been present at the battle, and the calm and courage she displayed had made a lively impression on her wild defenders, who all along the road had heard her say that she would have liked to be a man, to pass her days on horseback, her nights under a tent, to wear a coat of mail, a helmet, a buckler, and at her side a broadsword. Mary made her entry into Edinburgh amid general enthusiasm; for this expedition against the Earl of Huntly, who was a Catholic, had been very popular among the inhabitants, who had no very clear idea of the real motives which had caused her to undertake it: They were of the Reformed faith, the earl was a papist, there was an enemy the less; that is all they thought about. Now, therefore; the Scotch, amid their acclamations, whether viva voce or by written demands, expressed the wish that their queen, who was without issue by Francis II, should re-marry: Mary agreed to this, and, yielding to the prudent advice of those about her, she decided to consult upon this marriage Elizabeth, whose heir she was, in her title of granddaughter of Henry VII, in the event of the Queen of England's dying without posterity. Unfortunately, she had not always acted with like circumspection; for at the death of Mary Tudor, known as Bloody. Mary, she had laid claim to the throne of Henry VIII, and, relying on the illegitimacy of Elizabeth's birth, had with the dauphin assumed sovereignty over Scotland, England, and Ireland, and had had coins struck with this new title, and plate engraved with these new armorial bearings. Elizabeth was nine years older than Mary--that is to say, that at this time she had not yet attained her thirtieth year; she was not merely her rival as queen, then, but as woman. As regards education, she could sustain comparison with advantage; for if she had less charm of mind, she had more solidity of judgment: versed in politics, philosophy, history; rhetoric, poetry and music, besides English, her maternal tongue, she spoke and wrote to perfection Greek, Latin, French, Italian and Spanish; but while Elizabeth excelled Mary on this point, in her turn Mary was more beautiful, and above all more attractive, than her rival. Elizabeth had, it is true, a majestic and agreeable appearance, bright quick eyes, a dazzlingly white complexion; but she had red hair, a large foot,--[Elizabeth bestowed a pair of her shoes on the University of Oxford; their size would point to their being those of a man of average stature.]--and a powerful hand, while Mary, on the contrary, with her beautiful ashy-fair hair,--[Several historians assert that Mary Stuart had black hair; but Brantome, who had seen it, since, as we have said, he accompanied her to Scotland, affirms that it was fair. And, so saying, he (the executioner) took off her headdress, in a contemptuous manner, to display her hair already white, that while alive, however, she feared not to show, nor yet to twist and frizz as in the days when it was so beautiful and so fair.]--her noble open forehead, eyebrows which could be only blamed for being so regularly arched that they looked as if drawn by a pencil, eyes continually beaming with the witchery of fire, a nose of perfect Grecian outline, a mouth so ruby red and gracious that it seemed that, as a flower opens but to let its perfume escape, so it could not open but to give passage to gentle words, with a neck white and graceful as a swan's, hands of alabaster, with a form like a goddess's and a foot like a child's, Mary was a harmony in which the most ardent enthusiast for sculptured form could have found nothing to reproach. This was indeed Mary's great and real crime: one single imperfection in face or figure, and she would not have died upon the scaffold. Besides, to Elizabeth, who had never seen her, and who consequently could only judge by hearsay, this beauty was a great cause of uneasiness and of jealousy, which she could not even disguise, and which showed itself unceasingly in eager questions. One day when she was chatting with James Melville about his mission to her court, Mary's offer to be guided by Elizabeth in her choice of a husband,--a choice which the queen of England had seemed at first to wish to see fixed on the Earl of Leicester,--she led the Scotch ambassador into a cabinet, where she showed him several portraits with labels in her own handwriting: the first was one of the Earl of Leicester. As this nobleman was precisely the suitor chosen by Elizabeth, Melville asked the queen to give it him to show to his mistress; but Elizabeth refused, saying that it was the only one she had. Melville then replied, smiling, that being in possession of the original she might well part with the copy; but Elizabeth would on no account consent. This little discussion ended, she showed him the portrait of Mary Stuart, which she kissed very tenderly, expressing to Melville a great wish to see his mistress. "That is very easy, madam," he replied: "keep your room, on the pretext that you are indisposed, and set out incognito for Scotland, as King James V set out for France when he wanted to see Madeleine de Valois, whom he afterwards married." "Alas!" replied Elizabeth, "I would like to do so, but it is not so easy as you think. Nevertheless, tell your queen that I love her tenderly, and that I wish we could live more in friendship than we have done up to the present". Then passing to a subject which she seemed to have wanted to broach for a long time, "Melville," she continued, "tell me frankly, is my sister as beautiful as they say?" "She has that reputation," replied Melville; "but I cannot give your Majesty any idea of hex beauty, having no point of comparison." "I will give you one," the queen said. "Is she more beautiful than I?" "Madam," replied Melville, "you are the most beautiful woman in England, and Mary Stuart is the most beautiful woman in Scotland." "Then which of the two is the taller?" asked Elizabeth, who was not entirely satisfied by this answer, clever as it was. "My mistress, madam," responded Melville; "I am obliged to confess it." "Then she is too tall," Elizabeth said sharply, "for I am tall enough. And what are her favourite amusements?" she continued. "Madam," Melville replied, "hunting, riding, performing on the lute and the harpischord." "Is she skilled upon the latter?" Elizabeth inquired. "Oh yes, madam," answered Melville; "skilled enough for a queen." There the conversation stopped; but as Elizabeth was herself an excellent musician, she commanded Lord Hunsdon to bring Melville to her at a time when she was at her harpischord, so that he could hear her without her seeming to have the air of playing for him. In fact, the same day, Hunsdon, agreeably to her instructions, led the ambassador into a gallery separated from the queen's apartment merely by tapestry, so that his guide having raised it. Melville at his leisure could hear Elizabeth, who did not turn round until she had finished the piece, which, however, she was playing with much skill. When she saw Melville, she pretended to fly into a passion, and even wanted to strike him; but her anger calmed down by little and little at the ambassador's compliments, and ceased altogether when he admitted that Mary Stuart was not her equal. But this was not all: proud of her triumph, Elizabeth desired also that Melville should see her dance. Accordingly, she kept back her despatches for two days that he might be present at a ball that she was giving. These despatches, as we have said, contained the wish that Mary Stuart should espouse Leicester; but this proposal could not be taken seriously. Leicester, whose personal worth was besides sufficiently mediocre, was of birth too inferior to aspire to the hand of the daughter of so many kings; thus Mary replied that such an alliance would not become her. Meanwhile, something strange and tragic came to pass. CHAPTER II Among the lords who had followed Mary Stuart to Scotland was, as we have mentioned, a young nobleman named Chatelard, a true type of the nobility of that time, a nephew of Bayard on his mother's side, a poet and a knight, talented and courageous, and attached to Marshal Damville, of whose household he formed one. Thanks to this high position, Chatelard, throughout her stay in France, paid court to Mary Stuart, who, in the homage he rendered her in verse, saw nothing more than those poetical declarations of gallantry customary in that age, and with which she especially was daily overwhelmed. But it happened that about the time when Chatelard was most in love with the queen she was obliged to leave France, as we have said. Then Marshal Damville, who knew nothing of Chatelard's passion, and who himself, encouraged by Mary's kindness, was among the candidates to succeed Francis II as husband, set out for Scotland with the poor exile, taking Chatelard with him, and, not imagining he would find a rival in him, he made a confidant of him, and left him with Mary when he was obliged to leave her, charging the young poet to support with her the interests of his suit. This post as confidant brought Mary and Chatelard more together; and, as in her capacity as poet, the queen treated him like a brother, he made bold in his passion to risk all to obtain another title. Accordingly, one evening he got into Mary Stuart's room, and hid himself under the bed; but at the moment when the queen was beginning to undress, a little dog she had began to yelp so loudly that her women came running at his barking, and, led by this indication, perceived Chatelard. A woman easily pardons a crime for which too great love is the excuse: Mary Stuart was woman before being queen--she pardoned. But this kindness only increased Chatelard's confidence: he put down the reprimand he had received to the presence of the queen's women, and supposed that if she had been alone she would have forgiven him still more completely; so that, three weeks after, this same scene was repeated. But this time, Chatelard, discovered in a cupboard, when the queen was already in bed, was placed under arrest. The moment was badly chosen: such a scandal, just when the queen was about to re-marry, was fatal to Mary, let alone to Chatelard. Murray took the affair in hand, and, thinking that a public trial could alone save his sister's reputation, he urged the prosecution with such vigour, that Chatelard, convicted of the crime of lese-majeste, was condemned to death. Mary entreated her brother that Chatelard might be sent back to France; but Murray made her see what terrible consequences such a use of her right of pardon might have, so that Mary was obliged to let justice take its course: Chatelard was led to execution. Arrived on the scaffold, which was set up before the queen's palace, Chatelard, who had declined the services of a priest, had Ronsard's Ode on Death read; and when the reading, which he followed with evident pleasure, was ended, he turned--towards the queen's windows, and, having cried out for the last time, "Adieu, loveliest and most cruel of princesses!" he stretched out his neck to the executioner, without displaying any repentance or uttering any complaint. This death made all the more impression upon Mary, that she did not dare to show her sympathy openly. Meanwhile there was a rumour that the queen of Scotland was consenting to a new marriage, and several suitors came forward, sprung from the principal reigning families of Europe: first, the Archduke Charles, third son of the Emperor of Germany; then the Duke of Anjou, who afterwards became Henry III. But to wed a foreign prince was to give up her claims to the English crown. So Mary refused, and, making a merit of this to Elizabeth, she cast her eyes on a relation of the latter's, Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, son of the Earl of Lennox. Elizabeth, who had nothing plausible to urge against this marriage, since the Queen of Scotland not only chose an Englishman for husband, but was marrying into her own family, allowed the Earl of Lennox and his son to go to the Scotch court, reserving it to herself, if matters appeared to take a serious turn, to recall them both--a command which they would be constrained to obey, since all their property was in England. Darnley was eighteen years of age: he was handsome, well-made, elegant; he talked in that attractive manner of the young nobles of the French and English courts that Mary no longer heard since her exile in Scotland; she let herself be deceived by these appearances, and did not see that under this brilliant exterior Darnley hid utter insignificance, dubious courage, and a fickle and churlish character. It is true that he came to her under the auspices of a man whose influence was as striking as the risen fortune which gave him the opportunity to exert it. We refer to David Rizzio. David Rizzio, who played such a great part in the life of Mary Stuart, whose strange favour for him has given her enemies, probably without any cause, such cruel weapons against her, was the son of a Turin musician burdened with a numerous family, who, recognising in him a pronounced musical taste, had him instructed in the first principles of the art. At the age of fifteen he had left his father's house and had gone on foot to Nice, where the Duke of Savoy held his court; there he entered the service of the Duke of Moreto, and this lord having been appointed, some years afterwards, to the Scottish embassy, Rizzio followed him to Scotland. As this young man had a very fine voice, and accompanied on the viol and fiddle songs of which both the airs and the words were of his own composition, the ambassador spoke of him to Mary, who wished to see him. Rizzio, full of confidence in himself, and seeing in the queen's desire a road to success, hastened to obey her command, sang before her, and pleased her. She begged him then of Moreto, making no more of it than if she had asked of him a thoroughbred dog or a well-trained falcon. Moreta presented him to her, delighted at finding such an opportunity to pay his court; but scarcely was Rizzio in her service than Mary discovered that music was the least of his gifts, that he possessed, besides that, education if not profound at least varied, a supple mind, a lively imagination, gentle ways, and at the same time much boldness and presumption. He reminded her of those Italian artists whom she had seen at the French court, and spoke to her the tongue of Marot and Ronsard, whose most beautiful poems he knew by heart: this was more than enough to please Mary Stuart. In a short time he became her favourite, and meanwhile the place of secretary for the French despatches falling vacant, Rizzio was provided for with it. Darnley, who wished to succeed at all costs, enlisted Rizzio in his interests, unconscious that he had no need of this support; and as, on her side, Mary, who had fallen in love with him at first sight, fearing some new intrigue of Elizabeth's, hastened on this union so far as the proprieties permitted, the affair moved forward with wonderful rapidity; and in the midst of public rejoicing, with the approbation of the nobility, except for a small minority, with Murray at its head, the marriage was solemnised under the happiest auspices, 29th July 1565. Two days before, Darnley and his father, the Earl of Lennox, had received a command to return to London, and as they had not obeyed it, a week after the celebration of the marriage they learned that the Countess of Lennox, the only one of the family remaining in Elizabeth's power, had been arrested and taken to the Tower. Thus Elizabeth, in spite of her dissimulation, yielding to that first impulse of violence that she always had such trouble to overcome, publicly displayed her resentment. However, Elizabeth was not the woman to be satisfied with useless vengeance: she soon released the countess, and turned her eyes towards Murray, the most discontented of the nobles in opposition, who by this marriage was losing all his personal influence. It was thus easy for Elizabeth to put arms in his hand. In fact, when he had failed in his first attempt to seize Darnley, he called to his aid the Duke of Chatellerault, Glencairn, Argyll, and Rothes, and collecting what partisans they could, they openly rebelled against the queen. This was the first ostensible act of that hatred which was afterwards so fatal to Mary. The queen, on her side, appealed to her nobles, who in response hastened to rally to her, so that in a month's time she found herself at the head of the finest army that ever a king of Scotland had raised. Darnley assumed the command of this magnificent assembly, mounted on a superb horse, arrayed in gilded armour; and accompanied by the queen, who, in a riding habit, with pistols at her saddle-bow, wished to make the campaign with him, that she might not quit his side for a moment. Both were young, both were handsome, and they left Edinburgh amidst the cheers of the people and the army. Murray and his accomplices did not even try to stand against them, and the campaign consisted of such rapid and complex marches and counter-marches, that this rebellion is called the Run-about Raid-that is to say, the run in every sense of the word. Murray and the rebels withdrew into England, where Elizabeth, while seeming to condemn their unlucky attempt, afforded them all the assistance they needed. Mary returned to Edinburgh delighted at the success of her two first campaigns, not suspecting that this new good fortune was the last she would have, and that there her short-lived prosperity would cease. Indeed, she soon saw that in Darnley she had given herself not a devoted and very attentive husband, as she had believed, but an imperious and brutal master, who, no longer having any motive for concealment, showed himself to her just as he was, a man of disgraceful vices, of which drunkenness and debauchery was the least. Accordingly, serious differences were not long in springing up in this royal household. Darnley in wedding Mary had not become king, but merely the queen's husband. To confer on him authority nearly equalling a regent's, it was necessary that Mary should grant him what was termed the crown matrimonial--a crown Francis II had worn during his short royalty, and that Mary, after Darnley's conduct to herself, had not the slightest intention of bestowing on him. Thus, to whatever entreaties he made, in whatever form they were wrapped, Mary merely replied with an unvaried and obstinate refusal. Darnley, amazed at this force of will in a young queen who had loved him enough to raise him to her, and not believing that she could find it in herself, sought in her entourage for some secret and influential adviser who might have inspired her with it. His suspicions fell on Rizzio. In reality, to whatever cause Rizzio owed his power (and to even the most clear-sighted historians this point has always remained obscure), be it that he ruled as lover, be it that he advised as minister, his counsels as long as he lived were always given for the greater glory of the queen. Sprung from so low, he at least wished to show himself worthy, of having risen so high, and owing everything to Mary, he tried to repay her with devotion. Thus Darnley was not mistaken, and it was indeed Rizzio who, in despair at having helped to bring about a union which he foresaw must become so unfortunate, gave Mary the advice not to give up any of her power to one who already possessed much more than he deserved, in possessing her person. Darnley, like all persons of both weak and violent character, disbelieved in the persistence of will in others, unless this will was sustained by an outside influence. He thought that in ridding himself of Rizzio he could not fail to gain the day, since, as he believed, he alone was opposing the grant of this great desire of his, the crown matrimonial. Consequently, as Rizzio was disliked by the nobles in proportion as his merits had raised him above them, it was easy for Darnley to organise a conspiracy, and James Douglas of Morton, chancellor of the kingdom, consented to act as chief. This is the second time since the beginning of our narrative that we inscribe this name Douglas, so often pronounced, in Scottish history, and which at this time, extinct in the elder branch, known as the Black Douglases, was perpetuated in the younger branch, known as the Red Douglases. It was an ancient, noble, and powerful family, which, when the descent in the male line from Robert Bruce had lapsed, disputed the royal title with the first Stuart, and which since then had constantly kept alongside the throne, sometimes its support, sometimes its enemy, envying every great house, for greatness made it uneasy, but above all envious of the house of Hamilton, which, if not its equal, was at any rate after itself the next most powerful. During the whole reign of James V, thanks to the hatred which the king bore them, the Douglases had: not only lost all their influence, but had also been exiled to England. This hatred was on account of their having seized the guardianship of the young prince and kept him prisoner till he was fifteen. Then, with the help of one of his pages, James V had escaped from Falkland, and had reached Stirling, whose governor was in his interests. Scarcely was he safe in the castle than he made proclamation that any Douglas who should approach within a dozen miles of it would be prosecuted for high treason. This was not all: he obtained a decree from Parliament, declaring them guilty of felony, and condemning them to exile; they remained proscribed, then, during the king's lifetime, and returned to Scotland only upon his death. The result was that, although they had been recalled about the throne, and though, thanks to the past influence of Murray, who, one remembers, was a Douglas on the mother's side, they filled the most important posts there, they had not forgiven to the daughter the enmity borne them by the father. This was why James Douglas, chancellor as he was, and consequently entrusted with the execution of the laws, put himself at the head of a conspiracy which had for its aim the violation of all laws; human and divine. Douglas's first idea had been to treat Rizzio as the favourites of James III had been treated at the Bridge of Lauder--that is to say, to make a show of having a trial and to hang him afterwards. But such a death did not suffice for Darnley's vengeance; as above everything he wished to punish the queen in Rizzio's person, he exacted that the murder should take place in her presence. Douglas associated with himself Lord Ruthven, an idle and dissolute sybarite, who under the circumstances promised to push his devotion so far as to wear a cuirass; then, sure of this important accomplice, he busied himself with finding other agents. However, the plot was not woven with such secrecy but that something of it transpired; and Rizzio received several warnings that he despised. Sir James Melville, among others, tried every means to make him understand the perils a stranger ran who enjoyed such absolute confidence in a wild, jealous court like that of Scotland. Rizzio received these hints as if resolved not to apply them to himself; and Sir James Melville, satisfied that he had done enough to ease his conscience, did not insist further. Then a French priest, who had a reputation as a clever astrologer, got himself admitted to Rizzio, and warned him that the stars predicted that he was in deadly peril, and that he should beware of a certain bastard above all. Rizzio replied that from the day when he had been honoured with his sovereign's confidence, he had sacrificed in advance his life to his position; that since that time, however, he had had occasion to notice that in general the Scotch were ready to threaten but slow to act; that, as to the bastard referred to, who was doubtless the Earl of Murray, he would take care that he should never enter Scotland far enough for his sword to reach him, were it as long as from Dumfries to Edinburgh; which in other words was as much as to say that Murray should remain exiled in England for life, since Dumfries was one of the principal frontier towns. Meanwhile the conspiracy proceeded, and Douglas and Ruthven, having collected their accomplices and taken their measures, came to Darnley to finish the compact. As the price of the bloody service they rendered the king, they exacted from him a promise to obtain the pardon of Murray and the nobles compromised with him in the affair of the "run in every sense". Darnley granted all they asked of him, and a messenger was sent to Murray to inform him of the expedition in preparation, and to invite him to hold himself in readiness to reenter Scotland at the first notice he should receive. Then, this point settled, they made Darnley sign a paper in which he acknowledged himself the author and chief of the enterprise. The other assassins were the Earl of Morton, the Earl of Ruthven, George Douglas the bastard of Angus, Lindley, and Andrew, Carew. The remainder were soldiers, simple murderers' tools, who did not even know what was afoot. Darnley reserved it for himself to appoint the time. Two days after these conditions were agreed upon, Darnley having been notified that the queen was alone with Rizzio, wished to make himself sure of the degree of her favour enjoyed by the minister. He accordingly went to her apartment by a little door of which he always kept the key upon him; but though the key turned in the lock, the door did not open. Then Darnley knocked, announcing himself; but such was the contempt into which he had fallen with the queen, that Mary left him outside, although, supposing she had been alone with Rizzio, she would have had time to send him away. Darnley, driven to extremities by this, summoned Morton, Ruthven, Lennox, Lindley, and Douglas's bastard, and fixed the assassination of Rizzio for two days later. They had just completed all the details, and had, distributed the parts that each must play in this bloody tragedy, when suddenly, and at the moment when they least expected it, the door opened and, Mary Stuart appeared on the threshold. "My lords," said she, "your holding these secret counsels is useless. I am informed of your plots, and with God's help I shall soon apply a remedy". With these words, and before the conspirators hid had time to collect themselves, she shut the door again, and vanished like a passing but threatening vision. All remained thunderstruck. Morton was the first to find his tongue. "My lords," said he, "this is a game of life and death, and the winner will not be the cleverest or the strongest, but the readiest. If we do not destroy this man, we are lost. We must strike him down, this very evening, not the day after to-morrow." Everyone applauded, even Ruthven, who, still pale and feverish from riotous living, promised not to be behindhand. The only point changed, on Morton's suggestion, was that the murder should take place next day; for, in the opinion of all, not less than a day's interval was needed to collect the minor conspirators, who numbered not less than five hundred. The next day, which was Saturday, March 9th, 1566, Mary Stuart, who had inherited from her father, James V, a dislike of ceremony and the need of liberty, had invited to supper with her six persons, Rizzio among the number. Darnley, informed of this in the morning, immediately gave notice of it to the conspirators, telling them that he himself would let them into the palace between six and seven o'clock in the evening. The conspirators replied that they would be in readiness. The morning had been dark and stormy, as nearly all the first days of spring are in Scotland, and towards evening the snow and wind redoubled in depth and violence. So Mary had remained shut up with Rizzio, and Darnley, who had gone to the secret door several times, could hear the sound of instruments and the voice of the favourite, who was singing those sweet melodies which have come down to our time, and which Edinburgh people still attribute to him. These songs were for Mary a reminder of her stay in France, where the artists in the train of the Medicis had already brought echoes from Italy; but for Darnley they were an insult, and each time he had withdrawn strengthened in his design. At the appointed time, the conspirators, who had been given the password during the day, knocked at the palace gate, and were received there so much the more easily that Darnley himself, wrapped in a great cloak, awaited them at the postern by which they were admitted. The five hundred soldiers immediately stole into an inner courtyard, where they placed themselves under some sheds, as much to keep themselves from the cold as that they might not be seen on the snow-covered ground. A brightly lighted window looked into this courtyard; it was that of the queen's study: at the first signal give them from this window, the soldiers were to break in the door and go to the help of the chief conspirators. These instructions given, Darnley led Morton, Ruthven, Lennox, Lindley, Andrew Carew, and Douglas's bastard into the room adjoining the study, and only separated from it by a tapestry hanging before the door. From there one could overhear all that was being said, and at a single bound fall upon the guests. Darnley left them in this room, enjoining silence; then, giving them as a signal to enter the moment when they should hear him cry, "To me, Douglas!" he went round by the secret passage, so that seeing him come in by his usual door the queen's suspicions might not be roused by his unlooked-for visit. Mary was at supper with six persons, having, say de Thou and Melville, Rizzio seated on her right; while, on the contrary, Carapden assures us that he was eating standing at a sideboard. The talk was gay and intimate; for all were giving themselves up to the ease one feels at being safe and warm, at a hospitable board, while the snow is beating against the windows and the wind roaring in the chimneys. Suddenly Mary, surprised that the most profound silence had succeeded to the lively and animated flow of words among her guests since the beginning of supper, and suspecting, from their glances, that the cause of their uneasiness was behind her, turned round and saw Darnley leaning on the back of her chair. The queen shuddered; for although her husband was smiling when looking at Rizzio, this smile lead assumed such a strange expression that it was clear that something terrible was about to happen. At the same moment, Mary heard in the next room a heavy, dragging step drew near the cabinet, then the tapestry was raised, and Lord Ruthven, in armour of which he could barely support the weight, pale as a ghost, appeared on the threshold, and, drawing his sword in silence, leaned upon it. The queen thought he was delirious. "What do you want, my lord?" she said to him; "and why do you come to the palace like this?" "Ask the king, madam," replied Ruthven in an indistinct voice. "It is for him to answer." "Explain, my lord," Mary demanded, turning again towards Darnley; "what does such a neglect of ordinary propriety mean?" "It means, madam," returned Darnley, pointing to Rizzio, "that that man must leave here this very minute." "That man is mine, my lord," Mary said, rising proudly, "and consequently takes orders only from me." "To me, Douglas!" cried Darnley. At these words, the conspirators, who for some moments had drawn nearer Ruthven, fearing, so changeable was Darnley's character, lest he had brought them in vain and would not dare to utter the signal--at these words, the conspirators rushed into the room with such haste that they overturned the table. Then David Rizzio, seeing that it was he alone they wanted, threw himself on his knees behind the queen, seizing the hem of her robe and crying in Italian, "Giustizia! giustizia!" Indeed, the queen, true to her character, not allowing herself to be intimidated by this terrible irruption, placed herself in front of Rizzio and sheltered him behind her Majesty. But she counted too much on the respect of a nobility accustomed to struggle hand to hand with its kings for five centuries. Andrew Carew held a dagger to her breast and threatened to kill her if she insisted on defending any longer him whose death was resolved upon. Then Darnley, without consideration for the queen's pregnancy, seized her round the waist and bore her away from Rizzio, who remained on his knees pale and trembling, while Douglas's bastard, confirming the prediction of the astrologer who had warned Rizzio to beware of a certain bastard, drawing the king's own dagger, plunged it into the breast of the minister, who fell wounded, but not dead. Morton immediately took him by the feet and dragged him from the cabinet into the larger room, leaving on the floor that long track of blood which is still shown there; then, arrived there, each rushed upon him as upon a quarry, and set upon the corpse, which they stabbed in fifty-six places. Meanwhile Darnley held the queen, who, thinking that all was not over, did not cease crying for mercy. But Ruthven came back, paler than at first, and at Darnley's inquiry if Rizzio were dead, he nodded in the affirmative; then, as he could not bear further fatigue in his convalescent state, he sat down, although the queen, whom Darnley had at last released, remained standing on the same spot. At this Mary could not contain herself. "My lord," cried she, "who has given you permission to sit down in my presence, and whence comes such insolence?" "Madam," Ruthven answered, "I act thus not from insolence, but from weakness; for, to serve your husband, I have just taken more exercise than my doctors allow". Then turning round to a servant, "Give me a glass of wine," said he, showing Darnley his bloody dagger before putting it back in its sheath, "for here is the proof that I have well earned it". The servant obeyed, and Ruthven drained his glass with as much calmness as if he had just performed the most innocent act. "My lord," the queen then said, taking a step towards him, "it may be that as I am a woman, in spite of my desire and my will, I never find an opportunity to repay you what you are doing to me; but," she added, energetically striking her womb with her hand, "he whom I bear there, and whose life you should have respected, since you respect my Majesty so little, will one day revenge me for all these insults". Then, with a gesture at once superb and threatening, she withdrew by Darnley's door, which she closed behind her. At that moment a great noise was heard in the queen's room. Huntly, Athol, and Bothwell, who, we are soon about to see, play such an important part in the sequel of this history, were supping together in another hall of the palace, when suddenly they had heard outcries and the clash of arms, so that they had run with all speed. When Athol, who came first, without knowing whose it was, struck against the dead body of Rizzio, which was stretched at the top of the staircase, they believed, seeing someone assassinated, that the lives of the king and queen were threatened, and they had drawn their swords to force the door that Morton was guarding. But directly Darnley understood what was going on, he darted from the cabinet, followed by Ruthven, and showing himself to the newcomers-- "My lords," he said, "the persons of the queen and myself are safe, and nothing has occurred here but by our orders. Withdraw, then; you will know more about it in time. As to him," he added, holding up Rizzio's head by the hair, whilst the bastard of Douglas lit up the face with a torch so that it could be recognised, "you see who it is, and whether it is worth your while to get into trouble for him". And in fact, as soon as Huntly, Athol, and Bothwell had recognised the musician-minister, they sheathed their swords, and, having saluted the king, went away. Mary had gone away with a single thought in her heart, vengeance. But she understood that she could not revenge herself at one and the same time on her husband and his companions: she set to work, then, with all the charms of her wit and beauty to detach the kind from his accomplices. It was not a difficult task: when that brutal rage which often carried Darnley beyond all bounds was spent, he was frightened himself at the crime he had committed, and while the assassins, assembled by Murray, were resolving that he should have that greatly desired crown matrimonial, Darnley, as fickle as he was violent, and as cowardly as he was cruel, in Mary's very room, before the scarcely dried blood, made another compact, in which he engaged to deliver up his accomplices. Indeed, three days after the event that we have just related, the murderers learned a strange piece of news--that Darnley and Mary, accompanied by Lord Seyton, had escaped together from Holyrood Palace. Three days later still, a proclamation appeared, signed by Mary and dated from Dunbar, which summoned round the queen, in her own name and the king's, all the Scottish lords and barons, including those who had been compromised in the affair of the "run in every sense," to whom she not only granted full and complete pardon, but also restored her entire confidence. In this way she separated Murray's cause from that of Morton and the other assassins, who, in their turn, seeing that there was no longer any safety for them in Scotland, fled to England, where all the queen's enemies were always certain to find a warm welcome, in spite of the good relations which reigned in appearance between Mary and Elizabeth. As to Bothwell, who had wanted to oppose the assassination, he was appointed Warden of all the Marches of the Kingdom. Unfortunately for her honour, Mary, always more the woman than the queen, while, on the contrary, Elizabeth was always more the queen than the woman, had no sooner regained her power than her first royal act was to exhume Rizzio, who had been quietly buried on the threshold of the chapel nearest Holyrood Palace, and to have him removed to the burial-place of the Scottish kings, compromising herself still more by the honours she paid him dead than by the favour she had granted him living. Such an imprudent demonstration naturally led to fresh quarrels between Mary and Darnley: these quarrels were the more bitter that, as one can well understand, the reconciliation between the husband and wife, at least on the latter's side, had never been anything but a pretence; so that, feeling herself in a stronger position still on account of her pregnancy, she restrained herself no longer, and, leaving Darnley, she went from Dunbar to Edinburgh Castle, where on June 19th, 1566, three months after the assassination of Rizzio, she gave birth to a son who afterwards became James VI. CHAPTER III Directly she was delivered, Mary sent for James Melville, her usual envoy to Elizabeth, and charged him to convey this news to the Queen of England, and to beg her to be godmother to the royal child at the same time. On arriving in London, Melville immediately presented himself at the palace; but as there was a court ball, he could not see the queen, and contented himself with making known the reason for his journey to the minister Cecil, and with begging him to ask his mistress for an audience next day. Elizabeth was dancing in a quadrille at the moment when Cecil, approaching her, said in a low voice, "Queen Mary of Scotland has just given birth to a son". At these words she grew frightfully pale, and, looking about her with a bewildered air, and as if she were about to faint, she leaned against an arm-chair; then, soon, not being able to stand upright, she sat down, threw back her head, and plunged into a mournful reverie. Then one of the ladies of her court, breaking through the circle which had formed round the queen, approached her, ill at ease, and asked her of what she was thinking so sadly. "Ah! madam," Elizabeth replied impatiently, "do you not know that Mary Stuart has given birth to a son, while I am but a barren stock, who will die without offspring?" Yet Elizabeth was too good a politician, in spite of her liability to be carried away by a first impulse, to compromise herself by a longer display of her grief. The ball was not discontinued on that account, and the interrupted quadrille was resumed and finished. The next day, Melville had his audience. Elizabeth received him to perfection, assuring him of all the pleasure that the news he brought had caused her, and which, she said, had cured her of a complaint from which she had suffered for a fortnight. Melville replied that his mistress had hastened to acquaint her with her joy, knowing that she had no better friend; but he added that this joy had nearly cost Mary her life, so grievous had been her confinement. As he was returning to this point for the third time, with the object of still further increasing the queen of England's dislike to marriage-- "Be easy, Melville," Elizabeth answered him; "you need not insist upon it. I shall never marry; my kingdom takes the place of a husband for me, and my subjects are my children. When I am dead, I wish graven on my tombstone: 'Here lies Elizabeth, who reigned so many years, and who died a virgin.'" Melville availed himself of this opportunity to remind Elizabeth of the desire she had shown to see Mary, three or four years before; but Elizabeth said, besides her country's affairs, which necessitated her presence in the heart of her possessions, she did not care, after all she had heard said of her rival's beauty, to expose herself to a comparison disadvantageous to her pride. She contented herself, then, with choosing as her proxy the Earl of Bedford, who set out with several other noblemen for Stirling Castle, where the young prince was christened with great pomp, and received the name of Charles James. It was remarked that Darnley did not appear at this ceremony, and that his absence seemed to scandalise greatly the queen of England's envoy. On the contrary, James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, had the most important place there. This was because, since the evening when Bothwell, at Mary's cries, had run to oppose the murder of Rizzio, he had made great way in the queen's favour; to her party he himself appeared to be really attached, to the exclusion of the two others, the king's and the Earl of Murray's. Bothwell was already thirty-five years old, head of the powerful family of Hepburn, which had great influence in East Lothian and the county of Berwick; for the rest, violent, rough, given to every kind of debauchery, and capable of anything to satisfy an ambition that he did not even give himself the trouble to hide. In his youth he had been reputed courageous, but for long he had had no serious opportunity to draw the sword. If the king's authority had been shaken by Rizzio's influence, it was entirely upset by Bothwell's. The great nobles, following the favourite's example, no longer rose in the presence of Darnley, and ceased little by little to treat him as their equal: his retinue was cut down, his silver plate taken from him, and some officers who remained about him made him buy their services with the most bitter vexations. As for the queen, she no longer even took the trouble to conceal her dislike for him, avoiding him without consideration, to such a degree that one day when she had gone with Bothwell to Alway, she left there again immediately, because Darnley came to join her. The king, however, still had patience; but a fresh imprudence of Mary's at last led to the terrible catastrophe that, since the queen's liaison with Bothwell, some had already foreseen. Towards the end of the month of October, 1566, while the queen was holding a court of justice at Jedburgh, it was announced to her that Bothwell, in trying to seize a malefactor called John Elliot of Park, had been badly wounded in the hand; the queen, who was about to attend the council, immediately postponed the sitting till next day, and, having ordered a horse to be saddled, she set out for Hermitage Castle, where Bothwell was living, and covered the distance at a stretch, although it was twenty miles, and she had to go across woods, marshes, and rivers; then, having remained some hours tete-a-tete with him, she set out again with the same sped for Jedburgh, to which she returned in the night. Although this proceeding had made a great deal of talk, which was inflamed still more by the queen's enemies, who chiefly belonged to the Reformed religion, Darnley did not hear of it till nearly two months afterwards--that is to say, when Bothwell, completely recovered, returned with the queen to Edinburgh. Then Darnley thought that he ought not to put up any longer with such humiliations. But as, since his treason to his accomplices, he had not found in all Scotland a noble who would have drawn the sword for him, he resolved to go and seek the Earl of Lennox, his father, hoping that through his influence he could rally the malcontents, of whom there were a great number since Bothwell had been in favour. Unfortunately, Darnley, indiscreet and imprudent as usual, confided this plan to some of his officers, who warned Bothwell of their master's intention. Bothwell did not seem to oppose the journey in any way; but Darnley was scarcely a mile from Edinburgh when he felt violent pains none the less, he continued his road, and arrived very ill at Glasgow. He immediately sent for a celebrated doctor, called James Abrenets, who found his body covered with pimples, and declared without any hesitation that he had been poisoned. However, others, among them Walter Scott, state that this illness was nothing else than smallpox. Whatever it may have been, the queen, in the presence of the danger her husband ran, appeared to forget her resentment, and at the risk of what might prove troublesome to herself, she went to Darnley, after sending her doctor in advance. It is true that if one is to believe in the following letters, dated from Glasgow, which Mary is accused of having written to Bothwell, she knew the illness with which he was attacked too well to fear infection. As these letters are little known, and seem to us very singular we transcribe them here; later we shall tell how they fell into the power of the Confederate lords, and from their hands passed into Elizabeth's, who, quite delighted, cried on receiving them, "God's death, then I hold her life and honour in my hands!" FIRST LETTER. "When I set out from the place where I had left my heart, judge in what a condition I was, poor body without a soul: besides, during the whole of dinner I have not spoken to anyone, and no one has dared to approach me, for it was easy to see that there was something amiss. When I arrived within a league of the town, the Earl of Lennox sent me one of his gentlemen to make me his compliments, and to excuse himself for not having come in person; he has caused me to be informed, moreover, that he did not dare to present himself before me after the reprimand that I gave Cunningham. This gentleman begged me, as if of his own accord, to examine his master's conduct, to ascertain if my suspicions were well founded. I have replied to him that fear was an incurable disease, that the Earl of Lennox would not be so agitated if his conscience reproached him with nothing, and that if some hasty words had escaped me, they were but just reprisals for the letter he had written me. "None of the inhabitants visited me, which makes me think they are all in his interests; besides, they speak of him very favourably, as well as of his son. The king sent for Joachim yesterday, and asked him why I did not lodge with him, adding that my presence would soon cure him, and asked me also with what object I had come: if it were to be reconciled with him; if you were here; if I had taken Paris and Gilbert as secretaries, and if I were still resolved to dismiss Joseph? I do not know who has given him such accurate information. There is nothing, down to the marriage of Sebastian, with which he has not made himself acquainted. I have asked him the meaning of one of his letters, in which he complains of the cruelty of certain people. He replied that he was--stricken, but that my presence caused him so much joy that he thought he should die of it. He reproached me several times for being dreamy; I left him to go to supper; he begged me to return: I went back. Then he told me the story of his illness, and that he wished to make a will leaving me everything, adding that I was a little the cause of his trouble, and that he attributed it to my coldness. 'You ask me,' added he, 'who are the people of whom I complain: it is of you, cruel one, of you, whom I have never been able to appease by my tears and my repentance. I know that I have offended you, but not on the matter that you reproach me with: I have also offended some of your subjects, but that you have forgiven me. I am young, and you say that I always relapse into my faults; but cannot a young man like me, destitute of experience, gain it also, break his promises, repent directly, and in time improve? If you will forgive me yet once more, I will promise to offend you never again. All the favour I ask of you is that we should live together like husband and wife, to have but one bed and one board: if you are inflexible, I shall never rise again from here. I entreat you, tell me your decision: God alone knows what I suffer, and that because I occupy myself with you only, because I love and adore only you. If I have offended you sometimes, you must bear the reproach; for when someone offends me, if it were granted me to complain to you, I should not confide my griefs to others; but when we are on bad terms, I am obliged to keep them to myself, and that maddens me.' "He then urged me strongly to stay with him and lodge in his house; but I excused myself, and replied that he ought to be purged, and that he could not be, conveniently, at Glasgow; then he told me that he knew I had brought a letter for him, but that he would have preferred to make the journey with me. He believed, I think, that I meant to send him to some prison: I replied that I should take him to Craigmiller, that he would find doctors there, that I should remain near him, and that we should be within reach of seeing my son. He has answered that he will go where I wish to take him, provided that I grant him what he has asked. He does not, however, wish to be seen by anyone. "He has told me more than a hundred pretty things that I cannot repeat to you, and at which you yourself would be surprised: he did not want to let me go; he wanted to make me sit up with him all night. As for me, I pretended to believe everything, and I seemed to interest myself really in him. Besides, I have never seen him so small and humble; and if I had not known how easily his heart overflows, and how mine is impervious to every other arrow than those with which you have wounded it, I believe that I should have allowed myself to soften; but lest that should alarm you, I would die rather than give up what I have promised you. As for you, be sure to act in the same way towards those traitors who will do all they can to separate you from me. I believe that all those people have been cast in the same mould: this one always has a tear in his eye; he bows down before everyone, from the greatest to the smallest; he wishes to interest them in his favour, and make himself pitied. His father threw up blood to-day through the nose and mouth; think what these symptoms mean. I have not seen him yet, for he keeps to the house. The king wants me to feed him myself; he won't eat unless I do. But, whatever I may do, you will be deceived by it no more than I shall be deceiving myself. We are united, you and I, to two kinds of very detestable people [Mary means Miss Huntly, Bothwell's wife, whom he repudiated, at the king's death, to marry the queen.]: that hell may sever these knots then, and that heaven may form better ones, that nothing can break, that it may make of us the most tender and faithful couple that ever was; there is the profession of faith in which I would die. "Excuse my scrawl: you must guess more than the half of it, but I know no help for this. I am obliged to write to you hastily while everyone is asleep here: but be easy, I take infinite pleasure in my watch; for I cannot sleep like the others, not being able to sleep as I would like--that is to say, in your arms. "I am going to get into bed; I shall finish my letter tomorrow: I have too many things to tell to you, the night is too far advanced: imagine my despair. It is to you I am writing, it is of myself that I converse with you, and I am obliged to make an end. "I cannot prevent myself, however, from filling up hastily the rest of my paper. Cursed be the crazy creature who torments me so much! Were it not for him, I could talk to you of more agreeable things: he is not greatly changed; and yet he has taken a great deal o f %t. But he has nearly killed me with the fetid smell of his breath; for now his is still worse than your cousin's: you guess that this is a fresh reason for my not approaching him; on the contrary, I go away as far as I can, and sit on a chair at the foot of his bed. "Let us see if I forget anything. "His father's messenger on the road; The question about Joachim; The-state of my house; The people of my suite; Subject of my arrival; Joseph; Conversation between him and me; His desire to please me and his repentance; The explanation of his letter; Mr. Livingston. "Ah! I was forgetting that. Yesterday Livingston during supper told de Rere in a low voice to drink to the health of one I knew well, and to beg me to do him the honour. After supper, as I was leaning on his shoulder near the fire, he said to me, 'Is it not true that there are visits very agreeable for those who pay them and those who receive them? But, however satisfied they seem with your arrival, I challenge their delight to equal the grief of one whom you have left alone to-day, and who will never be content till he sees you again.' I asked him of whom he wished to speak to me. He then answered me by pressing my arm: 'Of one of those who have not followed you; and among those it is easy for you to guess of whom I want to speak.' "I have worked till two o'clock at the bracelet; I have enclosed a little key which is attached by two strings: it is not as well worked as I should like, but I have not had time to make it better; I will make you a finer one on the first occasion. Take care that it is not seen on you; for I have worked at it before everyone, and it would be recognised to a certainty. "I always return, in spite of myself, to the frightful attempt that you advise. You compel me to concealments, and above all to treacheries that make me shudder; I would rather die, believe me, than do such things; for it makes my heart bleed. He does not want to follow me unless I promise him to have the selfsame bed and board with him as before, and not to abandon him so often. If I consent to it, he says he will do all I wish, and will follow me everywhere; but he has begged me to put off my departure for two days. I have pretended to agree to all he wishes; but I have told him not to speak of our reconciliation to anyone, for fear it should make some lords uneasy. At last I shall take him everywhere I wish.... Alas! I have never deceived anyone; but what would I not do to please you? Command, and whatever happens, I shall obey. But see yourself if one could not contrive some secret means in the shape of a remedy. He must purge himself at Craigmiller and take baths there; he will be some days without going out. So far as I can see, he is very uneasy; but he has great trust in what I tell him: however, his confidence does not go so far as to allow him to open his mind to me. If you like, I will tell him every thing: I can have no pleasure in deceiving someone who is trusting. However, it will be just as you wish: do not esteem me the less for that. It is you advised it; never would vengeance have taken me so far. Sometimes he attacks me in a very sensitive place, and he touches me to the quick when he tells me that his crimes are known, but that every day greater ones are committed that one uselessly attempts to hide, since all crimes, whatsoever they be, great or small, come to men's knowledge and form the common subject of their discourse. He adds sometimes, in speaking to me of Madame de Rere, 'I wish her services may do you honour.' He has assured me that many people thought, and that he thought himself, that I was not my own mistress; this is doubtless because I had rejected the conditions he offered me. Finally, it is certain that he is very uneasy about you know what, and that he even suspects that his life is aimed at. He is in despair whenever the conversation turns on you, Livingston, and my brother. However, he says neither good nor ill of absent people; but, on the contrary, he always avoids speaking of them. His father keeps to the house: I have not seen him yet. A number of the Hamiltons are here, and accompany me everywhere; all the friends of the other one follow me each time I go to see him. He has begged me to be at his rising to-morrow. My messenger will tell you the rest. "Burn my letter: there would be danger in keeping it. Besides, it is hardly worth the trouble, being filled only with dark thoughts. "As for you, do not be offended if I am sad and uneasy to-day, that to please you I rise above honour, remorse, and dangers. Do not take in bad part what I tell you, and do not listen to the malicious explanations of your wife's brother; he is a knave whom you ought not to hear to the prejudice of the most tender and most faithful mistress that ever was. Above all, do not allow yourself to be moved by that woman: her sham tears are nothing in comparison with the real tears that I shed, and with what love and constancy make me suffer at succeeding her; it is for that alone that in spite of myself I betray all those who could cross my love. God have mercy on me, and send you all the prosperity that a humble and tender friend who awaits from you soon another reward wishes you. It is very late; but it is always with regret that I lay down my pen when I write to you; however, I shall not end my letter until I shall have kissed your hands. Forgive me that it is so ill-written: perhaps I do so expressly that you may be obliged to re-read it several times: I have transcribed hastily what I had written down on my tablets, and my paper has given out. Remember a tender friend, and write to her often: love me as tenderly as I love you, and remember "Madame de Rere's words; The English; His mother; The Earl of Argyll; The Earl of Bothwell; The Edinburgh dwelling." SECOND LETTER. "It seems that you have forgotten me during your absence, so much the more that you had promised me, at setting out, to let me know in detail everything fresh that should happen. The hope of receiving your news was giving me almost as much delight as your return could have brought me: you have put it off longer than you promised me. As for me, although you do not write, I play my part always. I shall take him to Craigmiller on Monday, and he will spend the whole of Wednesday there. On that day I shall go to Edinburgh to be bled there, unless you arrange otherwise at least. He is more cheerful than usual, and he is better than ever. "He says everything he can to persuade me that he loves me; he has a thousand attentions for me, and he anticipates me in everything: all that is so pleasant for me, that I never go to him but the pain in my side comes on again, his company weighs on me so much. If Paris brought me what I asked him, I should be soon cured. If you have not yet returned when I go you know where, write to me, I beg you, and tell me what you wish me to do; for if you do not manage things prudently, I foresee that the whole burden will fall on me: look into everything and weigh the affair maturely. I send you my letter by Beaton, who will set out the day which has been assigned to Balfour. It only remains for me to beg you to inform me of your journey. "Glasgow, this Saturday morning." THIRD LETTER. "I stayed you know where longer than I should have done, if it had not been to get from him something that the bearer of these presents will tell you it was a good opportunity for covering up our designs: I have promised him to bring the person you know to-morrow. Look after the rest, if you think fit. Alas! I have failed in our agreement, for you have forbidden me to write to you, or to despatch a messenger to you. However, I do not intend to offend you: if you knew with what fears I am agitated, you would not have yourself so many doubts and suspicions. But I take them in good part, persuaded as I am that they have no other cause than love--love that I esteem more than anything on earth. "My feelings and my favours are to me sure warrants for that love, and answer to me for your heart; my trust is entire on this head: but explain yourself, I entreat you, and open your soul to me; otherwise, I shall fear lest, by the fatality of my star, and by the too fortunate influence of the stars on women less tender and less faithful than I, I may be supplanted in your heart as Medea was in Jason's; not that I wish to compare you to a lover as unfortunate as Jason, and to parallel myself with a monster like Medea, although you have enough influence over me to force me to resemble her each time our love exacts it, and that it concerns me to keep your heart, which belongs to me, and which belongs to me only. For I name as belonging to me what I have purchased with the tender and constant love with which I have burned for you, a love more alive to-day than ever, and which will end only with my life; a love, in short, which makes me despise both the dangers and the remorse which will be perhaps its sad sequel. As the price of this sacrifice, I ask you but one favour, it is to remember a spot not far from here: I do not exact that you should keep your promise to-morrow; but I want to see you to disperse your suspicions. I ask of God only one thing: it is that He should make you read my heart, which is less mine than yours, and that He should guard you from every ill, at least during my life: this life is dear to me only in so far as it pleases you, and as I please you myself. I am going to bed: adieu; give me your news to-morrow morning; for I shall be uneasy till I have it. Like a bird escaped from its cage, or the turtle-dove which has lost her mate, I shall be alone, weeping your absence, short as it may be. This letter, happier than I, will go this evening where I cannot go, provided that the messenger does not find you asleep, as I fear. I have not dared to write it in the presence of Joseph, of Sebastian, and of Joachim, who had only just left me when I began it." Thus, as one sees, and always supposing these letters to be genuine, Mary had conceived for Bothwell one of those mad passions, so much the stronger in the women who are a prey to them, that one the less understands what could have inspired them. Bothwell was no longer young, Bothwell was not handsome, and yet Mary sacrificed for him a young husband, who was considered one of the handsomest men of his century. It was like a kind of enchantment. Darnley, the sole obstacle to the union, had been already condemned for a long time, if not by Mary, at least by Bothwell; then, as his strong constitution had conquered the poison, another kind of death was sought for. The queen, as she announces in her letter to Bothwell, had refused to bring back Darnley with her, and had returned alone to Edinburgh. Arrived there, she gave orders for the king to be moved, in his turn, in a litter; but instead of taking him to Stirling or Holyrood, she decided to lodge him in the abbey of the Kirk of Field. The king made some objections when he knew of this arrangement; however, as he had no power to oppose it, he contented himself with complaining of the solitude of the dwelling assigned him; but the queen made answer that she could not receive him at that moment, either at Holyrood or at Stirling, for fear, if his illness were infectious, lest he might give it to his son: Darnley was then obliged to make the best of the abode allotted him. It was an isolated abbey, and little calculated by its position to dissipate the fears that the king entertained; for it was situated between two ruined churches and two cemeteries: the only house, which was distant about a shot from a cross-bow, belonged to the Hamiltons, and as they were Darnley's mortal enemies the neighbourhood was none the more reassuring: further, towards the north, rose some wretched huts, called the "Thieves' cross-roads". In going round his new residence, Darnley noticed that three holes, each large enough for a man to get through, had been made in the walls; he asked that these holes, through which ill-meaning persons could get in, should be stopped up: it was promised that masons should be sent; but nothing was done, and the holes remained open. The day after his arrival at Kirk of Field, the king saw a light in that house near his which lie believed deserted; next day he asked Alexander Durham whence it came, and he heard that the Archbishop of St. Andrew's had left his palace in Edinburgh and had housed there since the preceding evening, one didn't know why: this news still further increased the king's uneasiness; the Archbishop of St. Andrew's was one of his most declared enemies. The king, little by little abandoned by all his servants lived on the first floor of an isolated pavilion, having about him only this same Alexander Durham, whom we have mentioned already, and who was his valet. Darnley, who had quite a special friendship for him, and who besides, as we have said, feared some attack on his life at every moment, had made him move his bed into his own apartment, so that both were sleeping in the same room. On the night of the 8th February, Darnley awoke Durham: he thought he heard footsteps in the apartment beneath him. Durham rose, took a sword in one hand, a taper in the other, and went down to the ground floor; but although Darnley was quite certain he had not been deceived, Durham came up again a moment after, saying he had seen no one. The morning of the next day passed without bringing anything fresh. The queen was marrying one of her servants named Sebastian: he was an Auvergnat whom she had brought with her from France, and whom she liked very much. However, as the king sent word that he had not seen her for two days, she left the wedding towards six o'clock in the evening, and came to pay him a visit, accompanied by the Countess of Argyll and the Countess of Huntly. While she was there, Durham, in preparing his bed, set fire to his palliasse, which was burned as well as a part of the mattress; so that, having thrown them out of the window all in flames, for fear lest the fire should reach the rest of the furniture, he found himself without a bed, and asked permission to return to the town to sleep; but Darnley, who remembered his terror the night before, and who was surprised at the promptness that had made Durham throw all his bedding out of the window, begged him not to go away, offering him one of his mattresses, or even to take him into his own bed. However, in spite of this offer, Durham insisted, saying that he felt unwell, and that he should like to see a doctor the same evening. So the queen interceded for Durham, and promised Darnley to send him another valet to spend the night with him: Darnley was then obliged to yield, and, making Mary repeat that she would send him someone, he gave Durham leave for that evening. At that moment Paris; of whom the queen speaks in her letters, came in: he was a young Frenchman who had been in Scotland for some years, and who, after having served with Bothwell and Seyton, was at present with the queen. Seeing him, she got up, and as Darnley still wished to keep her-- "Indeed, my lord, it is impossible," said she, "to come and see you. I have left this poor Sebastian's wedding, and I must return to it; for I promised to came masked to his ball." The king dared not insist; he only reminded her of the promise that she had made to send him a servant: Mary renewed it yet once again, and went away with her attendants. As for Durham, he had set out the moment he received permission. It was nine o'clock in the evening. Darnley, left alone, carefully shut the doors within, and retired to rest, though in readiness to rise to let in the servant who should come to spend the night with him. Scarcely was he in bed than the same noise that he had heard the night before recommenced; this time Darnley listened with all the attention fear gives, and soon he had no longer any doubt but that several men were walking about beneath him. It was useless to call, it was dangerous to go out; to wait was the only course that remained to the king. He made sure again that the doors were well fastened, put his sword under his pillow, extinguished his lamp for fear the light might betray him, and awaited in silence for his servant's arrival; but the hours passed away, and the servant did not come. At one o'clock in the morning, Bothwell, after having talked some while with the queen, in the presence of the captain of the guard, returned home to change his dress; after some minutes, he came out wrapped up in the large cloak of a German hussar, went through the guard-house, and had the castle gate opened. Once outside, he took his way with all speed to Kirk of Field, which he entered by the opening in the wall: scarcely had he made a step in the garden than he met James Balfour, governor of the castle. "Well," he said to him, "how far have we got? "Everything is ready," replied Balfour, "and we were waiting for you to set fire to the fuse". "That is well," Bothwell answered--"but first I want to make sure that he is in his room." At these words, Bothwell opened the pavilion door with a false key, and, having groped his way up the stairs; he went to listen at Darnley's door. Darnley, hearing no further noise, had ended by going to sleep; but he slept with a jerky breathing which pointed to his agitation. Little mattered it to Bothwell what kind of sleep it was, provided that he was really in his room. He went down again in silence, then, as he had come up, and taking a lantern from one of the conspirators, he went himself into the lower room to see if everything was in order: this room was full of barrels of powder, and a fuse ready prepared wanted but a spark to set the whole on fire. Bothwell withdrew, then, to the end of the garden with Balfour, David, Chambers, and three or four others, leaving one man to ignite the fuse. In a moment this man rejoined them. There ensued some minutes of anxiety, during which the five men looked at one another in silence and as if afraid of themselves; then, seeing that nothing exploded, Bothwell impatiently turned round to the engineer, reproaching him for having, no doubt through fear, done his work badly. He assured his master that he was certain everything was all right, and as Bothwell, impatient, wanted to return to the house himself, to make sure, he offered to go back and see how things stood. In fact, he went back to the pavilion, and, putting his head through a kind of air-hole, he saw the fuse, which was still burning. Some seconds afterwards, Bothwell saw him come running back, making a sign that all was going well; at the same moment a frightful report was heard, the pavilion was blown to pieces, the town and the firth were lit up with a clearness exceeding the brightest daylight; then everything fell back into night, and the silence was broken only by the fall of stones and joists, which came down as fast as hail in a hurricane. Next day the body of the king was found in a garden in the neighbourhood: it had been saved from the action of the fire by the mattresses on which he was lying, and as, doubtless, in his terror he had merely thrown himself on his bed wrapped in his dressing-gown and in his slippers, and as he was found thus, without his slippers, which were flung some paces away, it was believed that he had been first strangled, then carried there; but the most probable version was that the murderers simply relied upon powder--an auxiliary sufficiently powerful in itself for them to have no fear it would fail them. Was the queen an accomplice or not? No one has ever known save herself, Bothwell, and God; but, yes or no, her conduct, imprudent this time as always, gave the charge her enemies brought against her, if not substance, at least an appearance of truth. Scarcely had she heard the news than she gave orders that the body should be brought to her, and, having had it stretched out upon a bench, she looked at it with more curiosity than sadness; then the corpse, embalmed, was placed the same evening, without pomp, by the side of Rizzio's. Scottish ceremonial prescribes for the widows of kings retirement for forty days in a room entirely closed to the light of day: on the twelfth day Mary had the windows opened, and on the fifteenth set out with Bothwell for Seaton, a country house situated five miles from the capital, where the French ambassador, Ducroc, went in search of her, and made her remonstrances which decided her to return to Edinburgh; but instead of the cheers which usually greeted her coming, she was received by an icy silence, and a solitary woman in the crowd called out, "God treat her as she deserves!" The names of the murderers were no secret to the people. Bothwell having brought a splendid coat which was too large for him to a tailor, asking him to remake it to his measure, the man recognised it as having belonged to the king. "That's right," said he; "it is the custom for the executioner to inherit from the-condemned". Meanwhile, the Earl of Lennox, supported by the people's murmurs, loudly demanded justice for his son's death, and came forward as the accuser of his murderers. The queen was then obliged, to appease paternal clamour and public resentment, to command the Earl of Argyll, the Lord Chief Justice of the kingdom, to make investigations; the same day that this order was given, a proclamation was posted up in the streets of Edinburgh, in which the queen promised two thousand pounds sterling to whoever would make known the king's murderers. Next day, wherever this letter had been affixed, another placard was found, worded thus: "As it has been proclaimed that those who should make known the king's murderers should have two thousand pounds sterling, I, who have made a strict search, affirm that the authors of the murder are the Earl of Bothwell, James Balfour, the priest of Flisk, David, Chambers, Blackmester, Jean Spens, and the queen herself." This placard was torn down; but, as usually happens, it had already been read by the entire population. The Earl of Lennox accused Bothwell, and public opinion, which also accused him, seconded the earl with such violence, that Mary was compelled to bring him to trial: only every precaution was taken to deprive the prosecutor of the power of convicting the accused. On the 28th March, the Earl of Lennox received notice that the 12th April was fixed for the trial: he was granted a fortnight to collect decisive proofs against the most powerful man in all Scotland; but the Earl of Lennox, judging that this trial was a mere mockery, did not appear. Bothwell, on the contrary, presented himself at the court, accompanied by five thousand partisans and two hundred picked fusiliers, who guarded the doors directly he had entered; so that he seemed to be rather a king who is about to violate the law than an accused who comes to submit to it. Of course there happened what was certain to happen--that is to say, the jury acquitted Bothwell of the crime of which everyone, the judges included, knew him to be guilty. The day of the trial, Bothwell had this written challenge placarded: "Although I am sufficiently cleared of the murder of the king, of which I have been falsely accused, yet, the better to prove my innocence, I am, ready to engage in combat with whomsoever will dare to maintain that I have killed the king." The day after, this reply appeared: "I accept the challenge, provided that you select neutral ground." However, judgment had been barely given, when rumours of a marriage between the queen and the Earl of Bothwell were abroad. However strange and however mad this marriage, the relations of the two lovers were so well known that no one doubted but that it was true. But as everyone submitted to Bothwell, either through fear or through ambition, two men only dared to protest beforehand against this union: the one was Lord Herries, and the other James Melville. Mary was at Stirling when Lord Herries, taking advantage of Bothwell's momentary absence, threw himself at her feet, imploring her not to lose her honour by marrying her husband's murderer, which could not fail to convince those who still doubted it that she was his accomplice. But the queen, instead of thanking Herries for this devotion, seemed very much surprised at his boldness, and scornfully signing to him to rise, she coldly replied that her heart was silent as regarded the Earl of Bothwell, and that, if she should ever re-marry, which was not probable, she would neither forget what she owed to her people nor what she owed to herself. Melville did not allow himself to be discouraged by this experience, and pretended, to have received a letter that one of his friends, Thomas Bishop, had written him from England. He showed this letter to the queen; but at the first lines Mary recognised the style, and above all the friendship of her ambassador, and giving the letter to the Earl of Livingston, who was present, "There is a very singular letter," said she. "Read it. It is quite in Melvine's manner." Livingston glanced through the letter, but had scarcely read the half of it when he took Melville by the hand, and drawing him into the embrasure of a window, "My dear Melville," said he, "you were certainly mad when you just now imparted this letter to the queen: as soon as the Earl of Bothwell gets wind of it, and that will not be long, he will have you assassinated. You have behaved like an honest man, it is true; but at court it is better to behave as a clever man. Go away, then, as quickly as possible; it is I who recommend it." Melville did not require to be told twice, and stayed away for a week. Livingston was not mistaken: scarcely had Bothwell returned to the queen than he knew all that had passed. He burst out into curses against Melville, and sought for him everywhere; but he could not find him. This beginning of opposition, weak as it was, none the less disquieted Bothwell, who, sure of Mary's love, resolved to make short work of things. Accordingly, as the queen was returning from Stirling to Edinburgh some days after the scenes we have just related, Bothwell suddenly appeared at the Bridge of Grammont with a thousand horsemen, and, having disarmed the Earl of Huntly, Livingston, and Melville, who had returned to his mistress, he seized the queen's horse by the bridle, and with apparent violence he forced Mary to turn back and follow him to Dunbar; which the queen did without any resistance--a strange thing for one of Mary's character. The day following, the Earls of Huntly, Livingston, Melville, and the people in their train were set at liberty; then, ten days afterwards, Bothwell and the queen, perfectly reconciled, returned to Edinburgh together. Two days after this return, Bothwell gave a great dinner to the nobles his partisans in a tavern. When the meal was ended, on the very same table, amid half-drained glasses and empty bottles, Lindsay, Ruthven, Morton, Maitland, and a dozen or fifteen other noblemen signed a bond which not only set forth that upon their souls and consciences Bothwell was innocent, but which further denoted him as the most suitable husband for the queen. This bond concluded with this sufficiently strange declaration: "After all, the queen cannot do otherwise, since the earl has carried her off and has lain with her." Yet two circumstances were still opposed to this marriage: the first, that Bothwell had already been married three times, and that his three wives were living; the second, that having carried off the queen, this violence might cause to be regarded as null the alliance which she should contract with him: the first of these objections was attended to, to begin with, as the one most difficult to solve. Bothwell's two first wives were of obscure birth, consequently he scorned to disquiet himself about them; but it was not so with the third, a daughter of that Earl of Huntly who been trampled beneath the horses' feet, and a sister of Gordon, who had been decapitated. Fortunately for Bothwell, his past behaviour made his wife long for a divorce with an eagerness as great as his own. There was not much difficulty, then, in persuading her to bring a charge of adultery against her husband. Bothwell confessed that he had had criminal intercourse with a relative of his wife, and the Archbishop of St. Andrews, the same who had taken up his abode in that solitary house at Kirk of Field to be present at Darnley's death, pronounced the marriage null. The case was begun, pushed on, and decided in ten days. As to the second obstacle, that of the violence used to the queen, Mary undertook to remove it herself; for, being brought before the court, she declared that not only did she pardon Bothwell for his conduct as regarded her, but further that, knowing him to be a good and faithful subject, she intended raising him immediately to new honours. In fact, some days afterwards she created him Duke of Orkney, and on the 15th of the same month--that is to say, scarcely four months after the death of Darnley--with levity that resembled madness, Mary, who had petitioned for a dispensation to wed a Catholic prince, her cousin in the third degree, married Bothwell, a Protestant upstart, who, his divorce notwithstanding, was still bigamous, and who thus found himself in the position of having four wives living, including the queen. The wedding was dismal, as became a festival under such outrageous auspices. Morton, Maitland, and some base flatterers of Bothwell alone were present at it. The French ambassador, although he was a creature of the House of Guise, to which the queen belonged, refused to attend it. Mary's delusion was short-lived: scarcely was she in Bothwell's power than she saw what a master she had given herself. Gross, unfeeling, and violent, he seemed chosen by Providence to avenge the faults of which he had been the instigator or the accomplice. Soon his fits of passion reached such a point, that one day, no longer able to endure them, Mary seized a dagger from Erskine, who was present with Melville at one of these scenes, and would have struck herself, saying that she would rather die than continue living unhappily as she did; yet, inexplicable as it seems, in spite of these miseries, renewed without ceasing, Mary, forgetting that she was wife and queen, tender and submissive as a child, was always the first to be reconciled with Bothwell. Nevertheless, these public scenes gave a pretext to the nobles, who only sought an opportunity for an outbreak. The Earl of Mar, the young prince's tutor, Argyll, Athol, Glencairn, Lindley, Boyd, and even Morton and Maitland themselves, those eternal accomplices of Bothwell, rose, they said, to avenge the death of the king, and to draw the son from hands which had killed the father and which were keeping the mother captive. As to Murray, he had kept completely in the background during all the last events; he was in the county of Fife when the king was assassinated, and three days before the trial of Bothwell he had asked and obtained from his sister permission to take a journey on the Continent. The insurrection took place in such a prompt and instantaneous manner, that the Confederate lords, whose plan was to surprise and seize both Mary and Bothwell, thought they would succeed at the first attempt. The king and queen were at table with Lord Borthwick, who was entertaining them, when suddenly it was announced that a large body of armed men was surrounding the castle: Bothwell and Mary suspected that they were aimed at, and as they had no means of resistance, Bothwell dressed himself as a squire, Mary as a page, and both immediately taking horse, escaped by one door just as the Confederates were coming in by the other. The fugitives withdrew to Dunbar. There they called together all Bothwell's friends, and made them sign a kind of treaty by which they undertook to defend the queen and her husband. In the midst of all this, Murray arrived from France, and Bothwell offered the document to him as to the others; but Murray refused to put his signature to it, saying that it was insulting him to think he need be bound by a written agreement when it was a question of defending his sister and his queen. This refusal having led to an altercation between him and Bothwell, Murray, true to his system of neutrality, withdrew into his earldom, and let affairs follow without him the fatal decline they had taken. In the meantime the Confederates, after having failed at Borthwick, not feeling strong enough to attack Bothwell at Dunbar, marched upon Edinburgh, where they had an understanding with a man of whom Bothwell thought himself sure. This man was James Balfour, governor of the citadel, the same who had presided over the preparation of the mine which had blown up Darnley, and whom Bothwell had, met on entering the garden at Kirk of Field. Not only did Balfour deliver Edinburgh Castle into the hands of the Confederates, but he also gave them a little silver coffer of which the cipher, an "F" crowned, showed that it had belonged to Francis II; and in fact it was a gift from her first husband, which the queen had presented to Bothwell. Balfour stated that this coffer contained precious papers, which in the present circumstances might be of great use to Mary's enemies. The Confederate lords opened it, and found inside the three genuine or spurious letters that we have quoted, the marriage contract of Mary and Bothwell, and twelve poems in the queen's handwriting. As Balfour had said, therein lay, for her enemies, a rich and precious find, which was worth more than a victory; for a victory would yield them only the queen's life, while Balfour's treachery yielded them her honour. CHAPTER IV Meanwhile Bothwell had levied some troops, and thought himself in a position to hold the country: accordingly, he set out with his army, without even waiting for the Hamiltons, who were assembling their vassals, and June 15th, 1567, the two opposed forces were face to face. Mary, who desired to try to avoid bloodshed, immediately sent the French ambassador to the Confederate lords to exhort them to lay aside their arms; but they replied "that the queen deceived herself in taking them for rebels; that they were marching not against her, but against Bothwell." Then the king's friends did what they could to break off the negotiations and give battle: it was already too late; the soldiers knew that they were defending the cause of one man, and that they were going to fight for a woman's caprice, and not for the good of the country: they cried aloud, then, that "since Bothwell alone was aimed at, it was for Bothwell to defend his cause". And he, vain and blustering as usual, gave out that he was ready to prove his innocence in person against whomsoever would dare to maintain that he was guilty. Immediately everyone with any claim to nobility in the rival camp accepted the challenge; and as the honour was given to the bravest, Kirkcaldy of Grange, Murray of Tullibardine, and Lord Lindsay of Byres defied him successively. But, be it that courage failed him, be it that in the moment of danger he did not himself believe in the justice of his cause, he, to escape the combat, sought such strange pretexts that the queen herself was ashamed; and his most devoted friends murmured. Then Mary, perceiving the fatal humour of men's minds, decided not to run the risk of a battle. She sent a herald to Kirkcaldy of Grange, who was commanding an outpost, and as he was advancing without distrust to converse with the queen, Bothwell, enraged at his own cowardice, ordered a soldier to fire upon him; but this time Mary herself interposed, forbidding him under pain of death to offer the least violence. In the meanwhile, as the imprudent order given by Bothwell spread through the army, such murmurs burst forth that he clearly saw that his cause was for ever lost. That is what the queen thought also; for the result of her conference with Lord Kirkcaldy was that she should abandon Bothwell's cause, and pass over into the camp of the Confederates, on condition that they would lay down their arms before her and bring her as queen to Edinburgh. Kirkcaldy left her to take these conditions to the nobles, and promised to return next day with a satisfactory answer. But at the moment of leaving Bothwell, Mary was seized again with that fatal love for him that she was never able to surmount, and felt herself overcome with such weakness, that, weeping bitterly, and before everyone, she wanted Kirkcaldy to be told that she broke off all negotiations; however, as Bothwell had understood that he was no longer safe in camp, it was he who insisted that things should remain as they were; and, leaving Mary in tears, he mounted, and setting off at full speed, he did not stop till he reached Dunbar. Next day, at the time appointed, the arrival of Lord Kirkcaldy of Grange was announced by the trumpeters preceding him. Mary mounted directly and went to meet him; them, as he alighted to greet her, "My lord;" said she, "I surrender to you, on the conditions that you have proposed to me on the part of the nobles, and here is my hand as a sign of entire confidence". Kirkcaldy then knelt down, kissed, the queen's hand respectfully; and, rising, he took her horse by the bridle and led it towards the Confederates' camp. Everyone of any rank in the army received her with such marks of respect as entirely to satisfy her; but it was not so at all with the soldiers and common people. Hardly had the queen reached the second line, formed by them, than great murmurs arose, and several voices cried, "To the stake, the adulteress! To the stake, the parricide!" However, Mary bore these outrages stoically enough but a more terrible trial yet was in store for her. Suddenly she saw rise before her a banner, on which was depicted on one side the king dead and stretched out in the fatal garden, and on the other the young prince kneeling, his hands joined and his eyes raised to heaven, with this inscription, "O Lord! judge and revenge my cause!" Mary reined in her horse abruptly at this sight, and wanted to turn back; but she had scarcely moved a few paces when the accusing banner again blocked her passage. Wherever she went, she met this dreadful apparition. For two hours she had incessantly under her eyes the king's corpse asking vengeance, and the young prince her son praying God to punish the murderers. At last she could endure it no longer, and, crying out, she threw herself back, having completely lost consciousness, and would have fallen, if someone had not caught hold of her. In the evening she entered Edinburgh, always preceded by the cruel banner, and she already had rather the air of a prisoner than of a queen; for, not having had a moment during the day to attend to her toilet, her hair was falling in disorder about her shoulders, her face was pale and showed traces of tears; and finally, her clothes were covered with dust and mud. As she proceeded through the town, the hootings of the people and the curses of the crowd followed her. At last, half dead with fatigue, worn out with grief, bowed down with shame, she reached the house of the Lord Provost; but scarcely had she got there when the entire population of Edinburgh crowded into the square, with cries that from time to time assumed a tone of terrifying menace. Several times, then, Mary wished to go to the window, hoping that the sight of her, of which she had so often proved the influence, would disarm this multitude; but each time she saw this banner unfurling itself like a bloody curtain between herself and the people--a terrible rendering of their feelings. However, all this hatred was meant still more for Bothwell than for her: they were pursuing Bothwell in Darnley's widow. The curses were for Bothwell: Bothwell was the adulterer, Bothwell was the murderer, Bothwell was the coward; while Mary was the weak, fascinated woman, who, that same evening, gave afresh proof of her folly. In fact, directly the falling night had scattered the crowd and a little quiet was regained, Mary, ceasing to be uneasy on her own account, turned immediately to Bothwell, whom she had been obliged to abandon, and who was now proscribed and fleeing; while she, as she believed, was about to reassume her title and station of queen. With that eternal confidence of the woman in her own love, by which she invariably measures the love of another, she thought that Bothwell's greatest distress was to have lost, not wealth and power, but to have lost herself. So she wrote him a long letter, in which, forgetful of herself, she promised him with the most tender expressions of love never to desert him, and to recall him to her directly the breaking up of the Confederate lords should give her power to do so; then, this letter written, she called a soldier, gave him a purse of gold, and charged him to take this letter to Dunbar, where Bothwell ought to be, and if he were already gone, to follow him until he came up with him. Then she went to bed and slept more calmly; for, unhappy as she was, she believed she had just sweetened misfortunes still greater than hers. Next day the queen was awakened by the step of an armed man who entered her room. Both astonished and frightened at this neglect of propriety, which could augur nothing good, Mary sat up in bed, and parting the curtains, saw standing before her Lord Lindsay of Byres: she knew he was one of her oldest friends, so she asked him in a voice which she vainly tried to make confident, what he wanted of her at such a time. "Do you know this writing, madam?" Lord Lindsay asked in a rough voice, presenting to the queen the letter she had written to Bothwell at night, which the soldier had carried to the Confederate lords, instead of taking to its address. "Yes, doubtless, my lord," the queen answered; "but am I already a prisoner, then, that my correspondence is intercepted? or is it no longer allowed to a wife to write to her husband?" "When the husband is a traitor," replied Lindsay, "no, madam, it is no longer allowed to a wife to write to her husband--at least, however, if this wife have a part in his treason; which seems to me, besides, quite proved by the promise you make to this wretch to recall him to you." "My lord," cried Mary, interrupting Lindsay, "do you forget that you are speaking to your queen." "There was a time, madam," Lindsay replied, "when I should have spoken to you in a more gentle voice, and bending the knee, although it is not in the nature of us old Scotch to model ourselves on your French courtiers; but for some time, thanks to your changing loves, you have kept us so often in the field, in harness, that our voices are hoarse from the cold night air, and our stiff knees can no longer bend in our armour: you must then take me just as I am, madam; since to-day, for the welfare of Scotland, you are no longer at liberty to choose your favourites." Mary grew frightfully pale at this want of respect, to which she was not yet accustomed; but quickly containing her anger, as far as possible-- "But still, my lord," said she, "however disposed I may be to take you as you are, I must at least know by what right you come here. That letter which you are holding in your hand would lead me to think it is as a spy, if the ease with which you enter my room without being asked did not make me believe it is as a gaoler. Have the goodness, then, to inform me by which of these two names I must call you." "Neither by one nor the other, madam; for I am simply your fellow-traveller, chef of the escort which is to take you to Lochleven Castle, your future residence. And yet, scarcely have I arrived there than I shall be obliged to leave you to go and assist the Confederate lords choose a regent for the kingdom." "So," said Mary, "it was as prisoner and not as queen that I surrendered to Lord Kirkcaldy. It seems to me that things were agreed upon otherwise; but I am glad to see how much time Scotch noblemen need to betray their sworn undertakings". "Your Grace forgets that these engagements were made on one condition," Lindsay answered. "On which?" Mary asked. "That you should separate for ever from your husband's murderer; and there is the proof," he added, showing the letter, "that you had forgotten your promise before we thought of revoking ours." "And at what o'clock is my departure fixed?" said Mary, whom this discussion was beginning to fatigue. "At eleven o'clock, madam." "It is well, my lord; as I have no desire to make your lordship wait, you will have the goodness, in withdrawing, to send me someone to help me dress, unless I am reduced to wait upon myself." And, in pronouncing these words, Mary made a gesture so imperious, that whatever may have been Lindsay's wish to reply, he bowed and went out. Behind him entered Mary Seyton. CHAPTER V At the time appointed the queen was ready: she had suffered so much at Edinburgh that she left it without any regret. Besides, whether to spare her the humiliations of the day before, or to conceal her departure from any partisans who might remain to her, a litter had been made ready. Mary got into it without any resistance, and after two hours' journey she reached Duddington; there a little vessel was waiting for her, which set sail directly she was on board, and next day at dawn she disembarked on the other side of the Firth of Forth in the county of Fife. Mary halted at Rosythe Castle only just long enough to breakfast, and immediately recommenced her journey; for Lord Lindsay had declared that he wished to reach his destination that same evening. Indeed, as the sun was setting, Mary perceived gilded with his last rays the high towers of Lochleven Castle, situated on an islet in the midst of the lake of the same name. No doubt the royal prisoner was already expected at Lochleven Castle, for, on reaching the lake side, Lord Lindsay's equerry unfurled his banner, which till then had remained in its case, and waved it from right to left, while his master blew a little hunting bugle which he wore hanging from his neck. A boat immediately put off from the island and came towards the arrivals, set in motion by four vigorous oarsmen, who had soon propelled it across the space which separated it from the bank. Mary silently got into it, and sat down at the stern, while Lord Lindsay and his equerry stood up before her; and as her guide did not seem any more inclined to speak than she was herself to respond, she had plenty of time to examine her future dwelling. The castle, or rather the fortress of Lochleven, already somewhat gloomy in its situation and architecture, borrowed fresh mournfulness still from the hour at which it appeared to the queen's gaze. It was, so far as she could judge amid the mists rising from the lake, one of those massive structures of the twelfth century which seem, so fast shut up are they, the stone armour of a giant. As she drew near, Mary began to make out the contours of two great round towers, which flanked the corners and gave it the severe character of a state prison. A clump of ancient trees enclosed by a high wall, or rather by a rampart, rose at its north front, and seemed vegetation in stone, and completed the general effect of this gloomy abode, while, on the contrary, the eye wandering from it and passing from islands to islands, lost itself in the west, in the north, and in the south, in the vast plain of Kinross, or stopped southwards at the jagged summits of Ben Lomond, whose farthest slopes died down on the shores of the lake. Three persons awaited Mary at the castle door: Lady Douglas, William Douglas her son, and a child of twelve who was called Little Douglas, and who was neither a son nor a brother of the inhabitants of the castle, but merely a distant relative. As one can imagine, there were few compliments between Mary and her hosts; and the queen, conducted to her apartment, which was on the first floor, and of which the windows overlooked the lake, was soon left with Mary Seyton, the only one of the four Marys who had been allowed to accompany her. However, rapid as the interview had been, and short and measured the words exchanged between the prisoner and her gaolers, Mary had had time, together with what she knew of them beforehand, to construct for herself a fairly accurate idea of the new personages who had just mingled in her history. Lady Lochleven, wife of Lord William Douglas, of whom we have already said a few words at the beginning of this history, was a woman of from fifty-five to sixty years of age, who had been handsome enough in her youth to fix upon herself the glances of King James V, and who had had a son by him, who was this same Murray whom we have already seen figuring so often in Mary's history, and who, although his birth was illegitimate, had always been treated as a brother by the queen. Lady Lochleven had had a momentary hope, so great was the king's love for her, of becoming his wife, which upon the whole was possible, the family of Mar, from which she was descended, being the equal of the most ancient and the noblest families in Scotland. But, unluckily, perhaps slanderously, certain talk which was circulating among the young noblemen of the time came to James's ears; it was said that together with her royal lover the beautiful favourite had another, whom she had chosen, no doubt from curiosity, from the very lowest class. It was added that this Porterfeld, or Porterfield, was the real father of the child who had already received the name of James Stuart, and whom the king was educating as his son at the monastery of St. Andrews. These rumours, well founded or not, had therefore stopped James V at the moment when, in gratitude to her who had given him a son, he was on the point of raising her to the rank of queen; so that, instead of marrying her himself, he had invited her to choose among the nobles at court; and as she was very handsome, and the king's favour went with the marriage, this choice, which fell on Lord William Douglas of Lochleven, did not meet with any resistance on his part. However, in spite of this direct protection, that James V preserved for her all his life, Lady Douglas could never forget that she had fingered higher fortune; moreover, she had a hatred for the one who, according to herself, had usurped her place, and poor Mary had naturally inherited the profound animosity that Lady Douglas bore to her mother, which had already come to light in the few words that the two women had exchanged. Besides, in ageing, whether from repentance for her errors or from hypocrisy, Lady Douglas had become a prude and a puritan; so that at this time she united with the natural acrimony of her character all the stiffness of the new religion she had adopted. William Douglas, who was the eldest son of Lord Lochleven, on his mother's side half-brother of Murray, was a man of from thirty-five to thirty-six years of age, athletic, with hard and strongly pronounced features, red-haired like all the younger branch, and who had inherited that paternal hatred that for a century the Douglases cherished against the Stuarts, and which was shown by so many plots, rebellions, and assassinations. According as fortune had favoured or deserted Murray, William Douglas had seen the rays of the fraternal star draw near or away from him; he had then felt that he was living in another's life, and was devoted, body and soul, to him who was his cause of greatness or of abasement. Mary's fall, which must necessarily raise Murray, was thus a source of joy for him, and the Confederate lords could not have chosen better than in confiding the safe-keeping of their prisoner to the instinctive spite of Lady Douglas and to the intelligent hatred of her son. As to Little Douglas, he was, as we have said, a child of twelve, for some months an orphan, whom the Lochlevens had taken charge of, and whom they made buy the bread they gave him by all sorts of harshness. The result was that the child, proud and spiteful as a Douglas, and knowing, although his fortune was inferior, that his birth was equal to his proud relatives, had little by little changed his early gratitude into lasting and profound hatred: for one used to say that among the Douglases there was an age for loving, but that there was none for hating. It results that, feeling his weakness and isolation, the child was self-contained with strength beyond his years, and, humble and submissive in appearance, only awaited the moment when, a grown-up young man, he could leave Lochleven, and perhaps avenge himself for the proud protection of those who dwelt there. But the feelings that we have just expressed did not extend to all the members of the family: as much as from the bottom of his heart the little Douglas detested William and his mother, so much he loved George, the second of Lady Lochleven's sons, of whom we have not yet spoken, because, being away from the castle when the queen arrived, we have not yet found an opportunity to present him to our readers. George, who at this time might have been about twenty-five or twenty-six years old, was the second son of Lord Lochleven; but by a singular chance, that his mother's adventurous youth had caused Sir William to interpret amiss, this second son had none of the characteristic features of the Douglases' full cheeks, high colour, large ears, and red hair. The result was that poor George, who, on the contrary, had been given by nature pale cheeks, dark blue eyes, and black hair, had been since coming into the world an object of indifference to his father and of dislike to his elder brother. As to his mother, whether she were indeed in good faith surprised like Lord Douglas at this difference in race, whether she knew the cause and inwardly reproached herself, George had never been, ostensibly at least, the object of a very lively maternal affection; so the young man, followed from his childhood by a fatality that he could not explain, had sprung up like a wild shrub, full of sap and strength, but uncultivated and solitary. Besides, from the time when he was fifteen, one was accustomed to his motiveless absences, which the indifference that everyone bore him made moreover perfectly explicable; from time to time, however, he was seen to reappear at the castle, like those migratory birds which always return to the same place but only stay a moment, then take their way again without one's knowing towards what spot in the world they are directing their flight. An instinct of misfortune in common had drawn Little Douglas to George. George, seeing the child ill-treated by everyone, had conceived an affection for him, and Little Douglas, feeling himself loved amid the atmosphere of indifference around him, turned with open arms and heart to George: it resulted from this mutual liking that one day, when the child had committed I do not know what fault, and that William Douglas raised the whip he beat his dogs with to strike him, that George, who was sitting on a stone, sad and thoughtful, had immediately sprung up, snatched the whip from his brother's hands and had thrown it far from him. At this insult William had drawn his sword, and George his, so that these two brothers, who had hated one another for twenty years like two enemies, were going to cut one another's throats, when Little Douglas, who had picked up the whip, coming back and kneeling before William, offered him the ignominious weapon, saying, "Strike, cousin; I have deserved it." This behaviour of the child had caused some minutes' reflection to the two young men, who, terrified at the crime they were about to commit, had returned their swords to their scabbards and had each gone away in silence. Since this incident the friendship of George and Little Douglas had acquired new strength, and on the child's side it had become veneration. We dwell upon all these details somewhat at length, perhaps, but no doubt our readers will pardon us when they see the use to be made of them. This is the family, less George, who, as we have said, was absent at the time of her arrival, into the midst of which the queen had fallen, passing in a moment from the summit of power to the position of a prisoner; for from the day following her arrival Mary saw that it was by such a title she was an inmate of Lochleven Castle. In fact, Lady Douglas presented herself before her as soon as it was morning, and with an embarrassment and dislike ill disguised beneath an appearance of respectful indifference, invited Mary to follow her and take stock of the several parts of the fortress which had been chosen beforehand for her private use. She then made her go through three rooms, of which one was to serve as her bedroom, the second as sitting-room, and the third as ante-chamber; afterwards, leading the way down a spiral staircase, which looked into the great hall of the castle, its only outlet, she had crossed this hall, and had taken Mary into the garden whose trees the queen had seen topping the high walls on her arrival: it was a little square of ground, forming a flower-bed in the midst of which was an artificial fountain. It was entered by a very low door, repeated in the opposite wall; this second door looked on to the lake and, like all the castle doors, whose keys, however, never left the belt or the pillow of William Douglas, it was guarded night and day by a sentinel. This was now the whole domain of her who had possessed the palaces, the plains, and the mountains of an entire kingdom. Mary, on returning to her room, found breakfast ready, and William Douglas standing near the table he was going to fulfil about the queen the duties of carver and taster. In spite of their hatred for Mary, the Douglases would have considered it an eternal blemish on their honour if any accident should have befallen the queen while she was dwelling in their castle; and it was in order that the queen herself should not entertain any fear in this respect that William Douglas, in his quality of lord of the manor, had not only desired to carve before the queen, but even to taste first in her presence, all the dishes served to her, as well as the water and the several wines to be brought her. This precaution saddened Mary more than it reassured her; for she understood that, while she stayed in the castle, this ceremony would prevent any intimacy at table. However, it proceeded from too noble an intention for her to impute it as a crime to her hosts: she resigned herself, then, to this company, insupportable as it was to her; only, from that day forward, she so cut short her meals that all the time she was at Lochleven her longest dinners barely lasted more than a quarter of an hour. Two days after her arrival, Mary, on sitting down to table for breakfast, found on her plate a letter addressed to her which had been put there by William Douglas. Mary recognised Murray's handwriting, and her first feeling was one of joy; for if a ray of hope remained to her, it came from her brother, to whom she had always been perfectly kind, whom from Prior of St. Andrew's she had made an earl in bestowing on him the splendid estates which formed part of the old earldom of Murray, and to whom, which was of more importance, she had since pardoned, or pretended to pardon, the part he had taken in Rizzio's assassination. Her astonishment was great, then, when, having opened the letter, she found in it bitter reproaches for her conduct, an exhortation to do penance, and an assurance several times repeated that she should never leave her prison. He ended his letter in announcing to her that, in spite of his distaste for public affairs, he had been obliged to accept the regency, which he had done less for his country than for his sister, seeing that it was the sole means he had of standing in the way of the ignominious trial to which the nobles wished to bring her, as author, or at least as chief accomplice, of Darnley's death. This imprisonment was then clearly a great good fortune for her, and she ought to thank Heaven for it, as an alleviation of the fate awaiting her if he had not interceded for her. This letter was a lightning stroke for Mary: only, as she did not wish to give her enemies the delight of seeing her suffer, she contained her grief, and, turning to William Douglas-- "My lord," said she, "this letter contains news that you doubtless know already, for although we are not children by the same mother, he who writes to me is related to us in the same degree, and will not have desired to write to his sister without writing to his brother at the same time; besides, as a good son, he will have desired to acquaint his mother with the unlooked-for greatness that has befallen him." "Yes, madam," replied William, "we know since yesterday that, for the welfare of Scotland, my brother has been named regent; and as he is a son as respectful to his mother as he is devoted to his country, we hope that he will repair the evil that for five years favourites of every sort and kind have done to both." "It is like a good son, and at the same time like a courteous host, to go back no farther into the history of Scotland," replied Mary Stuart, "and not to make the daughter blush for the father's errors; for I have heard say that the evil which your lordship laments was prior to the time to which you assign it, and that King James V. also had formerly favourites, both male and female. It is true that they add that the ones as ill rewarded his friendship as the others his love. In this, if you are ignorant of it, my lord, you can be instructed, if he is still living, by a certain. Porterfeld or Porterfield, I don't know which, understanding these names of the lower classes too ill to retain and pronounce them, but about which, in my stead, your noble mother could give you information." With these words, Mary Stuart rose, and, leaving William Douglas crimson with rage, she returned into her bedroom, and bolted the door behind her. All that day Mary did not come down, remaining at her window, from which she at least enjoyed a splendid view over the plains and village of Kinross; but this vast extent only contracted her heart the more, when, bringing her gaze back from the horizon to the castle, she beheld its walls surrounded on all sides by the deep waters of the lake, on whose wide surface a single boat, where Little Douglas was fishing, was rocking like a speck. For some moments Mary's eyes mechanically rested on this child, whom she had already seen upon her arrival, when suddenly a horn sounded from the Kinross side. At the same moment Little Douglas threw away his line, and began to row towards the shore whence the signal had come with skill and strength beyond his years. Mary, who had let her gaze rest on him absently, continued to follow him with her eyes, and saw him make for a spot on the shore so distant that the boat seemed to her at length but an imperceptible speck; but soon it reappeared, growing larger as it approached, and Mary could then observe that it was bringing back to the castle a new passenger, who, having in his turn taken the oars, made the little skiff fly over the tranquil water of the lake, where it left a furrow gleaming in the last rays of the sun. Very soon, flying on with the swiftness of a bird, it was near enough for Mary to see that the skilful and vigorous oarsman was a young man from twenty-five to twenty-six years of age, with long black hair, clad in a close coat of green cloth, and wearing a Highlander's cap, adorned with an eagle's feather; then, as with his back turned to the window he drew nearer, Little Douglas, who was leaning on his shoulder, said a few words which made him turn round towards the queen: immediately Mary, with an instinctive movement rather than with the dread of being an object of idle curiosity, drew back, but not so quickly, however, but that she had been able to see the handsome pale face of the unknown, who, when she returned to the window, had disappeared behind one of the corners of the castle. Everything is a cause of conjecture to a prisoner: it seemed to Mary that this young man's face was not unknown to her, and that he had seen her already; but though great the care with which she questioned her memory, she could not recall any distinct remembrance, so much so that the queen ended in thinking it the play of her imagination, or that some vague and distinct resemblance had deceived her. However, in spite of Mary, this idea had taken an important place in her mind: she incessantly saw this little boat skimming the water, and the young man and the child who were in it drawing near her, as if to bring her help. It followed that, although there had been nothing real in all these captive's dreams, she slept that night a calmer sleep than she had yet done since she had been in Lochleven Castle. Next day, on rising, Mary ran to her window: the weather was fine, and everything seemed to smile on her, the water, the heavens and the earth. But, without being able to account for the restraining motive, she did not want to go down into the ga den before breakfast. When the door opened, 'she turned quickly round: it was, as on the day before, William Douglas, who came to fulfil his duty as taster. The breakfast was a short and silent one; then, as soon as Douglas had withdrawn, Mary descended in her turn: in crossing the courtyard she saw two horses ready saddled, which pointed to the near departure of a master and a squire. Was it the young man with the black hair already setting out again? This is what Mary did not dare or did not wish to ask. She consequently went her way, and entered the garden: at the first glance she took it in in its full extent; it was deserted. Mary walked there a moment; then, soon tiring of the promenade, she went up again to her room: in passing back through the courtyard she had noticed that the horses were no longer there. Directly she returned into her apartment, she went then to the window to see if she could discover anything upon the lake to guide her in her conjectures: a boat was in fact receding, and in this boat were the two horses and the two horsemen; one was William Douglas, the other a simple squire from the house. Mary continued watching the boat until it had touched the shore. Arrived there, the two horsemen got out, disembarked their horses, and went away at full gallop, taking the same road by which the queen had come; so that, as the horses were prepared for a long journey, Mary thought that William Douglas was going to Edinburgh. As to the boat, scarcely had it landed its two passengers on the opposite shore than it returned towards the castle. At that moment Mary Seyton announced to the queen that Lady Douglas was asking permission to visit her. It was the second time, after long hatred on Lady Douglas's part and contemptuous indifference on the queen's, that the two women were face to face; therefore the queen, with that instinctive impulse of coquetry which urges women, in whatever situation they find themselves, to desire to be beautiful, above all for women, made a sign to Mary Seyton, and, going to a little mirror fastened to the wall in a heavy Gothic frame, she arranged her curls, and readjusted the lace of her collar; then; having seated herself in the pose most favourable to her, in a great arm-chair, the only one in her sitting-room, she said smilingly to Mary Seyton that she might admit Lady Douglas, who was immediately introduced. Mary's expectation was not disappointed: Lady Douglas, in spite of her hatred for James Vs daughter, and mistress of herself as she thought she as, could not prevent herself from showing by a movement of surprise the impression that this marvelous beauty was making on her: she thought she should find Mary crushed by her unhappiness, pallid from her fatigues, humbled by captivity, and she saw hers calm, lovely, and haughty as usual. Mary perceived the effect that she was producing, and addressing herself with an ironical smile partly to Mary Seyton, who was leaning on the back of her chair, and partly to her who was paying her this unforeseen visit, "We are fortunate to-day," said she, "for we are going as it seems to enjoy the society of our good hostess, whom we thank besides for having kindly maintained with us the empty ceremony of announcing herself--a ceremony with which, having the keys of our apartment, she could have dispensed." "If my presence is inconvenient to your grace," replied Lady Lochleven, "I am all the more sorry for it, as circumstances will oblige me to impose it twice daily, at least during the absence of my son, who is summoned to Edinburgh by the regent; this is of what I came to inform your grace, not with the empty ceremonial of the court, but with the consideration which Lady Lochleven owes to everyone who has received hospitality in her castle." "Our good hostess mistakes our intention," Mary answered, with affected good-nature; "and the regent himself can bear witness to the pleasure we have always had in bringing nearer to us the persons who can recall to us, even indirectly, our well-beloved father, James V. It will be therefore unjustly that Lady Douglas will interpret in a manner disagreeable to herself our surprise at seeing her; and the hospitality that she offers us so obligingly does not promise us, in spite of her goodwill, sufficient distractions that we should deprive ourselves of those that her visits cannot fail to procure us." "Unfortunately, madam," replied Lady Lochleven, whom Mary was keeping standing before her, "whatever pleasure I myself derive from these visits, I shall be obliged to deprive myself of, except at the times I have mentioned. I am now too old to bear fatigue, and I have, always been too proud to endure sarcasms." "Really, Seyton," cried Mary, seeming to recollect herself, "we had not dreamed that Lady Lochleven, having won her right to a stool at the court of the king my father, would have need to preserve it in the prison of the queen his daughter. Bring forward a seat, Seyton, that we be not deprived so soon, and by a failure of memory on our part, of our gracious hostess's company; or even," went on Mary, rising and pointing out her own seat to Lady Lochleven, who was making a motion to withdraw, "if a stool does not suit you, my lady, take this easy-chair: you will not be the first member of your family to sit in my place." At this last allusion, which recalled to her Murray's usurpation, Lady Lochleven was no doubt about to make some exceedingly bitter reply, when the young man with the dark hair appeared on the threshold, without being announced, and, advancing towards Lady Lochleven, without saluting Mary-- "Madam," said he, bowing to the former, "the boat which took my brother has just returned, and one of the men in it is charged with a pressing charge that Lord William forgot to make to you himself." Then, saluting the old lady with the same respect, he immediately went out of the room, without even glancing at the queen, who, hurt by this impertinence, turned round to Mary Seyton, and, with her usual calm-- "What have they told us, Seyton, of injurious rumours which were spread about our worthy hostess apropos of a child with a pale face and dark hair? If this child, as I have every reason to believe, has become the young man who just went out of the room, I am ready to affirm to all the incredulous that he is a true Douglas, if not for courage, of which we cannot judge, then for insolence, of which he has just given us proofs. Let us return, darling," continued the queen, leaning on Mary Seyton's arm; "for our good hostess, out of courtesy, might think herself obliged to keep us company longer, while we know that she is impatiently awaited elsewhere." With these words, Mary went into her bedroom; while the old lady, still quite stunned with the shower of sarcasms that the queen had rained on her, withdrew, murmuring, "Yes, yes, he is a Douglas, and with God's help he will prove it, I hope." The queen had had strength as long as she was sustained by her enemy's presence, but scarcely was she alone than she sank into a chair, and no longer having any witness of her weakness than Mary Seyton, burst into tears. Indeed, she had just been cruelly wounded: till then no man had come near her who had not paid homage either to the majesty of her rank or to the beauty of her countenance. But precisely he, on whom she had reckoned, without knowing why, with instinctive hopes, insulted her at one and the same time in her double pride of queen and woman: thus she remained shut up till evening. At dinner-time, just as Lady Lochleven had informed Mary, she ascended to the queen's apartment, in her dress of honour, and preceding four servants who were carrying the several dishes composing the prisoner's repast, and who, in their turn, were followed by the old castle steward, having, as on days of great ceremony, his gold chain round his neck and his ivory stick in his hand. The servants' placed the dishes on the table, and waited in silence for the moment when it should please the queen to come out of her room; but at this moment the door opened, and in place of the queen Mary Seyton appeared. "Madam," said she on entering, "her grace was indisposed during the day, and will take nothing this evening; it will be useless, then, for you to wait longer." "Permit me to hope," replied Lady Lochleven, "that she will change her decision; in any case, see me perform my office." At these words, a servant handed Lady Lochleven bread and salt on a silver salver, while the old steward, who, in the absence of William Douglas, fulfilled the duties of carver, served to her on a plate of the same metal a morsel from each of the dishes that had been brought; then, this transaction ended. "So the queen will not appear to-day?" Lady Lochleven inquired. "It is her Majesty's resolve," replied Mary Seyton. "Our presence is then needless," said the old lady; "but in any case the table is served, and if her grace should have need of anything else, she would have but to name it." With these words, Lady Lochleven, with the same stiffness and the same dignity with which she had come, withdrew, followed by her four servants and her steward. As Lady Lochleven had foreseen, the queen, yielding to the entreaties of Mary Seyton, came out of her room at last, towards eight o'clock in the evening, sat down to table, and, served by the only maid of honour left her, ate a little; then, getting up, she went to the window. It was one of those magnificent summer evenings on which the whole of nature seems making holiday: the sky was studded with stars, which were reflected in the lake, and in their midst, like a more fiery star, the flame of the chafing-dish shone, burning at the stern of a little boat: the queen, by the gleam of the light it shed, perceived George Douglas and Little Douglas, who were fishing. However great her wish to profit by this fine evening to breathe the pure night air, the sight of this young man who had so grossly insulted her this very day made such a keen impression on her that she shut her window directly, and, retiring into her room, went to bed, and made her companion in captivity read several prayers aloud; then, not being able to sleep, so greatly was she agitated, she rose, and throwing on a mantle went again to the window the boat had disappeared. Mary spent part of the night gazing into the immensity of the heavens, or into the depths of the lake; but in spite of the nature of the thoughts agitating her, she none the less found very great physical alleviation in contact with this pure air and in contemplation of this peaceful and silent night: thus she awoke next day calmer and more resigned. Unfortunately, the sight of Lady Lochleven, who presented herself at breakfast-time, to fulfil her duties as taster, brought back her irritability. Perhaps, however, things would have gone on smoothly if Lady Lochleven, instead of remaining standing by the sideboard, had withdrawn after having tasted the various dishes of the courses; but this insisting on remaining throughout the meal, which was at bottom a mark of respect, seemed to the queen unbearable tyranny. "Darling," said she, speaking to Mary Seyton, "have you already forgotten that our good hostess complained yesterday of the fatigue she felt inn standing? Bring her, then, one of the two stools which compose our royal furniture, and take care that it is not the one with the leg broken". "If the furniture of Lochleven Castle is in such bad condition, madam," the old lady replied, "it is the fault of the kings of Scotland: the poor Douglases for nearly a century have had such a small part of their sovereigns' favour, that they have not been able to keep up the splendour of their ancestors to the level of that of private individuals, and because there was in Scotland a certain musician, as I am informed, who spent their income for a whole year in one month." "Those who know how to take so well, my lady," the queen answered, "have no need of being given to: it seems to me the Douglases have lost nothing by waiting, and there is not a younger son of this noble family who might not aspire to the highest alliances; it is truly vexatious that our sister the queen of England has taken a vow of virginity; as is stated." "Or rather," interrupted Lady Lochleven, "that the Queen of Scotland is not a widow by her third husband. But," continued the old lady, pretending to recollect herself, "I do not say that to reproach your grace. Catholics look upon marriage as a sacrament, and on this head receive it as often as they can." "This, then," returned Mary, "is the difference between them and the Huguenots; for they, not having the same respect for it, think it is allowed them to dispense with it in certain circumstances." At this terrible sarcasm Lady Lochleven took a step towards Mary Stuart, holding in her hand the knife which she had just been using to cut off a piece of meat brought her to taste; but the queen rose up with so great a calm and with such majesty, that either from involuntary respect or shame of her first impulse, she let fall the weapon she was holding, and not finding anything sufficiently strong in reply to express her feelings, she signed to the servants to follow her, and went out of the apartment with all the dignity that anger permitted her to summon to her aid. Scarcely had Lady Lochleven left the room than the queen sat down again, joyful and triumphant at the victory she had just gained, and ate with a better appetite than she had yet done since she was a prisoner, while Mary Seyton deplored in a low tone and with all possible respect this fatal gift of repartee that Mary had received, and which, with her beauty, was one of the causes of all her misfortunes; but the queen did nothing but laugh at all her observations, saying she was curious to see the figure her good hostess would cut at dinnertime. After breakfast, the queen went down into the garden: her satisfied pride had restored some of her cheerfulness, so much so that, seeing, while crossing the hall, a mandolin lying forgotten on a chair, she told Mary Seyton to take it, to see, she said, if she could recall her old talent. In reality the queen was one of the best musicians of the time, and played admirably, says Brantome, on the lute and viol d'amour, an instrument much resembling the mandolin. Mary Seyton obeyed. Arrived in the garden, the queen sat down in the deepest shade, and there, having tuned her instrument, she at first drew from it lively and light tones, which soon darkened little by little, at the same time that her countenance assumed a hue of deep melancholy. Mary Seyton looked at her with uneasiness, although for a long time she had been used to these sudden changes in her mistress's humour, and she was about to ask the reason of this gloomy veil suddenly spread over her face, when, regulating her harmonies, Mary began to sing in a low voice, and as if for herself alone, the following verses:-- "Caverns, meadows, plains and mounts, Lands of tree and stone, Rivers, rivulets and founts, By which I stray alone, Bewailing as I go, With tears that overflow, Sing will I The miserable woe That bids me grieve and sigh. Ay, but what is here to lend Ear to my lament? What is here can comprehend My dull discontent? Neither grass nor reed, Nor the ripples heed, Flowing by, While the stream with speed Hastens from my eye. Vainly does my wounded heart Hope, alas, to heal; Seeking, to allay its smart, Things that cannot feel. Better should my pain Bitterly complain, Crying shrill, To thee who dost constrain My spirit to such ill. Goddess, who shalt never die, List to what I say; Thou who makest me to lie Weak beneath thy sway, If my life must know Ending at thy blow, Cruellest! Own it perished so But at thy behest. Lo! my face may all men see Slowly pine and fade, E'en as ice doth melt and flee Near a furnace laid. Yet the burning ray Wasting me away Passion's glow, Wakens no display Of pity for my woe. Yet does every neighbour tree, Every rocky wall, This my sorrow know and see; So, in brief, doth all Nature know aright This my sorry plight; Thou alone Takest thy delight To hear me cry and moan. But if it be thy will, To see tormented still Wretched me, Then let my woful ill Immortal be." This last verse died away as if the queen were exhausted, and at the same time the mandolin slipped from her hands, and would have fallen to the ground had not Mary Seyton thrown herself on her knees and prevented it. The young girl remained thus at her mistress's feet for some time, gazing at her silently, and as she saw that she was losing herself more and more in gloomy reverie-- "Have those lines brought back to your Majesty some sad remembrance?" she asked hesitatingly. "Oh, yes," answered the queen; "they reminded me of the unfortunate being who composed them." "And may I, without indiscretion, inquire of your grace who is their author?" "Alas! he was a noble, brave, and handsome young man, with a faithful heart and a hot head, who would defend me to-day, if I had defended him then; but his boldness seemed to me rashness, and his fault a crime. What was to be done? I did not love him. Poor Chatelard! I was very cruel to him." "But you did not prosecute him, it was your brother; you did not condemn him, the judges did." "Yes, yes; I know that he too was Murray's victim, and that is no doubt the reason that I am calling him to mind just now. But I was able to pardon him, Mary, and I was inflexible; I let ascend the scaffold a man whose only crime was in loving me too well; and now I am astonished and complain of being abandoned by everyone. Listen, darling, there is one thing that terrifies me: it is, that when I search within myself I find that I have not only deserved my fate, but even that God did not punish me severely enough." "What strange thoughts for your grace!" cried Mary; "and see where those unlucky lines which returned to your mind have led you, the very day when you were beginning to recover a little of your cheerfulness." "Alas!" replied the queen, shaking her head and uttering a deep sigh, "for six years very few days have passed that I have not repeated those lines to myself, although it may be for the first time to-day that I repeat them aloud. He was a Frenchman too, Mary: they have exiled from me, taken or killed all who came to me from France. Do you remember that vessel which was swallowed up before our eyes when we came out of Calais harbour? I exclaimed then that it was a sad omen: you all wanted to reassure me. Well, who was right, now, you or I?" The queen was in one of those fits of sadness for which tears are the sole remedy; so Mary Seyton, perceiving that not only would every consolation be vain, but also unreasonable, far from continuing to react against her mistress's melancholy, fully agreed with her: it followed that the queen, who was suffocating, began to weep, and that her tears brought her comfort; then little by little she regained self-control, and this crisis passed as usual, leaving her firmer and more resolute than ever, so that when she went up to her room again it was impossible to read the slightest alteration in her countenance. The dinner-hour was approaching, and Mary, who in the morning was looking forward impatiently to the enjoyment of her triumph over Lady Lochleven, now saw her advance with uneasiness: the mere idea of again facing this woman, whose pride one was always obliged to oppose with insolence, was, after the moral fatigues of the day, a fresh weariness. So she decided not to appear for dinner, as on the day before: she was all the more glad she had taken this resolution, that this time it was not Lady Lochleven who came to fulfil the duties enjoined on a member of the family to make the queen easy, but George Douglas, whom his mother in her displeasure at the morning scene sent to replace her. Thus, when Mary Seyton told the queen that she saw the young man with dark hair cross the courtyard on his way to her, Mary still further congratulated herself on her decision; for this young man's insolence had wounded her more deeply than all his mother's haughty insults. The queen was not a little astonished, then, when in a few minutes Mary Seyton returned and informed her that George Douglas, having sent away the servants, desired the honour of speaking to her on a matter of importance. At first the queen refused; but Mary Seyton told her that the young man's air and manner this time were so different from what she had seen two days before, that she thought her mistress would be wrong to refuse his request. The queen rose then, and with the pride and majesty habitual to her, entered the adjoining room, and, having taken three steps, stopped with a disdainful air, waiting for George to address her. Mary Seyton had spoken truly: George Douglas was now another man. To-day he seemed to be as respectful and timid as the preceding day he had seemed haughty and proud. He, in his turn, made a step towards the queen; but seeing Mary Seyton standing behind her-- "Madam," said he, "I wished to speak with your Majesty alone: shall I not obtain this favour?" "Mary Seyton is not a stranger to me, Sir: she is my sister, my friend; she is more than all that, she is my companion in captivity." "And by all these claims, madam, I have the utmost veneration for her; but what I have to tell you cannot be heard by other ears than yours. Thus, madam, as the opportunity furnished now may perhaps never present itself again, in the name of what is dearest to you, grant me what I ask." There was such a tone of respectful prayer in George's voice that Mary turned to the young girl, and, making her a friendly sign with her hand-- "Go, then, darling," said she; "but be easy, you will lose nothing by not hearing. Go." Mary Seyton withdrew; the queen smilingly looked after her, till the door was shut; then, turning to George-- "Now, sir," said she, "we are alone, speak." But George, instead of replying, advanced to the queen, and, kneeling on one knee, drew from his breast a paper which he presented to her. Mary took it with amazement, unfolded it, glancing at Douglas, who remained in the same posture, and read as follows: We, earls, lords, and barons, in consideration that our queen is detained at Lochleven, and that her faithful subjects cannot have access to her person; seeing, on the other hand, that our duty pledges us to provide for her safety, promise and swear to employ all reasonable means which will depend on us to set her at liberty again on conditions compatible with the honour of her Majesty, the welfare of the kingdom, and even with the safety of those who keep her in prison, provided that they consent to give her up; that if they refuse, we declare that we are prepared to make use of ourselves, our children, our friends, our servants, our vassals, our goods, our persons, and our lives, to restore her to liberty, to procure the safety of the prince, and to co-operate in punishing the late king's murderers. If we are assailed for this intent, whether as a body or in private, we promise to defend ourselves, and to aid one another, under pain of infamy and perjury. So may God help us. "Given with our own hands at Dumbarton, "St. Andrews, Argyll, Huntly, Arbroath, Galloway, Ross, Fleming, Herries, Stirling, Kilwinning, Hamilton, and Saint-Clair, Knight." "And Seyton!" cried Mary, "among all these signatures, I do not see that of my faithful Seyton." Douglas, still kneeling, drew from his breast a second paper, and presented it to the queen with the same marks of respect. It contained only these few words: "Trust George Douglas; for your Majesty has no more devoted friend in the entire kingdom. "SEYTON." Mary lowered her eyes to Douglas with an expression which was hers only; then, giving him her hand to raise him-- "Ah!" said she, with a sigh more of joy than of sadness, "now I see that God, in spite of my faults, has not yet abandoned me. But how is it, in this castle, that you, a Douglas.... oh! it is incredible!" "Madam," replied George, "seven years have passed since I saw you in France for the first time, and for seven years I have loved you". Mary moved; but Douglas put forth his hand and shook his head with an air of such profound sadness, that she understood that she might hear what the young man had to say. He continued: "Reassure yourself, madam; I should never have made this confession if, while explaining my conduct to you, this confession would not have given you greater confidence in me. Yes, for seven years I have loved you, but as one loves a star that one can never reach, a madonna to whom one can only pray; for seven years I have followed you everywhere without you ever having paid attention to me, without my saying a word or making a gesture to attract your notice. I was on the knight of Mevillon's galley when you crossed to Scotland; I was among the regent's soldiers when you beat Huntly; I was in the escort which accompanied you when you went to see the sick king at Glasgow; I reached Edinburgh an hour after you had left it for Lochleven; and then it seemed to me that my mission was revealed to me for the first time, and that this love for which till then, I had reproached myself as a crime, was on the contrary a favour from God. I learned that the lords were assembled at Dumbarton: I flew thither. I pledged my name, I pledged my honour, I pledged my life; and I obtained from them, thanks to the facility I had for coming into this fortress, the happiness of bringing you the paper they have just signed. Now, madam, forget all I have told you, except the assurance of my devotion and respect: forget that I am near you; I am used to not being seen: only, if you have need of my life, make a sign; for seven years my life has been yours." "Alas!" replied Mary, "I was complaining this morning of no longer being loved, and I ought to complain, on the contrary, that I am still loved; for the love that I inspire is fatal and mortal. Look back, Douglas, and count the tombs that, young as I am, I have already left on my path--Francis II, Chatelard, Rizzio, Darnley.... Oh to attach one's self to my fortunes more than love is needed now heroism and devotion are requisite so much the more that, as you have said, Douglas, it is love without any possible reward. Do you understand?" "Oh, madam, madam," answered Douglas, "is it not reward beyond my deserts to see you daily, to cherish the hope that liberty will be restored to you through me, and to have at least, if I do not give it you, the certainty of dying in your sight?" "Poor young man!" murmured Mary, her eyes raised to heaven, as if she were reading there beforehand the fate awaiting her new defender. "Happy Douglas, on the contrary," cried George, seizing the queen's hand and kissing it with perhaps still more respect than love, "happy Douglas! for in obtaining a sigh from your Majesty he has already obtained more than he hoped." "And upon what have you decided with my friends?" said the queen, raising Douglas, who till then had remained on his knees before her. "Nothing yet," George replied; "for we scarcely had time to see one another. Your escape, impossible without me, is difficult even with me; and your Majesty has seen that I was obliged publicly to fail in respect, to obtain from my mother the confidence which gives me the good fortune of seeing you to-day: if this confidence on my mother's or my brother's part ever extends to giving up to me the castle keys, then you are saved! Let your Majesty not be surprised at anything, then: in the presence of others, I shall ever be always a Douglas, that is an enemy; and except your life be in danger, madam, I shall not utter a word, I shall not make a gesture which might betray the faith that I have sworn you; but, on your side, let your grace know well, that present or absent, whether I am silent or speak, whether I act or remain inert, all will be in appearance only, save my devotion. Only," continued Douglas, approaching the window and showing to the queen a little house on Kinross hill,--"only, look every evening in that direction, madam, and so long as you see a light shine there, your friends will be keeping watch for you, and you need not lose hope." "Thanks, Douglas, thanks," said the queen; "it does one good to meet with a heart like yours from time to time--oh! thanks." "And now, madam," replied the young man, "I must leave your Majesty; to remain longer with you would be to raise suspicions, and a single doubt of me, think of it well, madam, and that light which is your sole beacon is extinguished, and all returns into night." With these words, Douglas bowed more respectfully than he had yet done, and withdrew, leaving Mary full of hope, and still more full of pride; for this time the homage that she had just received was certainly for the woman and not for the queen. As the queen had told him, Mary Seyton was informed of everything, even the love of Douglas, and, the two women impatiently awaited the evening to see if the promised star would shine on the horizon. Their hope was not in vain: at the appointed time the beacon was lit. The queen trembled with joy, for it was the confirmation of her hopes, and her companion could not tear her from the window, where she remained with her gaze fastened on the little house in Kinross. At last she yielded to Mary Seyton's prayers, and consented to go to bed; but twice in the night she rose noiselessly to go to the window: the light was always shining, and was not extinguished till dawn, with its sisters the stars. Next day, at breakfast, George announced to the queen the return of his brother, William Douglas: he arrived the same evening; as to himself, George, he had to leave Lochleven next morning, to confer with the nobles who had signed the declaration, and who had immediately separated to raise troops in their several counties. The queen could not attempt to good purpose any escape but at a time when she would be sure of gathering round her an army strong enough to hold the country; as to him, Douglas, one was so used to his silent disappearances and to his unexpected returns, that there was no reason to fear that his departure would inspire any suspicion. All passed as George had said: in the evening the sound of a bugle announced the arrival of William Douglas; he had with him Lord Ruthven, the son of him who had assassinated Rizzio, and who, exiled with Morton after the murder, died in England of the sickness with which he was already attacked the day of the terrible catastrophe in which we have seen him take such a large share. He preceded by one day Lord Lindsay of Byres and Sir Robert Melville, brother of Mary's former ambassador to Elizabeth: all three were charged with a mission from the regent to the queen. On the following day everything fell back into the usual routine, and William Douglas reassumed his duties as carver. Breakfast passed without Mary's having learned anything of George's departure or Ruthven's arrival. On rising from the table she went to her window: scarcely was she there than she heard the sound of a horn echoing on the shores of the lake, and saw a little troop of horsemen halt, while waiting for the boat to came and take those who were going to the castle. The distance was too great for Mary to recognise any of the visitors; but it was clear, from the signs of intelligence exchanged between the little troop and the inhabitants of the fortress, that the newcomers were her enemies. This was a reason why the queen, in her uneasiness, should not lose sight for a moment of the boat which was going to fetch them. She saw only two men get into it; and immediately it put off again for the castle. As the boat drew nearer, Mary's presentiments changed to real fears, for in one of the men coming towards her she thought she made out Lord Lindsay of Byres, the same who, a week before, had brought her to her prison. It was indeed he himself, as usual in a steel helmet without a visor, which allowed one to see his coarse face designed to express strong passions, and his long black beard with grey hairs here and there, which covered his chest: his person was protected, as if it were in time of war, with his faithful suit of armour, formerly polished and well gilded, but which, exposed without ceasing to rain and mist, was now eaten up with rust; he had slung on his back, much as one slings a quiver, a broadsword, so heavy that it took two hands to manage it, and so long that while the hilt reached the left shoulder the point reached the right spur: in a word, he was still the same soldier, brave to rashness but brutal to insolence, recognising nothing but right and force, and always ready to use force when he believed himself in the right. The queen was so much taken up with the sight of Lord Lindsay of Byres, that it was only just as the boat reached the shore that she glanced at his companion and recognised Robert Melville: this was some consolation, for, whatever might happen, she knew that she should find in him if not ostensible at least secret sympathy. Besides, his dress, by which one could have judged him equally with Lord Lindsay, was a perfect contrast to his companion's. It consisted of a black velvet doublet, with a cap and a feather of the same hue fastened to it with a gold clasp; his only weapon, offensive or defensive, was a little sword, which he seemed to wear rather as a sign of his rank than for attack or defence. As to his features and his manners, they were in harmony with this peaceful appearance: his pale countenance expressed both acuteness and intelligence; his quick eye was mild, and his voice insinuating; his figure slight and a little bent by habit rather than by years, since he was but forty-five at this time, indicated an easy and conciliatory character. However, the presence of this man of peace, who seemed entrusted with watching over the demon of war, could not reassure the queen, and as to get to the landing-place, in front of the great door of the castle, the boat had just disappeared behind the corner of a tower, she told Mary Seyton to go down that she might try to learn what cause brought Lord Lindsay to Lochleven, well knowing that with the force of character with which she was endowed, she need know this cause but a few minutes beforehand, whatever it might be, to give her countenance that calm and that majesty which she had always found to influence her enemies. Left alone, Mary let her glance stray back to the little house in Kinross, her sole hope; but the distance was too great to distinguish anything; besides, its shutters remained closed all day, and seemed to open only in the evening, like the clouds, which, having covered the sky for a whole morning, scatter at last to reveal to the lost sailor a solitary star. She had remained no less motionless, her gaze always fixed on the same object, when she was drawn from this mute contemplation by the step of Mary Seyton. "Well, darling?" asked the queen, turning round. "Your Majesty is not mistaken," replied the messenger: "it really was Sir Robert Melville and Lord Lindsay; but there came yesterday with Sir William Douglas a third ambassador, whose name, I am afraid, will be still more odious to your Majesty than either of the two I have just pronounced." "You deceive yourself, Mary," the queen answered: "neither the name of Melville nor that of Lindsay is odious to me. Melville's, on the contrary, is, in my present circumstances, one of those which I have most pleasure in hearing; as to Lord Lindsay's, it is doubtless not agreeable to me, but it is none the less an honourable name, always borne by men rough and wild, it is true, but incapable of treachery. Tell me, then, what is this name, Mary; for you see I am calm and prepared." "Alas! madam," returned Mary, "calm and prepared as you may be, collect all your strength, not merely to hear this name uttered, but also to receive in a few minutes the man who bears it; for this name is that of Lord Ruthven." Mary Seyton had spoken truly, and this name had a terrible influence upon the queen; for scarcely had it escaped the young girl's lips than Mary Stuart uttered a cry, and turning pale, as if she were about to faint, caught hold of the window-ledge. Mary Seyton, frightened at the effect produced by this fatal name, immediately sprang to support the queen; but she, stretching one hand towards her, while she laid the other on her heart-- "It is nothing," said she; "I shall be better in a moment. Yes, Mary, yes, as you said, it is a fatal name and mingled with one of my most bloody memories. What such men are coming to ask of me must be dreadful indeed. But no matter, I shall soon be ready to receive my brother's ambassadors, for doubtless they are sent in his name. You, darling, prevent their entering, for I must have some minutes to myself: you know me; it will not take me long." With these words the queen withdrew with a firm step to her bedchamber. Mary Seyton was left alone, admiring that strength of character which made of Mary Stuart, in all other respects so completely woman-like, a man in the hour of danger. She immediately went to the door to close it with the wooden bar that one passed between two iron rings, but the bar had been taken away, so that there was no means of fastening the door from within. In a moment she heard someone coming up the stairs, and guessing from the heavy, echoing step that this must be Lord Lindsay, she looked round her once again to see if she could find something to replace the bar, and finding nothing within reach, she passed her arm through the rings, resolved to let it be broken rather than allow anyone to approach her mistress before it suited her. Indeed, hardly had those who were coming up reached the landing than someone knocked violently, and a harsh voice cried: "Come, come, open the door; open directly." "And by what right," said Mary Seyton, "am I ordered thus insolently to open the Queen of Scotland's door?" "By the right of the ambassador of the regent to enter everywhere in his name. I am Lord Lindsay, and I am come to speak to Lady Mary Stuart." "To be an ambassador," answered Mary Seyton, "is not to be exempted from having oneself announced in visiting a woman, and much more a queen; and if this ambassador is, as he says, Lord Lindsay, he will await his sovereign's leisure, as every Scottish noble would do in his place." "By St. Andrew!" cried Lord Lindsay, "open, or I will break in the door." "Do nothing to it, my lord, I entreat you," said another voice, which Mary recognised as Meville's. "Let us rather wait for Lord Ruthven, who is not yet ready." "Upon my soul," cried Lindsay, shaking the door, "I shall not wait a second". Then, seeing that it resisted, "Why did you tell me, then, you scamp," Lindsay went on, speaking to the steward, "that the bar had been removed? "It is true," replied he. "Then," returned Lindsay, "with what is this silly wench securing the door?" "With my arm, my lord, which I have passed through the rings, as a Douglas did for King James I, at a time when Douglases had dark hair instead of red, and were faithful instead of being traitors." "Since you know your history so well," replied Lindsay, in a rage, "you should remember that that weak barrier did not hinder Graham, that Catherine Douglas's arm was broken like a willow wand, and that James I. was killed like a dog." "But you, my lord," responded the courageous young girl, "ought also to know the ballad that is still sung in our time-- "'Now, on Robert Gra'am, The king's destroyer, shame! To Robert Graham cling Shame, who destroyed our king.'" "Mary," cried the queen, who had overheard this altercation from her bedroom,--"Mary, I command you to open the door directly: do you hear?" Mary obeyed, and Lord Lindsay entered, followed by Melville, who walked behind him, with slow steps and bent head. Arrived in the middle of the second room, Lord Lindsay stopped, and, looking round him-- "Well, where is she, then?" he asked; "and has she not already kept us waiting long enough outside, without making us wait again inside? Or does she imagine that, despite these walls and these bars, she is always queen?" "Patience, my lord," murmured Sir Robert: "you see that Lord Ruthven has not come yet, and since we can do nothing without him, let us wait." "Let wait who will," replied Lindsay, inflamed with anger; "but it will not be I, and wherever she may be, I shall go and seek her." With these words, he made some steps towards Mary Stuart's bedroom; but at the same moment the queen opened the door, without seeming moved either at the visit or at the insolence of the visitors, and so lovely and so full of majesty, that each, even Lindsay himself, was silent at her appearance, and, as if in obedience to a higher power, bowed respectfully before her. "I fear I have kept you waiting, my lord," said the queen, without replying to the ambassador's salutation otherwise than by a slight inclination of the head; "but a woman does not like to receive even enemies without having spent a few minutes over her toilet. It is true that men are less tenacious of ceremony," added she, throwing a significant glance at Lord Lindsay's rusty armour and soiled and pierced doublet. "Good day, Melville," she continued, without paying attention to some words of excuse stammered by Lindsay; "be welcome in my prison, as you were in my palace; for I believe you as devoted to the one as to the other". Then, turning to Lindsay, who was looking interrogatively at the door, impatient as he was for Ruthven to come-- "You have there, my lord," said she, pointing to the sword he carried over his shoulder, "a faithful companion, though it is a little heavy: did you expect, in coming here, to find enemies against whom to employ it? In the contrary case, it is a strange ornament for a lady's presence. But no matter, my lord, I, am too much of a Stuart to fear the sight of a sword, even if it were naked, I warn you." "It is not out of place here, madam," replied Lindsay, bringing it forward and leaning his elbow on its cross hilt, "for it is an old acquaintance of your family." "Your ancestors, my lord, were brave and loyal enough for me not to refuse to believe what you tell me. Besides, such a good blade must have rendered them good service." "Yes, madam, yes, surely it has done so, but that kind of service that kings do not forgive. He for whom it was made was Archibald Bell-the-Cat, and he girded himself with it the day when, to justify his name, he went to seize in the very tent of King James III, your grandfather, his un worthy favourites, Cochran, Hummel, Leonard, and Torpichen, whom he hanged on Louder Bridge with the halters of his soldiers' horses. It was also with this sword that he slew at one blow, in the lists, Spens of Kilspindie, who had insulted him in the presence of King James IV, counting on the protection his master accorded him, and which did not guard him against it any more than his shield, which it split in two. At his master's death, which took place two years after the defeat of Flodden, on whose battlefield he left his two sons and two hundred warriors of the name of Douglas, it passed into the hands of the Earl of Angus, who drew it from the scabbard when he drove the Hamiltons out of Edinburgh, and that so quickly and completely that the affair was called the 'sweeping of the streets.' Finally, your father James V saw it glisten in the fight of the bridge over the Tweed, when Buccleuch, stirred up by him, wanted to snatch him from the guardianship of the Douglases, and when eighty warriors of the name of Scott remained on the battlefield." "But," said the queen, "how is it that this weapon, after such exploits, has not remained as a trophy in the Douglas family? No doubt the Earl of Angus required a great occasion to decide him to-renounce in your favour this modern Excalibur". [History of Scotland, by Sir Walter Scott.--"The Abbott": historical part.] "Yes, no doubt, madam, it was upon a great occasion," replied Lindsay, in spite of the imploring signs made by Melville, "and this will have at least the advantage of the others, in being sufficiently recent for you to remember. It was ten days ago, on the battlefield of Carberry Hill, madam, when the infamous Bothwell had the audacity to make a public challenge in which he defied to single combat whomsoever would dare to maintain that he was not innocent of the murder of the king your husband. I made him answer then, I the third, that he was an assassin. And as he refused to fight with the two others under the pretext that they were only barons, I presented myself in my turn, I who am earl and lord. It was on that occasion that the noble Earl of Morton gave me this good sword to fight him to the death. So that, if he had been a little more presumptuous or a little less cowardly, dogs and vultures would be eating at this moment the pieces that, with the help of this good sword, I should have carved for them from that traitor's carcass." At these words, Mary Seyton and Robert Melville looked at each other in terror, for the events that they recalled were so recent that they were, so to speak, still living in the queen's heart; but the queen, with incredible impassibility and a smile of contempt on her lips-- "It is easy, my lord," said she, "to vanquish an enemy who does not appear in the lists; however, believe me, if Mary had inherited the Stuarts' sword as she has inherited their sceptre, your sword, long as it is, would yet have seemed to you too short. But as you have only to relate to us now, my lord, what you intended doing, and not what you have done, think it fit that I bring you back to something of more reality; for I do not suppose you have given yourself the trouble to come here purely and simply to add a chapter to the little treatise Des Rodomontades Espagnolles by M. de Brantome." "You are right, madam," replied Lindsay, reddening with anger, "and you would already know the object of our mission if Lord Ruthven did not so ridiculously keep us waiting. But," added he, "have patience; the matter will not be long now, for here he is." Indeed, at that moment they heard steps mounting the staircase and approaching the room, and at the sound of these steps, the queen, who had borne with such firmness Lindsay's insults, grew so perceptibly paler, that Melville, who did not take his eyes off her,--put out his hand towards the arm-chair as if to push it towards her; but the queen made a sign that she had no need of it, and gazed at the door with apparent calm. Lord Ruthven appeared; it was the first time that she had seen the son since Rizzio had been assassinated by the father. Lord Ruthven was both a warrior and a statesman, and at this moment his dress savoured of the two professions: it consisted of a close coat of embroidered buff leather, elegant enough to be worn as a court undress, and on which, if need were, one could buckle a cuirass, for battle: like his father, he was pale; like his father, he was to die young, and, even more than his father, his countenance wore that ill-omened melancholy by which fortune-tellers recognise those who are to die a violent death. Lord Ruthven united in himself the polished dignity of a courtier and the inflexible character of a minister; but quite resolved as he was to obtain from Mary Stuart, even if it were by violence, what he had come to demand in the regent's name, he none the less made her, on entering, a cold but respectful greeting, to which the queen responded with a courtesy; then the steward drew up to the empty arm-chair a heavy table on which had been prepared everything necessary for writing, and at a sign from the two lords he went out, leaving the queen and her companion alone with the three ambassadors. Then the queen, seeing that this table and this arm-chair were put ready for her, sat down; and after a moment, herself breaking this silence more gloomy than any word could have been-- "My lords," said she, "you see that I wait: can it be that this message which you have to communicate to me is so terrible that two soldiers as renowned as Lord Lindsay and Lord Ruthven hesitate at the moment of transmitting it?" "Madam," answered Ruthven, "I am not of a family, as you know, which ever hesitates to perform a duty, painful as it may be; besides, we hope that your captivity has prepared you to hear what we have to tell you on the part of the Secret Council." "The Secret Council!" said the queen. "Instituted by me, by what right does it act without me? No matter, I am waiting for this message: I suppose it is a petition to implore my mercy for the men who have dared to reach to a power that I hold only from God." "Madam," replied Ruthven, who appeared to have undertaken the painful role of spokesman, while Lindsay, mute and impatient, fidgeted with the hilt of his long sword, "it is distressing to me to have to undeceive you on this point: it is not your mercy that I come to ask; it is, on the contrary, the pardon of the Secret Council that I come to offer you." "To me, my lord, to me!" cried Mary: "subjects offer pardon to their queen! Oh! it is such a new and wonderful thing, that my amazement outweighs my indignation, and that I beg you to continue, instead of stopping you there, as perhaps I ought to do." "And I obey you so much the more willingly, madam," went on Ruthven imperturbably, "that this pardon is only granted on certain conditions, stated in these documents, destined to re-establish the tranquillity of the State, so cruelly compromised by the errors that they are going to repair." "And shall I be permitted, my lord, to read these documents, or must I, allured by my confidence in those who present them to me, sign them with my eyes shut?" "No, madam," Ruthven returned; "the Secret Council desire, on the contrary, that you acquaint yourself with them, for you must sign them freely." "Read me these documents, my lord; for such a reading is, I think, included in the strange duties you have accepted." Lord Ruthven took one of the two papers that he had in his hand, and read with the impassiveness of his usual voice the following: "Summoned from my tenderest youth to the government of the kingdom and to the crown of Scotland, I have carefully attended to the administration; but I have experienced so much fatigue and trouble that I no longer find my mind free enough nor my strength great enough to support the burden of affairs of State: accordingly, and as Divine favour has granted us a son whom we desire to see during our lifetime bear the crown which he has acquired by right of birth, we have resolved to abdicate, and we abdicate in his favour, by these presents, freely and voluntarily, all our rights to the crown and to the government of Scotland, desiring that he may immediately ascend the throne, as if he were called to it by our natural death, and not as the effect of our own will; and that our present abdication may have a more complete and solemn effect, and that no one should put forward the claim of ignorance, we give full powers to our trusty and faithful cousins, the lords Lindsay of Byres and William Ruthven, to appear in our name before the nobility, the clergy, and the burgesses of Scotland, of whom they will convoke an assembly at Stirling, and to there renounce, publicly and solemnly, on our part, all our claims to the crown and to the government of Scotland. "Signed freely and as the testimony of one of our last royal wishes, in our castle of Lochleven, the ---- June 1567". (The date was left blank.) There was a moment's silence after this reading, then "Did you hear, madam?" asked Ruthven. "Yes," replied Mary Stuart,--"yes, I have heard rebellious words that I have not understood, and I thought that my ears, that one has tried to accustom for some time to a strange language, still deceived me, and that I have thought for your honour, my lord William Ruthven, and my lord Lindsay of Byres." "Madam," answered Lindsay, out of patience at having kept silence so long, "our honour has nothing to do with the opinion of a woman who has so ill known how to watch over her own." "My lord!" said Melville, risking a word. "Let him speak, Robert," returned the queen. "We have in our conscience armour as well tempered as that with which Lord Lindsay is so prudently covered, although, to the shame of justice, we no longer have a sword. Continue, my lord," the queen went on, turning to Lord Ruthven: "is this all that my subjects require of me? A date and a signature? Ah! doubtless it is too little; and this second paper, which you have kept in order to proceed by degrees, probably contains some demand more difficult to grant than that of yielding to a child scarcely a year old a crown which belongs to me by birthright, and to abandon my sceptre to take a distaff." "This other paper," replied Ruthven, without letting himself be intimidated by the tone of bitter irony adopted by the queen, "is the deed by which your Grace confirms the decision of the Secret Council which has named your beloved brother, the Earl of Murray, regent of the kingdom." "Indeed!" said Mary. "The Secret Council thinks it needs my confirmation to an act of such slight importance? And my beloved brother, to bear it without remorse, needs that it should be I who add a fresh title to those of Earl of Mar and of Murray that I have already bestowed upon him? But one cannot desire anything more respectful and touching than all this, and I should be very wrong to complain. My lords," continued the queen, rising and changing her tone, "return to those who have sent you, and tell them that to such demands Mary Stuart has no answer to give." "Take care, madam," responded Ruthven; "for I have told you it is only on these conditions that your pardon can be granted you." "And if I refuse this generous pardon," asked Mary, "what will happen?" "I cannot pronounce beforehand, madam; but your Grace has enough knowledge of the laws, and above all of the history of Scotland and England, to know that murder and adultery are crimes for which more than one queen has been punished with death." "And upon what proofs could such a charge be founded, my lord? Pardon my persistence, which takes up your precious time; but I am sufficiently interested in the matter to be permitted such a question." "The proof, madam?" returned Ruthven. "There is but one, I know; but that one is unexceptionable: it is the precipitate marriage of the widow of the assassinated with the chief assassin, and the letters which have been handed over to us by James Balfour, which prove that the guilty persons had united their adulterous hearts before it was permitted them to unite their bloody hands." "My lord," cried the queen, "do you forget a certain repast given in an Edinburgh tavern, by this same Bothwell, to those same noblemen who treat him to-day as an adulterer and a murderer; do you forget that at the end of that meal, and on the same table at which it had been given, a paper was signed to invite that same woman, to whom to-day you make the haste of her new wedding a crime, to leave off a widow's mourning to reassume a marriage robe? for if you have forgotten it, my lords, which would do no more honour to your sobriety than to your memory, I undertake to show it to you, I who have preserved it; and perhaps if we search well we shall find among the signatures the names of Lindsay of Byres and William Ruthven. O noble Lord Herries," cried Mary, "loyal James Melville, you alone were right then, when you threw yourselves at my feet, entreating me not to conclude this marriage, which, I see it clearly to-day, was only a trap set for an ignorant woman by perfidious advisers or disloyal lords." "Madam," cried Ruthven, in spite of his cold impassivity beginning to lose command of himself, while Lindsay was giving still more noisy and less equivocal signs of impatience, "madam, all these discussions are beside our aim: I beg you to return to it, then, and inform us if, your life and honour guaranteed, you consent to abdicate the crown of Scotland." "And what safeguard should I have that the promises you here make me will be kept?" "Our word, madam," proudly replied Ruthven. "Your word, my lord, is a very feeble pledge to offer, when one so quickly forgets one's signature: have you not some trifle to add to it, to make me a little easier than I should be with it alone?" "Enough, Ruthven, enough," cried Lindsay. "Do you not see that for an hour this woman answers our proposals only by insults?" "Yes, let us go," said Ruthven; "and thank yourself only, madam, for the day when the thread breaks which holds the sword suspended over your head." "My lords," cried Melville, "my lords, in Heaven's name, a little patience, and forgive something to her who, accustomed to command, is today forced to obey." "Very well," said Lindsay, turning round, "stay with her, then, and try to obtain by your smooth words what is refused to our frank and loyal demand. In a quarter of an hour we shall return: let the answer be ready in a quarter of an hour!" With these words, the two noblemen went out, leaving Melville with the queen; and one could count their footsteps, from the noise that Lindsay's great sword made, in resounding on each step of the staircase. Scarcely were they alone than Melville threw himself at the queen's feet. "Madam," said he, "you remarked just now that Lord Herries and my brother had given your Majesty advice that you repented not having followed; well, madam, reflect on that I in my turn give you; for it is more important than the other, for you will regret with still more bitterness not having listened to it. Ah! you do not know what may happen, you are ignorant of what your brother is capable." "It seems to me, however," returned the queen, "that he has just instructed me on that head: what more will he do than he has done already? A public trial! Oh! it is all I ask: let me only plead my cause, and we shall see what judges will dare to condemn me." "But that is what they will take good care not to do, madam; for they would be mad to do it when they keep you here in this isolated castle, in the care of your enemies, having no witness but God, who avenges crime, but who does not prevent it. Recollect, madam, what Machiavelli has said, 'A king's tomb is never far from his prison.' You come of a family in which one dies young, madam, and almost always of a sudden death: two of your ancestors perished by steel, and one by poison." "Oh, if my death were sudden and easy," cried Mary, "yes, I should accept it as an expiation for my faults; for if I am proud when I compare myself with others, Melville, I am humble when I judge myself. I am unjustly accused of being an accomplice of Darnley's death, but I am justly condemned for having married Bothwell." "Time presses, madam; time presses," cried Melville, looking at the sand, which, placed on the table, was marking the time. "They are coming back, they will be here in a minute; and this time you must give them an answer. Listen, madam, and at least profit by your situation as much as you can. You are alone here with one woman, without friends, without protection, without power: an abdication signed at such a juncture will never appear to your people to have been freely given, but will always pass as having been torn from you by force; and if need be, madam, if the day comes when such a solemn declaration is worth something, well, then you will have two witnesses of the violence done you: the one will be Mary Seyton, and the other," he added in a low voice and looking uneasily about him,--"the other will be Robert Melville." Hardly had he finished speaking when the footsteps of the two nobles were again heard on the staircase, returning even before the quarter of an hour had elapsed; a moment afterwards the door opened, and Ruthven appeared, while over his shoulder was seen Lindsay's head. "Madam," said Ruthven, "we have returned. Has your Grace decided? We come for your answer." "Yes," said Lindsay, pushing aside Ruthven, who stood in his way, and advancing to the table,--"yes, an answer, clear, precise, positive, and without dissimulation." "You are exacting, my lord," said the queen: "you would scarcely have the right to expect that from me if I were in full liberty on the other side of the lake and surrounded with a faithful escort; but between these walls, behind these bars, in the depths of this fortress, I shall not tell you that I sign voluntarily, lest you should not believe it. But no matter, you want my signature; well, I am going to give it to you. Melville, pass me the pen." "But I hope," said Lord Ruthven, "that your Grace is not counting on using your present position one day in argument to protest against what you are going to do?" The queen had already stooped to write, she had already set her hand to the paper, when Ruthven spoke to her. But scarcely had he done so, than she rose up proudly, and letting fall the pen, "My lord," said she, "what you asked of me just now was but an abdication pure and simple, and I was going to sign it. But if to this abdication is joined this marginal note, then I renounce of my own accord, and as judging myself unworthy, the throne of Scotland. I would not do it for the three united crowns that I have been robbed of in turn." "Take care, madam," cried Lord Lindsay, seizing the queen's wrist with his steel gauntlet and squeezing it with all his angry strength--"take care, for our patience is at an end, and we could easily end by breaking what would not bend." The queen remained standing, and although a violent flush had passed like a flame over her countenance, she did not utter a word, and did not move: her eyes only were fixed with such a great expression of contempt on those of the rough baron, that he, ashamed of the passion that had carried him away, let go the hand he had seized and took a step back. Then raising her sleeve and showing the violet marks made on her arm by Lord Lindsay's steel gauntlet, "This is what I expected, my lords," said she, "and nothing prevents me any longer from signing; yes, I freely abdicate the throne and crown of Scotland, and there is the proof that my will has not been forced." With these words, she took the pen and rapidly signed the two documents, held them out to Lord Ruthven, and bowing with great dignity, withdrew slowly into her room, accompanied by Mary Seyton. Ruthven looked after her, and when she had disappeared, "It doesn't matter," he said; "she has signed, and although the means you employed, Lindsay, may be obsolete enough in diplomacy, it is not the less efficacious, it seems." "No joking, Ruthven," said Lindsay; "for she is a noble creature, and if I had dared, I should have thrown myself at her feet to ask her forgiveness." "There is still time," replied Ruthven, "and Mary, in her present situation, will not be severe upon you: perhaps she has resolved to appeal to the judgment of God to prove her innocence, and in that case a champion such as you might well change the face of things." "Do not joke, Ruthven," Lindsay answered a second time, with more violence than the first; "for if I were as well convinced of her innocence as I am of her crime, I tell you that no one should touch a hair of her head, not even the regent." "The devil! my lord," said Ruthven. "I did not know you were so sensitive to a gentle voice and a tearful eye; you know the story of Achilles' lance, which healed with its rust the wounds it made with its edge: do likewise my lord, do likewise." "Enough, Ruthven, enough," replied Lindsay; "you are like a corselet of Milan steel, which is three times as bright as the steel armour of Glasgow, but which is at the same time thrice as hard: we know one another, Ruthven, so an end to railleries or threats; enough, believe me, enough." And after these words, Lord Lindsay went out first, followed by Ruthven and Melville, the first with his head high and affecting an air of insolent indifference, and the second, sad, his brow bent, and not even trying to disguise the painful impression which this scene had made on him.' ["History of Scotland, by Sir Walter Scott.--'The Abbott": historical part.] CHAPTER VI The queen came out of her room only in the evening, to take her place at the window which looked over the lake: at the usual time she saw the light which was henceforth her sole hope shine in the little house in Kinross; for a whole long month she had no other consolation than seeing it, every night, fixed and faithful. At last, at the end of this time, and as she was beginning to despair of seeing George Douglas again, one morning, on opening the window, she uttered a cry. Mary Seyton ran to her, and the queen, without having strength to speak, showed her in the middle of the lake the tiny boat at anchor, and in the boat Little Douglas and George, who were absorbed in fishing, their favourite amusement. The young man had arrived the day before, and as everyone was accustomed to his unexpected returns, the sentinel had not even blown the horn, and the queen had not known that at last a friend had come. However, she was three days yet without seeing this friend otherwise than she had just done-that is, on the lake. It is true that from morning till evening he did not leave that spot, from which he could view the queen's windows and the queen herself, when, to gaze at a wider horizon, she leaned her face against the bars. At last, on the morning of the fourth day, the queen was awakened by a great noise of dogs and horns: she immediately ran to the window, for to a prisoner everything is an event, and she saw William Douglas, who was embarking with a pack of hounds and some huntsmen. In fact, making a truce, for a day, with his gaoler's duties, to enjoy a pleasure more in harmony with his rank and birth, he was going to hunt in the woods which cover the last ridge of Ben Lomond, and which, ever sinking, die down on the banks of the lake. The queen trembled with delight, for she hoped that Lady Lochleven would maintain her ill-will, and that then George would replace his brother: this hope was not disappointed. At the usual time the queen heard the footsteps of those who were bringing her her breakfast; the door opened, and she saw George Douglas enter, preceded by the servants who were carrying the dishes. George barely bowed; but the queen, warned by him not to be surprised at anything, returned him his greeting with a disdainful air; then the servants performed their task and went out, as they were accustomed. "At last," said the queen, "you are back again, then." George motioned with his finger, went to the door to listen if all the servants had really gone away, and if no one had remained to spy. Then, returning more at ease, and bowing respectfully-- "Yes, madam," returned he; "and, Heaven be thanked, I bring good news." "Oh, tell me quickly!" cried the queen; "for staying in this castle is hell. You knew that they came, did you not, and that they made me sign an abdication?" "Yes, madam," replied Douglas; "but we also knew that your signature had been obtained from you by violence alone, and our devotion to your Majesty is increased thereby, if possible." "But, after all, what have you done?" "The Seytons and the Hamiltons, who are, as your Majesty knows, your most faithful servants,"--Mary turned round, smiling, and put out her hand to Mary Seyton,--"have already," continued George, "assembled their troops, who keep themselves in readiness for the first signal; but as they alone would not be sufficiently numerous to hold the country, we shall make our way directly to Dumbarton, whose governor is ours, and which by its position and its strength can hold out long enough against all the regent's troops to give to the faithful hearts remaining to you time to come and join us." "Yes, yes," said the queen; "I see clearly what we shall do once we get out of this; but how are we to get out?" "That is the occasion, madam," replied Douglas, "for which your Majesty must call to your aid that courage of which you have given such great proofs." "If I have need only of courage and coolness," replied the queen, "be easy; neither the one nor the other will fail me." "Here is a file," said George, giving Mary Seyton that instrument which he judged unworthy to touch the queen's hands, "and this evening I shall bring your Majesty cords to construct a ladder. You will cut through one of the bars of this window, it is only at a height of twenty feet; I shall come up to you, as much to try it as to support you; one of the garrison is in my pay, he will give us passage by the door it is his duty to guard, and you will be free." "And when will that be?" cried the queen. "We must wait for two things, madam," replied Douglas: "the first, to collect at Kinross an escort sufficient for your Majesty's safety; the second, that the turn for night watch of Thomas Warden should happen to be at an isolated door that we can reach without being seen." "And how will you know that? Do you stay at the castle, then?" "Alas! no, madam," replied George; "at the castle I am a useless and even a dangerous fried for you, while once beyond the lake I can serve you in an effectual manner." "And how will you know when Warden's turn to mount guard has come?" "The weathercock in the north tower, instead of turning in the wind with the others, will remain fixed against it." "But I, how shall I be warned?" "Everything is already provided for on that side: the light which shines each night in the little house in Kinross incessantly tells you that your friends keep watch for you; but when you would like to know if the hour of your deliverance approaches or recedes, in your turn place a light in this window. The other will immediately disappear; then, placing your hand on your breast, count your heartbeats: if you reach the number twenty without the light reappearing, nothing is yet settled; if you only reach ten, the moment approaches; if the light does not leave you time to count beyond five, your escape is fixed for the following night; if it reappears no more, it is fixed for the same evening; then the owl's cry, repeated thrice in the courtyard, will be the signal; let down the ladder when you hear it". "Oh, Douglas," cried the queen, "you alone could foresee and calculate everything thus. Thank you, thank you a hundred times!" And she gave him her hand to kiss. A vivid red flushed the young man's cheeks; but almost directly mastering his emotion, he kneeled down, and, restraining the expression of that love of which he had once spoken to the queen, while promising her never more to speak of it, he took the hand that Mary extended, and kissed it with such respect that no one could have seen in this action anything but the homage of devotion and fidelity. Then, having bowed to the queen, he went out, that a longer stay with her should not give rise to any suspicions. At the dinner-hour Douglas brought, as he had said, a parcel of cord. It was not enough, but when evening came Mary Seyton was to unroll it and let fall the end from the window, and George would fasten the remainder to it: the thing was done as arranged, and without any mishap, an hour after the hunters had returned. The following day George left the castle. The queen and Mary Seyton lost no time in setting about the rope ladder, and it was finished on the third day. The same evening, the queen in her impatience, and rather to assure herself of her partisans' vigilance than in the hope that the time of her deliverance was so near, brought her lamp to the window: immediately, and as George Douglas had told her, the light in the little house at Kinross disappeared: the queen then laid her hand on her heart and counted up to twenty-two; then the light reappeared; they were ready for everything, but nothing was yet settled. For a week the queen thus questioned the light and her heart-beats without their number changing; at last, on the eighth day, she counted only as far as ten; at the eleventh the light reappeared. The queen believed herself mistaken: she did not dare to hope what this announced. She withdrew the lamp; then, at the end of a quarter of an hour, showed it again: her unknown correspondent understood with his usual intelligence that a fresh trial was required of him, and the light in the little house disappeared in its turn. Mary again questioned the pulsations of her heart, and, fast as it leaped, before the twelfth beat the propitious star was shining on the horizon: there was no longer any doubt; everything was settled. Mary could not sleep all night: this persistency of her partisans inspired her with gratitude to the point of tears. The day came, and the queen several times questioned her companion to assure herself that it was not all a dream; at every sound it seemed to her that the scheme on which her liberty hung was discovered, and when, at breakfast and at dinner time, William Douglas entered as usual, she hardly dared look at him, for fear of reading on his face the announcement that all was lost. In the evening the queen again questioned the light: it made the same answer; nothing had altered; the beacon was always one of hope. For four days it thus continued to indicate that the moment of escape was at hand; on the evening of the fifth, before the queen had counted five beats, the light reappeared: the queen leaned upon Mary Seyton; she was nearly fainting, between dread and 'delight. Her escape was fixed for the next evening. The queen tried once more, and obtained the same reply: there was no longer a doubt; everything was ready except the prisoner's courage, for it failed her for a moment, and if Mary Seyton had not drawn up a seat in time, she would have fallen prone; but, the first moment over, she collected herself as usual, and was stronger and more resolute than ever. Till midnight the queen remained at the window, her eyes fixed on that star of good omen: at last Mary Seyton persuaded her to go to bed, offering, if she had no wish to sleep, to read her some verses by M. Ronsard, or some chapters from the Mer des Histoires; but Mary had no desire now for any profane reading, and had her Hours read, making the responses as she would have done if she had been present at a mass said by a Catholic priest: towards dawn, however, she grew drowsy, and as Mary Seyton, for her part, was dropping with fatigue, she fell asleep directly in the arm-chair at the head of the queen's bed. Next day she awoke, feeling that someone was tapping her on the shoulder: it was the queen, who had already arisen. "Come and see, darling," said she,--"come and see the fine day that God is giving us. Oh! how alive is Nature! How happy I shall be to be once more free among those plains and mountains! Decidedly, Heaven is on our side." "Madam," replied Mary, "I would rather see the weather less fine: it would promise us a darker night; and consider, what we need is darkness, not light." "Listen," said the queen; "it is by this we are going to see if God is indeed for us; if the weather remains as it is, yes, you are right, He abandons us; but if it clouds over, oh! then, darling, this will be a certain proof of His protection, will it not?" Mary Seyton smiled, nodding that she adopted her mistress's superstition; then the queen, incapable of remaining idle in her great preoccupation of mind, collected the few jewels that she had preserved, enclosed them in a casket, got ready for the evening a black dress, in order to be still better hidden in the darkness: and, these preparations made, she sat down again at the window, ceaselessly carrying her eyes from the lake to the little house in Kinross, shut up and dumb as usual. The dinner-hour arrived: the queen was so happy that she received William Douglas with more goodwill than was her wont, and it was with difficulty she remained seated during the time the meal lasted; but she restrained herself, and William Douglas withdrew, without seeming to have noticed her agitation. Scarcely had he gone than Mary ran to the window; she had need of air, and her gaze devoured in advance those wide horizons which she was about to cross anew; it seemed to her that once at liberty she would never shut herself up in a palace again, but would wander about the countryside continually: then, amid all these tremors of delight, from time to time she felt unexpectedly heavy at heart. She then turned round to Mary Seyton, trying to fortify her strength with hers, and the young girl kept up her hopes, but rather from duty than from conviction. But slow as they seemed to the queen, the hours yet passed: towards the afternoon some clouds floated across the blue sky; the queen remarked upon them joyfully to her companion; Mary Seyton congratulated her upon them, not on account of the imaginary omen that the queen sought in them, but because of the real importance that the weather should be cloudy, that darkness might aid them in their flight. While the two prisoners were watching the billowy, moving vapours, the hour of dinner arrived; but it was half an hour of constraint and dissimulation, the more painful that, no doubt in return for the sort of goodwill shown him by the queen in the morning, William Douglas thought himself obliged, in his turn, to accompany his duties with fitting compliments, which compelled the queen to take a more active part in the conversation than her preoccupation allowed her; but William Douglas did not seem in any way to observe this absence of mind, and all passed as at breakfast. Directly he had gone the queen ran to the window: the few clouds which were chasing one another in the sky an hour before had thickened and spread, and--all the blue was blotted out, to give place to a hue dull and leaden as pewter. Mary Stuart's presentiments were thus realised: as to the little house in Kinross, which one could still make out in the dusk, it remained shut up, and seemed deserted. Night fell: the light shone as usual; the queen signalled, it disappeared. Mary Stuart waited in vain; everything remained in darkness: the escape was for the same evening. The queen heard eight o'clock, nine o'clock, and ten o'clock strike successively. At ten o'clock the sentinels were relieved; Mary Stuart heard the patrols pass beneath her windows, the steps of the watch recede: then all returned to silence. Half an hour passed away thus; suddenly the owl's cry resounded thrice, the queen recognised George Douglas's signal: the supreme moment had come. In these circumstances the queen found all her strength revive: she signed to Mary Seyton to take away the bar and to fix the rope ladder, while, putting out the lamp, she felt her way into the bedroom to seek the casket which contained her few remaining jewels. When she came back, George Douglas was already in the room. "All goes well, madam," said he. "Your friends await you on the other side of the lake, Thomas Warden watches at the postern, and God has sent us a dark night." The queen, without replying, gave him her hand. George bent his knee and carried this hand to his lips; but on touching it, he felt it cold and trembling. "Madam," said he, "in Heaven's name summon all your courage, and do not let yourself be downcast at such a moment." "Our Lady-of-Good-Help," murmured Seyton, "come to our aid!" "Summon to you the spirit of the kings your ancestors," responded George, "for at this moment it is not the resignation of a Christian that you require, but the strength and resolution of a queen." "Oh, Douglas! Douglas," cried Mary mournfully, "a fortune-teller predicted to me that I should die in prison and by a violent death: has not the hour of the prediction arrived?" "Perhaps," George said, "but it is better to die as a queen than to live in this ancient castle calumniated and a prisoner." "You are right, George," the queen answered; "but for a woman the first step is everything: forgive me". Then, after a moment's pause, "Come," said she; "I am ready." George immediately went to the window, secured the ladder again and more firmly, then getting up on to the sill and holding to the bars with one hand, he stretched out the other to the queen, who, as resolute as she had been timid a moment before, mounted on a stool, and had already set one foot on the window-ledge, when suddenly the cry, "Who goes there?" rang out at the foot of the tower. The queen sprang quickly back, partly instinctively and partly pushed by George, who, on the contrary, leaned out of the window to see whence came this cry, which, twice again renewed, remained twice unanswered, and was immediately followed by a report and the flash of a firearm: at the same moment the sentinel on duty on the tower blew his bugle, another set going the alarm bell, and the cries, "To arms, to arms!" and "Treason, treason!" resounded throughout the castle. "Yes, yes, treason, treason!" cried George Douglas, leaping down into the room. "Yes, the infamous Warden has betrayed us!" Then, advancing to Mary, cold and motionless as a statue, "Courage, madam," said he, "courage! Whatever happens, a friend yet remains for you in the castle; it is Little Douglas." Scarcely had he finished speaking when the door of the queen's apartment opened, and William Douglas and Lady Lochleven, preceded by servants carrying torches and armed soldiers, appeared on the threshold: the room was immediately filled with people and light. "Mother," said William Douglas, pointing to his brother standing before Mary Stuart and protecting her with his body, "do you believe me now? Look!" The old lady was for a moment speechless; then finding a word at last, and taking a step forward-- "Speak, George Douglas," cried she, "speak, and clear yourself at once of the charge which weighs on your honour; say but these words, 'A Douglas was never faithless to his trust,' and I believe you". "Yes, mother," answered William, "a Douglas!... but he--he is not a Douglas." "May God grant my old age the strength needed to bear on the part of one of my sons such a misfortune, and on the part of the other such an injury!" exclaimed Lady Lochleven. "O woman born under a fatal star," she went on, addressing the queen, "when will you cease to be, in the Devil's hands, an instrument of perdition and death to all who approach you? O ancient house of Lochleven, cursed be the hour when this enchantress crossed thy threshold!" "Do not say that, mother, do not say that," cried George; "blessed be, on the contrary, the moment which proves that, if there are Douglases who no longer remember what they owe to their sovereigns, there are others who have never forgotten it." "Douglas! Douglas!" murmured Mary Stuart, "did I not tell you?" "And I, madam," said George, "what did I reply then? That it was an honour and a duty to every faithful subject of your Majesty to die for you." "Well, die, then!" cried William Douglas, springing on his brother with raised sword, while he, leaping back, drew his, and with a movement quick as thought and eager as hatred defended himself. But at the same moment Mary Stuart darted between the two young people. "Not another step, Lord Douglas," said she. "Sheathe your sword, George, or if you use it, let be to go hence, and against everyone but your b other. I still have need of your life; take care of it." "My life, like my arm and my honour, is at your service, madam, and from the moment you command it I shall preserve it for you." With these words, rushing to the door with a violence and resolve which prevented anyone's stopping him-- "Back!" cried he to the domestics who were barring the passage; "make way for the young master of Douglas, or woe to you!". "Stop him!" cried William. "Seize him, dead or alive! Fire upon him! Kill him like a dog!" Two or three soldiers, not daring to disobey William, pretended to pursue his brother. Then some gunshots were heard, and a voice crying that George Douglas had just thrown himself into the lake. "And has he then escaped?" cried William. Mary Stuart breathed again; the old lady raised her hands to Heaven. "Yes, yes," murmured William,--"yes, thank Heaven for your son's flight; for his flight covers our entire house with shame; counting from this hour, we shall be looked upon as the accomplices of his treason." "Have pity on me, William!" cried Lady Lochleven, wringing her hands. "Have compassion o your old mother! See you not that I am dying?" With these words, she fell backwards, pale and tottering; the steward and a servant supported er in their arms. "I believe, my lord," said Mary Seyton, coming forward, "that your mother has as much need of attention just now as the queen has need of repose: do you not consider it is time for you to withdraw?" "Yes, yes," said William, "to give you time to spin fresh webs, I suppose, and to seek what fresh flies you can take in them? It is well, go on with your work; but you have just seen that it is not easy to deceive William Douglas. Play your game, I shall play mine". Then turning to the servants, "Go out, all of you," said he; "and you, mother, come." The servants and the soldiers obeyed; then William Douglas went out last, supporting Lady Lochleven, and the queen heard him shut behind him and double-lock the two doors of her prison. Scarcely was Mary alone, and certain that she was no longer seen or heard, than all her strength deserted her, and, sinking into an arm-chair, she burst out sobbing. Indeed, all her courage had been needed to sustain her so far, and the sight of her enemies alone had given her this courage; but hardly had they gone than her situation appeared before her in all its fatal hardship. Dethroned, a prisoner, without another fiend in this impregnable castle than a child to whom she had scarce given attention, and who was the sole and last thread attaching her past hopes to her hopes for the future, what remained to Mary Stuart of her two thrones and her double power? Her name, that was all; her, name with which, free, she had doubtless stirred Scotland, but which little by little was about to be effaced in the hearts of her adherents, and which during her lifetime oblivion was to cover perhaps as with a shroud. Such an idea was insupportable to a soul as lofty as Mary Stuart's, and to an organisation which, like that of the flowers, has need, before everything, of air, light, and sun. Fortunately there remained to her the best beloved of her four Marys, who, always devoted and consoling, hastened to succour and comfort her; but this time it was no easy matter, and the queen let her act and speak without answering her otherwise than with sobs and tears; when suddenly, looking through the window to which she had drawn up her mistress's armchair-- "The light!" cried she, "madam, the light!" At the same time she raised the queen, and with arm outstretched from the window, she showed her the beacon, the eternal symbol of hope, relighted in the midst of this dark night on Kinross hill: there was no mistake possible, not a star was shining in the sky. "Lord God, I give Thee thanks," said the queen, falling on her knees and raising her arms to heaven with a gesture of gratitude: "Douglas has escaped, and my friends still keep watch." Then, after a fervent prayer, which restored to her a little strength, the queen re-entered her room, and, tired out by her varied successive emotions, she slept an uneasy, agitated sleep, over which the indefatigable Mary Seyton kept watch till daybreak. As William Douglas had said, from this time forward the queen was a prisoner indeed, and permission to go down into the garden was no longer granted but under the surveillance of two soldiers; but this annoyance seemed to her so unbearable that she preferred to give up the recreation, which, surrounded with such conditions, became a torture. So she shut herself up in her apartments, finding a certain bitter and haughty pleasure in the very excess of her misfortune. CHAPTER VII A week after the events we have related, as nine o'clock in the evening had just sounded from the castle bell, and the queen and Mary Seyton were sitting at a table where they were working at their tapestry, a stone thrown from the courtyard passed through the window bars, broke a pane of glass, and fell into the room. The queen's first idea was to believe it accidental or an insult; but Mary Seyton, turning round, noticed that the stone was wrapped up in a paper: she immediately picked it up. The paper was a letter from George Douglas, conceived in these terms: "You have commanded me to live, madam: I have obeyed, and your Majesty has been able to tell, from the Kinross light, that your servants continue to watch over you. However, not to raise suspicion, the soldiers collected for that fatal night dispersed at dawn, and will not gather again till a fresh attempt makes their presence necessary. But, alas! to renew this attempt now, when your Majesty's gaolers are on their guard, would be your ruin. Let them take every precaution, then, madam; let them sleep in security, while we, we, in our devotion, shall go on watching. "Patience and courage!" "Brave and loyal heart!" cried Mary, "more constantly devoted to misfortune than others are to prosperity! Yes, I shall have patience and courage, and so long as that light shines I shall still believe in liberty." This letter restored to the queen all her former courage: she had means of communication with George through Little Douglas; for no doubt it was he who had thrown that stone. She hastened, in her turn, to write a letter to George, in which she both charged him to express her gratitude to all the lords who had signed the protestation; and begged them, in the name of the fidelity they had sworn to her, not to cool in their devotion, promising them, for her part, to await the result with that patience and courage they asked of her. The queen was not mistaken: next day, as she was at her window, Little Douglas came to play at the foot of the tower, and, without raising his head, stopped just beneath her to dig a trap to catch birds. The queen looked to see if she were observed, and assured that that part of the courtyard was deserted, she let fall the stone wrapped in her letter: at first she feared to have made a serious error; for Little Douglas did not even turn at the noise, and it was only after a moment, during which the prisoner's heart was torn with frightful anxiety, that indifferently, and as if he were looking for something else, the child laid his hand on the stone, and without hurrying, without raising his head, without indeed giving any sign of intelligence to her who had thrown it, he put the letter in his pocket, finishing the work he had begun with the greatest calm, and showing the queen, by this coolness beyond his years, what reliance she could place in him. From that moment the queen regained fresh hope; but days, weeks, months passed without bringing any change in her situation: winter came; the prisoner saw snow spread over the plains and mountains, and the lake afforded her, if she had only been able to pass the door, a firm road to gain the other bank; but no letter came during all this time to bring her the consoling news that they were busy about her deliverance; the faithful light alone announced to her every evening that a friend was keeping watch. Soon nature awoke from her death-sleep: some forward sun-rays broke through the clouds of this sombre sky of Scotland; the snow melted, the lake broke its ice-crust, the first buds opened, the green turf reappeared; everything came out of its prison at the joyous approach of spring, and it was a great grief to Mary to see that she alone was condemned to an eternal winter. At last; one evening, she thought she observed in the motions of the light that something fresh was happening: she had so often questioned this poor flickering star, and she had so often let it count her heart-beats more than twenty times, that to spare herself the pain of disappointment, for a long time she had no longer interrogated it; however, she resolved to make one last attempt, and, almost hopeless, she put her light near the window, and immediately took it away; still, faithful to the signal, the other disappeared at the same moment, and reappeared at the eleventh heart-beat of the queen. At the same time, by a strange coincidence, a stone passing through the window fell at Mary Seyton's feet. It was, like the first, wrapped in a letter from George: the queen took it from her companion's hands, opened it, and read: "The moment draws near; your adherents are assembled; summon all your courage." "To-morrow, at eleven o'clock in the evening, drop a cord from your window, and draw up the packet that will be fastened to it." There remained in the queen's apartments the rope over and above what had served for the ladder taken away by the guards the evening of the frustrated escape: next day, at the appointed hour, the two prisoners shut up the lamp in the bedroom, so that no light should betray them, and Mary Seyton, approaching the window, let down the cord. After a minute, she felt from its movements that something was being attached to it. Mary Seyton pulled, and a rather bulky parcel appeared at the bars, which it could not pass on account of its size. Then the queen came to her companion's aid. The parcel was untied, and its contents, separately, got through easily. The two prisoners carried them into the bedroom, and, barricaded within, commenced an inventory. There were two complete suits of men's clothes in the Douglas livery. The queen was at a loss, when she saw a letter fastened to the collar of one of the two coats. Eager to know the meaning of this enigma, she immediately opened it, and read as follows: "It is only by dint of audacity that her Majesty can recover her liberty: let her Majesty read this letter, then, and punctually follow, if she deign to adopt them, the instructions she will find therein. "In the daytime the keys of the castle do not leave the belt of the old steward; when curfew is rung and he has made his rounds to make sure that all the doors are fast shut, he gives them up to William Douglas, who, if he stays up, fastens them to his sword-belt, or, if he sleeps, puts them under his pillow. For five months, Little Douglas, whom everyone is accustomed to see working at the armourer's forge of the castle, has been employed in making some keys like enough to the others, once they are substituted for them, for William to be deceived. Yesterday Little Douglas finished the last. "On the first favourable opportunity that her Majesty will know to be about to present itself, by carefully questioning the light each day, Little Douglas will exchange the false keys for the true, will enter the queen's room, and will find her dressed, as well as Miss Mary Seyton, in their men's clothing, and he will go before them to lead them, by the way which offers the best chances for their escape; a boat will be prepared and will await them. "Till then, every evening, as much to accustom themselves to these new costumes as to give them an appearance of having been worn, her Majesty and Miss Mary Seyton will dress themselves in the suits, which they must keep on from nine o'clock till midnight. Besides, it is possible that, without having had time to warn them, their young guide may suddenly come to seek them: it is urgent, then, that he find them ready. "The garments ought to fit perfectly her Majesty and her companion, the measure having been taken on Miss Mary Fleming and Miss Mary Livingston, who are exactly their size. "One cannot too strongly recommend her Majesty to summon to her aid on the supreme occasion the coolness and courage of which she has given such frequent proofs at other times." The two prisoners were astounded at the boldness of this plan: at first they looked at one another in consternation, for success seemed impossible. They none the less made trial of their disguise: as George had said, it fitted each of them as if they had been measured for it. Every evening the queen questioned the light, as George had urged, and that for a whole long month, during which each evening the queen and Mary Seyton, although the light gave no fresh tidings, arrayed themselves in their men's clothes, as had been arranged, so that they both acquired such practice that they became as familiar to them as those of their own sex. At last, the 2nd May, 1568, the queen was awakened by the blowing of a horn: uneasy as to what it announced, she slipped on a cloak and ran to the window, where Mary Seyton joined her directly. A rather numerous band of horsemen had halted on the side of the lake, displaying the Douglas pennon, and three boats were rowing together and vying with each other to fetch the new arrivals. This event caused the queen dismay: in her situation the least change in the castle routine was to be feared, for it might upset all the concerted plans. This apprehension redoubled when, on the boats drawing near, the queen recognised in the elder Lord Douglas, the husband of Lady Lochleven, and the father of William and George. The venerable knight, who was Keeper of the Marches in the north, was coming to visit his ancient manor, in which he had not set foot for three years. It was an event for Lochleven; and, some minutes after the arrival of the boats, Mary Stuart heard the old steward's footsteps mounting the stairs: he came to announce his master's arrival to the queen, and, as it must needs be a time of rejoicing to all the castle inhabitants when its master returned, he came to invite the queen to the dinner in celebration of the event: whether instinctively or from distaste, the queen declined. All day long the bell and the bugle resounded: Lord Douglas, like a true feudal lord, travelled with the retinue of a prince. One saw nothing but new soldiers and servants passing and repassing beneath the queen's windows: the footmen and horsemen were wearing, moreover, a livery similar to that which the queen and Mary Seyton had received. Mary awaited the night with impatience. The day before, she had questioned her light, and it had informed her as usual, in reappearing at her eleventh or twelfth heart-beat, that the moment of escape was near; but she greatly feared that Lord Douglas's arrival might have upset everything, and that this evening's signal could only announce a postponement. But hardly had she seen the light shine than she placed her lamp in the window; the other disappeared directly, and Mary Stuart, with terrible anxiety, began to question it. This anxiety increased when she had counted more than fifteen beats. Then she stopped, cast down, her eyes mechanically fixed on the spot where the light had been. But her astonishment was great when, at the end of a few minutes, she did not see it reappear, and when, half an hour having elapsed, everything remained in darkness. The queen then renewed her signal, but obtained no response: the escape was for the same evening. The queen and Mary Seyton were so little expecting this issue, that, contrary to their custom, they had not put on their men's clothes that evening. They immediately flew to the queen's bed-chamber, bolted the door behind them, and began to dress. They had hardly finished their hurried toilette when they heard a key turn in the lock: they immediately blew out the lamp. Light steps approached the door. The two women leaned one against the other; for they both were near falling. Someone tapped gently. The queen asked who was there, and Little Douglas's voice answered in the two first lines of an old ballad-- "Douglas, Douglas, Tender and true." Mary opened, directly: it was the watchword agreed upon with George Douglas. The child was without a light. He stretched out his hand and encountered the queen's: in the starlight, Mary Stuart saw him kneel down; then she felt the imprint of his lips on her fingers. "Is your Majesty ready to follow me?" he asked in a low tone, rising. "Yes, my child," the queen answered: "it is for this evening, then?" "With your Majesty's permission, yes, it is for this evening." "Is everything ready?" "Everything." "What are we to do?" "Follow me everywhere." "My God! my God!" cried Mary Stuart, "have pity on us!" Then, having breathed a short prayer in a low voice, while Mary Seyton was taking the casket in which were the queen's jewels, "I am ready," said she: "and you, darling?" "I also," replied Mary Seyton. "Come, then," said Little Douglas. The two prisoners followed the child; the queen going first, and Mary Seyton after. Their youthful guide carefully shut again the door behind him, so that if a warder happened to pass he would see nothing; then he began to descend the winding stair. Half-way down, the noise of the feast reached them, a mingling of shouts of laughter, the confusion of voices, and the clinking of glasses. The queen placed her hand on her young guide's shoulder. "Where are you leading us?" she asked him with terror. "Out of the castle," replied the child. "But we shall have to pass through the great hall?" "Without a doubt; and that is exactly what George foresaw. Among the footmen, whose livery your Majesty is wearing, no one will recognise you." "My God! my God!" the queen murmured, leaning against the wall. "Courage, madam," said Mary Seyton in a low voice, "or we are lost." "You are right," returned the queen; "let us go". And they started again still led by their guide. At the foot of the stair he stopped, and giving the queen a stone pitcher full of wine-- "Set this jug on your right shoulder, madam," said he; "it will hide your face from the guests, and your Majesty will give rise to less suspicion if carrying something. You, Miss Mary, give me that casket, and put on your head this basket of bread. Now, that's right: do you feel you have strength?" "Yes," said the queen. "Yes," said Mary Seyton. "Then follow me." The child went on his way, and after a few steps the fugitives found themselves in a kind of antechamber to the great hall, from which proceeded noise and light. Several servants were occupied there with different duties; not one paid attention to them, and that a little reassured the queen. Besides, there was no longer any drawing back: Little Douglas had just entered the great hall. The guests, seated on both sides of a long table ranged according to the rank of those assembled at it, were beginning dessert, and consequently had reached the gayest moment of the repast. Moreover, the hall was so large that the lamps and candles which lighted it, multiplied as they were, left in the most favourable half-light both sides of the apartment, in which fifteen or twenty servants were coming and going. The queen and Mary Seyton mingled with this crowd, which was too much occupied to notice them, and without stopping, without slackening, without looking back, they crossed the whole length of the hall, reached the other door, and found themselves in the vestibule corresponding to the one they had passed through on coming in. The queen set down her jug there, Mary Seyton her basket, and both, still led by the child, entered a corridor at the end of which they found themselves in the courtyard. A patrol was passing at the moment, but he took no notice of them. The child made his way towards the garden, still followed by the two women. There, for no little while, it was necessary to try which of all the keys opened the door; it--was a time of inexpressible anxiety. At last the key turned in the lock, the door opened; the queen and Mary Seyton rushed into the garden. The child closed the door behind them. About two-thirds of the way across, Little Douglas held out his hand as a sign to them to stop; then, putting down the casket and the keys on the ground, he placed his hands together, and blowing into them, thrice imitated the owl's cry so well that it was impossible to believe that a human voice was uttering the sounds; then, picking up the casket and the keys, he kept on his way on tiptoe and with an attentive ear. On getting near the wall, they again stopped, and after a moment's anxious waiting they heard a groan, then something like the sound of a falling body. Some seconds later the owl's cry was--answered by a tu-whit-tu-whoo. "It is over," Little Douglas said calmly; "come." "What is over?" asked the queen; "and what is that groan we heard?" "There was a sentry at the door on to the lake," the child answered, "but he is no longer there." The queen felt her heart's blood grow cold, at the same tine that a chilly sweat broke out to the roots of her hair; for she perfectly understood: an unfortunate being had just lost his life on her account. Tottering, she leaned on Mary Seyton, who herself felt her strength giving way. Meanwhile Little Douglas was trying the keys: the second opened the door. "And the queen?" said in a low voice a man who was waiting on the other side of the wall. "She is following me," replied the child. George Douglas, for it was he, sprang into the garden, and, taking the queen's arm on one side and Mary Seyton's on the other, he hurried them away quickly to the lake-side. When passing through the doorway Mary Stuart could not help throwing an uneasy look about her, and it seemed to her that a shapeless object was lying at the bottom of the wall, and as she was shuddering all over. "Do not pity him," said George in a low voice, "for it is a judgment from heaven. That man was the infamous Warden who betrayed us." "Alas!" said the queen, "guilty as he was, he is none the less dead on my account." "When it concerned your safety, madam, was one to haggle over drops of that base blood? But silence! This way, William, this way; let us keep along the wall, whose shadow hides us. The boat is within twenty steps, and we are saved." With these words, George hurried on the two women still more quickly, and all four, without having been detected, reached the banks of the lake. 'As Douglas had said, a little boat was waiting; and, on seeing the fugitives approach, four rowers, couched along its bottom, rose, and one of them, springing to land, pulled the chain, so that the queen and Mary Seyton could get in. Douglas seated them at the prow, the child placed himself at the rudder, and George, with a kick, pushed off the boat, which began to glide over the lake. "And now," said he, "we are really saved; for they might as well pursue a sea swallow on Solway Firth as try to reach us. Row, children, row; never mind if they hear us: the main thing is to get into the open." "Who goes there?" cried a voice above, from the castle terrace. "Row, row," said Douglas, placing himself in front of the queen. "The boat! the boat!" cried the same voice; "bring to the boat!" Then, seeing that it continued to recede, "Treason! treason!" cried the sentinel. "To arms!" At the same moment a flash lit up the lake; the report of a firearm was heard, and a ball passed, whistling. The queen uttered a little cry, although she had run no danger, George, as we have said, having placed himself in front of her, quite protecting her with his body. The alarm bell now rang, and all the castle lights were seen moving and glancing about, as if distracted, in the rooms. "Courage, children!" said Douglas. "Row as if your lives depended on each stroke of the oar; for ere five minutes the skiff will be out after us." "That won't be so easy for them as you think, George," said Little Douglas; "for I shut all the doors behind me, and some time will elapse before the keys that I have left there open them. As to these," added he, showing those he had so skilfully abstracted, "I resign them to the Kelpie, the genie of the lake, and I nominate him porter of Lochleven Castle." The discharge of a small piece of artillery answered William's joke; but as the night was too dark for one to aim to such a distance as that already between the castle and the boat, the ball ricochetted at twenty paces from the fugitives, while the report died away in echo after echo. Then Douglas drew his pistol from his belt, and, warning the ladies to have no fear, he fired in the air, not to answer by idle bravado the castle cannonade, but to give notice to a troop of faithful friends, who were waiting for them on the other shore of the lake, that the queen had escaped. Immediately, in spite of the danger of being so near Kinross, cries of joy resounded on the bank, and William having turned the rudder, the boat made for land at the spot whence they had been heard. Douglas then gave his hand to the queen, who sprang lightly ashore, and who, falling on her knees, immediately began to give thanks to God for her happy deliverance. On rising, the queen found herself surrounded by her most faithful servants--Hamilton, Herries, and Seyton, Mary's father. Light-headed with joy, the queen extended her hands to them, thanking them with broken words, which expressed her intoxication and her gratitude better than the choicest phrases could have done, when suddenly, turning round, she perceived George Douglas, alone and melancholy. Then, going to him and taking him by the hand-- "My lords," said she, presenting George to them, and pointing to William, "behold my two deliverers: behold those to whom, as long as I live, I shall preserve gratitude of which nothing will ever acquit me." "Madam," said Douglas, "each of us has only done what he ought, and he who has risked most is the happiest. But if your Majesty will believe me, you will not lose a moment in needless words." "Douglas is right," said Lord Seyton. "To horse! to horse!" Immediately, and while four couriers set out in four different directions to announce to the queen's friends her happy escape, they brought her a horse saddled for her, which she mounted with her usual skill; then the little troop, which, composed of about twenty persons, was escorting the future destiny of Scotland, keeping away from the village of Kinross, to which the castle firing had doubtless given the alarm, took at a gallop the road to Seyton's castle, where was already a garrison large enough to defend the queen from a sudden attack. The queen journeyed all night, accompanied on one side by Douglas, on the other by Lord Seyton; then, at daybreak, they stopped at the gate of the castle of West Niddrie, belonging to Lord Seyton, as we have said, and situated in West Lothian. Douglas sprang from his horse to offer his hand to Mary Stuart; but Lord Seyton claimed his privilege as master of the house. The queen consoled Douglas with a glance, and entered the fortress. "Madam," said Lord Seyton, leading her into a room prepared for her for nine months, "your Majesty must have need of repose, after the fatigue and the emotions you have gone through since yesterday morning; you may sleep here in peace, and disquiet yourself for nothing: any noise you may hear will be made by a reinforcement of friends which we are expecting. As to our enemies, your Majesty has nothing to fear from them so long as you inhabit the castle of a Seyton." The queen again thanked all her deliverers, gave her hand to Douglas to kiss one last time, kissed Little William on the forehead, and named him her favourite page for the future; then, profiting by the advice given her, entered her room where Mary Seyton, to the exclusion of every other woman, claimed the privilege of performing about her the duties with which she had been charged during their eleven months' captivity in Lochleven Castle. On opening her eyes, Mary Stuart thought she had had one of those dreams so gainful to prisoners, when waking they see again the bolts on their doors and the bars on their windows. So the queen, unable to believe the evidence of her senses, ran, half dressed, to the window. The courtyard was filled with soldiers, and these soldiers all friends who had hastened at the news of her escape; she recognised the banners of her faithful friends, the Seytons, the Arbroaths, the Herries, and the Hamiltons, and scarcely had she been seen at the window than all these banners bent before her, with the shouts a hundred times repeated of "Long live Mary of Scotland! Long live our queen!" Then, without giving heed to the disarray of her toilet, lovely and chaste with her emotion and her happiness, she greeted them in her turn, her eyes full of tears; but this time they were tears of joy. However, the queen recollected that she was barely covered, and blushing at having allowed herself to be thus carried away in her ecstasy, she abruptly drew back, quite rosy with confusion. Then she had an instant's womanly fright: she had fled from Lochleven Castle in the Douglas livery, and without either the leisure or the opportunity for taking women's clothes with her. But she could not remain attired as a man; so she explained her uneasiness to Mary Seyton, who responded by opening the closets in the queen's room. They were furnished, not only with robes, the measure for which, like that of the suit, had been taken from Mary Fleming, but also with all the necessaries for a woman's toilet. The queen was astonished: it was like being in a fairy castle. "Mignonne," said she, looking one after another at the robes, all the stuffs of which were chosen with exquisite taste, "I knew your father was a brave and loyal knight, but I did not think him so learned in the matter of the toilet. We shall name him groom of the wardrobe." "Alas! madam," smilingly replied Mary Seyton, "you are not mistaken: my father has had everything in the castle furbished up to the last corselet, sharpened to the last sword, unfurled to the last banner; but my father, ready as he is to die for your Majesty, would not have dreamed for an instant of offering you anything but his roof to rest under, or his cloak to cover you. It is Douglas again who has foreseen everything, prepared everything--everything even to Rosabelle, your Majesty's favourite steed, which is impatiently awaiting in the stable the moment when, mounted on her, your Majesty will make your triumphal re-entry into Edinburgh." "And how has he been able to get her back again?" Mary asked. "I thought that in the division of my spoils Rosabelle had fallen to the fair Alice, my brother's favourite sultana?" "Yes, yes," said Mary Seyton, "it was so; and as her value was known, she was kept under lock and key by an army of grooms; but Douglas is the man of miracles, and, as I have told you, Rosabelle awaits your Majesty." "Noble Douglas!" murmured the queen, with eyes full of tears; then, as if speaking to herself, "And this is precisely one of those devotions that we can never repay. The others will be happy with honours, places, money; but to Douglas what matter all these things?" "Come, madam, come," said Mary Seyton, "God takes on Himself the debts of kings; He will reward Douglas. As to your Majesty, reflect that they are waiting dinner for you. I hope," added she, smiling, "that you will not affront my father as you did Lord Douglas yesterday in refusing to partake of his feast on his fortunate home-coming." "And luck has come to me for it, I hope," replied Mary. "But you are right, darling: no more sad thoughts; we will consider when we have indeed become queen again what we can do for Douglas." The queen dressed and went down. As Mary Seyton had told her, the chief noblemen of her party, already gathered round her, were waiting for her in the great hall of the castle. Her arrival was greeted with acclamations of the liveliest enthusiasm, and she sat down to table, with Lord Seyton on her right hand, Douglas on her left, and behind her Little William, who the same day was beginning his duties as page. Next morning the queen was awakened by the sound of trumpets and bugles: it had been decided the day before that she should set out that day for Hamilton, where reinforcements were looked for. The queen donned an elegant riding-habit, and soon, mounted on Rosabelle, appeared amid her defenders. The shouts of joy redoubled: her beauty, her grace, and her courage were admired by everyone. Mary Stuart became her own self once more, and she felt spring up in her again the power of fascination she had always exercised on those who came near her. Everyone was in good humour, and the happiest of all was perhaps Little William, who for the first time in his life had such a fine dress and such a fine horse. Two or three thousand men were awaiting the queen at Hamilton, which she reached the same evening; and during the night following her arrival the troops increased to six thousand. The 2nd of May she was a prisoner, without another friend but a child in her prison, without other means of communication with her adherents than the flickering and uncertain light of a lamp, and three days afterwards--that is to say, between the Sunday and the Wednesday--she found herself not only free, but also at the head of a powerful confederacy, which counted at its head nine earls, eight peers, nine bishops, and a number of barons and nobles renowned among the bravest of Scotland. The advice of the most judicious among those about the queen was to shut herself up in the strong castle of Dumbarton, which, being impregnable, would give all her adherents time to assemble together, distant and scattered as they were: accordingly, the guidance of the troops who were to conduct the queen to that town was entrusted to the Earl of Argyll, and the 11th of May she took the road with an army of nearly ten thousand men. Murray was at Glasgow when he heard of the queen's escape: the place was strong; he decided to hold it, and summoned to him his bravest and most devoted partisans. Kirkcaldy of Grange, Morton, Lindsay of Byres, Lord Lochleven, and William Douglas hastened to him, and six thousand of the best troops in the kingdom gathered round them, while Lord Ruthven in the counties of Berwick and Angus raised levies with which to join them. The 13th May, Morton occupied from daybreak the village of Langside, through which the queen must pass to get to Dumbarton. The news of the occupation reached the queen as the two armies were yet seven miles apart. Mary's first instinct was to escape an engagement: she remembered her last battle at Carberry Hill, at the end of which she had been separated from Bothwell and brought to Edinburgh; so she expressed aloud this opinion, which was supported by George Douglas, who, in black armour, without other arms, had continued at the queen's side. "Avoid an engagement!" cried Lord Seyton, not daring to answer his sovereign, and replying to George as if this opinion had originated with him. "We could do it, perhaps, if we were one to ten; but we shall certainly not do so when we are three to two. You speak a strange tongue, my young master," continued he, with some contempt; "and you forget, it seems to me, that you are a Douglas and that you speak to a Seyton." "My lord," returned George calmly, "when we only hazard the lives of Douglases and Seytons, you will find me, I hope, as ready to fight as you, be it one to ten, be it three to two; but we are now answerable for an existence dearer to Scotland than that of all the Seytons and all the Douglases. My advice is then to avoid battle." "Battle! battle!" cried all the chieftains. "You hear, madam?" said Lord Seyton to Mary Stuart: "I believe that to wish to act against such unanimity would be dangerous. In Scotland, madam, there is an ancient proverb which has it that 'there is most prudence in courage.'" "But have you not heard that the regent has taken up an advantageous position?" the queen said. "The greyhound hunts the hare on the hillside as well as in the plain," replied Seyton: "we will drive him out, wherever he is." "Let it be as you desire, then, my lords. It shall not be said that Mary Stuart returned to the scabbard the sword her defenders had drawn for her." Then, turning round to Douglas "George," she said to him, "choose a guard of twenty men for me, and take command of them: you will not quit me." George bent low in obedience, chose twenty from among the bravest men, placed the queen in their midst, and put himself at their head; then the troops, which had halted, received the order to continue their road. In two hours' time the advance guard was in sight of the enemy; it halted, and the rest of the army rejoined it. The queen's troops then found themselves parallel with the city of Glasgow, and the heights which rose in front of them were already occupied by a force above which floated, as above that of Mary, the royal banners of Scotland, On the other side, and on the opposite slope, stretched the village of Langside, encircled with enclosures and gardens. The road which led to it, and which followed all the variations of the ground, narrowed at one place in such a way that two men could hardly pass abreast, then, farther on, lost itself in a ravine, beyond which it reappeared, then branched into two, of which one climbed to the village of Langside, while the other led to Glasgow. On seeing the lie of the ground, the Earl of Argyll immediately comprehended the importance of occupying this village, and, turning to Lord Seyton, he ordered him to gallop off and try to arrive there before the enemy, who doubtless, having made the same observation as the commander of the royal forces, was setting in motion at that very moment a considerable body of cavalry. Lord Seyton called up his men directly, but while he was ranging them round his banner, Lord Arbroath drew his sword, and approaching the Earl of Argyll-- "My lord," said he, "you do me a wrong in charging Lord Seyton to seize that post: as commander of the vanguard, it is to me this honour belongs. Allow me, then, to use my privilege in claiming it." "It is I who received the order to seize it; I will seize it!" cried Seyton. "Perhaps," returned Lord Arbroath, "but not before me!" "Before you and before every Hamilton in the world!" exclaimed Seyton, putting his horse to the gallop and rushing down into the hollow road-- "Saint Bennet! and forward!" "Come, my faithful kinsmen!" cried Lord Arbroath, dashing forward on his side with the same object; "come, my men-at-arms! For God and the queen!" The two troops precipitated themselves immediately in disorder and ran against one another in the narrow way, where, as we have said, two men could hardly pass abreast. There was a terrible collision there, and the conflict began among friends who should have been united against the enemy. Finally, the two troops, leaving behind them some corpses stifled in the press, or even killed by their companions, passed through the defile pell-mell and were lost sight of in the ravine. But during this struggle Seyton and Arbroath had lost precious time, and the detachment sent by Murray, which had taken the road by Glasgow, had reached the village beforehand; it was now necessary not to take it, but to retake it. Argyll saw that the whole day's struggle would be concentrated there, and, understanding more and more the importance of the village, immediately put himself at the head of the body of his army, commanding a rearguard of two thousand men to remain there and await further orders to take part in the fighting. But whether the captain who commanded them had ill understood, or whether he was eager to distinguish himself in the eyes of the queen, scarcely had Argyll vanished into the ravine, at the end of which the struggle had already commenced between Kirkcaldy of Grange and Morton on the one side, and on the other between Arbroath and Seyton, than, without regarding the cries of Mary Stuart, he set off in his turn at a gallop, leaving the queen without other guard than the little escort of twenty men which Douglas had chosen for her. Douglas sighed. "Alas!" said the queen, hearing him, "I am not a soldier, but there it seems to me is a battle very badly begun." "What is to be done?" replied Douglas. "We are every one of us infatuated, from first to last, and all these men are behaving to-day like madmen or children." "Victory! victory!" said the queen; "the enemy is retreating, fighting. I see the banners of Seyton and Arbroath floating near the first houses in the village. Oh! my brave lords," cried she, clapping her hands. "Victory! victory!" But she stopped suddenly on perceiving a body of the enemy's army advancing to charge the victors in flank. "It is nothing, it is nothing," said Douglas; "so long as there is only cavalry we have nothing much to fear, and besides the Earl of Argyll will fall in in time to aid them." "George," said Little William. "Well?" asked Douglas. "Don't you see?" the child went on, stretching out his arms towards the enemy's force, which was coming on at a gallop. "What?" "Each horseman carries a footman armed with an arquebuse behind him, so that the troop is twice as numerous as it appears." "That's true; upon my soul, the child has good sight. Let someone go at once full gallop and take news of this to the Earl or Argyll." "I! I!" cried Little William. "I saw them first; it is my right to bear the tidings." "Go, then, my child," said Douglas; "and may God preserve thee!" The child flew, quick as lightning, not hearing or feigning not to hear the queen, who was recalling him. He was seen to cross the gorge and plunge into the hollow road at the moment when Argyll was debouching at the end and coming to the aid of Seyton and Arbroath. Meanwhile, the enemy's detachment had dismounted its infantry, which, immediately formed up, was scattering on the sides of the ravine by paths impracticable for horses. "William will come too late!" cried Douglas, "or even, should he arrive in time, the news is now useless to them. Oh madmen, madmen that we are! This is how we have always lost all our battles!" "Is the battle lost, then?" demanded Mary, growing pale. "No, madam, no," cried Douglas; "Heaven be thanked, not yet; but through too great haste we have begun badly." "And William?" said Mary Stuart. "He is now serving his apprenticeship in arms; for, if I am not mistaken, he must be at this moment at the very spot where those marksmen are making such quick firing." "Poor child!" cried the queen; "if ill should befall him, I shall never console myself." "Alas! madam," replied Douglas, "I greatly fear that his first battle is his last, and that everything is already over for him; for, unless I mistake, there is his horse returning riderless." "Oh, my God! my God!" said the queen, weeping, and raising her hands to heaven, "it is then decreed that I should be fatal to all around me!" George was not deceived: it was William's horse coming back without his young master and covered with blood. "Madam," said Douglas, "we are ill placed here; let us gain that hillock on which is the Castle of Crookstone: from thence we shall survey the whole battlefield." "No, not there! not there!" said the queen in terror: "within that castle I came to spend the first days of my marriage with Darnley; it will bring me misfortune." "Well, beneath that yew-tree, then," said George, pointing to another slight rise near the first; "but it is important for us to lose no detail of this engagement. Everything depends perhaps for your Majesty on an ill-judged manoeuvre or a lost moment." "Guide me, then," the queen said; "for, as for me, I no longer see it. Each report of that terrible cannonade echoes to the depths of my heart." However well placed as was this eminence for overlooking from its summit the whole battlefield, the reiterated discharge of cannon and musketry covered it with such a cloud of smoke that it was impossible to make out from it anything but masses lost amid a murderous fog. At last, when an hour had passed in this desperate conflict, through the skirts of this sea of smoke the fugitives were seen to emerge and disperse in all directions, followed by the victors. Only, at that distance, it was impossible to make out who had gained or lost the battle, and the banners, which on both sides displayed the Scottish arms, could in no way clear up this confusion. At that moment there was seen coming down from the Glasgow hillsides all the remaining reserve of Murray's army; it was coming at full speed to engage in the fighting; but this manoeuvre might equally well have for its object the support of defeated friends as to complete the rout of the enemy. However, soon there was no longer any doubt; for this reserve charged the fugitives, amid whom it spread fresh confusion. The queen's army was beaten. At the same time, three or four horsemen appeared on the hither side of the ravine, advancing at a gallop. Douglas recognised them as enemies. "Fly, madam," cried George, "fly without loss of a second; for those who are coming upon us are followed by others. Gain the road, while I go to check them. And you," added he, addressing the escort, "be killed to the last man rather than let them take your queen." "George! George!" cried the queen, motionless, and as if riveted to the spot. But George had already dashed away with all his horse's speed, and as he was splendidly mounted, he flew across the space with lightning rapidity, and reached the gorge before the enemy. There he stopped, put his lance in rest, and alone against five bravely awaited the encounter. As to the queen, she had no desire to go; but, on the contrary, as if turned to stone, she remained in the same place, her eyes fastened on this combat which was taking place at scarcely five hundred paces from her. Suddenly, glancing at her enemies, she saw that one of them bore in the middle of his shield a bleeding heart, the Douglas arms. Then she uttered a cry of pain, and drooping her head-- "Douglas against Douglas; brother against brother!" she murmured: "it only wanted this last blow." "Madam, madam," cried her escort, "there is not an instant to lose: the young master of Douglas cannot hold out long thus alone against five; let us fly! let us fly!" And two of them taking the queen's horse by the bridle, put it to the gallop, at the moment when George, after having beaten down two of his enemies and wounded a third, was thrown down in his turn in the dust, thrust to the heart by a lance-head. The queen groaned on seeing him fall; then, as if he alone had detained her, and as if he being killed she had no interest in anything else, she put Rosabelle to the gallop, and as she and her troop were splendidly mounted, they had soon lost sight of the battlefield. She fled thus for sixty miles, without taking any rest, and without ceasing to weep or to sigh: at last, having traversed the counties of Renfrew and Ayr, she reached the Abbey of Dundrennan, in Galloway, and certain of being, for the time at least, sheltered from every danger, she gave the order to stop. The prior respectfully received her at the gate of the convent. "I bring you misfortune and ruin, father," said the queen, alighting from her horse. "They are welcome," replied the prior, "since they come accompanied by duty." The queen gave Rosabelle to the care of one of the men-at-arms who had accompanied her, and leaning on Mary Seyton, who had not left her for a moment, and on Lord Herries, who had rejoined her on the road, she entered the convent. Lord Herries had not concealed her position from Mary Stuart: the day had been completely lost, and with the day, at least for the present, all hope of reascending the throne of Scotland. There remained but three courses for the queen to take to withdraw into France, Spain or England. On the advice of Lord Herries, which accorded with her own feeling, she decided upon the last; and that same night she wrote this double missive in verse and in prose to Elizabeth: "MY DEAR SISTER,--I have often enough begged you to receive my tempest-tossed vessel into your haven during the storm. If at this pass she finds a safe harbour there, I shall cast anchor there for ever: otherwise the bark is in God's keeping, for she is ready and caulked for defence on her voyage against all storms. I have dealt openly with you, and still do so: do not take it in bad part if I write thus; it is not in defiance of you, as it appears, for in everything I rely on your friendship." "This sonnet accompanied the letter:-- "One thought alone brings danger and delight; Bitter and sweet change places in my heart, With doubt, and then with hope, it takes its part, Till peace and rest alike are put to flight. "Therefore, dear sister, if this card pursue That keen desire by which I am oppressed, To see you, 'tis because I live distressed, Unless some swift and sweet result ensue. "Beheld I have my ship compelled by fate To seek the open sea, when close to port, And calmest days break into storm and gale; Wherefore full grieved and fearful is my state, Not for your sake, but since, in evil sort, Fortune so oft snaps strongest rope and sail." Elizabeth trembled with joy at receiving this double letter; for the eight years that her enmity had been daily increasing to Mary Stuart, she had followed her with her eyes continually, as a wolf might a gazelle; at last the gazelle sought refuge in the wolf's den. Elizabeth had never hoped as much: she immediately despatched an order to the Sheriff of Cumberland to make known to Mary that she was ready to receive her. One morning a bugle was heard blowing on the sea-shore: it was Queen Elizabeth's envoy come to fetch Queen Mary Stuart. Then arose great entreaties to the fugitive not to trust herself thus to a rival in power, glory, and beauty; but the poor dispossessed queen was full of confidence in her she called her good sister, and believed herself going, free and rid of care, to take at Elizabeth's court the place due to her rank and her misfortunes: thus she persisted, in spite of all that could be said. In our time, we have seen the same infatuation seize another royal fugitive, who like Mary Stuart confided himself to the generosity of his enemy England: like Mary Stuart, he was cruelly punished for his confidence, and found in the deadly climate of St. Helena the scaffold of Fotheringay. Mary Stuart set out on her journey, then, with her little following. Arrived at the shore of Solway Firth, she found there the Warden of the English Marches: he was a gentleman named Lowther, who received the queen with the greatest respect, but who gave her to understand that he could not permit more than three of her women to accompany her. Mary Seyton immediately claimed her privilege: the queen held out to her her hand. "Alas! mignonne," said she, "but it might well be another's turn: you have already suffered enough for me and with me." But Mary, unable to reply, clung to her hand, making a sign with her head that nothing in the world should part her from her mistress. Then all who had accompanied the queen renewed their entreaties that she should not persist in this fatal resolve, and when she was already a third of the way along the plank placed for her to enter the skiff, the Prior of Dundrennan, who had offered Mary Stuart such dangerous and touching hospitality, entered the water up to his knees, to try to detain her; but all was useless: the queen had made up her mind. At that, moment Lowther approached her. "Madam," said he, "accept anew my regrets that I cannot offer a warm welcome in England to all who would wish to follow you there; but our queen has given us positive orders, and we must carry them out. May I be permitted to remind your Majesty that the tide serves?" "Positive orders!" cried the prior. "Do you hear, madam? Oh! you are lost if you quit this shore! Back, while there is yet time! Back; madam, in Heaven's name! To me, sir knights, to me!" he cried, turning to Lord Herries and the other lords who had accompanied Mary Stuart; "do not allow your queen to abandon you, were it needful to struggle with her and the English at the same time. Hold her back, my lords, in Heaven's name! withhold her!" "What means this violence, sir priest?" said the Warden of the Marches. "I came here at your queen's express command; she is free to return to you, and there is no need to have recourse to force for that". Then, addressing the queen-- "Madam," said he, "do you consent to follow me into England in full liberty of choice? Answer, I entreat you; for my honour demands that the whole world should be aware that you have followed me freely." "Sir," replied Mary Stuart, "I ask your pardon, in the name of this worthy servant of God and his queen, for what he may have said of offence to you. Freely I leave Scotland and place myself in your hands, trusting that I shall be free either to remain in England with my royal sister, or to return to France to my worthy relatives". Then, turning to the priest, "Your blessing, father, and God protect you!" "Alas! alas!" murmured the abbot, obeying the queen, "it is not we who are in need of God's protection, but rather you, my daughter. May the blessing of a poor priest turn aside from you the misfortunes I foresee! Go, and may it be with you as the Lord has ordained in His wisdom and in His mercy!" Then the queen gave her hand to the sheriff, who conducted her to the skiff, followed by Mary Seyton and two other women only. The sails were immediately unfurled, and the little vessel began to recede from the shores of Galloway, to make her way towards those of Cumberland. So long as it could be seen, they who had accompanied the queen lingered on the beach, waving her signs of adieu, which, standing on the deck of the shallop which was bearing her, away, she returned with her handkerchief. Finally, the boat disappeared, and all burst into lamentations or into sobbing. They were right, for the good Prior of Dundrennan's presentiments were only too true, and they had seen Mary Stuart for the last time. CHAPTER VIII On landing on the shores of England, the Queen of Scotland found messengers from Elizabeth empowered to express to her all the regret their mistress felt in being unable to admit her to her presence, or to give her the affectionate welcome she bore her in her heart. But it was essential, they added, that first of all the queen should clear herself of the death of Darnley, whose family, being subjects of the Queen of England, had a right to her protection and justice. Mary Stuart was so blinded that she did not see the trap, and immediately offered to prove her innocence to the satisfaction of her sister Elizabeth; but scarcely had she in her hands Mary Stuart's letter, than from arbitress she became judge, and, naming commissioners to hear the parties, summoned Murray to appear and accuse his sister. Murray, who knew Elizabeth's secret intentions with regard to her rival, did not hesitate a moment. He came to England, bringing the casket containing the three letters we have quoted, some verses and some other papers which proved that the queen had not only been Bothwell's mistress during the lifetime of Darnley, but had also been aware of the assassination of her husband. On their side, Lord Herries and the Bishop of Ross, the queen's advocates, maintained that these letters had been forged, that the handwriting was counterfeited, and demanded, in verification, experts whom they could not obtain; so that this great controversy, remained pending for future ages, and to this hour nothing is yet affirmatively settled in this matter either by scholars or historians. After a five months' inquiry, the Queen of England made known to the parties, that not having, in these proceedings, been able to discover anything to the dishonour of accuser or accused, everything would remain in statu quo till one or the other could bring forward fresh proofs. As a result of this strange decision, Elizabeth should have sent back the regent to Scotland, and have left Mary Stuart free to go where she would. But, instead of that, she had her prisoner removed from Bolton Castle to Carlisle Castle, from whose terrace, to crown her with grief, poor Mary Stuart saw the blue mountains of her own Scotland. However, among the judges named by Elizabeth to examine into Mary Stuart's conduct was Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk. Be it that he was convinced of Mary's innocence, be it that he was urged by the ambitious project which since served as a ground for his prosecution, and which was nothing else than to wed Mary Stuart, to affiance his daughter to the young king, and to become regent of Scotland, he resolved to extricate her from her prison. Several members of the high nobility of England, among whom were the Earls of Westmoreland and Northumberland, entered into the plot and under, took to support it with all their forces. But their scheme had been communicated to the regent: he denounced it to Elizabeth, who had Norfolk arrested. Warned in time, Westmoreland and Northumberland crossed the frontiers and took refuge in the Scottish borders which were favourable to Queen Mary. The former reached Flanders, where he died in exile; the latter, given up to Murray, was sent to the castle of Lochleven, which guarded him more faithfully than it had done its royal prisoner. As to Norfolk, he was beheaded. As one sees, Mary Stuart's star had lost none of its fatal influence. Meanwhile the regent had returned to Edinburgh, enriched with presents from Elizabeth, and having gained, in fact, his case with her, since Mary remained a prisoner. He employed himself immediately in dispersing the remainder of her adherents, and had hardly shut the gates of Lochleven Castle upon Westmoreland than, in the name of the young King James VI, he pursued those who had upheld his mother's cause, and among them more particularly the Hamiltons, who since the affair of "sweeping the streets of Edinburgh," had been the mortal enemies of the Douglases personally; six of the chief members of this family were condemned to death, and only obtained commutation of the penalty into an eternal exile on the entreaties of John Knox, at that time so powerful in Scotland that Murray dared not refuse their pardon. One of the amnestied was a certain Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh, a man of ancient Scottish times, wild and vindictive as the nobles in the time of James I. He had withdrawn into the highlands, where he had found an asylum, when he learned that Murray, who in virtue of the confiscation pronounced against exiles had given his lands to one of his favourites, had had the cruelty to expel his sick and bedridden wife from her own house, and that without giving her time to dress, and although it was in the winter cold. The poor woman, besides, without shelter, without clothes, and without food, had gone out of her mind, had wandered about thus for some time, an object of compassion but equally of dread; for everyone had been afraid of compromising himself by assisting her. At last, she had returned to expire of misery and cold on the threshold whence she had been driven. On learning this news, Bothwellhaugh, despite the violence of his character, displayed no anger: he merely responded, with a terrible smile, "It is well; I shall avenge her." Next day, Bothwellhaugh left his highlands, and came down, disguised, into the plain, furnished with an order of admission from the Archbishop of St. Andrews to a house which this prelate--who, as one remembers, had followed the queen's fortunes to the last moment--had at Linlithgow. This house, situated in the main street, had a wooden balcony looking on to the square, and a gate which opened out into the country. Bothwellhaugh entered it at night, installed himself on the first floor, hung black cloth on the walls so that his shadow should not be seen from without, covered the floor with mattresses so that his footsteps might not be heard on the ground floor, fastened a racehorse ready saddled and bridled in the garden, hollowed out the upper part of the little gate which led to the open country so that he could pass through it at a gallop, armed himself with a loaded arquebuse, and shut himself up in the room. All these preparations had been made, one imagines, because Murray was to spend the following day in Linlithgow. But, secret as they were, they were to be rendered useless, for the regent's friends warned him that it would not be safe for him to pass through the town, which belonged almost wholly to the Hamiltons, and advised him to go by it. However, Murray was courageous, and, accustomed not to give way before a real danger, he did nothing but laugh at a peril which he looked upon as imaginary, and boldly followed his first plan, which was not to go out of his way. Consequently, as the street into which the Archbishop of St. Andrews' balcony looked was on his road, he entered upon it, not going rapidly and preceded by guards who would open up a passage for him, as his friends still counselled, but advancing at a foot's pace, delayed as he was by the great crowd which was blocking up the streets to see him. Arrived in front of the balcony, as if chance had been in tune with the murderer, the crush became so great that Murray was obliged to halt for a moment: this rest gave Bothwellhaugh time to adjust himself for a steady shot. He leaned his arquebuse on the balcony, and, having taken aim with the necessary leisure and coolness, fired. Bothwellhaugh had put such a charge into the arquebuse, that the ball, having passed through the regent's heart, killed the horse of a gentleman on his right. Murray fell directly, saying, "My God! I am killed." As they had seen from which window the shot was fired, the persons in the regent's train had immediately thrown themselves against the great door of the house which looked on to the street, and had smashed it in; but they only arrived in time to see Bothwellhaugh fly through the little garden gate on the horse he had got ready: they immediately remounted the horses they had left in the street, and, passing through the house, pursued him. Bothwellhaugh had a good horse and the lead of his enemies; and yet, four of them, pistol in hand, were so well mounted that they were beginning to gain upon him. Then Bothwellhaugh; seeing that whip and spur were not enough, drew his dagger and used it to goad on his horse. His horse, under this terrible stimulus, acquired fresh vigour, and, leaping a gully eighteen feet deep, put between his master and his pursuers a barrier which they dared not cross. The murderer sought an asylum in France, where he retired under the protection of the Guises. There, as the bold stroke he had attempted had acquired him a great reputation, some days before the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, they made him overtures to assassinate Admiral Coligny. But Bothwellhaugh indignantly repulsed these proposals, saying that he was the avenger of abuses and not an assassin, and that those who had to complain of the admiral had only to come and ask him how he had done, and to do as he. As to Murray, he died the night following his wound, leaving the regency to the Earl of Lennox, the father of Darnley: on learning the news of his death, Elizabeth wrote that she had lost her best friend. While these events were passing in Scotland, Mary Stuart was still a prisoner, in spite of the pressing and successive protests of Charles IX and Henry III. Taking fright at the attempt made in her favour, Elizabeth even had her removed to Sheffield Castle, round which fresh patrols were incessantly in motion. But days, months, years passed, and poor Mary, who had borne so impatiently her eleven months' captivity in Lochleven Castle, had been already led from prison to prison for fifteen or sixteen years, in spite of her protests and those of the French and Spanish ambassadors, when she was finally taken to Tutbury Castle and placed under the care of Sir Amyas Paulet, her last gaoler: there she found for her sole lodging two low and damp rooms, where little by little what strength remained to her was so exhausted that there were days on which she could not walk, on account of the pain in all her limbs. Then it was that she who had been the queen of two kingdoms, who was born in a gilded cradle and brought up in silk and velvet, was forced to humble herself to ask of her gaoler a softer bed and warmer coverings. This request, treated as an affair of state, gave rise to negotiations which lasted a month, after which the prisoner was at length granted what she asked. And yet the unhealthiness, cold, and privations of all kinds still did not work actively enough on that healthy and robust organisation. They tried to convey to Paulet what a service he would render the Queen of England in cutting short the existence of her who, already condemned in her rival's mind, yet delayed to die. But Sir Amyas Paulet, coarse and harsh as he was to Mary Stuart, declared that, so long as she was with him she would have nothing to fear from poison or dagger, because he would taste all the dishes served to his prisoner, and that no one should approach her but in his presence. In fact, some assassins, sent by Leicester, the very same who had aspired for a moment to the hand of the lovely Mary Stuart, were driven from the castle directly its stern keeper had learned with what intentions they had entered it. Elizabeth had to be patient, then, in contenting herself with tormenting her whom she could not kill, and still hoping that a fresh opportunity would occur for bringing her to trial. That opportunity, so long delayed, the fatal star of Mary Stuart at length brought. A young Catholic gentleman, a last scion of that ancient chivalry which was already dying out at that time, excited by the excommunication of Pius V, which pronounced Elizabeth fallen from her kingdom on earth and her salvation in heaven, resolved to restore liberty to Mary, who thenceforth was beginning to be looked upon, no longer as a political prisoner, but as a martyr for her faith. Accordingly, braving the law which Elizabeth had had made in 1585, and which provided that, if any attempt on her person was meditated by, or for, a person who thought he had claims to the crown of England, a commission would be appointed composed of twenty-five members, which, to the exclusion of every other tribunal, would be empowered to examine into the offence, and to condemn the guilty persons, whosoever they might be. Babington, not at all discouraged by the example of his predecessors, assembled five of his friends, Catholics as zealous as himself, who engaged their life and honour in the plot of which he was the head, and which had as its aim to assassinate Elizabeth, and as a result to place Mary Stuart on the English throne. But this scheme, well planned as it was, was revealed to Walsingham, who allowed the conspirators to go as far as he thought he could without danger, and who, the day before that fixed for the assassination, had them arrested. This imprudent and desperate attempt delighted Elizabeth, for, according to the letter of the law, it finally gave her rival's life into her hands. Orders were immediately given to Sir Amyas Paulet to seize the prisoner's papers and to move her to Fotheringay Castle. The gaoler, then, hypocritically relaxing his usual severity, suggested to Mary Stuart that she should go riding, under the pretext that she had need of an airing. The poor prisoner, who for three years had only seen the country through her prison bars, joyfully accepted, and left Tutbury between two guards, mounted, for greater security, on a horse whose feet were hobbled. These two guards took her to Fotheringay Castle, her new habitation, where she found the apartment she was to lodge in already hung in black. Mary Stuart had entered alive into her tomb. As to Babington and his accomplices, they had been already beheaded. Meanwhile, her two secretaries, Curle and Nau, were arrested, and all her papers were seized and sent to Elizabeth, who, on her part, ordered the forty commissioners to assemble, and proceed without intermission to the trial of the prisoner. They arrived at Fotheringay the 14th October 1586; and next day, being assembled in the great hall of the castle, they began the examination. At first Mary refused to appear before them, declaring that she did not recognise the commissioners as judges, they not being her peers, and not acknowledging the English law, which had never afforded her protection, and which had constantly abandoned her to the rule of force. But seeing that they proceeded none the less, and that every calumny was allowed, no one being there to refute it, she resolved to appear before the commissioners. We quote the two interrogatories to which Mary Stuart submitted as they are set down in the report of M. de Bellievre to M. de Villeroy. M. de Bellievre, as we shall see later, had been specially sent by King Henry III to Elizabeth. [Intelligence for M. Villeroy of what was done in England by M. de Bellievre about the affairs of the Queen of Scotland, in the months of November and December 1586 and January 1587.] The said lady being seated at the end of the table in the said hall, and the said commissioners about her-- The Queen of Scotland began to speak in these terms: "I do not admit that any one of you here assembled is my peer or my judge to examine me upon any charge. Thus what I do, and now tell you, is of my own free will, taking God to witness that I am innocent and pure in conscience of the accusations and slanders of which they wish to accuse me. For I am a free princess and born a queen, obedient to no one, save to God, to whom alone I must give an account of my actions. This is why I protest yet again that my appearance before you be not prejudicial either to me, or to the kings, princes and potentates, my allies, nor to my son, and I require that my protest be registered, and I demand the record of it." Then the chancellor, who was one of the commissioners, replied in his turn, and protested against the protestation; then he ordered that there should be read over to the Queen of Scotland the commission in virtue of which they were proceeding--a commission founded on the statutes and law of the kingdom. But to this Mary Stuart made answer that she again protested; that the said statutes and laws were without force against her, because these statutes and laws are not made for persons of her condition. To this the chancellor replied that the commission intended to proceed against her, even if she refused to answer, and declared that the trial should proceed; for she was doubly subject to indictment, the conspirators having not only plotted in her favour, but also with her consent: to which the said Queen of Scotland responded that she had never even thought of it. Upon this, the letters it was alleged she had written to Babington and his answers were read to her. Mary Stuart then affirmed that she had never seen Babington, that she had never had any conference with him, had never in her life received a single letter from him, and that she defied anyone in the world to maintain that she had ever done anything to the prejudice of the said Queen of England; that besides, strictly guarded as she was, away from all news, withdrawn from and deprived of those nearest her, surrounded with enemies, deprived finally of all advice, she had been unable to participate in or to consent to the practices of which she was accused; that there are, besides, many persons who wrote to her what she had no knowledge of, and that she had received a number of letters without knowing whence they came to her. Then Babington's confession was read to her; but she replied that she did not know what was meant; that besides, if Babington and his accomplices had said such things, they were base men, false and liars. "Besides," added she, "show me my handwriting and my signature, since you say that I wrote to Babington, and not copies counterfeited like these which you have filled at your leisure with the falsehoods it has pleased you to insert." Then she was shown the letter that Babington, it was said, had written her. She glanced at it; then said, "I have no knowledge of this letter". Upon this, she was shown her reply, and she said again, "I have no more knowledge of this answer. If you will show me my own letter and my own signature containing what you say, I will acquiesce in all; but up to the present, as I have already told you, you have produced nothing worthy of credence, unless it be the copies you have invented and added to with what seemed good to you." With these words, she rose, and with her eyes full of tears-- "If I have ever," said she, "consented to such intrigues, having for object my sister's death, I pray God that He have neither pity nor mercy on me. I confess that I have written to several persons, that I have implored them to deliver me from my wretched prisons, where I languished, a captive and ill-treated princess, for nineteen years and seven months; but it never occurred to me, even in thought, to write or even to desire such things against the queen. Yes, I also confess to having exerted myself for the deliverance of some persecuted Catholics, and if I had been able, and could yet, with my own blood, protect them and save them from their pains, I would have done it, and would do it for them with all my power, in order to save them from destruction." Then, turning to the secretary, Walsingham-- "But, my lord," said she, "from the moment I see you here, I know whence comes this blow: you have always been my greatest enemy and my son's, and you have moved everyone against me and to my prejudice." Thus accused to his face, Walsingham rose. "Madam," he replied, "I protest before God, who is my witness, that you deceive yourself, and that I have never done anything against you unworthy of a good man, either as an individual or as a public personage." This is all that was said and done that day in the proceedings, till the next day, when the queen was again obliged to appear before the commissioners. And, being seated at the end of the table of the said hall, and the said commissioners about her, she began to speak in a loud voice. "You are not unaware, my lords and gentlemen, that I am a sovereign queen, anointed and consecrated in the church of God, and cannot, and ought not, for any reason whatever, be summoned to your courts, or called to your bar, to be judged by the law and statutes that you lay down; for I am a princess and free, and I do not owe to any prince more than he owes to me; and on everything of which I am accused towards my said sister, I cannot, reply if you do not permit me to be assisted by counsel. And if you go further, do what you will; but from all your procedure, in reiterating my protestations, I appeal to God, who is the only just and true judge, and to the kings and princes, my allies and confederates." This protestation was once more registered, as she had required of the commissioners. Then she was told that she had further written several letters to the princes of Christendom, against the queen and the kingdom of England. "As to that," replied Mary Stuart, "it is another matter, and I do not deny it; and if it was again to do, I should do as I have done, to gain my liberty; for there is not a man or woman in the world, of less rank than I, who would not do it, and who would not make use of the help and succour of their friends to issue from a captivity as harsh as mine was. You charge me with certain letters from Babington: well, I do not deny that he has written to me and that I have replied to him; but if you find in my answers a single word about the queen my sister, well, yes, there will be good cause to prosecute me. I replied to him who wrote to me that he would set me at liberty, that I accepted his offer, if he could do it without compromising the one or the other of us: that is all. "As to my secretaries," added the queen, "not they, but torture spoke by their mouths: and as to the confessions of Babington and his accomplices, there is not much to be made of them; for now that they are dead you can say all that seems good to you; and let who will believe you." With these words, the queen refused to answer further if she were not given counsel, and, renewing her protestation, she withdrew into her apartment; but, as the chancellor had threatened, the trial was continued despite her absence. However, M. de Chateauneuf, the French ambassador to London, saw matters too near at hand to be deceived as to their course: accordingly, at the first rumour which came to him of bringing Mary Stuart to trial, he wrote to King Henry III, that he might intervene in the prisoner's favour. Henry III immediately despatched to Queen Elizabeth an embassy extraordinary, of which M. de Bellievre was the chief; and at the same time, having learned that James VI, Mary's son, far from interesting himself in his mother's fate, had replied to the French minister, Courcelles, who spoke to him of her, "I can do nothing; let her drink what she has spilled," he wrote him the following letter, to decide the young prince to second him in the steps he was going to take: "21st November, 1586. "COURCELLES, I have received your letter of the 4th October last, in which I have seen the discourse that the King of Scotland has held with you concerning what you have witnessed to him of the good affection I bear him, discourse in which he has given proof of desiring to reciprocate it entirely; but I wish that that letter had informed me also that he was better disposed towards the queen his mother, and that he had the heart and the desire to arrange everything in a way to assist her in the affliction in which she now is, reflecting that the prison where she has been unjustly detained for eighteen years and more has induced her to lend an ear to many things which have been proposed to her for gaining her liberty, a thing which is naturally greatly desired by all men, and more still by those who are born sovereigns and rulers, who bear being kept prisoners thus with less patience. He should also consider that if the Queen of England, my good sister, allows herself to be persuaded by the counsels of those who wish that she should stain herself with Queen Mary's blood, it will be a matter which will bring him to great dishonour, inasmuch as one will judge that he will have refused his mother the good offices that he should render her with the said Queen of England, and which would have perhaps been sufficient to move her, if he would have employed them, as warmly, and as soon as his natural duty commanded him. Moreover, it is to be feared for him, that, his mother dead, his own turn may come, and that one may think of doing as much for him, by some violent means, to make the English succession easier to seize for those who are likely to have it after the said Queen Elizabeth, and not only to defraud the said King of Scotland of the claim he can put forward, but to render doubtful even that which he has to his own crown. I do not know in what condition the affairs of my said sister-in-law will be when you receive this letter; but I will tell you that in every case I wish you to rouse strongly the said King of Scotland, with remonstrances, and everything else which may bear on this subject, to embrace the defence and protection of his said mother, and to express to him, on my part, that as this will be a matter for which he will be greatly praised by all the other kings and sovereign princes, he must be assured that if he fails in it there will be great censure for him, and perhaps notable injury to himself in particular. Furthermore, as to the state of my own affairs, you know that the queen, madam and mother, is about to see very soon the King of Navarre, and to confer with him on the matter of the pacification of the troubles of this kingdom, to which, if he bear as much good affection as I do for my part, I hope that things may come to a good conclusion, and that my subjects will have some respite from the great evils and calamities that the war occasions them: supplicating the Creator, Courcelles, that He may have you in His holy keeping. "Written at St. Germain-en-Laye, the 21st day of November 1586. "(Signed) HENRI, "And below, BRULART." This letter finally decided James VI. to make a kind of demonstration in his mother's favour: he sent Gray, Robert Melville, and Keith to Queen Elizabeth. But although London was nearer Edinburgh than was Paris, the French envoys reached it before the Scotch. It is true that on reaching Calais, the 27th of November, M. de Bellievre had found a special messenger there to tell him not to lose an instant, from M. de Chateauneuf, who, to provide for every difficulty, had chartered a vessel ready in the harbour. But however great the speed these noble lords wished to make, they were obliged to await the wind's good-will, which did not allow them to put to sea till Friday 28th at midnight; next day also, on reaching Dover at nine o'clock, they were so shaken by sea-sickness that they were forced to stay a whole day in the town to recover, so that it was not till Sunday 30th that M. de Bellievre was able to set out in the coach that M. Chateauneuf sent him by M. de Brancaleon, and take the road to London, accompanied by the gentlemen of his suite, who rode on post-horses; but resting only a few hours on the way to make up for lost time, they at last arrived in London, Sunday the 1st of December at midday. M. de Bellievre immediately sent one of the gentlemen of his suite, named M. de Villiers, to the Queen of England, who was holding her court at Richmond Castle: the decree had been secretly pronounced already six days, and submitted to Parliament, which was to deliberate upon it with closed doors. The French ambassadors could not have chosen a worse moment to approach Elizabeth; and to gain time she declined to receive M. de Villiers, returning the answer that he would himself know next day the reason for this refusal. And indeed, next day, the rumour spread in London that the French Embassy had contagion, and that two of the lords in it having died of the plague at Calais, the queen, whatever wish she might have to be agreeable to Henry III, could not endanger her precious existence by receiving his envoys. Great was the astonishment of M. de Bellievre at learning this news he protested that the queen was led into error by a false report, and insisted on being received. Nevertheless, the delays lasted another six days; but as the ambassadors threatened to depart without waiting longer, and as, upon the whole, Elizabeth, disquieted by Spain, had no desire to embroil herself with France, she had M. de Bellievre informed on the morning of the 7th of December that she was ready to receive him after dinner at Richmond Castle, together with the noblemen of his suite. At the appointed time the French ambassadors presented themselves at the castle gates, and, having been brought to the queen, found her seated on her throne and surrounded by the greatest lords in her kingdom. Then MM. de Chateauneuf and de Bellievre, the one the ambassador in ordinary and the other the envoy extraordinary, having greeted her on the part of the King of France, began to make her the remonstrances with which they were charged. Elizabeth replied, not only in the same French tongue, but also in the most beautiful speech in use at that time, and, carried away by passion, pointed out to the envoys of her brother Henry that the Queen of Scotland had always proceeded against her, and that this was the third time that she had wished to attempt her life by an infinity of ways; which she had already borne too long and with too much patience, but that never had anything so profoundly cut her to the heart as her last conspiracy; that event, added she with sadness, having caused her to sigh more and to shed more tears than the loss of all her relations, so much the more that the Queen of Scotland was her near relative and closely connected with the King of France; and as, in their remonstrances, MM. de Chateauneuf and de Bellievre had brought forward several examples drawn from history, she assumed, in reply to them on this occasion, the pedantic style which was usual with her, and told them that she had seen and read a great many books in her life, and a thousand more than others of her sex and her rank were wont to, but that she had never found in them a single example of a deed like that attempted on her--a deed pursued by a relative, whom the king her brother could not and ought not to support in her wickedness, when it was, on the contrary, his duty to hasten the just punishment of it: then she added, addressing herself specially to M. de Bellievre, and coming down again from the height of her pride to a gracious countenance, that she greatly regretted he was not deputed for a better occasion; that in a few days she would reply to King Henry her brother, concerning whose health she was solicitous, as well as that of the queen mother, who must experience such great fatigue from the trouble she took to restore peace to her son's kingdom; and then, not wishing to hear more, she withdrew into her room. The envoys returned to London, where they awaited the promised reply; but while they were expecting it unavailingly, they heard quietly the sentence of death given against Queen Mary, which decided them to return to Richmond to make fresh remonstrances to Queen Elizabeth. After two or three fruitless journeys, they were at last, December 15th, admitted for the second time to the royal presence. The queen did not deny that the sentence had been pronounced, and as it was easy to see that she did not intend in this case to use her right of pardon, M. de Bellievre, judging that there was nothing to be done, asked for a safe-conduct to return to his king: Elizabeth promised it to him within two or three days. On the following Tuesday, the 17th of the same month of December, Parliament as well as the chief lords of the realm were convoked at the Palace of Westminster, and there, in full court and before all, sentence of death was proclaimed and pronounced against Mary Stuart: then this same sentence, with great display and great solemnity, was read in the squares and at the cross-roads of London, whence it spread throughout the kingdom; and upon this proclamation the bells rang for twenty-four hours, while the strictest orders were given to each of the inhabitants to light bonfires in front of their houses, as is the custom in France on the Eve of St. John the Baptist. Then, amid this sound of bells, by the light of these bonfires, M. de Bellievre, wishing to make a last effort, in order to have nothing with which to reproach himself, wrote the following letter to Queen Elizabeth: "MADAM:--We quitted your Majesty yesterday, expecting, as it had pleased you to inform us, to receive in a few days your reply touching the prayer that we made you on behalf of our good master, your brother, for the Queen of Scotland, his sister in-law and confederate; but as this morning we have been informed that the judgment given against the said queen has been proclaimed in London, although we had promised ourselves another issue from your clemency and the friendship your bear to the said lord king your good brother, nevertheless, to neglect no part of our duty, and believing in so doing to serve the intentions of the king our master, we have not wanted to fail to write to you this present letter, in which we supplicate you once again, very humbly, not to refuse his Majesty the very pressing and very affectionate prayer that he has made you, that you will be pleased to preserve the life of the said lady Queen of Scotland, which the said lord king will receive as the greatest pleasure your Majesty could do him; while, on the contrary, he could not imagine anything which would cause him more displeasure, and which would wound him more, than if he were used harshly with regard to the said lady queen, being what she is to him: and as, madam, the said king our master, your good brother, when for this object he despatched us to your Majesty, had not conceived that it was possible, in any case, to determine so promptly upon such an execution, we implore you, madam, very humbly, before permitting it to go further, to grant us some time in which we can make known to him the state of the affairs of the said Queen of Scotland, in order that before your Majesty takes a final resolution, you may know what it may please his very Christian Majesty to tell you and point out to you on the greatest affair which, in our memory, has been submitted to men's judgment. Monsieur de Saint-Cyr, who will give these presents to your Majesty, will bring us, if it pleases you, your good reply. "London, this 16th day of December 1586. "(Signed) DE BELLIEVRE, "And DE L'AUBESPINE CHATEAUNEUF." The same day, M. de Saint-Cyr and the other French lords returned to Richmond to take this letter; but the queen would not receive them, alleging indisposition, so that they were obliged to leave the letter with Walsingham, her first Secretary of State, who promised them to send the queen's answer the following day. In spite of this promise, the French lords waited two days more: at last, on the second day, towards evening, two English gentlemen sought out M. de Fellievre in London, and, viva voce, without any letter to confirm what they were charged to say, announced to him, on behalf of their queen, that in reply to the letter that they had written her, and to do justice to the desire they had shown to obtain for the condemned a reprieve during which they would make known the decision to the King of France, her Majesty would grant twelve days. As this was Elizabeth's last word, and it was useless to lose time in pressing her further, M. de Genlis was immediately despatched to his Majesty the King of France, to whom, besides the long despatch of M. de Chateauneuf and de Bellievre which he was charged to remit, he was to say 'viva voce' what he had seen and heard relative to the affairs of Queen Mary during the whole time he had been in England. Henry III responded immediately with a letter containing fresh instructions for MM. de Chateauneuf and de Bellievre; but in spite of all the haste M. de Genlis could make, he did not reach London till the fourteenth day--that is to say, forty-eight hours after the expiration of the delay granted; nevertheless, as the sentence had not yet been put into execution, MM. de Bellievre and de Chateauneuf set out at once for Greenwich Castle, some miles from London, where the queen was keeping Christmas, to beg her to grant them an audience, in which they could transmit to her Majesty their king's reply; but they could obtain nothing for four or five days; however, as they were not disheartened, and returned unceasingly to the charge, January 6th, MM. de Bellievre and de Chateauneuf were at last sent for by the queen. As on the first occasion, they were introduced with all the ceremonial in use at that time, and found Elizabeth in an audience-chamber. The ambassadors approached her, greeted her, and M. de Bellievre began to address to her with respect, but at the same time with firmness, his master's remonstrances. Elizabeth listened to them with an impatient air, fidgeting in her seat; then at last, unable to control herself, she burst out, rising and growing red with anger-- "M. de Bellievre," said she, "are you really charged by the king, my brother, to speak to me in such a way?" "Yes, madam," replied M. de Bellievre, bowing; "I am expressly commanded to do so." "And have you this command under his hand?" continued Elizabeth. "Yes, madam," returned the ambassador with the same calmness; "and the king, my master, your good brother, has expressly charged me, in letters signed by his own hand, to make to your Majesty the remonstrances which I have had the honour to address to you." "Well," cried Elizabeth, no longer containing herself, "I demand of you a copy of that letter, signed by you; and reflect that you will answer for each word that you take away or add." "Madam," answered M. de Bellievre, "it is not the custom of the kings of France, or of their agents, to forge letters or documents; you will have the copies you require to-morrow morning, and I pledge their accuracy on my honour." "Enough, sir, enough!" said the queen, and signing to everyone in the room to go out, she remained nearly an hour with MM. de Chateauneuf and de Bellievre. No one knows what passed in that interview, except that the queen promised to send an ambassador to the King of France, who, she promised, would be in Paris, if not before, at least at the same time as M. de Bellievre, and would be the bearer of her final resolve as to the affairs of the Queen of Scotland; Elizabeth then withdrew, giving the French envoys to understand that any fresh attempt they might make to see her would be useless. On the 13th of January the ambassadors received their passports, and at the same time notice that a vessel of the queen's was awaiting them at Dover. The very day of their departure a strange incident occurred. A gentleman named Stafford, a brother of Elizabeth's ambassador to the King of France, presented himself at M. de Trappes's, one of the officials in the French chancellery, telling him that he was acquainted with a prisoner for debt who had a matter of the utmost importance to communicate to him, and that he might pay the greater attention to it, he told him that this matter was connected with the service of the King of France, and concerned the affairs of Queen Mary of Scotland. M. de Trappes, although mistrusting this overture from the first, did not want, in case his suspicions deceived him, to have to reproach himself for any neglect on such a pressing occasion. He repaired, then, with; Mr. Stafford to the prison, where he who wished to converse with him was detained. When he was with him, the prisoner told him that he was locked up for a debt of only twenty crowns, and that his desire to be at liberty was so great that if M. de Chateauneuf would pay that sum for him he would undertake to deliver the Queen of Scotland from her danger, by stabbing Elizabeth: to this proposal, M. de Trappes, who saw the pitfall laid for the French ambassador, was greatly astonished, and said that he was certain that M. de Chateauneuf would consider as very evil every enterprise having as its aim to threaten in any way the life of Queen Elizabeth or the peace of the realm; then, not desiring to hear more, he returned to M. de Chateauneuf and related to him what had just happened. M. de Chateauneuf, who perceived the real cause of this overture, immediately said to Mr. Stafford that he thought it strange that a gentleman like himself should undertake with another gentleman such treachery, and requested him to leave the Embassy at once, and never to set foot there again. Then Stafford withdrew, and, appearing to think himself a lost man, he implored M. de Trappes to allow him to cross the Channel with him and the French envoys. M. de Trappes referred him to M. de Chateauneuf, who answered Mr. Stafford directly that he had not only forbidden him his house, but also all relations with any person from the Embassy, that he must thus very well see that his request could not be granted; he added that if he were not restrained by the consideration he desired to keep for his brother, the Earl of Stafford, his colleague, he would at once denounce his treason to Elizabeth. The same day Stafford was arrested. After this conference, M. de Trappes set out to rejoin his travelling companions, who were some hours in advance of him, when, on reaching Dover he was arrested in his turn and brought hack to prison in London. Interrogated the same day, M. de Trappes frankly related what had passed, appealing to M. de Chateauneuf as to the truth of what he said. The day following there was a second interrogatory, and great was his amazement when, on requesting that the one of the day before should be shown him, he was merely shown, according to custom in English law, counterfeit copies, in which were avowals compromising him as well as M. de Chateauneuf: he objected and protested, refused to answer or to sign anything further, and was taken back to the Tower with redoubled precaution, the object of which was the appearance of an important accusation. Next day, M. de Chateauneuf was summoned before the queen, and there confronted with Stafford, who impudently maintained that he had treated of a plot with M. de Trappes and a certain prisoner for debt--a plot which aimed at nothing less than endangering the Queen's life. M. de Chateauneuf defended himself with the warmth of indignation, but Elizabeth had too great an interest in being unconvinced even to attend to the evidence. She then said to M. de Chateauneuf that his character of ambassador alone prevented her having him arrested like his accomplice M. de Trappes; and immediately despatching, as she had promised, an ambassador to King Henry III, she charged him not to excuse her for the sentence which had just been pronounced and the death which must soon follow, but to accuse M. de Chateauneuf of having taken part in a plot of which the discovery alone had been able to decide her to consent to the death of the Queen of Scotland, certain as she was by experience, that so long as her enemy lived her existence would be hourly threatened. On the same day, Elizabeth made haste to spread, not only in London, but also throughout England, the rumour of the fresh danger from which she had just escaped, so that, when, two days after the departure of the French envoys, the Scottish ambassadors, who, as one sees, had not used much speed, arrived, the queen answered them that their request came unseasonably, at a time when she had just had proof that, so long as Mary Stuart existed, her own (Elizabeth's) life was in danger. Robert Melville wished to reply to this; but Elizabeth flew into a passion, saying that it was he, Melville, who had given the King of Scotland the bad advice to intercede for his mother, and that if she had such an adviser she would have him beheaded. To which Melville answered-- "That at the risk of his life he would never spare his master good advice; and that, on the contrary, he who would counsel a son to let his mother perish, would deserve to be beheaded." Upon this reply, Elizabeth ordered the Scotch envoys to withdrew, telling them that she would let them have her answer. Three or four days passed, and as they heard nothing further, they asked again for a parting audience to hear the last resolve of her to whom they were sent: the queen then decided to grant it, and all passed, as with M. de Bellievre, in recriminations and complaints. Finally, Elizabeth asked them what guarantee they would give for her life in the event of her consenting to pardon the Queen of Scotland. The envoys responded that they were authorised to make pledges in the name of the King of Scotland, their master, and all the lords of his realm, that Mary Stuart should renounce in favour of her son all her claims upon the English crown, and that she should give as security for this undertaking the King of France, and all the princes and lords, his relations and friends. To this answer, the queen, without her usual presence of mind, cried, "What are you saying, Melville? That would be to arm my enemy with two claims, while he has only one". "Does your Majesty then regard the king, my master, as your enemy?" replied Melville. "He believed himself happier, madam, and thought he was your ally." "No, no," Elizabeth said, blushing; "it is a way of speaking: and if you find a means of reconciling everything, gentlemen, to prove to you, on the contrary, that I regard King James VI as my good and faithful ally, I am quite ready to incline to mercy. Seek, then, on your side" added she, "while I seek on mine." With these words, she went out of the room, and the ambassadors retired, with the light of the hope of which she had just let them catch a glimpse. The same evening, a gentleman at the court sought out the Master of Gray, the head of the Embassy, as if to pay him a civil visit, and while conversing said to him, "That it was very difficult to reconcile the safety of Queen Elizabeth with the life of her prisoner; that besides, if the Queen of Scotland were pardoned, and she or her son ever came to the English throne, there would be no security for the lords commissioners who had voted her death; that there was then only one way of arranging everything, that the King of Scotland should himself give up his claims to the kingdom of England; that otherwise, according to him, there was no security for Elizabeth in saving the life of the Scottish queen". The Master of Gray then, looking at him fixedly, asked him if his sovereign had charged him to come to him with this talk. But the gentleman denied it, saying that all this was on his own account and in the way of opinion. Elizabeth received the envoys from Scotland once more, and then told them-- "That after having well considered, she had found no way of saving the life of the Queen of Scotland while securing her own, that accordingly she could not grant it to them". To this declaration, the Master of Gray replied: "That since it was thus, he was, in this case, ordered by his master to say that they protested in the name of King James that all that had been done against his mother was of no account, seeing that Queen Elizabeth had no authority over a queen, as she was her equal in rank and birth; that accordingly they declared that immediately after their return, and when their master should know the result of their mission, he would assemble his Parliament and send messengers to all the Christian princes, to take counsel with them as to what could be done to avenge her whom they could not save." Then Elizabeth again flew into a passion, saying that they had certainly not received from their king a mission to speak to her in such a way; but they thereupon offered to give her this protest in writing under their signatures; to which Elizabeth replied that she would send an ambassador to arrange all that with her good friend and ally, the King of Scotland. But the envoys then said that their master would not listen to anyone before their return. Upon which Elizabeth begged them not to go away at once, because she had not yet come to her final decision upon this matter. On the evening following this audience, Lord Hingley having come to see the Master of Gray, and having seemed to notice some handsome pistols which came from Italy, Gray, directly he had gone, asked this nobleman's cousin to take them to him as a gift from him. Delighted with this pleasant commission, the young man wished to perform it the same evening, and went to the queen's palace, where his relative was staying, to give him the present which he had been told to take to him. But hardly had he passed through a few rooms than he was arrested, searched, and the arms he was taking were found upon him. Although these were not loaded, he was immediately arrested; only he was not taken to the Tower, but kept a prisoner in his own room. Next day there was a rumour that the Scotch ambassadors had wanted to assassinate the queen in their turn, and that pistols, given by the Master of Gray himself, had been found on the assassin. This bad faith could not but open the envoys' eyes. Convinced at last that they could do nothing for poor Mary Stuart, they left her to her fate, and set out next day for Scotland. Scarcely were they gone than Elizabeth sent her secretary, Davison, to Sir Amyas Paulet. He was instructed to sound him again with regard to the prisoner; afraid, in spite of herself, of a public execution, the queen had reverted to her former ideas of poisoning or assassination; but Sir Amyas Paulet declared that he would let no one have access to Mary but the executioner, who must in addition be the bearer of a warrant perfectly in order, Davison reported this answer to Elizabeth, who, while listening to him, stamped her foot several times, and when he had finished, unable to control herself, cried, "God's death! there's a dainty fellow, always talking of his fidelity and not knowing how to prove it!" Elizabeth was then obliged to make up her mind. She asked Davison for the warrant; he gave it to her, and, forgetting that she was the daughter of a queen who had died on the scaffold, she signed it without any trace of emotion; then, having affixed to it the great seal of England, "Go," said she, laughing, "tell Walsingham that all is ended for Queen Mary; but tell him with precautions, for, as he is ill, I am afraid he will die of grief when he hears it." The jest was the more atrocious in that Walsingham was known to be the Queen of Scotland's bitterest enemy. Towards evening of that day, Saturday the 14th, Beale, Walsingham's brother-in-law, was summoned to the palace! The queen gave into his hands the death warrant, and with it an order addressed to the Earls of Shrewsbury, Kent, Rutland, and other noblemen in the neighbourhood of Fotheringay, to be present at the execution. Beale took with him the London executioner, whom Elizabeth had had dressed in black velvet for this great occasion; and set out two hours after he had received his warrant. CHAPTER IX Queen Mary had known the decree of the commissioners these two months. The very day it had been pronounced she had learned the news through her chaplain, whom they had allowed her to see this once only. Mary Stuart had taken advantage of this visit to give him three letters she had just written-one for Pope Sixtus V, the other to Don Bernard Mendoza, the third to the Duke of Guise. Here is that last letter:-- 14th December, 1586 "My Good Cousin, whom I hold dearest in the world, I bid you farewell, being prepared to be put to death by an unjust judgment, and to a death such as no one of our race, thanks to God, and never a queen, and still less one of my rank, has ever suffered. But, good cousin, praise the Lord; for I was useless to the cause of God and of His Church in this world, prisoner as I was; while, on the contrary, I hope that my death will bear witness to my constancy in the faith and to my willingness to suffer for the maintenance and the restoration of the Catholic Church in this unfortunate island. And though never has executioner dipped his hand in our blood, have no shame of it, my friend; for the judgment of heretics who have no authority over me, a free queen, is profitable in the sight of God to the children of His Church. If I adhered, moreover, to what they propose to me, I should not suffer this stroke. All of our house have been persecuted by this sect, witness your good father, through whose intercession I hope to be received with mercy by the just judge. I commend to you, then, my poor servants, the discharge of my debts, and the founding of some annual mass for my soul, not at your expense, but that you may make the arrangements, as you will be required when you learn my wishes through my poor and faithful servants, who are about to witness my last tragedy. God prosper you, your wife, children, brothers and cousins, and above all our chief, my good brother and cousin, and all his. The blessing of God and that which I shall give to my children be on yours, whom I do not commend less to God than my own son, unfortunate and ill-treated as he is. You will receive some rings from me, which will remind you to pray God for the soul of your poor cousin, deprived of all help and counsel except that of the Lord, who gives me strength and courage to alone to resist so many wolves howling after me. To God be the glory. "Believe particularly what will be told you by a person who will give you a ruby ring from me; for I take it on my conscience that the truth will be told you of what I have charged him to tell, and especially in what concerns my poor servants and the share of any. I commend this person to you for his simple sincerity and honesty, that he may be placed in some good place. I have chosen him as the least partial and as the one who will most simply bring you my commands. Ignore, I beg you, that he told you anything in particular; for envy might injure him. I have suffered a great deal for two years and more, and have not been able to let you know, for an important reason. God be praised for all, and give you grace to persevere in the service of His Church as long as you live, and never may this honour pass from our race, while so many men and women are ready to shed their blood to maintain the fight for the faith, all other worldly considerations set aside. And as to me, I esteem myself born on both father's and mother's sides, that I should offer up my blood for this cause, and I have no intention of degenerating. Jesus, crucified for us, and all the holy martyrs, make us by their intercession worthy of the voluntary offering we make of our bodies to their glory! "From Fotheringay, this Thursday, 24th November. "They have, thinking to degrade me, pulled down my canopy of state, and since then my keeper has come to offer to write to their queen, saying this deed was not done by his order, but by the advice of some of the Council. I have shown them instead of my arms on the said canopy the cross of Our Lord. You will hear all this; they have been more gentle since.--Your affectionate cousin and perfect friend, "MARY, Queen of Scotland, Dowager of France" From this day forward, when she learned the sentence delivered by the commissioners, Mary Stuart no longer preserved any hope; for as she knew Elizabeth's pardon was required to save her, she looked upon herself thenceforward as lost, and only concerned herself with preparing to die well. Indeed, as it had happened to her sometimes, from the cold and damp in her prisons, to become crippled for some time in all her limbs, she was afraid of being so when they would come to take her, which would prevent her going resolutely to the scaffold, as she was counting on doing. So, on Saturday the 14th February, she sent for her doctor, Bourgoin, and asked him, moved by a presentiment that her death was at hand, she said, what she must do to prevent the return of the pains which crippled her. He replied that it would be good for her to medicine herself with fresh herbs. "Go, then," said the queen, "and ask Sir Amyas Paulet from me permission to seek them in the fields." Bourgoin went to Sir Amyas, who, as he himself was troubled with sciatica, should have understood better than anyone the need of the remedies for which the queen asked. But this request, simple as it was, raised great difficulties. Sir Amyas replied that he could do nothing without referring to his companion, Drury; but that paper and ink might be brought, and that he, Master Bourgoin, could then make a list of the needful plants, which they would try to procure. Bourgoin answered that he did not know English well enough, and that the village apothecaries did not know enough Latin, for him to risk the queen's life for some error by himself or others. Finally, after a thousand hesitations, Paulet allowed Bourgoin to go out, which he did, accompanied by the apothecary Gorjon; so that the following day the queen was able to begin to doctor herself. Mary Stuart's presentiments had not deceived her: Tuesday, February 17th, at about two o'clock in the afternoon, the Earls of Kent and Shrewsbury, and Beale sent word to the queen that they desired to speak with her. The queen answered that she was ill and in bed, but that if notwithstanding what they had to tell her was a matter of importance, and they would give her a little time, she would get up. They made answer that the communication they had to make admitted of no delay, that they begged her then to make ready; which the queen immediately did, and rising from her bed and cloaking herself, she went and seated herself at a little table, on the same spot where she was wont to be great part of the day. Then the two earls, accompanied by Beale, Arnyas Paulet, and Drue Drury, entered. Behind them, drawn by curiosity, full of terrible anxiety, came her dearest ladies and most cherished servants. These were, of womenkind, the Misses Renee de Really, Gilles Mowbray, Jeanne Kennedy, Elspeth Curle, Mary Paget, and Susan Kercady; and of men-kind, Dominique Bourgoin her doctor, Pierre Gorjon her apothecary, Jacques Gervais her surgeon, Annibal Stewart her footman, Dither Sifflart her butler, Jean Laudder her baker, and Martin Huet her carver. Then the Earl of Shrewsbury, with head bared like all those present, who remained thus as long as they were in the queen's room, began to say in English, addressing Mary-- "Madam, the Queen of England, my august mistress, has sent me to you, with the Earl of Kent and Sir Robert Beale, here present, to make known to you that after having honourably proceeded in the inquiry into the deed of which you are accused and found guilty, an inquiry which has already been submitted to your Grace by Lord Buckhurst, and having delayed as long as it was in her power the execution of the sentence, she can no longer withstand the importunity of her subjects, who press her to carry it out, so great and loving is their fear for her. For this purpose we have come the bearers of a commission, and we beg very humbly, madam, that it may please you to hear it read." "Read, my lord; I am listening," replied Mary Stuart, with the greatest calmness. Then Robert Beale unrolled the said commission, which was on parchment, sealed with the Great Seal in yellow wax, and read as follows: "Elizabeth, by the grace of God, Queen of England, France, and Ireland, etc., to our beloved and faithful cousins, George, Earl of Shrewsbury, Grand Marshal of England; Henry, Earl of Kent; Henry, Earl of Derby; George, Earl of Cumberland; Henry, Earl of Pembroke, greeting: [The Earls of Cumberland, Derby, and Pembroke did not attend to the queen's orders, and were present neither at the reading of the sentence nor at the execution.] "Considering the sentence by us given, and others of our Council, nobility, and judges, against the former Queen of Scotland, bearing the name of Mary, daughter and heiress of James v, King of Scotland, commonly called Queen of Scotland and Dowager of France, which sentence all the estates of our realm in our last Parliament assembled not only concluded, but, after mature deliberation, ratified as being just and reasonable; considering also the urgent prayer and request of our subjects, begging us and pressing us to proceed to the publication thereof, and to carry it into execution against her person, according as they judge it duly merited, adding in this place that her detention was and would be daily a certain and evident danger, not only to our life, but also to themselves and their posterity, and to the public weal of this realm, as much on account of the Gospel and the true religion of Christ as of the peace and tranquillity of this State, although the said sentence has been frequently delayed, so that even until this time we abstained from issuing the commission to execute it: yet, for the complete satisfaction of the said demands made by the Estates of our Parliament, through which daily we hear that all our friends and subjects, as well as the nobility, the wisest, greatest, and most pious, nay, even those of inferior condition, with all humility and affection from the care they have of our life, and consequently from the fear they have of the destruction of the present divine and happy state of the realm if we spare the final execution, consenting and desiring the said execution; though the general and continual demands, prayers, counsels, and advice were in such things contrary to our natural inclination; yet, being convinced of the urgent weight of their continual intercessions tending to the safety of our person, and also to the public and private state of our realm, we have at last consented and suffered that justice have its course, and for its execution, considering the singular confidence we have in your fidelity and loyalty together for the love and affection that you have toward us, particularly to the safe-guarding of our person and our country of which you are very noble and chief members; we summon, and, for the discharge of it we enjoin you, that at sight of these presents you go to the castle of Fotheringay, where the former Queen of Scotland is, in the care of our friend and faithful servant and counsellor, Sir Amyas Paulet, and there take into your keeping and do that by your command execution be done on her person, in the presence of yourselves and the said Sir Amyas Paulet, and of all the other officers of justice whom you command to be there: in the meantime we have for this end and this execution given warrant in such a way and manner, and in such a time and place, and by such persons, that you five, four, three, or two, find expedient in your discretion; notwithstanding all laws, statutes, and ordinances whatsoever, contrary to these presents, sealed with our Great Seal of England, which will serve for each of you, and all those who are present, or will make by your order anything pertaining to the execution aforesaid full and sufficient discharge for ever. "Done and given in our house at Greenwich, the first day of February (10th February New Style), in the twenty-ninth year of our reign." Mary listened to this reading with great calmness and great dignity; then, when it was ended, making the sign of the cross-- "Welcome," said she, "to all news which comes in the name of God! Thanks, Lord, for that You deign to put an end to all the ills You have seen me suffer for nineteen years and more." "Madam," said the Earl of Kent, "have no ill-will towards us on account of your death; it was necessary to the peace of the State and the progress of the new religion." "So," cried Mary with delight, "so I shall have the happiness of dying for the faith of my fathers; thus God deigns to grant me the glory of martyrdom. Thanks, God," added she, joining her hands with less excitement but with more piety, "thanks that You have deigned to destine for me such an end, of which I was not worthy. That, O my God, is indeed a proof of Your love, and an assurance that You will receive me in the number of Your servants; for although this sentence had been notified to me, I was afraid, from the manner in which they have dealt with me for nineteen years, of not yet being so near as I am to such a happy end, thinking that your queen would not dare to lay a hand on me, who, by the grace of God, am a queen as she is, the daughter of a queen as she is, crowned as she is, her near relative, granddaughter of King Henry VII, and who has had the honour of being Queen of France, of which I am still Dowager; and this fear was so much the greater," added she, laying her hand on a New Testament which was near her on the little table, "that, I swear on this holy book, I have never attempted, consented to, or even desired the death of my sister, the Queen of England." "Madam," replied the Earl of Kent, taking a step towards her and pointing to the New Testament; "this book on which you have sworn is not genuine, since it is the papist version; consequently, your oath cannot be considered as any more genuine than the book on which it has been taken." "My lord," answered the queen, "what you say may befit you, but not me, who well know that this book is the true and faithful version of the word of the Lord, a version made by a very wise divine, a very good man, and approved by the Church." "Madam," the Earl of Kent returned, "your Grace stopped at what you were taught in your youth, without inquiry as to whether it was good or bad: it is not surprising, then, that you have remained in your error, for want of having heard anyone who could make known the truth to you; this is why, as your Grace has but a few hours longer to remain in this world, and consequently has no time to lose, with your permission we shall send for the Dean of Peterborough, the most learned man there is on the subject of religion, who, with his word, will prepare you for your salvation, which you risk to our great grief and that of our august queen, by all the papistical follies, abominations, and childish nonsense which keep Catholics away from the holy word of God and the knowledge of the truth." "You mistake, my lord," replied the queen gently, "if you have believed that I have grown up careless in the faith of my fathers, and without seriously occupying myself with a matter so important as religion. I have, on the contrary, spent my life with learned and wise men who taught me what one must learn on this subject, and I have sustained myself by reading their works, since the means of hearing them has been taken from me. Besides, never having doubted in my lifetime, doubt is not likely to seize me in my death-hour. And there is the Earl of Shrewsbury, here present, who will tell you that, since my arrival in England, I have, for an entire Lent, of which I repent, heard your wisest doctors, without their arguments having made any impression on my mind. It will be useless, then, my lord," she added, smiling, "to summon to one so hardened as I the Dean of Peterborough, learned as he is. The only thing I ask you in exchange, my lord, and for which I shall be grateful to you beyond expression, is that you will send me my almoner, whom you keep shut up in this house, to console me and prepare me for death, or, in his stead, another priest, be he who he may; if only a poor priest from a poor village, I being no harder to please than God, and not asking that he have knowledge, provided that he has faith." "It is with regret, madam," replied the Earl of Kent, "that I find myself obliged to refuse your Grace's, request; but it would be contrary to our religion and our conscience, and we should be culpable in doing it; this is why we again offer you the venerable Dean of Peterborough, certain that your Grace will find more consolation and content in him than in any bishop, priest, or vicar of the Catholic faith." "Thank you, my lord," said the queen again, "but I have nothing to-do with him, and as I have a conscience free of the crime for which I am about to die, with God's help, martyrdom will take the place of confession for me. And now, I will remind you, my lord, of what you told me yourself, that I have but a few hours to live; and these few hours, to profit me, should be passed in prayer and meditation, and not in idle disputes." With these words, she rose, and, bowing to the earls, Sir Robert Beale, Amyas, and Drury, she indicated, by a gesture full of dignity, that she wished to be alone and in peace; then, as they prepared to go out-- "Apropos, my lords," said she, "for what o'clock should I make ready to die?" "For eight o'clock to-morrow, madam," answered the Earl of Shrewsbury, stammering. "It is well," said Mary; "but have you not some reply to make me, from my sister Elizabeth, relative to a letter which I wrote to her about a month ago?" "And of what did this letter treat, if it please you, madam?" asked the Earl of Kent. "Of my burial and my funeral ceremony, my lord: I asked to be interred in France, in the cathedral church of Rheims, near the late queen my mother." "That may not be, madam," replied the Earl of Kent; "but do not trouble yourself as to all these details: the queen, my august mistress, will provide for them as is suitable. Has your grace anything else to ask us?" "I would also like to know," said Mary, "if my servants will be allowed to return, each to his own country, with the little that I can give him; which will hardly be enough, in any case, for the long service they have done me, and the long imprisonment they have borne on my account." "We have no instructions on that head, madam," the Earl of Kent said, "but we think that an order will be given for this as for the other things, in accordance with your wishes. Is this all that your Grace has to say to us?" "Yes, my lord," replied the queen, bowing a second time, "and now you may withdraw." "One moment, my lords, in Heaven's name, one moment!" cried the old physician, coming forward and throwing himself on his knees before the two earls. "What do you want?" asked Lord Shrewsbury. "To point out to you, my lords," replied the aged Bourgoin, weeping, "that you have granted the queen but a very short time for such an important matter as this of her life. Reflect, my lords, what rank and degree she whom you have condemned has held among the princes of this earth, and consider if it is well and seemly to treat her as an ordinary condemned person of middling estate. And if not for the sake of this noble queen, my lords, do this for the sake of us her poor servants, who, having had the honour of living near her so long, cannot thus part from her so quickly and without preparation. Besides, my lords, think of it, a woman of her state and position ought to have some time in which to set in order her last affairs. And what will become of her, and of us, if before dying, our mistress has not time to regulate her jointure and her accounts and to put in order her papers and her title-deeds? She has services to reward and offices of piety to perform. She should not neglect the one or the other. Besides, we know that she will only concern herself with us, and, through this, my lords, neglect her own salvation. Grant her, then, a few more days, my lords; and as our mistress is too proud to ask of you such a favour, I ask you in all our names, and implore you not to refuse to poor servants a request which your august queen would certainly not refuse them, if they had the good fortune to be able to lay it at her feet." "Is it then true, madam," Sir Robert Beale asked, "that you have not yet made a will?" "I have not, sir," the queen answered. "In that case, my lords," said Sir Robert Beale, turning to the two earls, "perhaps it would be a good thing to put it off for a day or two." "Impossible, sir," replied the Earl of Shrewsbury: "the time is fixed, and we cannot change anything, even by a minute, now." "Enough, Bourgoin, enough," said the queen; "rise, I command you." Bourgoin obeyed, and the Earl of Shrewsbury, turning to Sir Amyas Paulet, who was behind him-- "Sir Amyas," said he, "we entrust this lady to your keeping: you will charge yourself with her, and keep her safe till our return." With these words he went out, followed by the Earl of Kent, Sir Robert Beale, Amyas Paulet, and Drury, and the queen remained alone with her servants. Then, turning to her women with as serene a countenance as if the event which had just taken place was of little importance-- "Well, Jeanne," said she, speaking to Kennedy, "have I not always told you, and was I not right, that at the bottom of their hearts they wanted to do this? and did I not see clearly through all their procedure the end they had in view, and know well enough that I was too great an obstacle to their false religion to be allowed to live? Come," continued she, "hasten supper now, that I may put my affairs in order". Then, seeing that instead of obeying her, her servants were weeping and lamenting, "My children," said she, with a sad smile, but without a tear in her eye, "it is no time for weeping, quite the contrary; for if you love me, you ought to rejoice that the Lord, in making me die for His cause, relieves me from the torments I have endured for nineteen years. As for me, I thank Him for allowing me to die for the glory of His faith and His Church. Let each have patience, then, and while the men prepare supper, we women will pray to God." The men immediately went out, weeping and sobbing, and the queen and her women fell on their knees. When they had recited some prayers, Mary rose, and sending for all the money she had left, she counted it and divided it into portions, which she put into purses with the name of the destined recipient, in her handwriting, with the money. At that moment, supper being served, she seated herself at table with her women as usual, the other servants standing or coming and going, her doctor waiting on her at table as he was accustomed since her steward had been taken from her. She ate no more nor less than usual, speaking, throughout supper, of the Earl of Kent, and of the way in which he betrayed himself with respect to religion, by his insisting on wanting to give the queen a pastor instead of a priest. "Happily," she added, laughing, "one more skilful than he was needed to change me". Meanwhile Bourgoin was weeping behind the queen, for he was thinking that he was serving her for the last time, and that she who was eating, talking, and laughing thus, next day at the same hour would be but a cold and insensible corpse. When the meal was over, the queen sent for all her servants; then; before the table was cleared of anything, she poured out a cup of wine, rose and drank to their health, asking them if they would not drink to her salvation. Then she had a glass given to each one: all kneeled down, and all, says the account from which we borrow these details, drank, mingling their tears with the wine, and asking pardon of the queen for any wrongs they had done her. The queen granted it heartily, and asked them to do as much for her, and to forget her impatient ways, which she begged them to put down to her imprisonment. Then, having given them a long discourse, in which she explained to them their duties to God, and exhorted them to persevere in the Catholic faith, she begged them, after her death, to live together in peace and charity, forgetting all the petty quarrels and disputes which they had had among one another in the past. This speech ended, the queen rose from table, and desired to go into her wardrobe-room, to see the clothes and jewels she wished to dispose of; but Bourgoin observed that it would be better to have all these separate objects brought into her chamber; that there would be a double advantage in this, she would be less tired for one thing, and the English would not see them for another. This last reason decided her, and while the servants were supping, she had brought into her ante-room, first of all, all her robes, and took the inventory from her wardrobe attendant, and began to write in the margin beside each item the name of the person it was to be given to. Directly, and as fast as she did it, that person to whom it was given took it and put it aside. As for the things which were too personal to her to be thus bestowed, she ordered that they should be sold, and that the purchase-money should be used for her servants' travelling expenses, when they returned to their own countries, well knowing how great the cost would be and that no one would have sufficient means. This memorandum finished, she signed it, and gave it as a discharge to her wardrobe attendant. Then, that done, she went into her room, where had been brought her rings, her jewels, and her most valuable belongings; inspected them all, one after the other, down to the very least; and distributed them as she had done her robes, so that, present or absent, everyone had something. Then she furthermore gave, to her most faithful people, the jewels she intended for the king and queen of France, for the king her son, for the queen-mother, for Messieurs de Guise and de Lorraine, without forgetting in this distribution any prince or princess among her relatives. She desired, besides, that each should keep the things then in his care, giving her linen to the young lady who looked after it, her silk embroideries to her who took charge of them, her silver plate to her butler, and so on with the rest. Then, as they were asking her for a discharge, "It is useless," said she; "you owe an account to me only, and to-morrow, therefore, you will no longer owe it to anyone"; but, as they pointed out that the king her son could claim from them, "You are right," said she; and she gave them what they asked. That done, and having no hope left of being visited by her confessor, she wrote him this letter: "I have been tormented all this day on account of my religion, and urged to receive the consolations of a heretic: you will learn, through Bourgoin and the others, that everything they could say on this matter has been useless, that I have faithfully made protestation of the faith in which I wish to die. I requested that you should be allowed to receive my confession and to give me the sacrament, which has been cruelly refused, as well as the removal of my body, and the power to make my will freely; so that I cannot write anything except through their hands, and with the good pleasure of their mistress. For want of seeing you, then, I confess to you my sins in general, as I should have done in particular, begging you, in God's name, to watch and pray this night with me, for the remission of my sins, and to send me your absolution and forgiveness for all the wrongs I have done you. I shall try to see you in their presence, as they permitted it to my steward; and if it is allowed, before all, and on my knees, I shall ask your blessing. Send me the best prayers you know for this night and for to-morrow morning; for the time is short, and I have not the leisure to write; but be calm, I shall recommend you like the rest of my servants, and your benefices above all will be secured to you. Farewell, for I have not much more time. Send to me in writing everything you can find, best for my salvation, in prayers and exhortations, I send you my last little ring." Directly she had written this letter the queen began to make her will, and at a stroke, with her pen running on and almost without lifting it from the paper, she wrote two large sheets, containing several paragraphs, in which no one was forgotten, present as absent, distributing the little she had with scrupulous fairness, and still more according to need than according to service. The executors she chose were: the Duke of Guise, her first cousin; the Archbishop of Glasgow, her ambassador; the Bishop of Ross, her chaplain in chief; and M. du Ruysseau, her chancellor, all four certainly very worthy of the charge, the first from his authority; the two bishops by piety and conscience, and the last by his knowledge of affairs. Her will finished, she wrote this letter to the King of France: SIR MY BROTHER-IN-LAW,--Having, by God's permission and for my sins, I believe, thrown myself into the arms of this queen, my cousin, where I have had much to endure for more than twenty years, I am by her and by her Parliament finally condemned to death; and having asked for my papers, taken from me, to make my will, I have not been able to obtain anything to serve me, not even permission to write my last wishes freely, nor leave that after my death my body should be transported, as was my dearest desire, into your kingdom, where I had had the honour of being queen, your sister and your ally. To-day, after dinner, without more respect, my sentence has been declared to me, to be executed to-morrow, like a criminal, at eight o'clock in the morning. I have not the leisure to give you a full account of what has occurred; but if it please you to believe my doctor and these others my distressed servants, you will hear the truth, and that, thanks to God, I despise death, which I protest I receive innocent of every crime, even if I were their subject, which I never was. But my faith in the Catholic religion and my claims to the crown of England are the real causes for my condemnation, and yet they will not allow me to say that it is for religion I die, for my religion kills theirs; and that is so true, that they have taken my chaplain from me, who, although a prisoner in the same castle, may not come either to console me, or to give me the holy sacrament of the eucharist; but, on the contrary, they have made me urgent entreaties to receive the consolations of their minister whom they have brought for this purpose. He who will bring you this letter, and the rest of my servants, who are your subjects for the most part, will bear you witness of the way in which I shall have performed my last act. Now it remains to me to implore you, as a most Christian king, as my brother-in-law, as my ancient ally, and one who has so often done me the honour to protest your friendship for me, to give proof of this friendship, in your virtue and your charity, by helping me in that of which I cannot without you discharge my conscience--that is to say, in rewarding my good distressed servants, by giving them their dues; then, in having prayers made to God for a queen who has been called most Christian, and who dies a Catholic and deprived of all her goods. As to my son, I commend him to you as much as he shall deserve, for I cannot answer for him; but as to my servants, I commend them with clasped hands. I have taken the liberty of sending you two rare stones good for the health, hoping that yours may be perfect during a long life; you will receive them as coming from your very affectionate sister-in-law, at the point of death and giving proof of her, good disposition towards you. "I shall commend my servants to you in a memorandum, and will order you, for the good of my soul, for whose salvation it will be employed, to pay me a portion of what you owe me, if it please you, and I conjure you for the honour of Jesus, to whom I shall pray to-morrow at my death, that you leave me the wherewithal to found a mass and to perform the necessary charities. "This Wednesday, two hours after midnight--Your affectionate and good sister, "MARY, R...." Of all these recommendations, the will and the letters, the queen at once had copies made which she signed, so that, if some should be seized by the English, the others might reach their destination. Bourgoin pointed out to her that she was wrong to be in such a hurry to close them, and that perhaps in two or three hours she would remember that she had left something out. But the queen paid no attention, saying she was sure she had not forgotten anything, and that if she had, she had only time now to pray and to look to her conscience. So she shut up all the several articles in the drawers of a piece of furniture and gave the key to Bourgoin; then sending for a foot-bath, in which she stayed for about ten minutes, she lay down in bed, where she was not seen to sleep, but constantly to repeat prayers or to remain in meditation. Towards four o'clock in the morning, the queen, who was accustomed, after evening prayers, to have the story of some male or female saint read aloud to her, did not wish to depart from this habit, and, after having hesitated among several for this solemn occasion, she chose the greatest sinner of all, the penitent thief, saying humbly-- "If, great sinner as he was, he has yet sinned less than I, I desire to beg of him, in remembrance of the passion of Jesus Christ; to, have pity on me in the hour of my death, as Our Lord had pity on him." Then, when the reading was over, she had all her handkerchiefs brought, and chose the finest, which was of delicate cambric all embroidered in gold, to bandage her eyes with. At daybreak, reflecting that she had only two hours to live, she rose and began dressing, but before she had finished, Bourgoin came into her room, and, afraid lest the absent servants might murmur against the queen, if by chance they were discontented at the will, and might accuse those who had been present of having taken away from their share to add to their own, he begged Mary to send for them all and to read it in their presence; to which Mary agreed, and consented to do so at once. All the servants were then summoned, and the queen read her testament, saying that it was done of her own free, full and entire will, written and signed with her own hand, and that accordingly she begged those present to give all the help in their power in seeing it carried out without change or omission; then, having read it over, and having received a promise from all, she gave it to Bourgoin, charging him to send it to M. de Guise, her chief executor, and at the same time to forward her letters to the king and her principal papers and memorandums: after this, she had the casket brought in which she had put the purses which we mentioned before; she opened them one after another, and seeing by the ticket within for whom each was intended, she distributed them with her own hand, none of the recipients being aware of their contents. These gifts varied from twenty to three hundred crowns; and to these sums she added seven hundred livres for the poor, namely, two hundred for the poor of England and five hundred for the poor of France; then she gave to each man in her suite two rose nobles to be distributed in alms for her sake, and finally one hundred and fifty crowns to Bourgoin to be divided among them all when they should separate; and thus twenty-six or twenty-seven people had money legacies. The queen performed all this with great composure and calmness, with no apparent change of countenance; so that it seemed as if she were only preparing for a journey or change of dwelling; then she again bade her servants farewell, consoling them and exhorting them to live in peace, all this while finishing dressing as well and as elegantly as she could. Her toilet ended, the queen went from her reception-room to her ante-room, where there was an altar set up and arranged, at which, before he had been taken from her, her chaplain used to say mass; and kneeling on the steps, surrounded by all her servants, she began the communion prayers, and when they were ended, drawing from a golden box a host consecrated by Pius V, which she had always scrupulously preserved for the occasion of her death, she told Bourgoin to take it, and, as he was the senior, to take the priest's place, old age being holy and sacred; and in this manner in spite of all the precautions taken to deprive her of it, the queen received the holy sacrament of the eucharist. This pious ceremony ended, Bourgoin told the queen that in her will she had forgotten three people--Mesdemoiselles Beauregard, de Montbrun, and her chaplain. The queen was greatly astonished at this oversight, which was quite involuntary, and, taking back her will, she wrote her wishes with respect to them in the first empty margin; then she kneeled down again in prayer; but after a moment, as she suffered too much in this position, she rose, and Bourgoin having had brought her a little bread and wine, she ate and drank, and when she had finished, gave him her hand and thanked him for having been present to help her at her last meal as he was accustomed; and feeling stronger, she kneeled down and began to pray again. Scarcely had she done so, than there was a knocking at the door: the queen understood what was required of her; but as she had not finished praying, she begged those who were come to fetch her to wait a moment, and in a few minutes' she would be ready. The Earls of Kent and Shrewsbury, remembering the resistance she had made when she had had to go down to the commissioners and appear before the lawyers, mounted some guards in the ante-room where they were waiting themselves, so that they could take her away by force if necessary, should she refuse to come willingly, or should her servants want to defend her; but it is untrue that the two barons entered her room, as some have said. They only set foot there once, on the occasion which we have related, when they came to apprise her of her sentence. They waited some minutes, nevertheless, as the queen had begged them; then, about eight o'clock, they knocked again, accompanied by the guards; but to their great surprise the door was opened immediately, and they found Mary on her knees in prayer. Upon this, Sir Thomas Andrew, who was at the time sheriff of the county of Nottingham, entered alone, a white wand in his hand, and as everyone stayed on their knees praying, he crossed the room with a slow step and stood behind the queen: he waited a moment there, and as Mary Stuart did not seem to see him-- "Madam," said he, "the earls have sent me to you." At these words the queen turned round, and at once rising in the middle of her prayer, "Let us go," she replied, and she made ready to follow him; then Bourgoin, taking the cross of black wood with an ivory Christ which was over the altar, said-- "Madam, would you not like to take this little cross?" "Thank you for having reminded me," Mary answered; "I had intended to, but I forgot". Then, giving it to Annibal Stewart, her footman, that he might present it when she should ask for it, she began to move to the door, and on account of the great pain in her limbs, leaning on Bourgoin, who, as they drew near, suddenly let her go, saying-- "Madam, your Majesty knows if we love you, and all, such as we are, are ready to obey you, should you command us to die for you; but I, I have not the strength to lead you farther; besides, it is not becoming that we, who should be defending you to the last drop of our blood, should seem to be betraying you in giving you thus into the hands of these infamous English." "You are right, Bourgoin," said the queen; "moreover, my death would be a sad sight for you, which I ought to spare your age and your friendship. Mr. Sheriff," added she, "call someone to support me, for you see that I cannot walk." The sheriff bowed, and signed to two guards whom he had kept hidden behind the door to lend him assistance in case the queen should resist, to approach and support her; which they at once did; and Mary Stuart went on her way, preceded and followed by her servants weeping and wringing their hands. But at the second door other guards stopped them, telling them they must go no farther. They all cried out against such a prohibition: they said that for the nineteen years they had been shut up with the queen they had always accompanied her wherever she went; that it was frightful to deprive their mistress of their services at the last moment, and that such an order had doubtless been given because they wanted to practise some shocking cruelty on her, of which they desired no witnesses. Bourgoin, who was at their head, seeing that he could obtain nothing by threats or entreaties, asked to speak with the earls; but this claim was not allowed either, and as the servants wanted to pass by force, the soldiers repulsed them with blows of their arquebuses; then, raising her voice-- "It is wrong of you to prevent my servants following me," said the queen, "and I begin to think, like them, that you have some ill designs upon me beyond my death." The sheriff replied, "Madam, four of your servants are chosen to follow you, and no more; when you have come down, they will be fetched, and will rejoin you." "What!" said the queen, "the four chosen persons cannot even follow me now?" "The order is thus given by the earls," answered the sheriff, "and, to my great regret, madam, I can do nothing." Then the queen turned to them, and taking the cross from Annibal Stewart, and in her other hand her book of Hours and her handkerchief, "My children," said she, "this is one more grief to add to our other griefs; let us bear it like Christians, and offer this fresh sacrifice to God." At these words sobs and cries burst forth on all sides: the unhappy servants fell on their knees, and while some rolled on the ground, tearing their hair, others kissed her hands, her knees, and the hem of her gown, begging her forgiveness for every possible fault, calling her their mother and bidding her farewell. Finding, no doubt, that this scene was lasting too long, the sheriff made a sign, and the soldiers pushed the men and women back into the room and shut the door on them; still, fast as was the door, the queen none the less heard their cries and lamentations, which seemed, in spite of the guards, as if they would accompany her to the scaffold. At the stair-head, the queen found Andrew Melville awaiting her: he was the Master of her Household, who had been secluded from her for some time, and who was at last permitted to see her once more to say farewell. The queen, hastening her steps, approached him, and kneeling down to receive his blessing, which he gave her, weeping-- "Melville," said she, without rising, and addressing him as "thou" for the first time, "as thou hast been an honest servant to me, be the same to my son: seek him out directly after my death, and tell him of it in every detail; tell him that I wish him well, and that I beseech God to send him His Holy Spirit." "Madam," replied Melville, "this is certainly the saddest message with which a man can be charged: no matter, I shall faithfully fulfil it, I swear to you." "What sayest thou, Melville?" responded the queen, rising; "and what better news canst thou bear, on the contrary, than that I am delivered from all my ills? Tell him that he should rejoice, since the sufferings of Mary Stuart are at an end; tell him that I die a Catholic, constant in my religion, faithful to Scotland and France, and that I forgive those who put me to death. Tell him that I have always desired the union of England and Scotland; tell him, finally, that I have done nothing injurious to his kingdom, to his honour, or to his rights. And thus, good Melville, till we meet again in heaven." Then, leaning on the old man, whose face was bathed in tears, she descended the staircase, at the foot of which she found the two earls, Sir Henry Talbot, Lord Shrewsbury's son, Amyas Paulet, Drue Drury, Robert Beale, and many gentlemen of the neighbourhood: the queen, advancing towards them without pride, but without humility, complained that her servants had been refused permission to follow her, and asked that it should be granted. The lords conferred together; and a moment after the Earl of Kent inquired which ones she desired to have, saying she might be allowed six. So the queen chose from among the men Bourgoin, Gordon, Gervais, and Didier; and from the women Jeanne Kennedy and Elspeth Curle, the ones she preferred to all, though the latter was sister to the secretary who had betrayed her. But here arose a fresh difficulty, the earls saying that this permission did not extend to women, women not being used to be present at such sights, and when they were, usually upsetting everyone with cries and lamentations, and, as soon as the decapitation was over, rushing to the scaffold to staunch the blood with their handkerchiefs--a most unseemly proceeding. "My lords," then said the queen, "I answer and promise for my servants, that they will not do any of the things your honours fear. Alas! poor people! they would be very glad to bid me farewell; and I hope that your mistress, being a maiden queen, and accordingly sensitive for the honour of women, has not given you such strict orders that you are unable to grant me the little I ask; so much the more," added she in a profoundly mournful tone, "that my rank should be taken into consideration; for indeed I am your queen's cousin, granddaughter of Henry VII, Queen Dowager of France and crowned Queen of Scotland." The lords consulted together for another moment, and granted her demands. Accordingly, two guards went up immediately to fetch the chosen individuals. The queen then moved on to the great hall, leaning on two of Sir Amyas Paulet's gentlemen, accompanied and followed by the earls and lords, the sheriff walking before her, and Andrew Melville bearing her train. Her dress, as carefully chosen as possible, as we have said, consisted of a coif of fine cambric, trimmed with lace, with a lace veil thrown back and falling to the ground behind. She wore a cloak of black stamped satin lined with black taffetas and trimmed in front with sable, with a long train and sleeves hanging to the ground; the buttons were of jet in the shape of acorns and surrounded with pearls, her collar in the Italian style; her doublet was of figured black satin, and underneath she wore stays, laced behind, in crimson satin, edged with velvet of the same colour; a gold cross hung by a pomander chain at her neck, and two rosaries at her girdle: it was thus she entered the great hall where the scaffold was erected. It was a platform twelve feet wide, raised about two feet from the floor, surrounded with barriers and covered with black serge, and on it were a little chair, a cushion to kneel on, and a block also covered in black. Just as, having mounted the steps, she set foot on the fatal boards, the executioner came forward, and; asking forgiveness for the duty he was about to perform, kneeled, hiding behind him his axe. Mary saw it, however, and cried-- "Ah! I would rather have been beheaded in the French way, with a sword!..." "It is not my fault, madam," said the executioner, "if this last wish of your Majesty cannot be fulfilled; but, not having been instructed to bring a sword, and having found this axe here only, I am obliged to use it. Will that prevent your pardoning me, then?" "I pardon you, my friend," said Mary, "and in proof of it, here is my hand to kiss." The executioner put his lips to the queen's hand, rose and approached the chair. Mary sat down, and the Earls of Kent and Shrewsbury standing on her left, the sheriff and his officers before her, Amyas Paulet behind, and outside the barrier the lords, knights, and gentlemen, numbering nearly two hundred and fifty, Robert Beale for the second time read the warrant for execution, and as he was beginning the servants who had been fetched came into the hall and placed themselves behind the scaffold, the men mounted upon a bench put back against the wall, and the women kneeling in front of it; and a little spaniel, of which the queen was very fond, came quietly, as if he feared to be driven away, and lay down near his mistress. The queen listened to the reading of the warrant without seeming to pay much attention, as if it had concerned someone else, and with a countenance as calm and even as joyous as if it had been a pardon and not a sentence of death; then, when Beale had ended, and having ended, cried in a loud voice, "God save Queen Elizabeth!" to which no one made any response, Mary signed herself with the cross, and, rising without any change of expression, and, on the contrary, lovelier than ever-- "My lords," said she, "I am a queen-born sovereign princess, and not subject to law,--a near relation of the Queen of England, and her rightful heir; for a long time I have been a prisoner in this country, I have suffered here much tribulation and many evils that no one had the right to inflict, and now, to crown all, I am about to lose my life. Well, my lords, bear witness that I die in the Catholic faith, thanking God for letting me die for His holy cause, and protesting, to-day as every day, in public as in private, that I have never plotted, consented to, nor desired the queen's death, nor any other thing against her person; but that, on the contrary, I have always loved her, and have always offered her good and reasonable conditions to put an end to the troubles of the kingdom and deliver me from my captivity, without my having ever been honoured with a reply from her; and all this, my lords, you well know. Finally, my enemies have attained their end, which was to put me to death: I do not pardon them less for it than I pardon all those who have attempted anything against me. After my death, the authors of it will be known. But I die without accusing anyone, for fear the Lord should hear me and avenge me." Upon this, whether he was afraid that such a speech by so great a queen should soften the assembly too much, or whether he found that all these words were making too much delay, the Dean of Peterborough placed himself before Mary, and, leaning on the barrier-- "Madam," he said, "my much honoured mistress has commanded me to come to you--" But at these words, Mary, turning and interrupting him: "Mr. Dean," she answered in a loud voice, "I have nothing to do with you; I do not wish to hear you, and beg you to withdraw." "Madam," said the dean, persisting in spite of this resolve expressed in such firm and precise terms, "you have but a moment longer: change your opinions, abjure your errors, and put your faith in Jesus Christ alone, that you may be saved through Him." "Everything you can say is useless," replied the queen, "and you will gain nothing by it; be silent, then, I beg you, and let me die in peace." And as she saw that he wanted to go on, she sat down on the other side of the chair and turned her back to him; but the dean immediately walked round the scaffold till he faced her again; then, as he was going to speak, the queen turned about once more, and sat as at first. Seeing which the Earl of Shrewsbury said-- "Madam, truly I despair that you are so attached to this folly of papacy: allow us, if it please you, to pray for you." "My lord," the queen answered, "if you desire to pray for me, I thank you, for the intention is good; but I cannot join in your prayers, for we are not of the same religion." The earls then called the dean, and while the queen, seated in her little chair, was praying in a low tone, he, kneeling on the scaffold steps, prayed aloud; and the whole assembly except the queen and her servants prayed after him; then, in the midst of her orison, which she said with her Agnus Dei round her neck, a crucifix in one hand, and her book of Hours in the other, she fell from her seat on to, her knees, praying aloud in Latin, whilst the others prayed in English, and when the others were silent, she continued in English in her turn, so that they could hear her, praying for the afflicted Church of Christ, for an end to the persecution of Catholics, and for the happiness of her son's reign; then she said, in accents full of faith and fervour, that she hoped to be saved by the merits of Jesus Christ, at the foot of whose cross she was going to shed her blood. At these words the Earl of Kent could no longer contain himself, and without respect for the sanctity of the moment-- "Oh, madam," said he, "put Jesus Christ in your heart, and reject all this rubbish of popish deceptions." But she, without listening, went on, praying the saints to intercede with God for her, and kissing the crucifix, she cried-- "Lord! Lord! receive me in Thy arms out stretched on the cross, and forgive me all my sins!" Thereupon,--she being again seated in the chair, the Earl of Kent asked her if she had any confession to make; to which she replied that, not being guilty of anything, to confess would be to give herself, the lie. "It is well," the earl answered; "then, madam, prepare." The queen rose, and as the executioner approached to assist her disrobe-- "Allow me, my friend," said she; "I know how to do it better than you, and am not accustomed to undress before so many spectators, nor to be served by such valets." And then, calling her two women, she began to unpin her coiffure, and as Jeanne Kennedy and Elspeth Curle, while performing this last service for their mistress, could not help weeping bitterly-- "Do not weep," she said to them in French; "for I have promised and answered for you." With these words, she made the sign of the cross upon the forehead of each, kissed them, and recommended them to pray for her. Then the queen began to undress, herself assisting, as she was wont to do when preparing for bed, and taking the gold cross from her neck, she wished to give it to Jeanne, saying to the executioner-- "My friend, I know that all I have upon me belongs to you; but this is not in your way: let me bestow it, if you please, on this young lady, and she will give you twice its value in money." But the executioner, hardly allowing her to finish, snatched it from her hands with-- "It is my right." The queen was not moved much by this brutality, and went on taking off her garments until she was simply in her petticoat. Thus rid of all her garb, she again sat down, and Jeanne Kennedy approaching her, took from her pocket the handkerchief of gold-embroidered cambric which she had prepared the night before, and bound her eyes with it; which the earls, lords; and gentlemen looked upon with great surprise, it not being customary in England, and as she thought that she was to be beheaded in the French way--that is to say, seated in the chair--she held herself upright, motionless, and with her neck stiffened to make it easier for the executioner, who, for his part, not knowing how to proceed, was standing, without striking, axe in hand: at last the man laid his hand on the queen's head, and drawing her forward, made her fall on her knees: Mary then understood what was required of her, and feeling for the block with her hands, which were still holding her book of Hours and her crucifix, she laid her neck on it, her hands joined beneath her chin, that she might pray till the last moment: the executioner's assistant drew them away, for fear they should be cut off with her head; and as the queen was saying, "In manes teas, Domine," the executioner raised his axe, which was simply an axe far chopping wood, and struck the first blow, which hit too high, and piercing the skull, made the crucifix and the book fly from the condemned's hands by its violence, but which did not sever the head. However, stunned with the blow, the queen made no movement, which gave the executioner time to redouble it; but still the head did not fall, and a third stroke was necessary to detach a shred of flesh which held it to the shoulders. At last, when the head was quite severed, the executioner held it up to show to the assembly, saying: "God save Queen Elizabeth!" "So perish all Her Majesty's enemies!" responded the Dean of Peterborough. "Amen," said the Earl of Kent; but he was the only one: no other voice could respond, for all were choked with sobs. At that moment the queen's headdress falling, disclosed her hair, cut very short, and as white as if she had been aged seventy: as to her face, it had so changed during her death-agony that no one would have recognised it had he not known it was hers. The spectators cried out aloud at this sign; for, frightful to see, the eyes were open, and the lids went on moving as if they would still pray, and this muscular movement lasted for more than a quarter of an hour after the head had been cut off. The queen's servants had rushed upon the scaffold, picking up the book of Hours and the crucifix as relics; and Jeanne Kennedy, remembering the little dog who had come to his mistress, looked about for him on all sides, seeking him and calling him, but she sought and called in vain. He had disappeared. At that moment, as one of the executioners was untying the queen's garters, which were of blue satin embroidered in silver, he saw the poor little animal, which had hidden in her petticoat, and which he was obliged to bring out by force; then, having escaped from his hands, it took refuge between the queen's shoulders and her head, which the executioner had laid down near the trunk. Jeanne took him then, in spite of his howls, and carried him away, covered with blood; for everyone had just been ordered to leave the hall. Bourgoin and Gervais stayed behind, entreating Sir Amyas Paulet to let them take the queen's heart, that they might carry it to France, as they had promised her; but they were harshly refused and pushed out of the hall, of which all the doors were closed, and there there remained only the executioner and the corpse. Brantome relates that something infamous took place there! CHAPTER X Two hours after the execution, the body and the head were taken into the same hall in which Mary Stuart had appeared before the commissioners, set down on a table round which the judges had sat, and covered over with a black serge cloth; and there remained till three o'clock in the afternoon, when Waters the doctor from Stamford and the surgeon from Fotheringay village came to open and embalm them--an operation which they carried out under the eyes of Amyas Paulet and his soldiers, without any respect for the rank and sex of the poor corpse, which was thus exposed to the view of anyone who wanted to see it: it is true that this indignity did not fulfil its proposed aim; for a rumour spread about that the queen had swollen limbs and was dropsical, while, on the contrary, there was not one of the spectators but was obliged to confess that he had never seen the body of a young girl in the bloom of health purer and lovelier than that of Mary Stuart, dead of a violent death after nineteen years of suffering and captivity. When the body was opened, the spleen was in its normal state, with the veins a little livid only, the lungs yellowish in places, and the brain one-sixth larger than is usual in persons of the same age and sex; thus everything promised a long life to her whose end had just been so cruelly hastened. A report having been made of the above, the body was embalmed after a fashion, put in a leaden coffin and that in another of wood, which was left on the table till the first day of August--that is, for nearly five months--before anyone was allowed to come near it; and not only that, but the English having noticed that Mary Stuart's unhappy servants, who were still detained as prisoners, went to look at it through the keyhole, stopped that up in such a way that they could not even gaze at the coffin enclosing the body of her whom they had so greatly loved. However, one hour after Mary Stuart's death, Henry Talbot, who had been present at it, set out at full speed for London, carrying to Elizabeth the account of her rival's death; but at the very first lines she read, Elizabeth, true to her character, cried out in grief and indignation, saying that her orders had been misunderstood, that there had been too great haste, and that all this was the fault of Davison the Secretary of State, to whom she had given the warrant to keep till she had made up her mind, but not to send to Fotheringay. Accordingly, Davison was sent to the Tower and condemned to pay a fine of ten thousand pounds sterling, for having deceived the queen. Meanwhile, amid all this grief, an embargo was laid on all vessels in all the ports of the realm, so that the news of the death should not reach abroad, especially France, except through skilful emissaries who could place the execution in the least unfavourable light for Elizabeth. At the same time the scandalous popular festivities which had marked the announcement of the sentence again celebrated the tidings of the execution. London was illuminated, bonfires lit, and the enthusiasm was such that the French Embassy was broken into and wood taken to revive the fires when they began to die down. Crestfallen at this event, M. de Chateauneuf was still shut up at the Embassy, when, a fortnight later, he received an invitation from Elizabeth to visit her at the country house of the Archbishop of Canterbury. M. de Chateauneuf went thither with the firm resolve to say no word to her on what had happened; but as soon as she saw him, Elizabeth, dressed in black, rose, went to him, and, overwhelming him with kind attentions, told him that she was ready to place all the strength of her kingdom at Henry III's disposal to help him put down the League. Chateauneuf received all these offers with a cold and severe expression, without saying, as he had promised himself, a single word about the event which had put both the queen and himself into mourning. But, taking him by the hand, she drew him aside, and there, with deep sighs, said-- "Ah! sir, since I saw you the greatest misfortune which could befall me has happened: I mean the death of my good sister, the Queen of Scotland, of which I swear by God Himself, my soul and my salvation, that I am perfectly innocent. I had signed the order, it is true; but my counsellors have played me a trick for which I cannot calm myself; and I swear to God that if it were not for their long service I would have them beheaded. I have a woman's frame, sir, but in this woman's frame beats a man's heart." Chateauneuf bowed without a response; but his letter to Henry III and Henry's answer prove that neither the one nor the other was the dupe of this female Tiberius. Meanwhile, as we have said, the unfortunate servants were prisoners, and the poor body was in that great hall waiting for a royal interment. Things remained thus, Elizabeth said, to give her time to order a splendid funeral for her good sister Mary, but in reality because the queen dared not place in juxtaposition the secret and infamous death and the public and royal burial; then, was not time needed for the first reports which it pleased Elizabeth to spread to be credited before the truth should be known by the mouths of the servants? For the queen hoped that once this careless world had made up its mind about the death of the Queen of Scots, it would not take any further trouble to change it. Finally, it was only when the warders were as tired as the prisoners, that Elizabeth, having received a report stating that the ill-embalmed body could no longer be kept, at last ordered the funeral to take place. Accordingly, after the 1st of August, tailors and dressmakers arrived at Fotheringay Castle, sent by Elizabeth, with cloth and black silk stuffs, to clothe in mourning all Mary's servants. But they refused, not having waited for the Queen of England's bounty, but having made their funeral garments at their own expense, immediately after their mistress's death. The tailors and dressmakers, however, none the less set so actively to work that on the 7th everything was finished. Next day, at eight o'clock in the evening, a large chariot, drawn by four horses in mourning trappings, and covered with black velvet like the chariot, which was, besides, adorned with little streamers on which were embroidered the arms of Scotland, those of the queen, and the arms of Aragon, those of Darnley, stopped at the gate of Fotheringay Castle. It was followed by the herald king, accompanied by twenty gentlemen on horseback, with their servants and lackeys, all dressed in mourning, who, having alighted, mounted with his whole train into the room where the body lay, and had it brought down and put into the chariot with all possible respect, each of the spectators standing with bared head and in profound silence. This visit caused a great stir among the prisoners, who debated a while whether they ought not to implore the favour of being allowed to follow their mistress's body, which they could not and should not let go alone thus; but just as they were about to ask permission to speak to the herald king, he entered the room where they were assembled, and told them that he was charged by his mistress, the august Queen of England, to give the Queen of Scotland the most honourable funeral he could; that, not wishing to fail in such a high undertaking, he had already made most of the preparations for the ceremony, which was to take place on the 10th of August, that is to say, two days later,--but that the leaden shell in which the body was enclosed being very heavy, it was better to move it beforehand, and that night, to where the grave was dug, than to await the day of the interment itself; that thus they might be easy, this burial of the shell being only a preparatory ceremony; but that if some of them would like to accompany the corpse, to see what was done with it, they were at liberty, and that those who stayed behind could follow the funeral pageant, Elizabeth's positive desire being that all, from first to last, should be present in the funeral procession. This assurance calmed the unfortunate prisoners, who deputed Bourgoin, Gervais, and six others to follow their mistress's body: these were Andrew Melville, Stewart, Gorjon, Howard, Lauder, and Nicholas Delamarre. At ten o'clock at night they set out, walking behind the chariot, preceded by the herald, accompanied by men on foot, who carried torches to light the way, and followed by twenty gentlemen and their servants. In this manner, at two o'clock in the morning, they reached Peterborough, where there is a splendid cathedral built by an ancient Saxon king, and in which, on the left of the choir, was already interred good Queen Catharine of Aragon, wife of Henry VIII, and where was her tomb, still decked with a canopy bearing her arms. On arriving, they found the cathedral all hung with black, with a dome erected in the middle of the choir, much in the way in which 'chapelles ardentes' are set up in France, except that there were no lighted candles round it. This dome was covered with black velvet, and overlaid with the arms of Scotland and Aragon, with streamers like those on the chariot yet again repeated. The state coffin was already set up under this dome: it was a bier, covered like the rest in black velvet fringed with silver, on which was a pillow of the same supporting a royal crown. To the right of this dome, and in front of the burial-place of Queen Catharine of Aragon, Mary of Scotland's sepulchre had been dug: it was a grave of brick, arranged to be covered later with a slab or a marble tomb, and in which was to be deposited the coffin, which the Bishop of Peterborough, in his episcopal robes, but without his mitre, cross, or cope, was awaiting at the door, accompanied by his dean and several other clergy. The body was brought into the cathedral, without chant or prayer, and was let down into the tomb amid a profound silence. Directly it was placed there, the masons, who had stayed their hands, set to work again, closing the grave level with the floor, and only leaving an opening of about a foot and a half, through which could be seen what was within, and through which could be thrown on the coffin, as is customary at the obsequies of kings, the broken staves of the officers and the ensigns and banners with their arms. This nocturnal ceremony ended, Melville, Bourgoin, and the other deputies were taken to the bishop's palace, where the persons appointed to take part in the funeral procession were to assemble, in number more than three hundred and fifty, all chosen, with the exception of the servants, from among the authorities, the nobility, and Protestant clergy. The day following, Thursday, August the 9th, they began to hang the banqueting halls with rich and sumptuous stuffs, and that in the sight of Melville, Bourgoin, and the others, whom they had brought thither, less to be present at the interment of Queen Mary than to bear witness to the magnificence of Queen Elizabeth. But, as one may suppose, the unhappy prisoners were indifferent to this splendour, great and extraordinary as it was. On Friday, August 10th, all the chosen persons assembled at the bishop's palace: they ranged themselves in the appointed order, and turned their steps to the cathedral, which was close by. When they arrived there, they took the places assigned them in the choir, and the choristers immediately began to chant a funeral service in English and according to Protestant rites. At the first words of this service, when he saw it was not conducted by Catholic priests, Bourgoin left the cathedral, declaring that he would not be present at such sacrilege, and he was followed by all Mary's servants, men and women, except Melville and Barbe Mowbray, who thought that whatever the tongue in which one prayed, that tongue was heard by the Lord. This exit created great scandal; but the bishop preached none the less. The sermon ended, the herald king went to seek Bourgoin and his companions, who were walking in the cloisters, and told them that the almsgiving was about to begin, inviting them to take part in this ceremony; but they replied that being Catholics they could not make offerings at an altar of which they disapproved. So the herald king returned, much put out at the harmony of the assembly being disturbed by this dissent; but the alms-offering took place no less than the sermon. Then, as a last attempt, he sent to them again, to tell them that the service was quite over, and that accordingly they might return for the royal ceremonies, which belonged only to the religion of the dead; and this time they consented; but when they arrived, the staves were broken, and the banners thrown into the grave through the opening that the workmen had already closed. Then, in the same order in which it had come, the procession returned to the palace, where a splendid funeral repast had been prepared. By a strange contradiction, Elizabeth, who, having punished the living woman as a criminal, had just treated the dead woman as a queen, had also wished that the honours of the funeral banquet should be for the servants, so long forgotten by her. But, as one can imagine, these ill accommodated themselves to that intention, did not seem astonished at this luxury nor rejoiced at this good cheer, but, on the contrary, drowned their bread and wine in tears, without otherwise responding to the questions put to them or the honours granted them. And as soon as the repast was ended, the poor servants left Peterborough and took the road back to Fotheringay, where they heard that they were free at last to withdraw whither they would. They did not need to be told twice; for they lived in perpetual fear, not considering their lives safe so long as they remained in England. They therefore immediately collected all their belongings, each taking his own, and thus went out of Fotheringay Castle on foot, Monday, 13th August, 1587. Bourgoin went last: having reached the farther side of the drawbridge, he turned, and, Christian as he was, unable to forgive Elizabeth, not for his own sufferings, but for his mistress's, he faced about to those regicide walls, and, with hands outstretched to them, said in a loud and threatening voice, those words of David: "Let vengeance for the blood of Thy servants, which has been shed, O Lord God, be acceptable in Thy sight". The old man's curse was heard, and inflexible history is burdened with Elizabeth's punishment. We said that the executioner's axe, in striking Mary Stuart's head, had caused the crucifix and the book of Hours which she was holding to fly from her hands. We also said that the two relics had been picked up by people in her following. We are not aware of what became of the crucifix, but the book of Hours is in the royal library, where those curious about these kinds of historical souvenirs can see it: two certificates inscribed on one of the blank leaves of the volume demonstrate its authenticity. These are they: FIRST CERTIFICATE "We the undersigned Vicar Superior of the strict observance of the Order of Cluny, certify that this book has been entrusted to us by order of the defunct Dom Michel Nardin, a professed religious priest of our said observance, deceased in our college of Saint-Martial of Avignon, March 28th, 1723, aged about eighty years, of which he has spent about thirty among us, having lived very religiously: he was a German by birth, and had served as an officer in the army a long time. "He entered Cluny, and made his profession there, much detached from all this world's goods and honours; he only kept, with his superior's permission, this book, which he knew had been in use with Mary Stuart, Queen of England and Scotland, to the end of her life. "Before dying and being parted from his brethren, he requested that, to be safely remitted to us, it should be sent us by mail, sealed. Just as we have received it, we have begged M. L'abbe Bignon, councillor of state and king's librarian, to accept this precious relic of the piety of a Queen of England, and of a German officer of her religion as well as of ours. "(Signed) BROTHER GERARD PONCET, "Vicar-General Superior." SECOND CERTIFICATE "We, Jean-Paul Bignon, king's librarian, are very happy to have an opportunity of exhibiting our zeal, in placing the said manuscript in His Majesty's library. "8th July, 1724." "(Signed) JEAN-PAUL BIGNAN." This manuscript, on which was fixed the last gaze of the Queen of Scotland, is a duodecimo, written in the Gothic character and containing Latin prayers; it is adorned with miniatures set off with gold, representing devotional subjects, stories from sacred history, or from the lives of saints and martyrs. Every page is encircled with arabesques mingled with garlands of fruit and flowers, amid which spring up grotesque figures of men and animals. As to the binding, worn now, or perhaps even then, to the woof, it is in black velvet, of which the flat covers are adorned in the centre with an enamelled pansy, in a silver setting surrounded by a wreath, to which are diagonally attached from one corner of the cover to the other, two twisted silver-gilt knotted cords, finished by a tuft at the two ends. Publication Date: May 28th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.dumas

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Crazykoolaidwriter Search, Rescue, Solve Murderous Mystery New Case Jenna Tyler I woke up to my phone ringing at three in the morning. I groaned and sat up, grabbing my phone, and i flipped it open and said, "hello?" "hey, you need to come down here right now, " said my boss, Marco. I groaned, and he said, "this is the biggest case we have ever taken on, and we need all hands on board for it." I got out of the bed and said, "I'll be there soon. Talk to you soon." I hung up, and i ran to my closet and pulled out a red v-neck, dark jeans,and a black jacket. I quickly changed out of my nightdress, and i grabbed my bag, briefcase, car-keys, and my phone, and i ran out to my car and jumped inside, shoving the keys in the ignition. I started the car, and i drove down the road to the agency. I hopped out of the car, and i grabbed my stuff and went inside to the front desk and said, "hey, Ernie." He waved at me, and i went inside to Marco's room and saw him, Vanessa, Emily, and Shawn. I sat down next to Vanessa, and Marco said, "glad that we are all here. I have a new case for all of you. A newlywed couple was murdered last weekend, a week into their honeymoon. Their throats were cut, and they had bruises from fighting back and being beaten." I pulled out my paper, and i began to take notes. "They were killed in the Mable hotel, and i want Vanessa and Jenna to go and scope it for evidence. Emily, i need you on forensics, and Shawn, i need you to help Dr. Roberts with the Autopsy." We all nodded, and i stood up and said, "ready to go?" Vanessa nodded, and i grabbed my stuff and walked out of the room with her. I walked out to the car, and she said, "what do you think happened?" I looked at her and said, "We'll know when we reach the end of the case." She nodded, and we hopped into the car. I started it up, and i drove down to the hotel and parked in front. I grabbed all of my stuff, and i went up to the door and waited for Vanessa. When she came up to the door, I opened it and went inside and saw a cop waiting. Answers Jenna Tyler I walked with Vanessa and the cop to the blocked-off room, and i stepped inside and instantly smelled the blood. I breathed through my mouth, and i stepped further inside and saw the blood on the floor and walls. I set my tools down on the floor, and i opened the case and pulled out a small duster. I dusted on the doorknob, counters, and walls, and i pulled up a few sets of fingerprints. I put them in a bag, and i swabbed each blood stain and put the swabs in separate tubes. Vanessa bagged a small knife, swabbed it, and dusted for fingerprints, and i said, "look at how the blood is smeared." It was smeared in an arc, and it suddenly stopped in a straight line on the wall. I went over to it, and i tapped on the wall until i heard a deep thump. I pulled out a small knife, and i cut into the wall and pulled out a pair of gloves, a mask, and a blood-spattered jacket. I quickly put them in a box, and i heard a gunshot. I hid with my clues in a bathroom. I heard Vanessa scream, and i burst out of the bathroom and saw a masked man standing over her body. I pulled out my gun, and i said, "put your hands in the air, and drop the gun!" He turned around, and i saw him aim his gun at me. I shot him in the arm, and he dropped the gun and jumped out of the window. I ran to the window, and i saw a blue truck drive away, speeding. I got the license plate number, and i turned to Vanessa and knelled next to her. I saw blood seep into the carpet, and i pulled out my walkies-talkie and quickly said, "officer down! Request and ambulance at Mable hotel, there is an officer shot that requires assistance." I heard a conformation, and i put it back in my belt and said, "Vanessa, i need you to listen to me. Stay still, and i will try to slow the bleeding. You are going to make it through this!" I ripped a strip from my shirt, and i wrapped it around her shoulder and pressed, slowing the red stain. I tied it, and she said, "Jenna, don't worry about me." I shook my head and softly said, "you are my partner, and partners stay together and help each other. Vanessa, just stay still!" I heard an ambulance, and two men ran up with a stretcher and lifted her onto it. I ran with them to the elevator, and i watched as they lifted her into the ambulance and shut the doors, driving her to the hospital. The Hunt Jenna I loaded all the evidence into the back of my car, and i got into it and turned the keys. It tarted up, and i screamed as the front of the car exploded into flames. I threw the door open, and i stumbled out and grabbed my stuff and the evidence. I felt smoke sear my lungs, and i watched as my car burned. I coughed, and i pulled out my walkies-talkie and said, "Marco, i need your help. Please come to the hotel as fast as you can. Vanessa is in the hospital, and my car is on fire. I need your help." I coughed again, and Marco said, "I'll be right there, Jenna. Just stay put and i will be there as fast as i can." I put it back in my belt, and i put everything in a pile as a crowd gathered. A fire-truck came, and Marco drove up when they left and jumped out of the car. I coughed again, and i said, "thank you for picking me up. I don't know what happened. I started my car, and it was suddenly on fire." He helped me put the clues and stuff in his car, and i climbed in the passenger seat and sat down as he climbed into the driver's side and started the car. I slightly winced as the engine roared, and he gently grabbed my hand and drove to the agency. I pulled everything inside to his office, and i put everything onto the table and sorted it. Marco came in and said, "Jenna, are you okay?" I nodded, and i said, "I have to solve this case. I won't lose this case." I put the forensic stuff into a box and said, "I am going to take this stuff to Emily, and then i will come back and help you with everything else." He nodded, and i grabbed the box and went to Forensics. Emily looked up when i came in, and i said, "I had an accident at the crime-scene, but here are the forensic clues from the crime-scene. Tell me when you find something, okay?" She nodded, and i walked back to Marco's room and went inside to see him going through the evidence. I sat next to him, and he said, "hey, did you get anything else?" I went through everything, and i said, "there was a knife at the crime-scene. I remember putting it in the box, but then the shooting came. Marco, I have to go back and look for it!" Sniper Attack Jenna He shook his head and grabbed my hand, and i said, "Marco, Vanessa got shot for that evidence, and i am not going to let it get taken and destroyed!" He stood up and said, "I am not going to let you get shot!" I pulled my hand from his and said, "what does it affect with you if i do get shot? You always send me away like i am expendable, and so i am going to do my job, whether you like it or not." I grabbed my stuff, and he grabbed me and pressed his lips to mine. I froze in surprise, and i pulled away from him and ran out of the door. I ran through the hallways, and i went outside and heard a gunshot. A bullet sank into my stomach, and i gave a soft gasp and stumbled slightly. I saw a sniper on a building, and i pulled out my gun and shot him while he was reloading. I coughed, and i heard Marco run outside. I turned to him, and he ran forward and caught me as i fell. I shakily stood up, and i said, "I'm fine. I need to go get that evidence!" I winced as blood stained my shirt, and he said, "you won't make it halfway to the hotel before you pass out from blood-loss." I sighed, and he pulled out his phone and said, "I need an ambulance at the downtown Fisher precinct! I have an officer down, and i need to get some help for her!" He gently picked me up, ad i saw Emily run out of the building. I weakly sat up and said, "Emily, i need you to take the evidence inside and go out of the building with friends, and never go out alone! Tell everyone to be careful!" She nodded, and i slumped against Marco as an ambulance screamed down the road and stopped in front of us. I was loaded into the back, and Marco sat next to me and said, "just hang on, Jenna. Just hang on." A mask was put over my mouth, and i coughed and heard the monitor go off. I coughed harder, and blood spattered from my mouth and onto the mask, staining it red. Marco gripped my hand as the paramedics shocked my heart, and the monitor went back to normal. We soon reached the hospital, and i was wheeled into surgery. I woke up a few hours later, and i saw Marco sitting in a chair next to the bed. I weakly sat up, and he pushed me back down and said, "don't get up or the stitches will rip open. Jenna, you will be out of here in a couple of days." I shook my head and said, "I need to solve the case! Vanessa is counting on me!" I winced as blood stained the bandages, and i laid down and felt tears run down my face. Marco gently brushed them off, and he said, "go to sleep, Jenna. You will be out of here in a couple of days, and then you can start the case again." I sighed, and i fell asleep and waited for the next few days. The Truth Jenna I got out of the hospital a week later, and i automatically went back to work. I visited the crime-scene, and i found the knife hidden in the hole in the wall. I had Emily dust it for prints and test the blood, and a match came back on a hair we found inside the mask. It belonged to a man named Charles Martino, and i hunted him down and arrested him. I got some answers out of him, and he said, "I am not alone in this. My boss is till out there watching you, waiting to strike." I put him back in his cell, and i went past Marco's office and saw him going through some papers. He looked up at me, and i looked away and went to my office. I put everything up on my desk, and the door opened. Marco walked in, and he said, "what's wrong? You have been avoiding me all day." I looked down at my papers and said, "I can't be with you, Marco. There is no love in this agency that i am willing to sacrifice. I am being hunted by this killer, and i will stop him and watch him get the death sentence. I'm sorry." He held out a small packet, and i gently took it while he said, "the man told me that this was his boss, and his truth-test checked out positive." I opened it, and i read the file and said, "this can't be the killer." My voice dropped to a whisper, and he said, "do you know him?" I nodded, and i said, "this is my brother, Dylan Tyler. Marco, i haven't seen him in over ten years." A tear ran down my cheek, and i said, "I know where he lives." I grabbed all of my stuff, and i said, ''I am going to need your help, but don't shoot him if he aims a gun at me. There has to be a reason he did this." I put my bullet-poof vest on, and I said, "will you come with me?" He nodded, and i watched as he put on a vest and put on his belt. I walked with him to his car, and i told him the address and said, "we need to hurry. He is probably going to hurt someone else if we don't." He drove to the house, and i ran to the front door and pulled out my gun. I banged on the front door, and i looked back at Marco and said, "go to the back and hold him there if he tries to escape." Marco ran to the back, and i said, "police! Open the door or we will be forced to kick it in!" I heard a gunshot from inside, and i kicked the door open and saw my brother shoot at Marco again. I saw him miss, and I said, "put the gun on the ground and put your hands behind your head!" He ignored me, and i shot his hand and forced him to drop the gun. He cried out in pain, and i grabbed his arms and held them behind his back. He squirmed, and i said, "Dylan, it's over. I don't want to hurt you, but you have left me no choice." I felt him go still, and he said, "Jenna, you don't understand. The husband has been trying to kill me for years, and i had to stop him before he went after you." I gently pulled him to the door, and i put my vest over him and said, "your minion shot me and my partner, and then you tried to shoot my boss! Dylan, you've changed." He went still, and i put him in the back of the car and sat next to him. Marco drove us to the precinct, and i put Dylan in a cell and said, "your trial is tomorrow at noon. Tell the judge what happened, and i will try to help you as much as i can." He nodded, and he said, "Jenna, i never meant for you to get hurt. I am so sorry." I nodded and said, "see you tomorrow, Dylan." Then i went to my office and put the case in the Solved file. Solved Jenna Dylan's trial went by faster than i thought, and he got ten years in prison with bail. Marco tried to get closer to me, but i said, "Marco, i have too much to deal with right now." I put all the evidence from the crime in the locker, and i went to Marco one day and said, "I'm leaving the agency." His eyes widened, and i said, "Marco, i have hurt too many people, and i don't want to ever have a relationship in fear that my lover would get hurt or killed." He gently grabbed my hands, and he said, "please stay here and work with me, Jenna. I don't care what happens, but i love you and i want to stay with you." A tear ran down my cheek, and i said, "Marco, i--" I broke off as he knelled in front of me and pulled out a box. He opened it, and i saw the ring glitter as he said, "Jenna Taylor, will you do me the honor of marrying me?" I covered my mouth with my hand, and i said, ''Marco, i do." He smiled, and i rapped my arms around his neck and hugged him tight. Tears ran down my face, and i said, "Marco, i love you." He wrapped his arms around my waist, and he said, "I love you too, Jenna." THE END Text: Crazykoolaidwriter Images: Crazykoolaidwriter Editing: Crazykoolaidwriter Translation: Crazykoolaidwriter All rights reserved. Publication Date: July 12th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-crazykoolaidwriter

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-meaghan-larson-cheer-before-fear/

Meaghan Larson Cheer Before Fear Chapter 1: School Day Makenzie Lewis is 15 years old, lives with her father Garret Lewis, mother Charlotte Lewis, sister Victoria Lewis and brother Michael Lewis. Makenzie has so much planned for her life and she's not letting anyone take that away from her. She plans on being a professinal fitness trainer by time she is 24. With four college's picked out, can she do it? Her family thinks so! "Oh my god, Kenz. Did you get your homework fished for Mr.Martin?" Makenzie's friend Emily said to her. "Yeah! Did you?" "No. I didn't have anytime at all! Can you help me in study hall?" "Sure, but I have to help clean dishes first. But, I should have time to help you." "Thanks, girl. I don't know what I would do without you." "I'll see ya later, Em!" "OK. Bye." Makenzie walked to her 4th hour; World History in her silk light baby blue blouse, light tan dress pants, baby blue high heels, and diamonds in her ears, with her hair curled and teased. Blonde Hair and Blue Eyes, she sure did have everything a guy looked for. She has a boyfriend named Chance Pruit. "Hey babe!" Chance yelled with excitment to Makenzie. "Hey, still on for tonight?" "Of course, beautiful. Anything for you." "Oh, shut up! You're such a dork, babe." "Haha, you said 8 right?" Chance asked Makenzie. "Yeah, I have cheer practice from 4-8. You always forget, Chance!" "Sorry! You know I have practice 3-6,too....Right?" "Yes I know. Unlike you, I actually remember." "Sorry, Kenz. I'll remember next time, I promise." "You better! Or I'll have to kick your ass! Hahaha." "Haha, okay, babe. I'll let you." "OK. I have to go though, I love you babe!" "Love you, too gorgeous! Bye." Makenzie entered her 4th hour, spotting a new kid named Edward. "Good morning class. This is, Edward Black. Everyone treat him how you would like to be treated. Um, Edward, have a seat right back there beside Makenzie Clark.." Mrs. Johnson said nicely. "I'm Makenzie, Hi Edward." Edward didn't say a word. He just sat very nervously beside Makezie. The class last 45 minutes, 45 minutes that Edward couldn't handle. As soon as the class was over, he ran out of class as if he was about to die. "Is he OK, Kenz?" Mrs. Johson asked Makenzie. "I think so? He didn't say anything. He seemed really worried, though. I don't know what about." "Alright, that's all I needed to know. Thank you, Makenzie. Have a good day!" "Thanks, you too." Makenzie then left the class to meet up with Emily. Emily was just right down the hall in Algebra II waiting for her. When Makenzie reached Emily she seen Edward standing right next to her. "Emily!" Makenzie yelled. Edward looked back, then walked away very fast down the hall then turned right going towards the gym. "Hey, Kenz." "Was he saying anything to you?" "Who?" Emily asked Makenzie. "That boy. The boy that was standing beside you. The one with the brown short hair, taned skin, green eyes, Green Shirt, dark washed out jeans, and boots?" "Um, I don't think so? I mean, if he was I didn't hear anything he was saying. Why? Is everything OK?" "Yeah, I just have him in my 4th hour. He's new, but he wont talk he just seems like he's hiding something, or he's worried about something. I don't know! The guy was weird though." "Oh..Um, Haha okay." Emily laughed at how Makenzie was acting about it. "I'm starving, are you?" "Yes! Let's get to lunch." "Sounds good." Makenzie and Emily walked to lunch, when they got there, there was no sign what so ever of the new kid, Edward. They both got into line though, Makenzie getting a bottle of water, a turkey sandwich, crackers, penut butter N' Jelly, and an apple. And Emily getting a milk, hot dog, and an apple for a snack. Makenzie has to eat healthy in order to stay in shape for Cheerleading, so does Emily. But, Emily don't take her eating as serious as Makenzie does. Later into lunch, Chance; Makenzie's boyfriend came into the lunch room and sat down beside Makenzie. Followed by Emily's boyfriend Ivan. Both boys we're very sporty. Being in sports it what got the four talking so much. They all became bestfriends soon into everyone's relationship. Double dating, going out bowling, driving eachother everywhere together, it all made perfect sense. Ivan was a big jokester though, something about him joking all the time made Emily angry. She didn't like that he would joke with a bunch of girls, and herself. "Hey, Ivan stop! You're emabarrassing me.." Emily snapped at Ivan. "Aye, take a chill pill! Dang.." Ivan and Chance snickered. "I'm not hungry anymore.. Chance will you walk with me to dumb my tray?" "Yeah, i'll be back Ivan." Chance said to Ivan. "Ight man." Makenzie and Chance walked up to dump both trays. Walking up there, Makenzie sees Edward walking into the lunch room. They both stop and just look at eachtoher for a minute straight... No blinking..Nothing. "Babe...Babe? Makenzie!" Chance yelled, trying to get Makenzie's attention. "What? Oh! Sorry." "Are you OK?" He asked. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just dazed out for a second, I don't know. Sorry. " She giggled. "Uh, alright?" Then they both walked away leaving Edward just watching Makenzie's every move. Lunch was over, and it was time for the afternoon classes which Makenzie had with Chance. But, she has to stay in the lunchroom half of her next class to help with kitchen duty to clean the dishes. After that, she would go back to class; study hall to help Emily with Mr.Martin's homework that she was unable to get finsihed. "I'll catch up with y'all later!" "Alright, remember you have to help me." Emily confirmed to Makenzie. "I know, Em. See ya Ivan, Love you Chance." "Bye baby." Chance said. "See ya!" Ivan said. Makenzie stayed in the lunch room for about 25 minutes. A little bit longer than what was planned. But, she didn't mind it really. She finsihed what she was to do, went to her locker, got her books and bags, and checked her cell phone before returning to class. As she checked her phone, she seen she had a text from her sister Victoria "OMG sis! we have a new student, he is like SO weird. u need 2 c him!" She immediatly thought it was Edwards younger brother. Couldn't be to much younger, Makenzie was just starting 10th and her sister Victoria was in 8th grade. Makenzie replied fast before heading to class "cool, vic. we have a new student 2. what's that guys last name? g2g 2 class now though. txt u ltr." Makenzie put her phone back into her locker, then walked two doors down and reached study hall. Emily, and Chance were sitting beside eachother waiting on Makenzie to finally come to class, She shut the door and took her seat. "Hey, sorry i'm a little late. They needed me to clean the tables, too." "It's alright, babe. But, help your friend. She's so dumb!" He complained. "Hey, Shut up! I am not!" Emily said with anger. Makenzie helped Emily with 5 out our 15 questions. she gave Emily one answer though. Makenzie was weird about having people do work on their own though. She believes that people need to do things on there own, in order to become successful in what they want to acheive. With a minute of class left, Emily got all of her work finished. As Makenzie walked out of class, she seen Edward sitting in the corner of the room. "That's him, Em...." Makenzie whispered to Emily. "He's cute!" "Shut up." Next their 6th hour they have Mr.Martin. As that class came to an end, it was 2:53pm. Time for school to let out. Makenzie went to her locker, checked her phone once more and seen she has two texts from Victoria "his last night? uh it's black. y?" and one more "meet me N' front of Mrs. Turners classroom. im waitin" Makenzie grabbed her Victoria Secret Cheer bag, put her books away, bent over, pulled her hair up. Grabbed her cell phone, and school ID card, then left to meet up with her younger sister to go home. They went up to the student parking lot, where Makenzie's brother, Michael was waiting on them to run they home then come back for football practice. He always get's to practice 5 minutes late. But, they allow it since he's captin, and has to take his sister's home. This is Michael's senior year. "Hurry up you two!" Michael yelled at the girls. "We're hurrying, Mike! Shut up!" Victoria yelled up. They got to Michael's 2009 Ford F-150 Midnight black truck, got in and left for home. "How was school, you guys?" Makenzie asked both. "Mine was good. We got a new student, but you already know that he." Victoria said to Makenzie's question. "Mine was fine." Michael said. "Awesome, I guess." Makenzie said. She leaned over, turned up the radio and listened to Lil Wayne the rest of the way home. When they got home, neither parent was home. But, they left a note 'Took your mom out for the night, be home tomorrow afternoon. Mike-Clean your room, and clean the porch. Kenz-Clean your room, and the Kitchen. Vic-Clean your room and the living room! Mom already cleaned the rest of the house. Dinner's in the fridge. Take care. Love always; Dad and Mom. PS BE GOOD!!!' Victoria grabed the note and thew it away. "I guess I'll just go clean my room right now." Victoria said. "You need to clean your room, and the living room right now, Vicky. Seriously, don't be lazy." "I'm not, Kenz! Just shut up. I'll clean it on my own time, OK?" "Whatever, Just have it done before 8 tonight whenever I get back. Alright?" "Alrighty." I'll go make you a sandwich before I have to leave." "K. thanks." "Welcome, now go clean." "OKAY!!!" Victoria left for her room to clean, about 15 minutes later Makenzie went to check on Victoria to see how she was doing and gave her a water and a sandwich. "Now, don't make a mess. Bring the plate back out when you're finished. I'm going to get ready for Cheer." "K." Makenzie left the room, went to her room picked out Black shorts that said "Dare To Dream? Then Cheer Extreme!" on the butt, grabed a white tank top, and grabed her school jacket, put on her tennis shoes, put her hair up, added a ribbon, done her make-up. Ate a sandwich and an Apple with some water. Called her Aunt Kara to take her to practice, then left. Victoria normally stays home until Michael or her Parents get home, anyways. So, she was OK to stay home alone. "Bye, Aunt Kara! Thanks for the ride, Love you!" "Have fun, sweetie. No problem, love ya too girl!" Makenzie walked into practice, as she was walking she seen Chance. Ran over, gave him a gentle kiss, and said she loved him, then went into the gym for her practice. Practice lasted until 8...Finally 8 rolled around, Makenzie went into the locker room to get ready for the night with Chance. She took her hair down, re-curled it. Re-done her make-up, put on a sparkley black and gray shirt, leather pants, black shimmery high heels, added a necklace, and a bracelet, grabed her leather jacket and went outside to wait on Chance. And this, was the last time Makenzie Lewis was seen.... Chapter 2: Where's Makenzie? Chance arrived at the school parking lot around 8:35pm to pick up his girlfriend Makenzie. When he got to the spot where they both agreed for her to be that way he could pick her up, she wasn't there. Actually, she wasn't anywhere. He texted her at 8:36pm and said "babe, im here. where r u?" again at 8:38pm "baby! where are you? I'm waiting!!! txt me bck" then again at 8:40pm "ok babe. u r scarin me. where r u?" finally he called her at 8:42pm. He realized that the phone rang twice, someone picked it up, then hung it up. He knew she was receiving his texts. Why wasn't she texting him back? He called back right after he called her the first time. This time, he was sent to voicemail. He did indeed leave a voicemail for Makenzie "Hey. Where are you? Could you atleast text me back and tell me where you are? Please! It's starting to piss me off. I know you're there, Kenz. Just tell me where you are. Or, what I did. Please? Well, Call me back. Or text me. Just so I know you're OK..Love you. Bye." He hung up. at 8:45pm he got a text.. A text from Makenzie saying "ha good luck" and that was the last text message received from Makenzie Lewis. He texted back at 8:46pm "Wtf, Kenz? whts that mean???? thts it. tonights done. iv been @ this school for way to long waitin on ur ass. bye" Chance left the school parking lot, as he was leaving he seen a car leaving too. He honked his horn at the car, and they blue honda civic stoped. "Tori!" Chance said "Yeah, Chance?" "Have you seen, Makenzie?" "Yeah, she's inside waiting for you?" "Inside?" Yeah, see. She's texting me right now." "Can I see the texts?" "Why?" Tori said. "Because, somethings up. And she wont tell me what. We're suppossed to hang out, and she wasn't where she was suppossed to be" "Yeah, here. Hurry though." the text messages said "Im so excited to hang w/ chance tonight, Tor." "Im happy fer u." "I luv him!" "I know u do. where r u?" "Inside" "Doin?" "Waiting on Chance, whats it any of your business?" "I was jw?" "k, bye" "Why was she so short with you?" Chance asked Tori "I don't know. She went from being absolutely happy to like mean Kenzie." "When did she text you that snappy text?" Chance asked. " Uhm, 8:45." "Oh my god, really?" "Yeah. Well, Hey Chance. I really gotta go. My mom is probably wondering where I'm at. I'll see ya tomorrow. Good luck at the game tomorrow!" "Okay, thanks Tori." Then Tori left back to her house. Chance was extremely mad. But, he didn't know why Makenzie would blow him off like this? He figured she was just really mad about something and she'd get over it by tomorrow. He'll see her tomorrow anyways, there's a game of course! he thought. When he got home, his mom was already in bed. So was his father. He got a call from the police saying "Sir, Can we have you come to the station? We have a few questions for you. Thanks." When he got down there, they said that a cell phone was discovered. And it was Makenzie Lewis's cell phone. Officer Brown said "Sir, You was her last text. And you seemed very angry. Why was her phone away from her?" Chance said "I don't know, sir. We had plans and, she wasn't where she was to be in order for me to pick her up. She blew me off, and wouldn't respond to any of my texts, or call. she just sent me one text and it said 'ha good luck'. I don't know why though, Officer. I really don't." "Hmm..Okay...." Chapter 3: It's been 5 years Today September 20th has been a year since Makenzie Lewis went missing. So many loved ones gather in the local park, remembering Makenzie's presence. When gather, Charlotte Lewis received a call from the police "Ma'am, we believe we have found your daughter.." "Is she alive?!" "Please come down town." "OK?" Charlotte and the family and friends all went down town to the station. When there, The police had Charlotte and Garret into the questioning room. When in there, the cop said "Mr and Mrs. Lewis, We believe we have found your daughter. Two hikers we're hiking at Lake Top Moutains early this morning, while walking they came across human remians. Those human remains are you're daughter... We are so truely sorry for you're loss. It it confirmed it is Makenzie Lewis. You're daughter." Charlotte and Garret sat there in shock, started to cry. Charlotte asked "How?" "The optopsy showed there was trauma to her head. And had four gun shots to her chest, and one in the temple of her head. We did indeed find the murderer. His name was Bryan O' Neil Black. His son Edward Black went to school with your daughter. When questioning all of the family, Edward admitted to not liking Makenzie. And, saying that he told his father who he didn't like. Makenzie stuck out to his father, and his father didn't like that his son was going to school with a girl that he felt un- comfortable by, so he done the un thinkable, and did what most parents shouldn't do and killed her.. It showed that she was held hostage until at least last year. We're sorry we didn't catch him sooner. We really are.. Garett and Charlotte left, and moved far far away leaving any memory behind. And they don't return until 10 years later, on Makenzie's 15th year disapearence...With a sign on their house saying "Cheer Before Fear Mother Fuckers." Garret and Charlotte were left speechless... Chapter 4: Mess Up On that cold hard day, that the Lewis family received those horrific news about their daughter, sister, cousin, etc.. was found dead, it put the entire family into a deep depression. They wanted to do something for Makenzie though, three days after they decided to make a memorial for there loved one. With 5 rocks around a picture of Makenzie representing the number in the house, and with a saying above her picture stating :"No one know's why it happened. God has his reason, and he knew that it was beautiful Kenzie's time to meet the gates of Heaven. We all love you baby, We'll see you soon someday." a week after the memorial was set in stone in the park, they yet again recieved a phone call from the police. As Garett was walking into the living room to watch football, around 12:00am the phone rang. "Hello?" Garret said. "Hello, Mr. Lewis?" Officer.Brown asked. "Yes, this is him. Can I help you?" "We have some very important news to tell you. Do you think you can make it down here as soon as possible, sir?" "I believe I can. Do I need to bring Charlotte?" "Yes, you do." "Okay, I'll see you in an hour. Goodbye." "OK. Goodbye Mr. Lewis." Garret hung up, went up stairs, washed his face, and yelled for Charlotte. "Charlotte! Baby! Come here for a second!" "OK! Coming, hang on!" Charlotte answered. Charlotte walked up stairs, and into the bathroom, "Yes, Garret?" "We have to go to the police station, they have something very important to tell us. We're leaving in about 30 minutes. So, get ready." "What do they have to tell us?" "I don't know! Just get ready." "OK.." Charlotte took 25 minutes to get ready, went down stairs, and left to the police station with Garret. When there they were imediatley rushed to the interview room. "Have a seat, please," Mr.Brown requested. "Mr and Mrs. Lewis the body that was found a week ago, appears not to be your daughter. We ran tests, and it shows that it was as 35 year old female. We are sorry that we have no yet found her. We're still doing our best." "Then what about the murderer you found?" "It also appears that Mr. Black took cover for the murderer. It seems that Mr. Black does in fact know about yout daughter. Something doesn't add up, yet though. We're still figuring everything out." Garret sighed and said "I want answers, and I want answers now, damnit! "I'm sorry, Mr. Lewis." "Can we leave now? I'm to angry to talk about this." "Yes, sir. You can." "Okay, thank you. Goodbye. C'mon, Charlotte." Charlotte stood up, and Garret grabed her wrist, and walked her to the car. "Should we call the kids?" Charlotte asked. "Why do that?" Garret said. "Well, gee. I don't know, Garret? So our kids can have some idea on this!!!" "Stop raising you voice with me, Charlotte!!" "Excuse me for being stressed out about my daughter not being found yet!" Garret was silent for a moment and said to Charlotte "I'm sorry...Call the kids, and tell them, please. Maybe they can help." "OK." Charlotte looked through her purse, grabbed her phone and called Michael. "Hello?" Michael said. "Mike?" "Mom?" "Hey baby..Um, I don't know how to tell you this... But, the body they found last week was not your sister.. It was some 35 year old female..I'm so sorry baby!" "Are you serious, mom?" "Yes, I'm serious. I'm so sorry." "What are we going to do now?" You could tell Michael was tearing over the situation. "Look for her." "I'm looking for her now. Love you, bye." Michael hung up as soon as he said that. Michael would pass the news down the Victoria. Everything that is happening is so much for this family to handle. Chapter 5: Waiting Game It's been two months since the Lewis family realized their daughter has not yet been found. They're all still looking for Makenzie. Before heading out of the four hour search for Makenzie, Chance callled the Lewis household. "Hello?" Charlotte answered. "Hey, Mrs. Lewis...It's Chance." "Oh, how are you hun?" "Fine, I guess...Listen, I'm sorry about..Uh, Makenzie. She truely did mean a whole lot to all of us. I can't believe she's not around. It hurts, ya know?" "Yes, Chance. I do.. Is everything okay?" "I just really wanted to talk to you, and maybe help you guys look for Makenzie, If that's okay with you guys." "Anyone is welcomed to help, Chance. Even you." "Great! I'm glad I can help you guys." "We're glad you want to be apart of this. Hey, we'll pick you up so you don't have to waste gas. Everything either has a four wheeler, or they walk on foot. Would you like a four-wheeler?" "If that's OK with you guys." "That would be lovely. Pick you up in an hour. Bye, Chance." "Thanks, Goodbye." Charlotte hung up, told Garret what the plans were, they grabed their bags, then left to go pick up Chance. "Hey, Chance. Thank you for joining us." Garret said. "No problem, thank you for having me. I really miss her. And, I'm sure you guys do,too." "We do, alot. She really meant the world to us." Charlotte stated. "I believe that, she made a huge impact on my life as well. She's a great girl. You guys raised a great girl." "Thank you." Garret and Charlotte said. "You know, I haven't broke up with her yet." "What?" Garret said. "See this? This is our promise/ couple ring. She has one and I have one, the day we take it off is the day we're broken up. I swear, I haven't taken this off since the day I asked her out at the lake." "You're a great, guy Chance. That just touched my heart." they were all quite the rest of the ride to where they would begin their search. When arrived there was about 13 other people there waiting to help. They all split up, looking for Makenzie. About two hours into the search, Chance went up to Charlotte and said "Have you guys checked her hide-out?" "Hide-out??" "Yes, it's down by the lake. That's where I asked her out. Have you? Nobody goes down there, I mean nobody even know's where or what it is." "Do you mind showing me?" "Nope, C'mon." "Just me and you, Garret." "Oh, OK." Garret drove the four-wheeler two miles down the road and to the lake. Walking down to Makenzie's hide-out, they come across a pair of Cheer shorts saying "Dare to dream? Cheer extreme!" the shorts that Makenzie was wearing the night she disapeared. "Those...She was wearing those the night she disapeared!!!" Chance said to Charlotte. "Really?" "YES!!! She was here. And it wasn't to long ago, look...There's new fresh pop in the cooler." "Well, what do we do then?" "If she's trying to hide from us, we need to hide from her. But, we have to hide here too." "Where at?" "On the other side of the lake you, Victoria, Tori, Emily, Jace, and Jacob and stay and watch. Me and the rest will stay right up there, because if she comes back we can trap her in leaving no where for her to get out. Good idea?" "Sounds great! Let's go get the rest of them." "OK." Charlottte and Chance walked back up to the truck to go tell the others the plan in order to find Makenzie. They got back to the search site, paged everyone back to the meet up spot, And Chance told them the plan. Around 7:00pm The first group set out to make their fort for the weekend. Charlotte, Victoria, Tori, Emily, Jace and Jacob all left. Around 8:00 Charlotte texted Chance "k, come on. its ur turn" Chance gathered everyone up, and left to set up. It was about 8:30 when the waiting started for both people. Now, it's the waiting game... Chapter 6: She Can't Be Too Far They all took turns watching for Makenzie to arrive at the hide-out that only Chance should've known about, around 11:15pm Tori spotted headlights coming to the lake. She quickly texted everyone saying "Headlights! LOOK!" They all stop, qutiely, and looked for a girl; Makenzie. When the person got out of the car (undentified) They seen a girl. Close to Makenzie's description, but only with other person. A man. When both walked into the hide-out, Chance texted the other group and said "Start makin ur way ovr. this cld b it! be careful tho.y'all kno the trail. txt if ya need me, and txt me when y'all get half way here" Chance waited on that text, that way they could go down to the hide-out where Makenzie possibly could be. "Half way, b there in 5. -Tori" Tori texted Chance. "OK, guys. there half way here. Let's go! Be quite and careful. If something don't look right, don't risk anything. Understood?" Chace said, they all said OK and was on there way. They got down to the back of the hide-out only hearing music coming from the hide-out. When getting closer to the door, the other group appeared. They all hid, just for back up. The lights inside of the hide-out we're off, which made it kind of harder for Chance and everyone to identify them without getting noticed. Chanced got to the door, put his hand on the door knob, nodded to everyone, then opened it fast! Yelled "MAKENZIE!!!!!!!" Little did Chance know, there was an escape hole on the back side of the hide-out, which allowed whoever was in the hide-out to get away. Chance turned the lights on, finding the shorts gone, but a pair of size two jeans lying on the floor. Chance ran out of the hide-out "Did you get em'?!" "Get who?" Ivan said. "What!!!! You didn't see anyone leave? They escaped you morons! Come on!" They all ran to the four wheelers. 4 four-wheelers we're sitting there to be rode. two people in each group stayed in their forts, just to keep eye. Chance and they rest of them left. "They can't be too far, you guys." "They better not!" Michael said forcefully. "Don't worry, Mike." Garret said. Riding around on the four wheelers, Chance pulls over, because he notices a trail through the woods. Walking through it with a gun, he looks very carefully for the person who was in the hide-out. Walking down the trail with Michael, they come across another hide-out about 10 minutes into the woods. When getting closer, there was again two people in it. With Michael and Chance there was a low chance that they would be able to catch these to. But, They took the risk to figure out who it was. Chance hurried and texted everyone "109 Ocean View Ave. A mile up the road, onto the right follow the trail. when you've walkd 10 mins u shld b here. hurry, think we got em evry1" he sent it. and waiting for just a few minutes, knowing that back-up should be coming their way soon. They walked a little bit closer hearing someone say "No........" They couldn't tell if it was a man or women, the person seemed breathless though. It worried both Michael and Chance. "When are we going in, Chance?" Mike whispered. "In a sec....Hang on, bro." While standing there waiting to go in, Tori texted Chance "Go in. we see u guys. we'll be waiting. Garret and Ivan are behind the hide-out. they ren't gittin out, 4sure" "k." "Goodluck" Tori texted back. Last time that was said to Chance was the night Makenzie went missing. "Are you ready, Mike?" Chance said to Mike. "Yes, lets go." Chance and Mike walked to the hidden hide-out very fast, pushed in the door, when open they turned on the lights. Seeing something they didn't except to see.... Chapter 7: I love you. Standing with a confused look, they see that there are two people in the hide-out. One person on the floor, one stand up in the corner. But, both have brown paper bags on their heads. The person's standing up bag said "you dont ever give up do you?" and the person's laying down said "Too Late" Mike hurried and texted Tori "Come in! need back up" Chance started to walk over to the person standing up. Michael started walking over to the person laying down. When reaching to pull off the paper bags, Chance took the person's standing up bag off of their head to find Officer Brown standing there smiling. Chance gasped. "Officer.Brown? Mike, take that bag off. now." "Ok." When taking that bag off, it was revealed at Makenzie Lewis. Her mouth was duck taped, eyes duck taped shut. completely dirty, and scruffed up. Ear plugs were in her ear. Officer.Brown said "Miss her, Chancey?" "You'll pay for this, pal. You really will!" "Okay...I'm sorry, sir. But, I believe YOU will pay for this." "What do you mean?" "Any last words, Makenzie? That's right. NO. I taught her not to talk. Say goodbye to your life, Chance." Just then the police arrived, "Mr. Brown put your hands up! NOW!" Officer Brown was under arrest. And was taken back to the police station to be put behind bars. He will be facing 65 years in prison, with an extra 10 years of community service. without paroll. Makenzie still layed there lifeless with all of the duck tape off of her. About 20 minutes after being found, Her Father, and Mother arrived. "Is Makenzie here, Mike?" "Yes...She's alive, momma!" Makenzie slowly opened her eyes, drifting away on and off. "Babygirl....it's mommy." Charlotte smiled. The very first words finally came out of Makenzie's mouth "I love you." Makenzie drifted away, once again. "Call 9-1-1, Mike. She needs medical help. This is something I cannot help with. "OK." Everyone stood around talking, getting all vehicele's outside to drive back home. Chance then walked into the hide-out where Makenzie was found. "Do you mind, Mrs.Lewis?" Chance asked Charlotte for a minute with Makenzie alone. "Oh, no. Here. You deserve to talk to your girlfriend. I'll be right outside if you need me, hun." "OK, thank you." Charlotte walked to the door, looked back at Chance winked then left to go outside, and wait on the ambulence that is nearly 15 minutes away. "Hey, Kenz...It's me, Chance." "Babe?" Makenzie barely said with a struggle. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?" "Better now that you're here." Makenzie smiled. "I'm glad you're OK." Makenzie drifted away again. His lightly kissed her on her forehead, layed her head down, went outside and got everyone. They all sat and waited for the ambulance to get there, when 10 minutes later they arrived. The policemen would escort behind the abmbulance. They lifted Makenzie up into the ambulance, allowed ONE person to ride with them, Makenzie was the one who chose. "Can I have Chance, please? I owe it to him...." Dr.Lee asked Chance if he would, and Chance agreed. Everyone went there ways, following behind the ambulance to the hospital where Makenzie would be in hope of still living. Chapter 8: It's our night, now baby. Makenzie layed in the hospital for nearly two weeks. But, finally Makenzie's nurse walked in and informed Makenzie that she would be going home today, But she needs alot of rest and fluids. She's giving Makenzie medicine for pain, because Makenzie has a bruised skull, and a swollen lyph node. Makenzie called her mother and father "Mom! Dad! I'm coming home today!!! Bring me some clothes, please and thank you. Gotta go, Love y'all. Bye." An hour later Makenzie's parents arrived to get Makenzie and take her home. They gather all of her stuff, waited on discharge papers then left. "I'm so happy to be out of there, and to finally be going home. This feel's great." Makenzie said while smiling. "We're so happy you're coming home, babygirl. Now, whenver you're ready I want you to tell us what happened....That night. After that, you have to go to the police station and tell them, too. OK?" "OK. I just really want him arrested." "He already is, but you still have to file a report." "Alright...." Nobody talked the rest of the way home... When home, Makenzie went to her room layed in her bed for 5 hours straight, soon Charlotte brought Makenzie two turkey sandwiches, an apple and a water. "Thanks, mom. I was starving." "You're welcome." Charlotte left the room, with a smile on her face. Makenzie ate all of her food within 15 minutes. Soon, she called Chance to ask him if he would like to come over. "Hey this is Chance. You've reached my voicemail, but leave a name and number and I'll call ya back. See ya." She waited for the beep to leave a voicemail. "Hey baby, It's Makenzie! Call me back, I wanna know if you wanna come over. Anytime works for me though. Call me back. See ya later, Love you." She hung up and waited for Chance to call back. While waiting Charlotte walked into Makenzie's room and told Makenzie she had a vistor. "Sweetie, someone's here to see you. Is it OK for them to come in?" Charlotte asked. "Yeah, mom. Bring them in." Makenzie assured her. "K." Makenzie waited for the visitor Charlotte said Makenzie had. A few seconds later, her boyfriend Chance walked in, with 'I love you' balloons, a box of chocolates, and a teddy bear. "Aw! Baby, you're the best!!! Thank you." "You're welcome, sweetie. I love you!" "Love you,too." Makenzie and Chance layed in Makenzie's bed, taking naps and watching movies. Around 5:00pm Makenzie asked Chance if she could make something up to him. "Like what, Kenz?" Chance asked. "Our date we had September 20th... I owe it to you, babe." "If you don't feel well enough to go out, then don't risk it. But, it would mean alot to me to let me take you out for the night. I can assure to have you home by 12:30-1:00am. I swear!" "Okay. Let me go tell my mom, and I'll get ready." "Really?" Chance asked. "Of course. Love you, Chance." "Love you too." Makenzie went downstairs to tell Charlotte that Chance was taking her out. 5 minutes later, Makenzie came back upstairs to get ready. Chance waited in Makenzie's room while Makenzie was in her bathroom getting ready. Around 6:00pm she walked out, with a black sparkly top on, a black pencil skirt on. with shimmery heals. Half up hair, curled and with smokey eye make-up up, with skin toned lip stick with glitter on her eye-lid. "I'm ready." "Wow!" Chance said. "What? Do I not look good? Should I change? I should change,huh?" "No! You look absolutely stunning, Kenz. Wow." Makenzie smiled, gave him a kiss and said "Thanks baby. Should we get going?" "Yeah, that would be nice." Makenzie and Chance got there things together, told Charlotte and Garret goodnight, that they loved them, then left for the night Chance gave too Makenzie. One of the best nights Makenzie Lewis had ever had. Publication Date: January 21st 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-megison2012

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Charles Dickens Hunted Down The Detective Stories of Charles Dickens I. Most of us see some romances in life. In my capacity as Chief Manager of a Life Assurance Office, I think I have within the last thirty years seen more romances than the generality of men, however unpromising the opportunity may, at first sight, seem. As I have retired, and live at my ease, I possess the means that I used to want, of considering what I have seen, at leisure. My experiences have a more remarkable aspect, so reviewed, than they had when they were in progress. I have come home from the Play now, and can recall the scenes of the Drama upon which the curtain has fallen, free from the glare, bewilderment, and bustle of the Theatre. Let me recall one of these Romances of the real world. There is nothing truer than physiognomy, taken in connection with manner. The art of reading that book of which Eternal Wisdom obliges every human creature to present his or her own page with the individual character written on it, is a difficult one, perhaps, and is little studied. It may require some natural aptitude, and it must require (for everything does) some patience and some pains. That these are not usually given to it, - that numbers of people accept a few stock commonplace expressions of the face as the whole list of characteristics, and neither seek nor know the refinements that are truest, - that You, for instance, give a great deal of time and attention to the reading of music, Greek, Latin, French, Italian, Hebrew, if you please, and do not qualify yourself to read the face of the master or mistress looking over your shoulder teaching it to you, - I assume to be five hundred times more probable than improbable. Perhaps a little self-sufficiency may be at the bottom of this; facial expression requires no study from you, you think; it comes by nature to you to know enough about it, and you are not to be taken in. I confess, for my part, that I HAVE been taken in, over and over again. I have been taken in by acquaintances, and I have been taken in (of course) by friends; far oftener by friends than by any other class of persons. How came I to be so deceived? Had I quite misread their faces? No. Believe me, my first impression of those people, founded on face and manner alone, was invariably true. My mistake was in suffering them to come nearer to me and explain themselves away. II. The partition which separated my own office from our general outer office in the City was of thick plate-glass. I could see through it what passed in the outer office, without hearing a word. I had it put up in place of a wall that had been there for years, - ever since the house was built. It is no matter whether I did or did not make the change in order that I might derive my first impression of strangers, who came to us on business, from their faces alone, without being influenced by anything they said. Enough to mention that I turned my glass partition to that account, and that a Life Assurance Office is at all times exposed to be practised upon by the most crafty and cruel of the human race. It was through my glass partition that I first saw the gentleman whose story I am going to tell. He had come in without my observing it, and had put his hat and umbrella on the broad counter, and was bending over it to take some papers from one of the clerks. He was about forty or so, dark, exceedingly well dressed in black, - being in mourning, - and the hand he extended with a polite air, had a particularly well-fitting black-kid glove upon it. His hair, which was elaborately brushed and oiled, was parted straight up the middle; and he presented this parting to the clerk, exactly (to my thinking) as if he had said, in so many words: 'You must take me, if you please, my friend, just as I show myself. Come straight up here, follow the gravel path, keep off the grass, I allow no trespassing.' I conceived a very great aversion to that man the moment I thus saw him. He had asked for some of our printed forms, and the clerk was giving them to him and explaining them. An obliged and agreeable smile was on his face, and his eyes met those of the clerk with a sprightly look. (I have known a vast quantity of nonsense talked about bad men not looking you in the face. Don't trust that conventional idea. Dishonesty will stare honesty out of countenance, any day in the week, if there is anything to be got by it.) I saw, in the corner of his eyelash, that he became aware of my looking at him. Immediately he turned the parting in his hair toward the glass partition, as if he said to me with a sweet smile, 'Straight up here, if you please. Off the grass!' In a few moments he had put on his hat and taken up his umbrella, and was gone. I beckoned the clerk into my room, and asked, 'Who was that?' He had the gentleman's card in his hand. 'Mr. Julius Slinkton, Middle Temple.' 'A barrister, Mr. Adams?' 'I think not, sir.' 'I should have thought him a clergyman, but for his having no Reverend here,' said I. 'Probably, from his appearance,' Mr. Adams replied, 'he is reading for orders.' I should mention that he wore a dainty white cravat, and dainty linen altogether. 'What did he want, Mr. Adams?' 'Merely a form of proposal, sir, and form of reference.' 'Recommended here? Did he say?' 'Yes, he said he was recommended here by a friend of yours. He noticed you, but said that as he had not the pleasure of your personal acquaintance he would not trouble you.' 'Did he know my name?' 'O yes, sir! He said, "There IS Mr. Sampson, I see!"' 'A well-spoken gentleman, apparently?' 'Remarkably so, sir.' 'Insinuating manners, apparently?' 'Very much so, indeed, sir.' 'Hah!' said I. 'I want nothing at present, Mr. Adams.' Within a fortnight of that day I went to dine with a friend of mine, a merchant, a man of taste, who buys pictures and books, and the first man I saw among the company was Mr. Julius Slinkton. There he was, standing before the fire, with good large eyes and an open expression of face; but still (I thought) requiring everybody to come at him by the prepared way he offered, and by no other. I noticed him ask my friend to introduce him to Mr. Sampson, and my friend did so. Mr. Slinkton was very happy to see me. Not too happy; there was no over-doing of the matter; happy in a thoroughly well-bred, perfectly unmeaning way. 'I thought you had met,' our host observed. 'No,' said Mr. Slinkton. 'I did look in at Mr. Sampson's office, on your recommendation; but I really did not feel justified in troubling Mr. Sampson himself, on a point in the everyday, routine of an ordinary clerk.' I said I should have been glad to show him any attention on our friend's introduction. 'I am sure of that,' said he, 'and am much obliged. At another time, perhaps, I may be less delicate. Only, however, if I have real business; for I know, Mr. Sampson, how precious business time is, and what a vast number of impertinent people there are in the world.' I acknowledged his consideration with a slight bow. 'You were thinking,' said I, 'of effecting a policy on your life.' 'O dear no! I am afraid I am not so prudent as you pay me the compliment of supposing me to be, Mr. Sampson. I merely inquired for a friend. But you know what friends are in such matters. Nothing may ever come of it. I have the greatest reluctance to trouble men of business with inquiries for friends, knowing the probabilities to be a thousand to one that the friends will never follow them up. People are so fickle, so selfish, so inconsiderate. Don't you, in your business, find them so every day, Mr. Sampson?' I was going to give a qualified answer; but he turned his smooth, white parting on me with its 'Straight up here, if you please!' and I answered 'Yes.' 'I hear, Mr. Sampson,' he resumed presently, for our friend had a new cook, and dinner was not so punctual as usual, 'that your profession has recently suffered a great loss.' 'In money?' said I. He laughed at my ready association of loss with money, and replied, 'No, in talent and vigour.' Not at once following out his allusion, I considered for a moment. 'HAS it sustained a loss of that kind?' said I. 'I was not aware of it.' 'Understand me, Mr. Sampson. I don't imagine that you have retired. It is not so bad as that. But Mr. Meltham - ' 'O, to be sure!' said I. 'Yes! Mr. Meltham, the young actuary of the "Inestimable."' 'Just so,' he returned in a consoling way. 'He is a great loss. He was at once the most profound, the most original, and the most energetic man I have ever known connected with Life Assurance.' I spoke strongly; for I had a high esteem and admiration for Meltham; and my gentleman had indefinitely conveyed to me some suspicion that he wanted to sneer at him. He recalled me to my guard by presenting that trim pathway up his head, with its internal 'Not on the grass, if you please - the gravel.' 'You knew him, Mr. Slinkton.' 'Only by reputation. To have known him as an acquaintance or as a friend, is an honour I should have sought if he had remained in society, though I might never have had the good fortune to attain it, being a man of far inferior mark. He was scarcely above thirty, I suppose?' 'About thirty.' 'Ah!' he sighed in his former consoling way. 'What creatures we are! To break up, Mr. Sampson, and become incapable of business at that time of life! - Any reason assigned for the melancholy fact?' ('Humph!' thought I, as I looked at him. 'But I WON'T go up the track, and I WILL go on the grass.') 'What reason have you heard assigned, Mr. Slinkton?' I asked, point-blank. 'Most likely a false one. You know what Rumour is, Mr. Sampson. I never repeat what I hear; it is the only way of paring the nails and shaving the head of Rumour. But when YOU ask me what reason I have heard assigned for Mr. Meltham's passing away from among men, it is another thing. I am not gratifying idle gossip then. I was told, Mr. Sampson, that Mr. Meltham had relinquished all his avocations and all his prospects, because he was, in fact, broken- hearted. A disappointed attachment I heard, - though it hardly seems probable, in the case of a man so distinguished and so attractive.' 'Attractions and distinctions are no armour against death,' said I. 'O, she died? Pray pardon me. I did not hear that. That, indeed, makes it very, very sad. Poor Mr. Meltham! She died? Ah, dear me! Lamentable, lamentable!' I still thought his pity was not quite genuine, and I still suspected an unaccountable sneer under all this, until he said, as we were parted, like the other knots of talkers, by the announcement of dinner: 'Mr. Sampson, you are surprised to see me so moved on behalf of a man whom I have never known. I am not so disinterested as you may suppose. I have suffered, and recently too, from death myself. I have lost one of two charming nieces, who were my constant companions. She died young - barely three-and-twenty; and even her remaining sister is far from strong. The world is a grave!' He said this with deep feeling, and I felt reproached for the coldness of my manner. Coldness and distrust had been engendered in me, I knew, by my bad experiences; they were not natural to me; and I often thought how much I had lost in life, losing trustfulness, and how little I had gained, gaining hard caution. This state of mind being habitual to me, I troubled myself more about this conversation than I might have troubled myself about a greater matter. I listened to his talk at dinner, and observed how readily other men responded to it, and with what a graceful instinct he adapted his subjects to the knowledge and habits of those he talked with. As, in talking with me, he had easily started the subject I might be supposed to understand best, and to be the most interested in, so, in talking with others, he guided himself by the same rule. The company was of a varied character; but he was not at fault, that I could discover, with any member of it. He knew just as much of each man's pursuit as made him agreeable to that man in reference to it, and just as little as made it natural in him to seek modestly for information when the theme was broached. As he talked and talked - but really not too much, for the rest of us seemed to force it upon him - I became quite angry with myself. I took his face to pieces in my mind, like a watch, and examined it in detail. I could not say much against any of his features separately; I could say even less against them when they were put together. 'Then is it not monstrous,' I asked myself, 'that because a man happens to part his hair straight up the middle of his head, I should permit myself to suspect, and even to detest him?' (I may stop to remark that this was no proof of my sense. An observer of men who finds himself steadily repelled by some apparently trifling thing in a stranger is right to give it great weight. It may be the clue to the whole mystery. A hair or two will show where a lion is hidden. A very little key will open a very heavy door.) I took my part in the conversation with him after a time, and we got on remarkably well. In the drawing-room I asked the host how long he had known Mr. Slinkton. He answered, not many months; he had met him at the house of a celebrated painter then present, who had known him well when he was travelling with his nieces in Italy for their health. His plans in life being broken by the death of one of them, he was reading with the intention of going back to college as a matter of form, taking his degree, and going into orders. I could not but argue with myself that here was the true explanation of his interest in poor Meltham, and that I had been almost brutal in my distrust on that simple head. III. On the very next day but one I was sitting behind my glass partition, as before, when he came into the outer office, as before. The moment I saw him again without hearing him, I hated him worse than ever. It was only for a moment that I had this opportunity; for he waved his tight-fitting black glove the instant I looked at him, and came straight in. 'Mr. Sampson, good-day! I presume, you see, upon your kind permission to intrude upon you. I don't keep my word in being justified by business, for my business here - if I may so abuse the word - is of the slightest nature.' I asked, was it anything I could assist him in? 'I thank you, no. I merely called to inquire outside whether my dilatory friend had been so false to himself as to be practical and sensible. But, of course, he has done nothing. I gave him your papers with my own hand, and he was hot upon the intention, but of course he has done nothing. Apart from the general human disinclination to do anything that ought to be done, I dare say there is a specially about assuring one's life. You find it like will-making. People are so superstitious, and take it for granted they will die soon afterwards.' 'Up here, if you please; straight up here, Mr. Sampson. Neither to the right nor to the left.' I almost fancied I could hear him breathe the words as he sat smiling at me, with that intolerable parting exactly opposite the bridge of my nose. 'There is such a feeling sometimes, no doubt,' I replied; 'but I don't think it obtains to any great extent.' 'Well,' said he, with a shrug and a smile, 'I wish some good angel would influence my friend in the right direction. I rashly promised his mother and sister in Norfolk to see it done, and he promised them that he would do it. But I suppose he never will.' He spoke for a minute or two on indifferent topics, and went away. I had scarcely unlocked the drawers of my writing-table next morning, when he reappeared. I noticed that he came straight to the door in the glass partition, and did not pause a single moment outside. 'Can you spare me two minutes, my dear Mr. Sampson?' 'By all means.' 'Much obliged,' laying his hat and umbrella on the table; 'I came early, not to interrupt you. The fact is, I am taken by surprise in reference to this proposal my friend has made.' 'Has he made one?' said I. 'Ye-es,' he answered, deliberately looking at me; and then a bright idea seemed to strike him - 'or he only tells me he has. Perhaps that may be a new way of evading the matter. By Jupiter, I never thought of that!' Mr. Adams was opening the morning's letters in the outer office. 'What is the name, Mr. Slinkton?' I asked. 'Beckwith.' I looked out at the door and requested Mr. Adams, if there were a proposal in that name, to bring it in. He had already laid it out of his hand on the counter. It was easily selected from the rest, and he gave it me. Alfred Beckwith. Proposal to effect a policy with us for two thousand pounds. Dated yesterday. 'From the Middle Temple, I see, Mr. Slinkton.' 'Yes. He lives on the same staircase with me; his door is opposite. I never thought he would make me his reference though.' 'It seems natural enough that he should.' 'Quite so, Mr. Sampson; but I never thought of it. Let me see.' He took the printed paper from his pocket. 'How am I to answer all these questions?' 'According to the truth, of course,' said I. 'O, of course!' he answered, looking up from the paper with a smile; 'I meant they were so many. But you do right to be particular. It stands to reason that you must be particular. Will you allow me to use your pen and ink?' 'Certainly.' 'And your desk?' 'Certainly.' He had been hovering about between his hat and his umbrella for a place to write on. He now sat down in my chair, at my blotting- paper and inkstand, with the long walk up his head in accurate perspective before me, as I stood with my back to the fire. Before answering each question he ran over it aloud, and discussed it. How long had he known Mr. Alfred Beckwith? That he had to calculate by years upon his fingers. What were his habits? No difficulty about them; temperate in the last degree, and took a little too much exercise, if anything. All the answers were satisfactory. When he had written them all, he looked them over, and finally signed them in a very pretty hand. He supposed he had now done with the business. I told him he was not likely to be troubled any farther. Should he leave the papers there? If he pleased. Much obliged. Good-morning. I had had one other visitor before him; not at the office, but at my own house. That visitor had come to my bedside when it was not yet daylight, and had been seen by no one else but by my faithful confidential servant. A second reference paper (for we required always two) was sent down into Norfolk, and was duly received back by post. This, likewise, was satisfactorily answered in every respect. Our forms were all complied with; we accepted the proposal, and the premium for one year was paid. IV. For six or seven months I saw no more of Mr. Slinkton. He called once at my house, but I was not at home; and he once asked me to dine with him in the Temple, but I was engaged. His friend's assurance was effected in March. Late in September or early in October I was down at Scarborough for a breath of sea-air, where I met him on the beach. It was a hot evening; he came toward me with his hat in his hand; and there was the walk I had felt so strongly disinclined to take in perfect order again, exactly in front of the bridge of my nose. He was not alone, but had a young lady on his arm. She was dressed in mourning, and I looked at her with great interest. She had the appearance of being extremely delicate, and her face was remarkably pale and melancholy; but she was very pretty. He introduced her as his niece, Miss Niner. 'Are you strolling, Mr. Sampson? Is it possible you can be idle?' It WAS possible, and I WAS strolling. 'Shall we stroll together?' 'With pleasure.' The young lady walked between us, and we walked on the cool sea sand, in the direction of Filey. 'There have been wheels here,' said Mr. Slinkton. 'And now I look again, the wheels of a hand-carriage! Margaret, my love, your shadow without doubt!' 'Miss Niner's shadow?' I repeated, looking down at it on the sand. 'Not that one,' Mr. Slinkton returned, laughing. 'Margaret, my dear, tell Mr. Sampson.' 'Indeed,' said the young lady, turning to me, 'there is nothing to tell - except that I constantly see the same invalid old gentleman at all times, wherever I go. I have mentioned it to my uncle, and he calls the gentleman my shadow.' 'Does he live in Scarborough?' I asked. 'He is staying here.' 'Do you live in Scarborough?' 'No, I am staying here. My uncle has placed me with a family here, for my health.' 'And your shadow?' said I, smiling. 'My shadow,' she answered, smiling too, 'is - like myself - not very robust, I fear; for I lose my shadow sometimes, as my shadow loses me at other times. We both seem liable to confinement to the house. I have not seen my shadow for days and days; but it does oddly happen, occasionally, that wherever I go, for many days together, this gentleman goes. We have come together in the most unfrequented nooks on this shore.' 'Is this he?' said I, pointing before us. The wheels had swept down to the water's edge, and described a great loop on the sand in turning. Bringing the loop back towards us, and spinning it out as it came, was a hand-carriage, drawn by a man. 'Yes,' said Miss Niner, 'this really is my shadow, uncle.' As the carriage approached us and we approached the carriage, I saw within it an old man, whose head was sunk on his breast, and who was enveloped in a variety of wrappers. He was drawn by a very quiet but very keen-looking man, with iron-gray hair, who was slightly lame. They had passed us, when the carriage stopped, and the old gentleman within, putting out his arm, called to me by my name. I went back, and was absent from Mr. Slinkton and his niece for about five minutes. When I rejoined them, Mr. Slinkton was the first to speak. Indeed, he said to me in a raised voice before I came up with him: 'It is well you have not been longer, or my niece might have died of curiosity to know who her shadow is, Mr. Sampson.' 'An old East India Director,' said I. 'An intimate friend of our friend's, at whose house I first had the pleasure of meeting you. A certain Major Banks. You have heard of him?' 'Never.' 'Very rich, Miss Niner; but very old, and very crippled. An amiable man, sensible - much interested in you. He has just been expatiating on the affection that he has observed to exist between you and your uncle.' Mr. Slinkton was holding his hat again, and he passed his hand up the straight walk, as if he himself went up it serenely, after me. 'Mr. Sampson,' he said, tenderly pressing his niece's arm in his, 'our affection was always a strong one, for we have had but few near ties. We have still fewer now. We have associations to bring us together, that are not of this world, Margaret.' 'Dear uncle!' murmured the young lady, and turned her face aside to hide her tears. 'My niece and I have such remembrances and regrets in common, Mr. Sampson,' he feelingly pursued, 'that it would be strange indeed if the relations between us were cold or indifferent. If I remember a conversation we once had together, you will understand the reference I make. Cheer up, dear Margaret. Don't droop, don't droop. My Margaret! I cannot bear to see you droop!' The poor young lady was very much affected, but controlled herself. His feelings, too, were very acute. In a word, he found himself under such great need of a restorative, that he presently went away, to take a bath of sea-water, leaving the young lady and me sitting by a point of rock, and probably presuming - but that you will say was a pardonable indulgence in a luxury - that she would praise him with all her heart. She did, poor thing! With all her confiding heart, she praised him to me, for his care of her dead sister, and for his untiring devotion in her last illness. The sister had wasted away very slowly, and wild and terrible fantasies had come over her toward the end, but he had never been impatient with her, or at a loss; had always been gentle, watchful, and self-possessed. The sister had known him, as she had known him, to be the best of men, the kindest of men, and yet a man of such admirable strength of character, as to be a very tower for the support of their weak natures while their poor lives endured. 'I shall leave him, Mr. Sampson, very soon,' said the young lady; 'I know my life is drawing to an end; and when I am gone, I hope he will marry and be happy. I am sure he has lived single so long, only for my sake, and for my poor, poor sister's.' The little hand-carriage had made another great loop on the damp sand, and was coming back again, gradually spinning out a slim figure of eight, half a mile long. 'Young lady,' said I, looking around, laying my hand upon her arm, and speaking in a low voice, 'time presses. You hear the gentle murmur of that sea?' She looked at me with the utmost wonder and alarm, saying, 'Yes!' 'And you know what a voice is in it when the storm comes?' 'Yes!' 'You see how quiet and peaceful it lies before us, and you know what an awful sight of power without pity it might be, this very night!' 'Yes!' 'But if you had never heard or seen it, or heard of it in its cruelty, could you believe that it beats every inanimate thing in its way to pieces, without mercy, and destroys life without remorse?' 'You terrify me, sir, by these questions!' 'To save you, young lady, to save you! For God's sake, collect your strength and collect your firmness! If you were here alone, and hemmed in by the rising tide on the flow to fifty feet above your head, you could not be in greater danger than the danger you are now to be saved from.' The figure on the sand was spun out, and straggled off into a crooked little jerk that ended at the cliff very near us. 'As I am, before Heaven and the Judge of all mankind, your friend, and your dead sister's friend, I solemnly entreat you, Miss Niner, without one moment's loss of time, to come to this gentleman with me!' If the little carriage had been less near to us, I doubt if I could have got her away; but it was so near that we were there before she had recovered the hurry of being urged from the rock. I did not remain there with her two minutes. Certainly within five, I had the inexpressible satisfaction of seeing her - from the point we had sat on, and to which I had returned - half supported and half carried up some rude steps notched in the cliff, by the figure of an active man. With that figure beside her, I knew she was safe anywhere. I sat alone on the rock, awaiting Mr. Slinkton's return. The twilight was deepening and the shadows were heavy, when he came round the point, with his hat hanging at his button-hole, smoothing his wet hair with one of his hands, and picking out the old path with the other and a pocket-comb. 'My niece not here, Mr. Sampson?' he said, looking about. 'Miss Niner seemed to feel a chill in the air after the sun was down, and has gone home.' He looked surprised, as though she were not accustomed to do anything without him; even to originate so slight a proceeding. 'I persuaded Miss Niner,' I explained. 'Ah!' said he. 'She is easily persuaded - for her good. Thank you, Mr. Sampson; she is better within doors. The bathing-place was farther than I thought, to say the truth.' 'Miss Niner is very delicate,' I observed. He shook his head and drew a deep sigh. 'Very, very, very. You may recollect my saying so. The time that has since intervened has not strengthened her. The gloomy shadow that fell upon her sister so early in life seems, in my anxious eyes, to gather over her, ever darker, ever darker. Dear Margaret, dear Margaret! But we must hope.' The hand-carriage was spinning away before us at a most indecorous pace for an invalid vehicle, and was making most irregular curves upon the sand. Mr. Slinkton, noticing it after he had put his handkerchief to his eyes, said; 'If I may judge from appearances, your friend will be upset, Mr. Sampson.' 'It looks probable, certainly,' said I. 'The servant must be drunk.' 'The servants of old gentlemen will get drunk sometimes,' said I. 'The major draws very light, Mr. Sampson.' 'The major does draw light,' said I. By this time the carriage, much to my relief, was lost in the darkness. We walked on for a little, side by side over the sand, in silence. After a short while he said, in a voice still affected by the emotion that his niece's state of health had awakened in him, 'Do you stay here long, Mr. Sampson?' 'Why, no. I am going away to-night.' 'So soon? But business always holds you in request. Men like Mr. Sampson are too important to others, to be spared to their own need of relaxation and enjoyment.' 'I don't know about that,' said I. 'However, I am going back.' 'To London?' 'To London.' 'I shall be there too, soon after you.' I knew that as well as he did. But I did not tell him so. Any more than I told him what defensive weapon my right hand rested on in my pocket, as I walked by his side. Any more than I told him why I did not walk on the sea side of him with the night closing in. We left the beach, and our ways diverged. We exchanged goodnight, and had parted indeed, when he said, returning, 'Mr. Sampson, MAY I ask? Poor Meltham, whom we spoke of, - dead yet?' 'Not when I last heard of him; but too broken a man to live long, and hopelessly lost to his old calling.' 'Dear, dear, dear!' said he, with great feeling. 'Sad, sad, sad! The world is a grave!' And so went his way. It was not his fault if the world were not a grave; but I did not call that observation after him, any more than I had mentioned those other things just now enumerated. He went his way, and I went mine with all expedition. This happened, as I have said, either at the end of September or beginning of October. The next time I saw him, and the last time, was late in November. V. I had a very particular engagement to breakfast in the Temple. It was a bitter north-easterly morning, and the sleet and slush lay inches deep in the streets. I could get no conveyance, and was soon wet to the knees; but I should have been true to that appointment, though I had to wade to it up to my neck in the same impediments. The appointment took me to some chambers in the Temple. They were at the top of a lonely corner house overlooking the river. The name, MR. ALFRED BECKWITH, was painted on the outer door. On the door opposite, on the same landing, the name MR. JULIUS SLINKTON. The doors of both sets of chambers stood open, so that anything said aloud in one set could be heard in the other. I had never been in those chambers before. They were dismal, close, unwholesome, and oppressive; the furniture, originally good, and not yet old, was faded and dirty, - the rooms were in great disorder; there was a strong prevailing smell of opium, brandy, and tobacco; the grate and fire-irons were splashed all over with unsightly blotches of rust; and on a sofa by the fire, in the room where breakfast had been prepared, lay the host, Mr. Beckwith, a man with all the appearances of the worst kind of drunkard, very far advanced upon his shameful way to death. 'Slinkton is not come yet,' said this creature, staggering up when I went in; 'I'll call him. - Halloa! Julius Caesar! Come and drink!' As he hoarsely roared this out, he beat the poker and tongs together in a mad way, as if that were his usual manner of summoning his associate. The voice of Mr. Slinkton was heard through the clatter from the opposite side of the staircase, and he came in. He had not expected the pleasure of meeting me. I have seen several artful men brought to a stand, but I never saw a man so aghast as he was when his eyes rested on mine. 'Julius Caesar,' cried Beckwith, staggering between us, 'Mist' Sampson! Mist' Sampson, Julius Caesar! Julius, Mist' Sampson, is the friend of my soul. Julius keeps me plied with liquor, morning, noon, and night. Julius is a real benefactor. Julius threw the tea and coffee out of window when I used to have any. Julius empties all the water-jugs of their contents, and fills 'em with spirits. Julius winds me up and keeps me going. - Boil the brandy, Julius!' There was a rusty and furred saucepan in the ashes, - the ashes looked like the accumulation of weeks, - and Beckwith, rolling and staggering between us as if he were going to plunge headlong into the fire, got the saucepan out, and tried to force it into Slinkton's hand. 'Boil the brandy, Julius Caesar! Come! Do your usual office. Boil the brandy!' He became so fierce in his gesticulations with the saucepan, that I expected to see him lay open Slinkton's head with it. I therefore put out my hand to check him. He reeled back to the sofa, and sat there panting, shaking, and red-eyed, in his rags of dressing-gown, looking at us both. I noticed then that there was nothing to drink on the table but brandy, and nothing to eat but salted herrings, and a hot, sickly, highly-peppered stew. 'At all events, Mr. Sampson,' said Slinkton, offering me the smooth gravel path for the last time, 'I thank you for interfering between me and this unfortunate man's violence. However you came here, Mr. Sampson, or with whatever motive you came here, at least I thank you for that.' 'Boil the brandy,' muttered Beckwith. Without gratifying his desire to know how I came there, I said, quietly, 'How is your niece, Mr. Slinkton?' He looked hard at me, and I looked hard at him. 'I am sorry to say, Mr. Sampson, that my niece has proved treacherous and ungrateful to her best friend. She left me without a word of notice or explanation. She was misled, no doubt, by some designing rascal. Perhaps you may have heard of it.' 'I did hear that she was misled by a designing rascal. In fact, I have proof of it.' 'Are you sure of that?' said he. 'Quite.' 'Boil the brandy,' muttered Beckwith. 'Company to breakfast, Julius Caesar. Do your usual office, - provide the usual breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper. Boil the brandy!' The eyes of Slinkton looked from him to me, and he said, after a moment's consideration, 'Mr. Sampson, you are a man of the world, and so am I. I will be plain with you.' 'O no, you won't,' said I, shaking my head. 'I tell you, sir, I will be plain with you.' 'And I tell you you will not,' said I. 'I know all about you. YOU plain with any one? Nonsense, nonsense!' 'I plainly tell you, Mr. Sampson,' he went on, with a manner almost composed, 'that I understand your object. You want to save your funds, and escape from your liabilities; these are old tricks of trade with you Office-gentlemen. But you will not do it, sir; you will not succeed. You have not an easy adversary to play against, when you play against me. We shall have to inquire, in due time, when and how Mr. Beckwith fell into his present habits. With that remark, sir, I put this poor creature, and his incoherent wanderings of speech, aside, and wish you a good morning and a better case next time.' While he was saying this, Beckwith had filled a half-pint glass with brandy. At this moment, he threw the brandy at his face, and threw the glass after it. Slinkton put his hands up, half blinded with the spirit, and cut with the glass across the forehead. At the sound of the breakage, a fourth person came into the room, closed the door, and stood at it; he was a very quiet but very keen-looking man, with iron-gray hair, and slightly lame. Slinkton pulled out his handkerchief, assuaged the pain in his smarting eyes, and dabbled the blood on his forehead. He was a long time about it, and I saw that in the doing of it, a tremendous change came over him, occasioned by the change in Beckwith, - who ceased to pant and tremble, sat upright, and never took his eyes off him. I never in my life saw a face in which abhorrence and determination were so forcibly painted as in Beckwith's then. 'Look at me, you villain,' said Beckwith, 'and see me as I really am. I took these rooms, to make them a trap for you. I came into them as a drunkard, to bait the trap for you. You fell into the trap, and you will never leave it alive. On the morning when you last went to Mr. Sampson's office, I had seen him first. Your plot has been known to both of us, all along, and you have been counter- plotted all along. What? Having been cajoled into putting that prize of two thousand pounds in your power, I was to be done to death with brandy, and, brandy not proving quick enough, with something quicker? Have I never seen you, when you thought my senses gone, pouring from your little bottle into my glass? Why, you Murderer and Forger, alone here with you in the dead of night, as I have so often been, I have had my hand upon the trigger of a pistol, twenty times, to blow your brains out!' This sudden starting up of the thing that he had supposed to be his imbecile victim into a determined man, with a settled resolution to hunt him down and be the death of him, mercilessly expressed from head to foot, was, in the first shock, too much for him. Without any figure of speech, he staggered under it. But there is no greater mistake than to suppose that a man who is a calculating criminal, is, in any phase of his guilt, otherwise than true to himself, and perfectly consistent with his whole character. Such a man commits murder, and murder is the natural culmination of his course; such a man has to outface murder, and will do it with hardihood and effrontery. It is a sort of fashion to express surprise that any notorious criminal, having such crime upon his conscience, can so brave it out. Do you think that if he had it on his conscience at all, or had a conscience to have it upon, he would ever have committed the crime? Perfectly consistent with himself, as I believe all such monsters to be, this Slinkton recovered himself, and showed a defiance that was sufficiently cold and quiet. He was white, he was haggard, he was changed; but only as a sharper who had played for a great stake and had been outwitted and had lost the game. 'Listen to me, you villain,' said Beckwith, 'and let every word you hear me say be a stab in your wicked heart. When I took these rooms, to throw myself in your way and lead you on to the scheme that I knew my appearance and supposed character and habits would suggest to such a devil, how did I know that? Because you were no stranger to me. I knew you well. And I knew you to be the cruel wretch who, for so much money, had killed one innocent girl while she trusted him implicitly, and who was by inches killing another.' Slinkton took out a snuff-box, took a pinch of snuff, and laughed. 'But see here,' said Beckwith, never looking away, never raising his voice, never relaxing his face, never unclenching his hand. 'See what a dull wolf you have been, after all! The infatuated drunkard who never drank a fiftieth part of the liquor you plied him with, but poured it away, here, there, everywhere - almost before your eyes; who bought over the fellow you set to watch him and to ply him, by outbidding you in his bribe, before he had been at his work three days - with whom you have observed no caution, yet who was so bent on ridding the earth of you as a wild beast, that he would have defeated you if you had been ever so prudent - that drunkard whom you have, many a time, left on the floor of this room, and who has even let you go out of it, alive and undeceived, when you have turned him over with your foot - has, almost as often, on the same night, within an hour, within a few minutes, watched you awake, had his hand at your pillow when you were asleep, turned over your papers, taken samples from your bottles and packets of powder, changed their contents, rifled every secret of your life!' He had had another pinch of snuff in his hand, but had gradually let it drop from between his fingers to the floor; where he now smoothed it out with his foot, looking down at it the while. 'That drunkard,' said Beckwith, 'who had free access to your rooms at all times, that he might drink the strong drinks that you left in his way and be the sooner ended, holding no more terms with you than he would hold with a tiger, has had his master-key for all your locks, his test for all your poisons, his clue to your cipher- writing. He can tell you, as well as you can tell him, how long it took to complete that deed, what doses there were, what intervals, what signs of gradual decay upon mind and body; what distempered fancies were produced, what observable changes, what physical pain. He can tell you, as well as you can tell him, that all this was recorded day by day, as a lesson of experience for future service. He can tell you, better than you can tell him, where that journal is at this moment.' Slinkton stopped the action of his foot, and looked at Beckwith. 'No,' said the latter, as if answering a question from him. 'Not in the drawer of the writing-desk that opens with a spring; it is not there, and it never will be there again.' 'Then you are a thief!' said Slinkton. Without any change whatever in the inflexible purpose, which it was quite terrific even to me to contemplate, and from the power of which I had always felt convinced it was impossible for this wretch to escape, Beckwith returned, 'And I am your niece's shadow, too.' With an imprecation Slinkton put his hand to his head, tore out some hair, and flung it to the ground. It was the end of the smooth walk; he destroyed it in the action, and it will soon be seen that his use for it was past. Beckwith went on: 'Whenever you left here, I left here. Although I understood that you found it necessary to pause in the completion of that purpose, to avert suspicion, still I watched you close, with the poor confiding girl. When I had the diary, and could read it word by word, - it was only about the night before your last visit to Scarborough, - you remember the night? you slept with a small flat vial tied to your wrist, - I sent to Mr. Sampson, who was kept out of view. This is Mr. Sampson's trusty servant standing by the door. We three saved your niece among us.' Slinkton looked at us all, took an uncertain step or two from the place where he had stood, returned to it, and glanced about him in a very curious way, - as one of the meaner reptiles might, looking for a hole to hide in. I noticed at the same time, that a singular change took place in the figure of the man, - as if it collapsed within his clothes, and they consequently became ill-shapen and ill-fitting. 'You shall know,' said Beckwith, 'for I hope the knowledge will be bitter and terrible to you, why you have been pursued by one man, and why, when the whole interest that Mr. Sampson represents would have expended any money in hunting you down, you have been tracked to death at a single individual's charge. I hear you have had the name of Meltham on your lips sometimes?' I saw, in addition to those other changes, a sudden stoppage come upon his breathing. 'When you sent the sweet girl whom you murdered (you know with what artfully made-out surroundings and probabilities you sent her) to Meltham's office, before taking her abroad to originate the transaction that doomed her to the grave, it fell to Meltham's lot to see her and to speak with her. It did not fall to his lot to save her, though I know he would freely give his own life to have done it. He admired her; - I would say he loved her deeply, if I thought it possible that you could understand the word. When she was sacrificed, he was thoroughly assured of your guilt. Having lost her, he had but one object left in life, and that was to avenge her and destroy you.' I saw the villain's nostrils rise and fall convulsively; but I saw no moving at his mouth. 'That man Meltham,' Beckwith steadily pursued, 'was as absolutely certain that you could never elude him in this world, if he devoted himself to your destruction with his utmost fidelity and earnestness, and if he divided the sacred duty with no other duty in life, as he was certain that in achieving it he would be a poor instrument in the hands of Providence, and would do well before Heaven in striking you out from among living men. I am that man, and I thank God that I have done my work!' If Slinkton had been running for his life from swift-footed savages, a dozen miles, he could not have shown more emphatic signs of being oppressed at heart and labouring for breath, than he showed now, when he looked at the pursuer who had so relentlessly hunted him down. 'You never saw me under my right name before; you see me under my right name now. You shall see me once again in the body, when you are tried for your life. You shall see me once again in the spirit, when the cord is round your neck, and the crowd are crying against you!' When Meltham had spoken these last words, the miscreant suddenly turned away his face, and seemed to strike his mouth with his open hand. At the same instant, the room was filled with a new and powerful odour, and, almost at the same instant, he broke into a crooked run, leap, start, - I have no name for the spasm, - and fell, with a dull weight that shook the heavy old doors and windows in their frames. That was the fitting end of him. When we saw that he was dead, we drew away from the room, and Meltham, giving me his hand, said, with a weary air, 'I have no more work on earth, my friend. But I shall see her again elsewhere.' It was in vain that I tried to rally him. He might have saved her, he said; he had not saved her, and he reproached himself; he had lost her, and he was broken-hearted. 'The purpose that sustained me is over, Sampson, and there is nothing now to hold me to life. I am not fit for life; I am weak and spiritless; I have no hope and no object; my day is done.' In truth, I could hardly have believed that the broken man who then spoke to me was the man who had so strongly and so differently impressed me when his purpose was before him. I used such entreaties with him, as I could; but he still said, and always said, in a patient, undemonstrative way, - nothing could avail him, - he was broken-hearted. He died early in the next spring. He was buried by the side of the poor young lady for whom he had cherished those tender and unhappy regrets; and he left all he had to her sister. She lived to be a happy wife and mother; she married my sister's son, who succeeded poor Meltham; she is living now, and her children ride about the garden on my walking-stick when I go to see her. Publication Date: June 17th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.dickens

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Jess Wygle Vigilante Vigilante Children ran all around the park, each carefree and innocent. They screamed and laughed, enjoying the fresh breeze as the sun dipped down behind the tall apartment buildings. Dusk was not nearly as hot as it had been earlier, making it the perfect atmosphere for an evening adventure on the playground. Metal swings squeaked like a haunting melody, setting the scene only I knew was unfolding. I stayed unnoticed by a single soul. No one was watching me. No one was watching him either, except for me. As his eyes scanned through the young children fiendishly, mine stayed on him. I’d been watching him for days. His arms hung lazily over the chain link fence, posting himself conveniently next to an overgrown bush. Convenient for me, unfortunate for him. A small, devilish and hungry smile perched confidently on his face, turning my stomach and fueling my cause. He wringed his hands together, shifting his weight often as if finding it hard to contain himself. He kept his eyes on a small brunette with floppy pigtails and a floral sundress, craning his neck when she ran out of sight. I had to move quickly. I had to move before he did. He was a monster. He had heinous intentions and I had to snuff them out. I moved slowly along the length of the fence, making my way to the cover of the bush. I had to be silent yet vigilant. I inched closer and closer until I could smell him. In a flash, I slipped the wire around his neck, pulling him into the cover with me. He silently kicked until life drained from him. One less baby killer on the street. I wiped off the wire, stuffed it in my pocket, and walked into the night, the unrecognized hero. Publication Date: July 13th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-jesswygle

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Laurie Comeaux The Shadow in the Hall. The New House Chapter 1 The New House "Jen dont forget to shut the back door!" mother said. "I wont! You maean ass bitch." i whispered under my breath. Ok well here goes nothing. My name is Jennett Im 17 years old and we just moved to Texas. My mom just got re-re-re-re-re married for the thousanth time! (all the dudes are freaks just fyi)My real dad abused me and my mother so she finaly left him. My mom isnt the nicest parent alive i cook, i clean, i do EVERYTHING and all i get in retern is being yelled at every single night. I sometimes wish my dad knocked some sence into her but nope apparently he knocked it out of her if that makes any sence to you. Im starting High School Friday and im NOT excited. Its in the middle of the year and i havent even gotten any cloths! gosh this place is gonna suck!! I put all my boxes in my small room, rip open the one thats labled "KEEP OUT!" I have all my skater stuff in there. Yes i know a skater chick named 'Jennett' thats why i have people call me Jen, its short, simple, and sweet. After i spent 4hours working on my room i start dinner at 6. My mom and new step dad, John are sitting on the couch. When i walk in they give me the worse go-to-hell look that it would scare Satin! I said "What did i do now?" "You should of started dinner at 4!" screamed my mom. She got up and slaped the hell out of me! As i fell to the floor i could hear her and John laughing at me. I stood up, wiped the tears off my eyes and went to the kitchen. I made hotdogs and i got one and went to my room, sat on my bed, and cried. I guess i feel asleep because when i opened my eyes our simi-cold house was still and quiet. I looked on my side table and saw that it was 3:09am, I got out of bed, put my feet on the cold hardwood floor, and changed into my swets, a sweater, and my tennis shoes. I quietly snuck out my bedroom and peeked into my mom and Johns room, they wernt there! I walked through out the whole house and i still couldnt find them. "There probably off somewhere getting beer." I walked out the front door and couldnt belive what i saw next. The Man Chapter 2 The Man When i walked out of my house there was a shadow on the front porch. I said outloud "Hello? Whos there?" and the shadow jumped up and turned to look at me. I steped back a little not knowing what he was gonna do next. He had a deep but sweet voice he said "Hello Jennett, My name is Clint Hood, I heard from the school that you were starting Friday and i wanted to come and see if i could help you with anything." "At 3:45 in the morning?, dont you think that is a little bit creepy?" i stated. "Yes i guess your right. Well here you will have me for 1st,4th and 8th period." Clint said. "Wait, what about all the rest of my-" before i could finish he gave me a small rectangle peice of paper and then he left. As i skimed through this peice of papper I noticed that he was my English, Art, and Piano Tutoring teacher. "I didnt sign up for any of this shit!" i screamed. I just went back inside, took my shoes off and crawled back into bed, thinking about Clint Hood. I awoke at 8:34am my head was spinning and throbbing, the house was still, still and quiet. Once again i put on my favorite black skinny jeans and my red skimpy little top and boots, i walked out in the hall and peered into my moms room one again they wernt there. Out of the corner of my eye i saw a peice paper on the wall, It said: "Jen, We got a call from James, John's Dad, he is sick and were gonna be driving back to Mississippi Tonight. We'll be back in the summer. We plan on reconnecting with them. There is $1000 in my desk use ONLY for food have a you know a goodschool year. bye!" I just closed my eyes, i was abanded by my own mother god i hate them!!! So i went into town to a Walmart and spent about $200 in grocerys. I missed the safty of my mom but i was really glad she wasnt here im tired of her hurting and cursing. I arrived home at around 8pm and started dinner which was just a T.V Dinner. I went to bed at 9:35pm and woke up at 6:00am so i can have a few hours to get ready for school. I decided to wear my black skater jeans and a purple skimpy top and my black and red DC's. I took a quick shower and strightend my black and red hair. (its black all over and red tips) I left the house at 7:10am a bus pulled up right as i was leaving. "well here goes nothing.' I got on the bus and we started our journy to the Highschool. The School Chapter 3 The School I got off the bus and walked into the cafiteria of my new school. The walls were a normal white color and the floors were the usual tile. I found a small table and sat down listing to "Skillet" an AMAZING rock band. Then about 5 minutes latter this freakishly loud bell rang and scared the shit out of me. So I walked to the front office and asked for my schdule. I had to get my picture takin for an I.D card. Ha my picture was so funny! I stuck my toung out after I ate a purple sucker and the lady laughed and took my pic. I walked to Mr. Hoods class, the moment I walked in there were about 40 eyes on me! Mr. Hood walked over, and showed me an empty desk next to his. I smiled and sat down wishing I could just magicly dissapper. Then the loud bell rang and I slowly found my way to my 2ed period. All day was just really boring and stupid I made friends with 2 emo chicks and 4 emo guys. They were all the friends I needed to surive the 10th grade.(I didnt tell you I was born December 29th) I was in my 7th peroid and trust me Math isnt my best subject, and the bell rang again. "Ok Jen just 45 more minutes and your home free" I told myself. I walked to my 8th which was at the opposite building so i had to do some walking. I walked into Mr. Hoods room and I was the only student. He walked in smiled and nodded and said "So Jennett-" I cut him off saying "Jen!" and he just muffled a few words and continued "So Jen, your the only one taking this class cause your step dad said he wanted you to learn panio. So insted of taking the bus home I have to take you home after school everyday. Inless something comes up and you leave after 7th like everyone else." "Wait, so your telling me that everyone goes home after 7th? Then forget you im taking my ass home!" I said with more attutide then I meant. He grabbed my hand and said "If you dont stay Im forced to fail you for the year and youll be back with me for the summer." I let out the biggest sigh possiable and took a seat next to him on the panio-bench. It was 6:08pm when I was to hungry and to tired to even move. He said we have till 6:15pm till he takes me home. I flipped! I shouted "Oh HELL TO THE NO! I am tired and hungry and I want to go home right now! I have the biggest headach on earth!" Tears were streaming down my face due to anger and frustration. He got up and walked into his office and brought out a bottle. "I know im not suppost to do this but here," He gave me two small red pills and said it was Advil so I took them. "How about we cut the lesson short today so you can have the weeked to calm down?" I just nodded and we locked up and started walking to his car, It was the only car in the parking lot and I started to feel sleepy. I asked him "What the hell did you give me?" "I told you advil" he said showing me the bottle. "I guess im just really tired and we have a 30 minute drive to my house, do you care if I take a nap on the drive?" he said "Sure what ever makes you happy." So we got into the car and he leaned over and put a white cloth over my face. I kicked and screamed but then everything went black.... The Kidnaping Chapter 4 The Kidnaping Clints POV: I easily got her to the house. I honestly did give her Advil but it was Advil,PM. When she started screaming and kicking I couldnt hellp but laugh and then she finaly stoped. Chloroform knocked her out easily so I picked her up and moved her to the back set. Im surprised she didnt reconize me. After all I was her boyfriend for 3 years and she left me cause apparently I was too old. Im only 25 and at the time I was 22 I wasnt that old. Then she moved to Texas and I had to follow her. I love her and im not gonna let her get away. I brought her to my summer home in Austin and sense she lives in Galveston its perfect. Before we got to my home I went to her house and took some of the grocerys and some money and her cloths and her nessaties and left her parents a note saying she ranaway and not to come looking for her and that she hates them. I got back in the car and started driving. When we got there I brought her to the basement and put her carefully on the bed and tied up her ankle to the bed that way she can move around and be confertable. She was so cute when she slept I just hope I can soon trust her to stay with me and then ill let her walk around the house and stay in my room. She woke up shortly after i cooked dinner at about 8pm I walked down with her dinner and a coke and I saw her sitting on the bed crying. When she saw me she started screaming so I put everything down and walked towards her and put my hand over her mouth. "Look you can scream all you want but your under ground no ones going to hear you sweetheart." I said calmly She looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes and started to back away. She finaly said "Wh-what do you wa-want?" Her voice a little shakey. Surpised she still hasnt noticed me I said "Baby do you really dont reconize me? Its me Clint Hood your old boyfriend?" She started screaming and yelling at me to get away from her and that she hated me and that just really hurt and made me very mad. I jumped on her and held her down and sat on her stomach. She spat in my face and when i relsed her hands she smacked me on the face. That just pissed me off so I held her wrists in one hand and smacked her with the other. She started crying again and I just bent down and kissed her and she stopped she looked at me shocked and I think scared but I was always a good boyfriend to her so im sure shell fall back in love with me. I brought her the food and with one last kiss on the cheek I left. Where am I? Chapter 5 Where am I? Jen's POV: Publication Date: June 22nd 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-laurie25633

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Sir Arthur Conan Doyle The Adventure of the Red Circle "Well, Mrs. Warren, I cannot see that you have any particular cause for uneasiness, nor do I understand why I, whose time is of some value, should interfere in the matter. I really have other things to engage me." So spoke Sherlock Holmes and turned back to the great scrapbook in which he was arranging and indexing some of his recent material. But the landlady had the pertinacity and also the cunning of her sex. She held her ground firmly. "You arranged an affair for a lodger of mine last year," she said--"Mr. Fairdale Hobbs." "Ah, yes--a simple matter." "But he would never cease talking of it--your kindness, sir, and the way in which you brought light into the darkness. I remembered his words when I was in doubt and darkness myself. I know you could if you only would." Holmes was accessible upon the side of flattery, and also, to do him justice, upon the side of kindliness. The two forces made him lay down his gum-brush with a sigh of resignation and push back his chair. "Well, well, Mrs. Warren, let us hear about it, then. You don't object to tobacco, I take it? Thank you, Watson--the matches! You are uneasy, as I understand, because your new lodger remains in his rooms and you cannot see him. Why, bless you, Mrs. Warren, if I were your lodger you often would not see me for weeks on end." "No doubt, sir; but this is different. It frightens me, Mr. Holmes. I can't sleep for fright. To hear his quick step moving here and moving there from early morning to late at night, and yet never to catch so much as a glimpse of him--it's more than I can stand. My husband is as nervous over it as I am, but he is out at his work all day, while I get no rest from it. What is he hiding for? What has he done? Except for the girl, I am all alone in the house with him, and it's more than my nerves can stand." Holmes leaned forward and laid his long, thin fingers upon the woman's shoulder. He had an almost hypnotic power of soothing when he wished. The scared look faded from her eyes, and her agitated features smoothed into their usual commonplace. She sat down in the chair which he had indicated. "If I take it up I must understand every detail," said he. "Take time to consider. The smallest point may be the most essential. You say that the man came ten days ago and paid you for a fortnight's board and lodging?" "He asked my terms, sir. I said fifty shillings a week. There is a small sitting-room and bedroom, and all complete, at the top of the house." "Well?" "He said, 'I'll pay you five pounds a week if I can have it on my own terms.' I'm a poor woman, sir, and Mr. Warren earns little, and the money meant much to me. He took out a ten-pound note, and he held it out to me then and there. 'You can have the same every fortnight for a long time to come if you keep the terms,' he said. 'If not, I'll have no more to do with you.' "What were the terms?" "Well, sir, they were that he was to have a key of the house. That was all right. Lodgers often have them. Also, that he was to be left entirely to himself and never, upon any excuse, to be disturbed." "Nothing wonderful in that, surely?" "Not in reason, sir. But this is out of all reason. He has been there for ten days, and neither Mr. Warren, nor I, nor the girl has once set eyes upon him. We can hear that quick step of his pacing up and down, up and down, night, morning, and noon; but except on that first night he had never once gone out of the house." "Oh, he went out the first night, did he?" "Yes, sir, and returned very late--after we were all in bed. He told me after he had taken the rooms that he would do so and asked me not to bar the door. I heard him come up the stair after midnight." "But his meals?" "It was his particular direction that we should always, when he rang, leave his meal upon a chair, outside his door. Then he rings again when he has finished, and we take it down from the same chair. If he wants anything else he prints it on a slip of paper and leaves it." "Prints it?" "Yes, sir; prints it in pencil. Just the word, nothing more. Here's the one I brought to show you--soap. Here's another--match. This is one he left the first morning--daily gazette. I leave that paper with his breakfast every morning." "Dear me, Watson," said Homes, staring with great curiosity at the slips of foolscap which the landlady had handed to him, "this is certainly a little unusual. Seclusion I can understand; but why print? Printing is a clumsy process. Why not write? What would it suggest, Watson?" "That he desired to conceal his handwriting." "But why? What can it matter to him that his landlady should have a word of his writing? Still, it may be as you say. Then, again, why such laconic messages?" "I cannot imagine." "It opens a pleasing field for intelligent speculation. The words are written with a broad-pointed, violet-tinted pencil of a not unusual pattern. You will observe that the paper is torn away at the side here after the printing was done, so that the 's' of 'soap' is partly gone. Suggestive, Watson, is it not?" "Of caution?" "Exactly. There was evidently some mark, some thumbprint, something which might give a clue to the person's identity. Now. Mrs. Warren, you say that the man was of middle size, dark, and bearded. What age would he be?" "Youngish, sir--not over thirty." "Well, can you give me no further indications?" "He spoke good English, sir, and yet I thought he was a foreigner by his accent." "And he was well dressed?" "Very smartly dressed, sir--quite the gentleman. Dark clothes--nothing you would note." "He gave no name?" "No, sir." "And has had no letters or callers?" "None." "But surely you or the girl enter his room of a morning?" "No, sir; he looks after himself entirely." "Dear me! that is certainly remarkable. What about his luggage?" "He had one big brown bag with him--nothing else." "Well, we don't seem to have much material to help us. Do you say nothing has come out of that room--absolutely nothing?" The landlady drew an envelope from her bag; from it she shook out two burnt matches and a cigarette-end upon the table. "They were on his tray this morning. I brought them because I had heard that you can read great things out of small ones." Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "There is nothing here," said he. "The matches have, of course, been used to light cigarettes. That is obvious from the shortness of the burnt end. Half the match is consumed in lighting a pipe or cigar. But, dear me! this cigarette stub is certainly remarkable. The gentleman was bearded and moustached, you say?" "Yes, sir." "I don't understand that. I should say that only a clean-shaven man could have smoked this. Why, Watson, even your modest moustache would have been singed." "A holder?" I suggested. "No, no; the end is matted. I suppose there could not be two people in your rooms, Mrs. Warren?" "No, sir. He eats so little that I often wonder it can keep life in one." "Well, I think we must wait for a little more material. After all, you have nothing to complain of. You have received your rent, and he is not a troublesome lodger, though he is certainly an unusual one. He pays you well, and if he chooses to lie concealed it is no direct business of yours. We have no excuse for an intrusion upon his privacy until we have some reason to think that there is a guilty reason for it. I've taken up the matter, and I won't lose sight of it. Report to me if anything fresh occurs, and rely upon my assistance if it should be needed. "There are certainly some points of interest in this case, Watson," he remarked when the landlady had left us. "It may, of course, be trivial--individual eccentricity; or it may be very much deeper than appears on the surface. The first thing that strike one is the obvious possibility that the person now in the rooms may be entirely different from the one who engaged them." "Why should you think so?" "Well, apart form this cigarette-end, was it not suggestive that the only time the lodger went out was immediately after his taking the rooms? He came back--or someone came back--when all witnesses were out of the way. We have no proof that the person who came back was the person who went out. Then, again, the man who took the rooms spoke English well. This other, however, prints 'match' when it should have been 'matches.' I can imagine that the word was taken out of a dictionary, which would give the noun but not the plural. The laconic style may be to conceal the absence of knowledge of English. Yes, Watson, there are good reasons to suspect that there has been a substitution of lodgers." "But for what possible end?" "Ah! there lies our problem. There is one rather obvious line of investigation." He took down the great book in which, day by day, he filed the agony columns of the various London journals. "Dear me!" said he, turning over the pages, "what a chorus of groans, cries, and bleatings! What a rag-bag of singular happenings! But surely the most valuable hunting-ground that ever was given to a student of the unusual! This person is alone and cannot be approached by letter without a breach of that absolute secrecy which is desired. How is any news or any message to reach him from without? Obviously by advertisement through a newspaper. There seems no other way, and fortunately we need concern ourselves with the one paper only. Here are the Daily Gazette extracts of the last fortnight. 'Lady with a black boa at Prince's Skating Club'--that we may pass. 'Surely Jimmy will not break his mother's heart'--that appears to be irrelevant. 'If the lady who fainted on Brixton bus'--she does not interest me. 'Every day my heart longs--' Bleat, Watson--unmitigated bleat! Ah, this is a little more possible. Listen to this: 'Be patient. Will find some sure means of communications. Meanwhile, this column. G.' That is two days after Mrs. Warren's lodger arrived. It sounds plausible, does it not? The mysterious one could understand English, even if he could not print it. Let us see if we can pick up the trace again. Yes, here we are--three days later. 'Am making successful arrangements. Patience and prudence. The clouds will pass. G.' Nothing for a week after that. Then comes something much more definite: 'The path is clearing. If I find chance signal message remember code agreed--One A, two B, and so on. You will hear soon. G.' That was in yesterday's paper, and there is nothing in to-day's. It's all very appropriate to Mrs. Warren's lodger. If we wait a little, Watson, I don't doubt that the affair will grow more intelligible." So it proved; for in the morning I found my friend standing on the hearthrug with his back to the fire and a smile of complete satisfaction upon his face. "How's this, Watson?" he cried, picking up the paper from the table. "'High red house with white stone facings. Third floor. Second window left. After dusk. G.' That is definite enough. I think after breakfast we must make a little reconnaissance of Mrs. Warren's neighbourhood. Ah, Mrs. Warren! what news do you bring us this morning?" Our client had suddenly burst into the room with an explosive energy which told of some new and momentous development. "It's a police matter, Mr. Holmes!" she cried. "I'll have no more of it! He shall pack out of there with his baggage. I would have gone straight up and told him so, only I thought it was but fair to you to take your opinion first. But I'm at the end of my patience, and when it comes to knocking my old man about--" "Knocking Mr. Warren about?" "Using him roughly, anyway." "But who used him roughly?" "Ah! that's what we want to know! It was this morning, sir. Mr. Warren is a timekeeper at Morton and Waylight's, in Tottenham Court Road. He has to be out of the house before seven. Well, this morning he had not gone ten paces down the road when two men came up behind him, threw a coat over his head, and bundled him into a cab that was beside the curb. They drove him an hour, and then opened the door and shot him out. He lay in the roadway so shaken in his wits that he never saw what became of the cab. When he picked himself up he found he was on Hampstead Heath; so he took a bus home, and there he lies now on his sofa, while I came straight round to tell you what had happened." "Most interesting," said Holmes. "Did he observe the appearance of these men--did he hear them talk?" "No; he is clean dazed. He just knows that he was lifted up as if by magic and dropped as if by magic. Two a least were in it, and maybe three." "And you connect this attack with your lodger?" "Well, we've lived there fifteen years and no such happenings ever came before. I've had enough of him. Money's not everything. I'll have him out of my house before the day is done." "Wait a bit, Mrs. Warren. Do nothing rash. I begin to think that this affair may be very much more important than appeared at first sight. It is clear now that some danger is threatening your lodger. It is equally clear that his enemies, lying in wait for him near your door, mistook your husband for him in the foggy morning light. On discovering their mistake they released him. What they would have done had it not been a mistake, we can only conjecture." "Well, what am I to do, Mr. Holmes?" "I have a great fancy to see this lodger of yours, Mrs. Warren." "I don't see how that is to be managed, unless you break in the door. I always hear him unlock it as I go down the stair after I leave the tray." "He has to take the tray in. Surely we could conceal ourselves and see him do it." The landlady thought for a moment. "Well, sir, there's the box-room opposite. I could arrange a looking-glass, maybe, and if you were behind the door--" "Excellent!" said Holmes. "When does he lunch?" "About one, sir." "Then Dr. Watson and I will come round in time. For the present, Mrs. Warren, good-bye." At half-past twelve we found ourselves upon the steps of Mrs. Warren's house--a high, thin, yellow-brick edifice in Great Orme Street, a narrow thoroughfare at the northeast side of the British Museum. Standing as it does near the corner of the street, it commands a view down Howe Street, with its ore pretentious houses. Holmes pointed with a chuckle to one of these, a row of residential flats, which projected so that they could not fail to catch the eye. "See, Watson!" said he. "'High red house with stone facings.' There is the signal station all right. We know the place, and we know the code; so surely our task should be simple. There's a 'to let' card in that window. It is evidently an empty flat to which the confederate has access. Well, Mrs. Warren, what now?" "I have it all ready for you. If you will both come up and leave your boots below on the landing, I'll put you there now." It was an excellent hiding-plate which she had arranged. The mirror was so placed that, seated in the dark, we could very plainly see the door opposite. We had hardly settled down in it, and Mrs. Warren left us, when a distant tinkle announced that our mysterious neighbour had rung. Presently the landlady appeared with the tray, laid it down upon a chair beside the closed door, and then, treading heavily, departed. Crouching together in the angle of the door, we kept our eyes fixed upon the mirror. Suddenly, as the landlady's footsteps died away, there was the creak of a turning key, the handle revolved, and two thin hands darted out and lifted the tray form the chair. An instant later it was hurriedly replaced, and I caught a glimpse of a dark, beautiful, horrified face glaring at the narrow opening of the box-room. Then the door crashed to, the key turned once more, and all was silence. Holmes twitched my sleeve, and together we stole down the stair. "I will call again in the evening," said he to the expectant landlady. "I think, Watson, we can discuss this business better in our own quarters." "My surmise, as you saw, proved to be correct," said he, speaking from the depths of his easy-chair. "There has been a substitution of lodgers. What I did not foresee is that we should find a woman, and no ordinary woman, Watson." "She saw us." "Well, she saw something to alarm her. That is certain. The general sequence of events is pretty clear, is it not? A couple seek refuge in London from a very terrible and instant danger. The measure of that danger is the rigour of their precautions. The man, who has some work which he must do, desires to leave the woman in absolute safety while he does it. It is not an easy problem, but he solved it in an original fashion, and so effectively that her presence was not even known to the landlady who supplies her with food. The printed messages, as is now evident, were to prevent her sex being discovered by her writing. The man cannot come near the woman, or he will guide their enemies to her. Since he cannot communicate with her direct, he has recourse to the agony column of a paper. So far all is clear." "But what is at the root of it?" "Ah, yes, Watson--severely practical, as usual! What is at the root of it all? Mrs. Warren's whimsical problem enlarges somewhat and assumes a more sinister aspect as we proceed. This much we can say: that it is no ordinary love escapade. You saw the woman's face at the sign of danger. We have heard, too, of the attack upon the landlord, which was undoubtedly meant for the lodger. These alarms, and the desperate need for secrecy, argue that the matter is one of life or death. The attack upon Mr. Warren further shows that the enemy, whoever they are, are themselves not aware of the substitution of the female lodger for the male. It is very curious and complex, Watson." "Why should you go further in it? What have you to gain from it?" "What, indeed? It is art for art's sake, Watson. I suppose when you doctored you found yourself studying cases without thought of a fee?" "For my education, Holmes." "Education never ends, Watson. It is a series of lessons with the greatest for the last. This is an instructive case. There is neither money nor credit in it, and yet one would wish to tidy it up. When dusk comes we should find ourselves one stage advanced in our investigation." When we returned to Mrs. Warren's rooms, the gloom of a London winter evening had thickened into one gray curtain, a dead monotone of colour, broken only by the sharp yellow squares of the windows and the blurred haloes of the gas-lamps. As we peered from the darkened sitting-room of the lodging-house, one more dim light glimmered high up through the obscurity. "Someone is moving in that room," said Holmes in a whisper, his gaunt and eager face thrust forward to the window-pane. "Yes, I can see his shadow. There he is again! He has a candle in his hand. Now he is peering across. He wants to be sure that she is on the lookout. Now he begins to flash. Take the message also, Watson, that we may check each other. A single flash--that is A, surely. Now, then. How many did you make it? Twenty. Do did In. That should mean T. AT--that's intelligible enough. Another T. Surely this is the beginning of a second word. Now, then--TENTA. Dead stop. That can't be all, Watson? ATTENTA gives no sense. Nor is it any better as three words AT, TEN, TA, unless T. A. are a person's initials. There it goes again! What's that? ATTE--why, it is the same message over again. Curious, Watson, very curious. Now he is off once more! AT--why he is repeating it for the third time. ATTENTA three times! How often will he repeat it? No, that seems to be the finish. He has withdrawn form the window. What do you make of it, Watson?" "A cipher message, Holmes." My companion gave a sudden chuckle of comprehension. "And not a very obscure cipher, Watson," said he. "Why, of course, it is Italian! The A means that it is addressed to a woman. 'Beware! Beware! Beware!' How's that, Watson? "I believe you have hit it." "Not a doubt of it. It is a very urgent message, thrice repeated to make it more so. But beware of what? Wait a bit, he is coming to the window once more." Again we saw the dim silhouette of a crouching man and the whisk of the small flame across the window as the signals were renewed. They came mor rapidly than before--so rapid that it was hard to follow them. "PERICOLO--pericolo--eh, what's that, Watson? 'Danger,' isn't it? Yes, by Jove, it's a danger signal. There he goes again! PERI. Halloa, what on earth--" The light had suddenly gone out, the glimmering square of window had disappeared, and the third floor formed a dark band round the lofty building, with its tiers of shining casements. That last warning cry had been suddenly cut short. How, and by whom? The same thought occurred on the instant to us both. Holmes sprang up from where he crouched by the window. "This is serious, Watson," he cried. "There is some devilry going forward! Why should such a message stop in such a way? I should put Scotland Yard in touch with this business--and yet, it is too pressing for us to leave." "Shall I go for the police?" "We must define the situation a little more clearly. It may bear some more innocent interpretation. Come, Watson, let us go across ourselves and see what we can make of it." Two As we walked rapidly down Howe Street I glanced back at the building which we had left. There, dimly outlined at the top window, I could see the shadow of a head, a woman's head, gazing tensely, rigidly, out into the night, waiting with breathless suspense for the renewal of that interrupted message. At the doorway of the Howe Street flats a man, muffled in a cravat and greatcoat, was leaning against the railing. He started as the hall-light fell upon our faces. "Holmes!" he cried. "Why, Gregson!" said my companion as he shook hands with the Scotland Yard detective. "Journeys end with lovers' meetings. What brings you here?" "The same reasons that bring you, I expect," said Gregson. "How you got on to it I can't imagine." "Different threads, but leading up to the same tangle. I've been taking the signals." "Signals?" "Yes, from that window. They broke off in the middle. We came over to see the reason. But since it is safe in your hands I see no object in continuing this business." "Wait a bit!" cried Gregson eagerly. "I'll do you this justice, Mr. Holmes, that I was never in a case yet that I didn't feel stronger for having you on my side. There's only the one exit to these flats, so we have him safe." "Who is he?" "Well, well, we score over you for once, Mr. Holmes. You must give us best this time." He struck his stick sharply upon the ground, on which a cabman, his whip in his hand, sauntered over from a four-wheeler which stood on the far side of the street. "May I introduce you to Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" he said to the cabman. "This is Mr. Leverton, of Pinkerton's American Agency." "The hero of the Long Island cave mystery?" said Holmes. "Sir, I am pleased to meet you." The American, a quiet, businesslike young man, with a clean-shaven, hatchet face, flushed up at the words of commendation. "I am on the trail of my life now, Mr. Holmes," said he. "If I can get Gorgiano--" "What! Gorgiano of the Red Circle?" "Oh, he has a European fame, has he? Well, we've learned all about him in America. We KNOW he is at the bottom of fifty murders, and yet we have nothing positive we can take him on. I tracked him over from New York, and I've been close to him for a week in London, waiting some excuse to get my hand on his collar. Mr. Gregson and I ran him to ground in that big tenement house, and there's only one door, so he can't slip us. There's three folk come out since he went in, but I'll swear he wasn't one of them." "Mr. Holmes talks of signals," said Gregson. "I expect, as usual, he knows a good deal that we don't." In a few clear words Holmes explained the situation as it had appeared to us. The American struck his hands together with vexation. "He's on to us!" he cried. "Why do you think so?" "Well, it figures out that way, does it not? Here he is, sending out messages to an accomplice--there are several of his gang in London. Then suddenly, just as by your own account he was telling them that there was danger, he broke short off. What could it mean except that from the window he had suddenly either caught sight of us in the street, or in some way come to understand how close the danger was, and that he must act right away if he was to avoid it? What do you suggest, Mr. Holmes?" "That we go up at once and see for ourselves." "But we have no warrant for his arrest." "He is in unoccupied premises under suspicious circumstances," said Gregson. "That is good enough for the moment. When we have him by the heels we can see if New York can't help us to keep him. I'll take the responsibility of arresting him now." Our official detectives may blunder in the matter of intelligence, but never in that of courage. Gregson climbed the stair to arrest this desperate murderer with the same absolutely quiet and businesslike bearing with which he would have ascended the official staircase of Scotland Yard. The Pinkerton man had tried to push past him, but Gregson had firmly elbowed him back. London dangers were the privilege of the London force. The door of the left-hand flat upon the third landing was standing ajar. Gregson pushed it open. Within all was absolute silence and darkness. I struck a match and lit the detective's lantern. As I did so, and as the flicker steadied into a flame, we all gave a gasp of surprise. On the deal boards of the carpetless floor there was outlined a fresh track of blood. The red steps pointed towards us and led away from an inner room, the door of which was closed. Gregson flung it open and held his light full blaze in front of him, while we all peered eagerly over his shoulders. In the middle of the floor of the empty room was huddled the figure of an enormous man, his clean-shaven, swarthy face grotesquely horrible in its contortion and his head encircled by a ghastly crimson halo of blood, lying in a broad wet circle upon the white woodwork. His knees were drawn up, his hands thrown out in agony, and from the centre of his broad, brown, upturned throat there projected the white haft of a knife driven blade-deep into his body. Giant as he was, the man must have gone down like a pole-axed ox before that terrific blow. Beside his right hand a most formidable horn-handled, two-edged dagger lay upon the floor, and near it a black kid glove. "By George! it's Black Gorgiano himself!" cried the American detective. "Someone has got ahead of us this time." "Here is the candle in the window, Mr. Holmes," said Gregson. "Why, whatever are you doing?" Holmes had stepped across, had lit the candle, and was passing it backward and forward across the window-panes. Then he peered into the darkness, blew the candle out, and threw it on the floor. "I rather think that will be helpful," said he. He came over and stood in deep thought while the two professionals were examining the body. "You say that three people came out form the flat while you were waiting downstairs," said he at last. "Did you observe them closely?" "Yes, I did." "Was there a fellow about thirty, black-bearded, dark, of middle size?" "Yes; he was the last to pass me." "That is your man, I fancy. I can give you his description, and we have a very excellent outline of his footmark. That should be enough for you." "Not much, Mr. Holmes, among the millions of London." "Perhaps not. That is why I thought it best to summon this lady to your aid." We all turned round at the words. There, framed in the doorway, was a tall and beautiful woman--the mysterious lodger of Bloomsbury. Slowly she advanced, her face pale and drawn with a frightful apprehension, her eyes fixed and staring, her terrified gaze riveted upon the dark figure on the floor. "You have killed him!" she muttered. "Oh, Dio mio, you have killed him!" Then I heard a sudden sharp intake of her breath, and she sprang into the air with a cry of joy. Round and round the room she danced, her hands clapping, her dark eyes gleaming with delighted wonder, and a thousand pretty Italian exclamations pouring from her lips. It was terrible and amazing to see such a woman so convulsed with joy at such a sight. Suddenly she stopped and gazed at us all with a questioning stare. "But you! You are police, are you not? You have killed Giuseppe Gorgiano. Is it not so?" "We are police, madam." She looked round into the shadows of the room. "But where, then, is Gennaro?" she asked. "He is my husband, Gennaro Lucca. I am Emilia Lucca, and we are both from New York. Where is Gennaro? He called me this moment from this window, and I ran with all my speed." "It was I who called," said Holmes. "You! How could you call?" "Your cipher was not difficult, madam. Your presence here was desirable. I knew that I had only to flash 'Vieni' and you would surely come." The beautiful Italian looked with awe at my companion. "I do not understand how you know these things," she said. "Giuseppe Gorgiano--how did he--" She paused, and then suddenly her face lit up with pride and delight. "Now I see it! My Gennaro! My splendid, beautiful Gennaro, who has guarded me safe from all harm, he did it, with his own strong hand he killed the monster! Oh, Gennaro, how wonderful you are! What woman could every be worthy of such a man?" "Well, Mrs. Lucca," said the prosaic Gregson, laying his hand upon the lady's sleeve with as little sentiment as if she were a Notting Hill hooligan, "I am not very clear yet who you are or what you are; but you've said enough to make it very clear that we shall want you at the Yard." "One moment, Gregson," said Holmes. "I rather fancy that this lady may be as anxious to give us information as we can be to get it. You understand, madam, that your husband will be arrested and tried for the death of the man who lies before us? What you say may be used in evidence. But if you think that he has acted from motives which are not criminal, and which he would wish to have known, then you cannot serve him better than by telling us the whole story." "Now that Gorgiano is dead we fear nothing," said the lady. "He was a devil and a monster, and there can be no judge in the world who would punish my husband for having killed him." "In that case," said Holmes, "my suggestion is that we lock this door, leave things as we found them, go with this lady to her room, and form our opinion after we have heard what it is that she has to say to us." Half an hour later we were seated, all four, in the small sitting-room of Signora Lucca, listening to her remarkable narrative of those sinister events, the ending of which we had chanced to witness. She spoke in rapid and fluent but very unconventional English, which, for the sake of clearness, I will make grammatical. "I was born in Posilippo, near Naples," said she, "and was the daughter of Augusto Barelli, who was the chief lawyer and once the deputy of that part. Gennaro was in my father's employment, and I came to love him, as any woman must. He had neither money nor position--nothing but his beauty and strength and energy--so my father forbade the match. We fled together, were married at Bari, and sold my jewels to gain the money which would take us to America. This was four years ago, and we have been in New York ever since. "Fortune was very good to us at first. Gennaro was able to do a service to an Italian gentleman--he saved him from some ruffians in the place called the Bowery, and so made a powerful friend. His name was Tito Castalotte, and he was the senior partner of the great firm of Castalotte and Zamba, who are the chief fruit importers of New York. Signor Zamba is an invalid, and our new friend Castalotte has all power within the firm, which employs more than three hundred men. He took my husband into his employment, made him head of a department, and showed his good-will towards him in every way. Signor Castalotte was a bachelor, and I believe that he felt as if Gennaro was his son, and both my husband and I loved him as if he were our father. We had taken and furnished a little house in Brooklyn, and our whole future seemed assured when that black cloud appeared which was soon to overspread our sky. "One night, when Gennaro returned from his work, he brought a fellow-countryman back with him. His name was Gorgiano, and he had come also from Posilippo. He was a huge man, as you can testify, for you have looked upon his corpse. Not only was his body that of a giant but everything about him was grotesque, gigantic, and terrifying. His voice was like thunder in our little house. There was scarce room for the whirl of his great arms as he talked. His thoughts, his emotions, his passions, all were exaggerated and monstrous. He talked, or rather roared, with such energy that others could but sit and listen, cowed with the mighty stream of words. His eyes blazed at you and held you at his mercy. He was a terrible and wonderful man. I thank God that he is dead! "He came again and again. Yet I was aware that Gennaro was no more happy than I was in his presence. My poor husband would sit pale and listless, listening to the endless raving upon politics and upon social questions which made up or visitor's conversation. Gennaro said nothing, but I, who knew him so well, could read in his face some emotion which I had never seen there before. At first I thought that it was dislike. And then, gradually, I understood that it was more than dislike. It was fear--a deep, secret, shrinking fear. That night--the night that I read his terror--I put my arms round him and I implored him by his love for me and by all that he held dear to hold nothing from me, and to tell me why this huge man overshadowed him so. "He told me, and my own heart grew cold as ice as I listened. My poor Gennaro, in his wild and fiery days, when all the world seemed against him and his mind was driven half mad by the injustices of life, had joined a Neapolitan society, the Red Circle, which was allied to the old Carbonari. The oaths and secrets of this brotherhood were frightful, but once within its rule no escape was possible. When we had fled to America Gennaro thought that he had cast it all off forever. What was his horror one evening to meet in the streets the very man who had initiated him in Naples, the giant Gorgiano, a man who had earned the name of 'Death' in the south of Italy, for he was red to the elbow in murder! He had come to New York to avoid the Italian police, and he had already planted a branch of this dreadful society in his new home. All this Gennaro told me and showed me a summons which he had received that very day, a Red Circle drawn upon the head of it telling him that a lodge would be held upon a certain date, and that his presence at it was required and ordered. "That was bad enough, but worse was to come. I had noticed for some time that when Gorgiano came to us, as he constantly did, in the evening, he spoke much to me; and even when his words were to my husband those terrible, glaring, wild-beast eyes of his were always turned upon me. One night his secret came out. I had awakened what he called 'love' within him--the love of a brute--a savage. Gennaro had not yet returned when he came. He pushed his way in, seized me in his mighty arms, hugged me in his bear's embrace, covered me with kisses, and implored me to come away with him. I was struggling and screaming when Gennaro entered and attacked him. He struck Gennaro senseless and fled from the house which he was never more to enter. It was a deadly enemy that we made that night. "A few days later came the meeting. Gennaro returned from it with a face which told me that something dreadful had occurred. It was worse than we could have imagined possible. The funds of the society were raised by blackmailing rich Italians and threatening them with violence should they refuse the money. It seems that Castalotte, our dear friend and benefactor, had been approached. He had refused to yield to threats, and he had handed the notices to the police. It was resolved now that such an example should be made of them as would prevent any other victim from rebelling. At the meeting it was arranged that he and his house should be blown up with dynamite. There was a drawing of lots as to who should carry out the deed. Gennaro saw our enemy's cruel face smiling at him as he dipped his hand in the bag. No doubt it had been prearranged in some fashion, for it was the fatal disc with the Red Circle upon it, the mandate for murder, which lay upon his palm. He was to kill his best friend, or he was to expose himself and me to the vengeance of his comrades. It was part of their fiendish system to punish those whom they feared or hated by injuring not only their own persons but those whom they loved, and it was the knowledge of this which hung as a terror over my poor Gennaro's head and drove him nearly crazy with apprehension. "All that night we sat together, our arms round each other, each strengthening each for the troubles that lay before us. The very next evening had been fixed for the attempt. By midday my husband and I were on our way to London, but not before he had given our benefactor full warning of this danger, and had also left such information for the police as would safeguard his life for the future. "The rest, gentlemen, you know for yourselves. We were sure that our enemies would be behind us like our own shadows. Gorgiano had his private reasons for vengeance, but in any case we knew how ruthless, cunning, and untiring he could be. Both Italy and America are full of stories of his dreadful powers. If ever they were exerted it would be now. My darling made use of the few clear days which our start had given us in arranging for a refuge for me in such a fashion that no possible danger could reach me. For his own part, he wished to be free that he might communicate both with the American and with the Italian police. I do not myself know where he lived, or how. All that I learned was through the columns of a newspaper. But once as I looked through my window, I saw two Italians watching the house, and I understood that in some way Gorgiano had found our retreat. Finally Gennaro told me, through the paper, that he would signal to me from a certain window, but when the signals came they were nothing but warnings, which were suddenly interrupted. It is very clear to me now that he knew Gorgiano to be close upon him, and that, thank God! he was ready for him when he came. And now, gentleman, I would ask you whether we have anything to fear from the law, or whether any judge upon earth would condemn my Gennaro for what he has done?" "Well, Mr. Gregson," said the American, looking across at the official, "I don't know what your British point of view may be, but I guess that in New York this lady's husband will receive a pretty general vote of thanks." "She will have to come with me and see the chief," Gregson answered. "If what she says is corroborated, I do not think she or her husband has much to fear. But what I can't make head or tail of, Mr. Holmes, is how on earth YOU got yourself mixed up in the matter." "Education, Gregson, education. Still seeking knowledge at the old university. Well, Watson, you have one more specimen of the tragic and grotesque to add to your collection. By the way, it is not eight o'clock, and a Wagner night at Covent Garden! If we hurry, we might be in time for the second act." Publication Date: February 12th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.doyle

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Sir Arthur Conan Doyle The Adventure of the Cardboard Box In choosing a few typical cases which illustrate the remarkable mental qualities of my friend, Sherlock Holmes, I have endeavoured, as far as possible, to select those which presented the minimum of sensationalism, while offering a fair field for his talents. It is, however, unfortunately impossible entirely to separate the sensational from the criminal, and a chronicler is left in the dilemma that he must either sacrifice details which are essential to his statement and so give a false impression of the problem, or he must use matter which chance, and not choice, has provided him with. With this short preface I shall turn to my notes of what proved to be a strange, though a peculiarly terrible, chain of events. It was a blazing hot day in August. Baker Street was like an oven, and the glare of the sunlight upon the yellow brickwork of the house across the road was painful to the eye. It was hard to believe that these were the same walls which loomed so gloomily through the fogs of winter. Our blinds were half-drawn, and Holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading and re-reading a letter which he had received by the morning post. For myself, my term of service in India had trained me to stand heat better than cold, and a thermometer at ninety was no hardship. But the morning paper was uninteresting. Parliament had risen. Everybody was out of town, and I yearned for the glades of the New Forest or the shingle of Southsea. A depleted bank account had caused me to postpone my holiday, and as to my companion, neither the country nor the sea presented the slightest attraction to him. He loved to lie in the very center of five millions of people, with his filaments stretching out and running through them, responsive to every little rumour or suspicion of unsolved crime. Appreciation of nature found no place among his many gifts, and his only change was when he turned his mind from the evil-doer of the town to track down his brother of the country. Finding that Holmes was too absorbed for conversation I had tossed side the barren paper, and leaning back in my chair I fell into a brown study. Suddenly my companion's voice broke in upon my thoughts: "You are right, Watson," said he. "It does seem a most preposterous way of settling a dispute." "Most preposterous!" I exclaimed, and then suddenly realizing how he had echoed the inmost thought of my soul, I sat up in my chair and stared at him in blank amazement. "What is this, Holmes?" I cried. "This is beyond anything which I could have imagined." He laughed heartily at my perplexity. "You remember," said he, "that some little time ago when I read you the passage in one of Poe's sketches in which a close reasoner follows the unspoken thoughts of his companion, you were inclined to treat the matter as a mere tour-de-force of the author. On my remarking that I was constantly in the habit of doing the same thing you expressed incredulity." "Oh, no!" "Perhaps not with your tongue, my dear Watson, but certainly with your eyebrows. So when I saw you throw down your paper and enter upon a train of thought, I was very happy to have the opportunity of reading it off, and eventually of breaking into it, as a proof that I had been in rapport with you." But I was still far from satisfied. "In the example which you read to me," said I, "the reasoner drew his conclusions from the actions of the man whom he observed. If I remember right, he stumbled over a heap of stones, looked up at the stars, and so on. But I have been seated quietly in my chair, and what clues can I have given you?" "You do yourself an injustice. The features are given to man as the means by which he shall express his emotions, and yours are faithful servants." "Do you mean to say that you read my train of thoughts from my features?" "Your features and especially your eyes. Perhaps you cannot yourself recall how your reverie commenced?" "No, I cannot." "Then I will tell you. After throwing down your paper, which was the action which drew my attention to you, you sat for half a minute with a vacant expression. Then your eyes fixed themselves upon your newly framed picture of General Gordon, and I saw by the alteration in your face that a train of thought had been started. But it did not lead very far. Your eyes flashed across to the unframed portrait of Henry Ward Beecher which stands upon the top of your books. Then you glanced up at the wall, and of course your meaning was obvious. You were thinking that if the portrait were framed it would just cover that bare space and correspond with Gordon's picture there." "You have followed me wonderfully!" I exclaimed. "So far I could hardly have gone astray. But now your thoughts went back to Beecher, and you looked hard across as if you were studying the character in his features. Then your eyes ceased to pucker, but you continued to look across, and your face was thoughtful. You were recalling the incidents of Beecher's career. I was well aware that you could not do this without thinking of the mission which he undertook on behalf of the North at the time of the Civil War, for I remember your expressing your passionate indignation at the way in which he was received by the more turbulent of our people. You felt so strongly about it that I knew you could not think of Beecher without thinking of that also. When a moment later I saw your eyes wander away from the picture, I suspected that your mind had now turned to the Civil War, and when I observed that your lips set, your eyes sparkled, and your hands clenched I was positive that you were indeed thinking of the gallantry which was shown by both sides in that desperate struggle. But then, again, your face grew sadder, you shook your head. You were dwelling upon the sadness and horror and useless waste of life. Your hand stole towards your own old wound and a smile quivered on your lips, which showed me that the ridiculous side of this method of settling international questions had forced itself upon your mind. At this point I agreed with you that it was preposterous and was glad to find that all my deductions had been correct." "Absolutely!" said I. "And now that you have explained it, I confess that I am as amazed as before." "It was very superficial, my dear Watson, I assure you. I should not have intruded it upon your attention had you not shown some incredulity the other day. But I have in my hands here a little problem which may prove to be more difficult of solution than my small essay I thought reading. Have you observed in the paper a short paragraph referring to the remarkable contents of a packet sent through the post to Miss Cushing, of Cross Street, Croydon?" "No, I saw nothing." "Ah! then you must have overlooked it. Just toss it over to me. Here it is, under the financial column. Perhaps you would be good enough to read it aloud." I picked up the paper which he had thrown back to me and read the paragraph indicated. It was headed, "A Gruesome Packet." "Miss Susan Cushing, living at Cross Street, Croydon, has been made the victim of what must be regarded as a peculiarly revolting practical joke unless some more sinister meaning should prove to be attached to the incident. At two o'clock yesterday afternoon a small packet, wrapped in brown paper, was handed in by the postman. A cardboard box was inside, which was filled with coarse salt. On emptying this, Miss Cushing was horrified to find two human ears, apparently quite freshly severed. The box had been sent by parcel post from Belfast upon the morning before. There is no indication as to the sender, and the matter is the more mysterious as Miss Cushing, who is a maiden lady of fifty, has led a most retired life, and has so few acquaintances or correspondents that it is a rare event for her to receive anything through the post. Some years ago, however, when she resided at Penge, she let apartments in her house to three young medical students, whom she was obliged to get rid of on account of their noisy and irregular habits. The police are of opinion that this outrage may have been perpetrated upon Miss Cushing by these youths, who owed her a grudge and who hoped to frighten her by sending her these relics of the dissecting-rooms. Some probability is lent to the theory by the fact that one of these students came from the north of Ireland, and, to the best of Miss Cushing's belief, from Belfast. In the meantime, the matter is being actively investigated, Mr. Lestrade, one of the very smartest of our detective officers, being in charge of the case." "So much for the Daily Chronicle," said Holmes as I finished reading. "Now for our friend Lestrade. I had a note from him this morning, in which he says: "I think that this case is very much in your line. We have every hope of clearing the matter up, but we find a little difficulty in getting anything to work upon. We have, of course, wired to the Belfast post-office, but a large number of parcels were handed in upon that day, and they have no means of identifying this particular one, or of remembering the sender. The box is a half-pound box of honeydew tobacco and does not help us in any way. The medical student theory still appears to me to be the most feasible, but if you should have a few hours to spare I should be very happy to see you out here. I shall be either at the house or in the police-station all day. "What say you, Watson? Can you rise superior to the heat and run down to Croydon with me on the off chance of a case for your annals?" "I was longing for something to do." "You shall have it then. Ring for our boots and tell them to order a cab. I'll be back in a moment when I have changed my dressing-gown and filled my cigar-case." A shower of rain fell while we were in the train, and the heat was far less oppressive in Croydon than in town. Holmes had sent on a wire, so that Lestrade, as wiry, as dapper, and as ferret-like as ever, was waiting for us at the station. A walk of five minutes took us to Cross Street, where Miss Cushing resided. It was a very long street of two-story brick houses, neat and prim, with whitened stone steps and little groups of aproned women gossiping at the doors. Halfway down, Lestrade stopped and tapped at a door, which was opened by a small servant girl. Miss Cushing was sitting in the front room, into which we were ushered. She was a placid-faced woman, with large, gentle eyes, and grizzled hair curving down over her temples on each side. A worked antimacassar lay upon her lap and a basket of coloured silks stood upon a stool beside her. "They are in the outhouse, those dreadful things," said she as Lestrade entered. "I wish that you would take them away altogether." "So I shall, Miss Cushing. I only kept them here until my friend, Mr. Holmes, should have seen them in your presence." "Why in my presence, sir?" "In case he wished to ask any questions." "What is the use of asking me questions when I tell you I know nothing whatever about it?" "Quite so, madam," said Holmes in his soothing way. "I have no doubt that you have been annoyed more than enough already over this business." "Indeed I have, sir. I am a quiet woman and live a retired life. It is something new for me to see my name in the papers and to find the police in my house. I won't have those things I here, Mr. Lestrade. If you wish to see them you must go to the outhouse." It was a small shed in the narrow garden which ran behind the house. Lestrade went in and brought out a yellow cardboard box, with a piece of brown paper and some string. There was a bench at the end of the path, and we all sat down while Homes examined one by one, the articles which Lestrade had handed to him. "The string is exceedingly interesting," he remarked, holding it up to the light and sniffing at it. "What do you make of this string, Lestrade?" "It has been tarred." "Precisely. It is a piece of tarred twine. You have also, no doubt, remarked that Miss Cushing has cut the cord with a scissors, as can be seen by the double fray on each side. This is of importance." "I cannot see the importance," said Lestrade. "The importance lies in the fact that the knot is left intact, and that this knot is of a peculiar character." "It is very neatly tied. I had already made a note of that effect," said Lestrade complacently. "So much for the string, then," said Holmes, smiling, "now for the box wrapper. Brown paper, with a distinct smell of coffee. What, did you not observe it? I think there can be no doubt of it. Address printed in rather straggling characters: 'Miss S. Cushing, Cross Street, Croydon.' Done with a broad-pointed pen, probably a J, and with very inferior ink. The word 'Croydon' has been originally spelled with an 'i', which has been changed to 'y'. The parcel was directed, then, by a man--the printing is distinctly masculine--of limited education and unacquainted with the town of Croydon. So far, so good! The box is a yellow, half-pound honeydew box, with nothing distinctive save two thumb marks at the left bottom corner. It is filled with rough salt of the quality used for preserving hides and other of the coarser commercial purposes. And embedded in it are these very singular enclosures." He took out the two ears as he spoke, and laying a board across his knee he examined them minutely, while Lestrade and I, bending forward on each side of him, glanced alternately at these dreadful relics and at the thoughtful, eager face of our companion. Finally he returned them to the box once more and sat for a while in deep meditation. "You have observed, of course," said he at last, "that the ears are not a pair." "Yes, I have noticed that. But if this were the practical joke of some students from the dissecting-rooms, it would be as easy for them to send two odd ears as a pair." "Precisely. But this is not a practical joke." "You are sure of it?" "The presumption is strongly against it. Bodies in the dissecting-rooms are injected with preservative fluid. These ears bear no signs of this. They are fresh, too. They have been cut off with a blunt instrument, which would hardly happen if a student had done it. Again, carbolic or rectified spirits would be the preservatives which would suggest themselves to the medical mind, certainly not rough salt. I repeat that there is no practical joke here, but that we are investigating a serious crime." A vague thrill ran through me as I listened to my companion's words and saw the stern gravity which had hardened his features. This brutal preliminary seemed to shadow forth some strange and inexplicable horror in the background. Lestrade, however, shook his head like a man who is only half convinced. "There are objections to the joke theory, no doubt," said he, "but there are much stronger reasons against the other. We know that this woman has led a most quiet and respectable life at Penge and here for the last twenty years. She has hardly been away from her home for a day during that time. Why on earth, then, should any criminal send her the proofs of his guilt, especially as, unless she is a most consummate actress, she understands quite as little of the matter as we do?" "That is the problem which we have to solve," Holmes answered, "and for my part I shall set about it by presuming that my reasoning is correct, and that a double murder has been committed. One of these ears is a woman's, small, finely formed, and pierced for an earring. The other is a man's, sun-burned, discoloured, and also pierced for an earring. These two people are presumably dead, or we should have heard their story before now. To-day is Friday. The packet was posted on Thursday morning. The tragedy, then, occurred on Wednesday or Tuesday, or earlier. If the two people were murdered, who but their murderer would have sent this sign of his work to Miss Cushing? We may take it that the sender of the packet is the man whom we want. But he must have some strong reason for sending Miss Cushing this packet. What reason then? It must have been to tell her that the deed was done! or to pain her, perhaps. But in that case she knows who it is. Does she know? I doubt it. If she knew, why should she call the police in? She might have buried the ears, and no one would have been the wiser. That is what she would have done if she had wished to shield the criminal. But if she does not wish to shield him she would give his name. There is a tangle here which needs straightening to." He had been talking in a high, quick voice, staring blankly up over the garden fence, but now he sprang briskly to his feet and walked towards the house. "I have a few questions to ask Miss Cushing," said he. "In that case I may leave you here," said Lestrade, "for I have another small business on hand. I think that I have nothing further to learn from Miss Cushing. You will find me at the police-station." "We shall look in on our way to the train," answered Holmes. A moment later he and I were back in the front room, where the impassive lady was still quietly working away at her antimacassar. She put it down on her lap as we entered and looked at us with her frank, searching blue eyes. "I am convinced, sir," she said, "that this matter is a mistake, and that the parcel was never meant for me at all. I have said this several times to the gentlemen from Scotland Yard, but he simply laughs at me. I have not an enemy in the world, as far as I know, so why should anyone play me such a trick?" "I am coming to be of the same opinion, Miss Cushing," said Holmes, taking a seat beside her. "I think that it is more than probable--" He paused, and I was surprised, on glancing round to see that he was staring with singular intentness at the lady's profile. Surprise and satisfaction were both for an instant to be read upon his eager face, though when she glanced round to find out the cause of his silence he had become as demure as ever. I stared hard myself at her flat, grizzled hair, her trim cap, her little gilt earrings, her placid features; but I could see nothing which could account for my companion's evident excitement. "There were one or two questions--" "Oh, I am weary of questions!" cried Miss Cushing impatiently. "You have two sisters, I believe." "How could you know that?" "I observed the very instant that I entered the room that you have a portrait group of three ladies upon the mantelpiece, one of whom is undoubtedly yourself, while the others are so exceedingly like you that there could be no doubt of the relationship." "Yes, you are quite right. Those are my sisters, Sarah and Mary." "And here at my elbow is another portrait, taken at Liverpool, of your younger sister, in the company of a man who appears to be a steward by his uniform. I observe that she was unmarried at the time." "You are very quick at observing." "That is my trade." "Well, you are quite right. But she was married to Mr. Browner a few days afterwards. He was on the South American line when that was taken, but he was so fond of her that he couldn't abide to leave her for so long, and he got into the Liverpool and London boats." "Ah, the Conqueror, perhaps?" "No, the May Day, when last I heard. Jim came down here to see me once. That was before he broke the pledge; but afterwards he would always take drink when he was ashore, and a little drink would send him stark, staring mad. Ah! it was a bad day that ever he took a glass in his hand again. First he dropped me, then he quarrelled with Sarah, and now that Mary has stopped writing we don't know how things are going with them." It was evident that Miss Cushing had come upon a subject on which she felt very deeply. Like most people who lead a lonely life, she was shy at first, but ended by becoming extremely communicative. She told us many details about her brother-in-law the steward, and then wandering off on the subject of her former lodgers, the medical students, she gave us a long account of their delinquencies, with their names and those of their hospitals. Holmes listened attentively to everything, throwing in a question from time to time. "About your second sister, Sarah," said he. "I wonder, since you are both maiden ladies, that you do not keep house together." "Ah! you don't know Sarah's temper or you would wonder no more. I tried it when I came to Croydon, and we kept on until about two months ago, when we had to part. I don't want to say a word against my own sister, but she was always meddlesome and hard to please, was Sarah." "You say that she quarrelled with your Liverpool relations." "Yes, and they were the best of friends at one time. Why, she went up there to live in order to be near them. And now she has no word hard enough for Jim Browner. The last six months that she was here she would speak of nothing but his drinking and his ways. He had caught her meddling, I suspect, and given her a bit of his mind, and that was the start of it." "Thank you, Miss Cushing," said Holmes, rising and bowing. "Your sister Sarah lives, I think you said, at New Street, Wallington? Good-bye, and I am very sorry that you should have been troubled over a case with which, as you say, you have nothing whatever to do." There was a cab passing as we came out, and Holmes hailed it. "How far to Wallington?" he asked. "Only about a mile, sir." "Very good. Jump in, Watson. We must strike while the iron is hot. Simple as the case is, there have been one or two very instructive details in connection with it. Just pull up at a telegraph office as you pass, cabby." Holmes sent off a short wire and for the rest of the drive lay back in the cab, with his hat tilted over his nose to keep the sun from his face. Our drive pulled up at a house which was not unlike the one which we had just quitted. My companion ordered him to wait, and had his hand upon the knocker, when the door opened and a grave young gentleman in black, with a very shiny hat, appeared on the step. "Is Miss Cushing at home?" asked Holmes. "Miss Sarah Cushing is extremely ill," said he. "She has been suffering since yesterday from brain symptoms of great severity. As her medical adviser, I cannot possibly take the responsibility of allowing anyone to see her. I should recommend you to call again in ten days." He drew on his gloves, closed the door, and marched off down the street. "Well, if we can't we can't," said Holmes, cheerfully. "Perhaps she could not or would not have told you much." "I did not wish her to tell me anything. I only wanted to look at her. However, I think that I have got all that I want. Drive us to some decent hotel, cabby, where we may have some lunch, and afterwards we shall drop down upon friend Lestrade at the police-station." We had a pleasant little meal together, during which Holmes would talk about nothing but violins, narrating with great exultation how he had purchased his own Stradivarius, which was worth at least five hundred guineas, at a Jew broker's in Tottenham Court Road for fifty-five shillings. This led him to Paganini, and we sat for an hour over a bottle of claret while he told me anecdote after anecdote of that extraordinary man. The afternoon was far advanced and the hot glare had softened into a mellow glow before we found ourselves at the police-station. Lestrade was waiting for us at the door. "A telegram for you, Mr. Holmes," said he. "Ha! It is the answer!" He tore it open, glanced his eyes over it, and crumpled it into his pocket. "That's all right," said he. "Have you found out anything?" "I have found out everything!" "What!" Lestrade stared at him in amazement. "You are joking." "I was never more serious in my life. A shocking crime has been committed, and I think I have now laid bare every detail of it." "And the criminal?" Holmes scribbled a few words upon the back of one of his visiting cards and threw it over to Lestrade. "That is the name," he said. "You cannot effect an arrest until to-morrow night at the earliest. I should prefer that you do not mention my name at all in connection with the case, as I choose to be only associated with those crimes which present some difficulty in their solution. Come on, Watson." We strode off together to the station, leaving Lestrade still staring with a delighted face at the card which Holmes had thrown him. "The case," said Sherlock Holmes as we chatted over our cigars that night in our rooms at Baker Street, "is one where, as in the investigations which you have chronicled under the names of 'A Study in Scarlet' and of 'The Sign of Four,' we have been compelled to reason backward from effects to causes. I have written to Lestrade asking him to supply us with the details which are now wanting, and which he will only get after he had secured his man. That he may be safely trusted to do, for although he is absolutely devoid of reason, he is as tenacious as a bulldog when he once understands what he has to do, and indeed, it is just this tenacity which has brought him to the top at Scotland Yard." "Your case is not complete, then?" I asked. "It is fairly complete in essentials. We know who the author of the revolting business is, although one of the victims still escapes us. Of course, you have formed your own conclusions." "I presume that this Jim Browner, the steward of a Liverpool boat, is the man whom you suspect?" "Oh! it is more than a suspicion." "And yet I cannot see anything save very vague indications." "On the contrary, to my mind nothing could be more clear. Let me run over the principal steps. We approached the case, you remember, with an absolutely blank mind, which is always an advantage. We had formed no theories. We were simply there to observe and to draw inferences from our observations. What did we see first? A very placid and respectable lady, who seemed quite innocent of any secret, and a portrait which showed me that she had two younger sisters. It instantly flashed across my mind that the box might have been meant for one of these. I set the idea aside as one which could be disproved or confirmed at our leisure. Then we went to the garden, as you remember, and we saw the very singular contents of the little yellow box. "The string was of the quality which is used by sail-makers aboard ship, and at once a whiff of the sea was perceptible in our investigation. When I observed that the knot was one which is popular with sailors, that the parcel had been posted at a port, and that the male ear was pierced for an earring which is so much more common among sailors than landsmen, I was quite certain that all the actors in the tragedy were to be found among our seafaring classes. "When I came to examine the address of the packet I observed that it was to Miss S. Cushing. Now, the oldest sister would, of course, be Miss Cushing, and although her initial was 'S' it might belong to one of the others as well. In that case we should have to commence our investigation from a fresh basis altogether. I therefore went into the house with the intention of clearing up this point. I was about to assure Miss Cushing that I was convinced that a mistake had been made when you may remember that I came suddenly to a stop. The fact was that I had just seen something which filled me with surprise and at the same time narrowed the field of our inquiry immensely. "As a medical man, you are aware, Watson, that there is no part of the body which varies so much as the human ear. Each ear is as a rule quite distinctive and differs from all other ones. In last year's Anthropological Journal you will find two short monographs from my pen upon the subject. I had, therefore, examined the ears in the box with the eyes of an expert and had carefully noted their anatomical peculiarities. Imagine my surprise, then, when on looking at Miss Cushing I perceived that her ear corresponded exactly with the female ear which I had just inspected. The matter was entirely beyond coincidence. There was the same shortening of the pinna, the same broad curve of the upper lobe, the same convolution of the inner cartilage. In all essentials it was the same ear. "In the first place, her sister's name was Sarah, and her address had until recently been the same, so that it was quite obvious how the mistake had occurred and for whom the packet was meant. Then we heard of this steward, married to the third sister, and learned that he had at one time been so intimate with Miss Sarah that she had actually gone up to Liverpool to be near the Browners, but a quarrel had afterwards divided them. This quarrel had put a stop to all communications for some months, so that if Browner had occasion to address a packet to Miss Sarah, he would undoubtedly have done so to her old address. "And now the matter had begun to straighten itself out wonderfully. We had learned of the existence of this steward, an impulsive man, of strong passions--you remember that he threw up what must have been a very superior berth in order to be nearer to his wife--subject, too, to occasional fits of hard drinking. We had reason to believe that his wife had been murdered, and that a man--presumably a seafaring man--had been murdered at the same time. Jealousy, of course, at once suggests itself as the motive for the crime. And why should these proofs of the deed be sent to Miss Sarah Cushing? Probably because during her residence in Liverpool she had some hand in bringing about the events which led to the tragedy. You will observe that this line of boats call at Belfast, Dublin, and Waterford; so that, presuming that Browner had committed the deed and had embarked at once upon his steamer, the May Day, Belfast would be the first place at which he could post his terrible packet. "A second solution was at this stage obviously possible, and although I thought it exceedingly unlikely, I was determined to elucidate it before going further. An unsuccessful lover might have killed Mr. and Mrs. Browner, and the male ear might have belonged to the husband. There were many grave objections to this theory, but it was conceivable. I therefore sent off a telegram to my friend Algar, of the Liverpool force, and asked him to find out if Mrs. Browner were at home, and if Browner had departed in the May Day. Then we went on to Wallington to visit Miss Sarah. "I was curious, in the first place, to see how far the family ear had been reproduced in her. Then, of course, she might give us very important information, but I was not sanguine that she would. She must have heard of the business the day before, since all Croydon was ringing with it, and she alone could have understood for whom the packet was meant. If she had been willing to help justice she would probably have communicated with the police already. However, it was clearly our duty to see her, so we went. We found that the news of the arrival of the packet--for her illness dated from that time--had such an effect upon her as to bring on brain fever. It was clearer than ever that she understood its full significance, but equally clear that we should have to wait some time for any assistance from her. "However, we were really independent of her help. Our answers were waiting for us at the police-station, where I had directed Algar to send them. Nothing could be more conclusive. Mrs. Browner's house had been closed for more than three days, and the neighbours were of opinion that she had gone south to see her relatives. It had been ascertained at the shipping offices that Browner had left aboard of the May Day, and I calculate that she is due in the Thames tomorrow night. When he arrives he will be met by the obtuse but resolute Lestrade, and I have no doubt that we shall have all our details filled in." Sherlock Holmes was not disappointed in his expectations. Two days later he received a bulky envelope, which contained a short note from the detective, and a typewritten document, which covered several pages of foolscap. "Lestrade has got him all right," said Holmes, glancing up at me. "Perhaps it would interest you to hear what he says. "My dear Mr. Holmes: In accordance with the scheme which we had formed in order to test our theories" ["the 'we' is rather fine, Watson, is it not?"] "I went down to the Albert Dock yesterday at 6 p.m., and boarded the S.S. May Day, belonging to the Liverpool, Dublin, and London Steam Packet Company. On inquiry, I found that there was a steward on board of the name of James Browner and that he had acted during the voyage in such an extraordinary manner that the captain had been compelled to relieve him of his duties. On descending to his berth, I found him seated upon a chest with his head sunk upon his hands, rocking himself to and fro. He is a big, powerful chap, clean-shaven, and very swarthy--something like Aldrige, who helped us in the bogus laundry affair. He jumped up when he heard my business, and I had my whistle to my lips to call a couple of river police, who were round the corner, but he seemed to have no heart in him, and he held out his hands quietly enough for the darbies. We brought him along to the cells, and his box as well, for we thought there might be something incriminating; but, bar a big sharp knife such as most sailors have, we got nothing for our trouble. However, we find that we shall want no more evidence, for on being brought before the inspector at the station he asked leave to make a statement, which was, of course, taken down, just as he made it, by our shorthand man. We had three copies typewritten, one of which I enclose. The affair proves, as I always thought it would, to be an extremely simple one, but I am obliged to you for assisting me in my investigation. With kind regards, "Yours very truly, "G. Lestrade. "Hum! The investigation really was a very simple one," remarked Holmes, "but I don't think it struck him in that light when he first called us in. However, let us see what Jim Browner has to say for himself. This is his statement as made before Inspector Montgomery at the Shadwell Police Station, and it has the advantage of being verbatim." "'Have I anything to say? Yes, I have a deal to say. I have to make a clean breast of it all. You can hang me, or you can leave me alone. I don't care a plug which you do. I tell you I've not shut an eye in sleep since I did it, and I don't believe I ever will again until I get past all waking. Sometimes it's his face, but most generally it's hers. I'm never without one or the other before me. He looks frowning and black-like, but she has a kind o' surprise upon her face. Ay, the white lamb, she might well be surprised when she read death on a face that had seldom looked anything but love upon her before. "'But it was Sarah's fault, and may the curse of a broken man put a blight on her and set the blood rotting in her veins! It's not that I want to clear myself. I know that I went back to drink, like the beast that I was. But she would have forgiven me; she would have stuck as close to me a rope to a block if that woman had never darkened our door. For Sarah Cushing loved me--that's the root of the business--she loved me until all her love turned to poisonous hate when she knew that I thought more of my wife's footmark in the mud than I did of her whole body and soul. "'There were three sisters altogether. The old one was just a good woman, the second was a devil, and the third was an angel. Sarah was thirty-three, and Mary was twenty-nine when I married. We were just as happy as the day was long when we set up house together, and in all Liverpool there was no better woman than my Mary. And then we asked Sarah up for a week, and the week grew into a month, and one thing led to another, until she was just one of ourselves. "'I was blue ribbon at that time, and we were putting a little money by, and all was as bright as a new dollar. My God, whoever would have thought that it could have come to this? Whoever would have dreamed it? "'I used to be home for the week-ends very often, and sometimes if the ship were held back for cargo I would have a whole week at a time, and in this way I saw a deal of my sister-in-law, Sarah. She was a fine tall woman, black and quick and fierce, with a proud way of carrying her head, and a glint from her eye like a spark from a flint. But when little Mary was there I had never a thought of her, and that I swear as I hope for God's mercy. "'It had seemed to me sometimes that she liked to be alone with me, or to coax me out for a walk with her, but I had never thought anything of that. But one evening my eyes were opened. I had come up from the ship and found my wife out, but Sarah at home. "Where's Mary?" I asked. "Oh, she has gone to pay some accounts." I was impatient and paced up and down the room. "Can't you be happy for five minutes without Mary, Jim?" says she. "It's a bad compliment to me that you can't be contented with my society for so short a time." "That's all right, my lass," said I, putting out my hand towards her in a kindly way, but she had it in both hers in an instant, and they burned as if they were in a fever. I looked into her eyes and I read it all there. There was no need for her to speak, nor for me either. I frowned and drew my hand away. Then she stood by my side in silence for a bit, and then put up her hand and patted me on the shoulder. "Steady old Jim!" said she, and with a kind o' mocking laugh, she ran out of the room. "'Well, from that time Sarah hated me with her whole heart and soul, and she is a woman who can hate, too. I was a fool to let her go on biding with us--a besotted fool--but I never said a word to Mary, for I knew it would grieve her. Things went on much as before, but after a time I began to find that there was a bit of a change in Mary herself. She had always been so trusting and so innocent, but now she became queer and suspicious, wanting to know where I had been and what I had been doing, and whom my letters were from, and what I had in my pockets, and a thousand such follies. Day by day she grew queerer and more irritable, and we had ceaseless rows about nothing. I was fairly puzzled by it all. Sarah avoided me now, but she and Mary were just inseparable. I can see now how she was plotting and scheming and poisoning my wife's mind against me, but I was such a blind beetle that I could not understand it at the time. Then I broke my blue ribbon and began to drink again, but I think I should not have done it if Mary had been the same as ever. She had some reason to be disgusted with me now, and the gap between us began to be wider and wider. And then this Alec Fairbairn chipped in, and things became a thousand times blacker. "'It was to see Sarah that he came to my house first, but soon it was to see us, for he was a man with winning ways, and he made friends wherever he went. He was a dashing, swaggering chap, smart and curled, who had seen half the world and could talk of what he had seen. He was good company, I won't deny it, and he had wonderful polite ways with him for a sailor man, so that I think there must have been a time when he knew more of the poop than the forecastle. For a month he was in and out of my house, and never once did it cross my mind that harm might come of his soft, tricky ways. And then at last something made me suspect, and from that day my peace was gone forever. "'It was only a little thing, too. I had come into the parlour unexpected, and as I walked in at the door I saw a light of welcome on my wife's face. But as she saw who it was it faded again, and she turned away with a look of disappointment. That was enough for me. There was no one but Alec Fairbairn whose step she could have mistaken for mine. If I could have seen him then I should have killed him, for I have always been like a madman when my temper gets loose. Mary saw the devil's light in my eyes, and she ran forward with her hands on my sleeve. "Don't, Jim, don't!" says she. "Where's Sarah?" I asked. "In the kitchen," says she. "Sarah," says I as I went in, "this man Fairbairn is never to darken my door again." "Why not?" says she. "Because I order it." "Oh!" says she, "if my friends are not good enough for this house, then I am not good enough for it either." "You can do what you like," says I, "but if Fairbairn shows his face here again I'll send you one of his ears for a keepsake." She was frightened by my face, I think, for she never answered a word, and the same evening she left my house. "'Well, I don't know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don't know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well. "'Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this week and all the misery and ruin. "'It was in this way. We had gone on the May Day for a round voyage of seven days, but a hogshead got loose and started one of our plates, so that we had to put back into port for twelve hours. I left the ship and came home, thinking what a surprise it would be for my wife, and hoping that maybe she would be glad to see me so soon. The thought was in my head as I turned into my own street, and at that moment a cab passed me, and there she was, sitting by the side of Fairbairn, the two chatting and laughing, with never a thought for me as I stood watching them from the footpath. "'I tell you, and I give you my word for it, that from that moment I was not my own master, and it is all like a dim dream when I look back on it. I had been drinking hard of late, and the two things together fairly turned my brain. There's something throbbing in my head now, like a docker's hammer, but that morning I seemed to have all Niagara whizzing and buzzing in my ears. "'Well, I took to my heels, and I ran after the cab. I had a heavy oak stick in my hand, and I tell you I saw red from the first; but as I ran I got cunning, too, and hung back a little to see them without being seen. They pulled up soon at the railway station. There was a good crowd round the booking-office, so I got quite close to them without being seen. They took tickets for New Brighton. So did I, but I got in three carriages behind them. When we reached it they walked along the Parade, and I was never more than a hundred yards from them. At last I saw them hire a boat and start for a row, for it was a very hot day, and they thought, no doubt, that it would be cooler on the water. "'It was just as if they had been given into my hands. There was a bit of a haze, and you could not see more than a few hundred yards. I hired a boat for myself, and I pulled after them. I could see the blur of their craft, but they were going nearly as fast as I, and they must have been a long mile from the shore before I caught them up. The haze was like a curtain all round us, and there were we three in the middle of it. My God, shall I ever forget their faces when they saw who was in the boat that was closing in upon them? She screamed out. He swore like a madman and jabbed at me with an oar, for he must have seen death in my eyes. I got past it and got one in with my stick that crushed his head like an egg. I would have spared her, perhaps, for all my madness, but she threw her arms round him, crying out to him, and calling him "Alec." I struck again, and she lay stretched beside him. I was like a wild beast then that had tasted blood. If Sarah had been there, by the Lord, she should have joined them. I pulled out my knife, and--well, there! I've said enough. It gave me a kind of savage joy when I thought how Sarah would feel when she had such signs as these of what her meddling had brought about. Then I tied the bodies into the boat, stove a plank, and stood by until they had sunk. I knew very well that the owner would think that they had lost their bearings in the haze, and had drifted off out to sea. I cleaned myself up, got back to land, and joined my ship without a soul having a suspicion of what had passed. That night I made up the packet for Sarah Cushing, and next day I sent it from Belfast. "'There you have the whole truth of it. You can hang me, or do what you like with me, but you cannot punish me as I have been punished already. I cannot shut my eyes but I see those two faces staring at me--staring at me as they stared when my boat broke through the haze. I killed them quick, but they are killing me slow; and if I have another night of it I shall be either mad or dead before morning. You won't put me alone into a cell, sir? For pity's sake don't, and may you be treated in your day of agony as you treat me now.' "What is the meaning of it, Watson?" said Holmes solemnly as he laid down the paper. "What object is served by this circle of misery and violence and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled by chance, which is unthinkable. But what end? There is the great standing perennial problem to which human reason is as far from an answer as ever." Publication Date: February 12th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.doyle

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-kaitlyn-garlets-fears/

Kaitlyn Garlets Fears Somewhere outside Austin, Texas Mia slept less and less these days. She knew that some day she would become famous around the world, but she just didn't know it would be so soon. Her dream was to become a world famous chef, but she wasn't going to be famous for that. She sighed and looked outside her window, the moon close enough to be able to touch. It was a cloudless night and all the stars shown bright enough to where you wouldn't need a candle or a light to be able to see outside. She turned away from the window so she wouldn't have to see the sky. She hated the sky. It reminded her of how she always questioned things like if God was real or if there was a Devil or a Heaven or Hell. She wasn't even sure if Humans existed. She sighed deeply again and gave up on sleeping. She wasn't getting any more than she had the last night. She yanked her covers off of her warm body and slipped over to her window, where she climbed out of it into the night, still in her PJ's. She jumped down her ivy plant in the front yard that intertwined with the brick wall of her house and landed on the damp ground with a THUD! of both of her feet. She looked around for her boyfriend, who she wouldn't be able to see anymore because she was moving to a stupid small town that isn't even on a single map. She spotted him, standing against a light post across the street and she jogged over to him, hugging him from the back. "Hey," He said, kissing her on the lips. It hurt her to kiss him when she wouldn't be able to kiss him anymore. "Hi. How long have you been standing here?" Mia asks him, returning his kiss. "Not long. I would wait for years if I had to for you," he said, smiling down at her. She giggled. He was so good to her, and it wasn't fair that she had to move to a dumb dusty town far away from him. The only way that they would keep in contact is by email or calling over the phone since she didn't have a cell phone with texting. "Really?" Mia asks, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. "I wish I could stay here with you forever!" She kisses him again. He pulls away. "Hey, look. I need to tell you something. I don't think that I could do this whole long-distance thing or whatever. We can still call each other, but I don't think we would be able to actually see each other, and I want to be able to see you. I don't want you to leave me, so run away with me." She gapes at him. She never thought a guy her age would tell her something like that. She was about to say yes, when she got this gut feeling that she shouldn't. She told him yes anyways. "You will?" he asks, picking her up and swinging her around once and then he kissed her hard on the lips. She nods. "I will. We could get married or something!" He stops kissing her and frowns. "Well, we are still pretty young, so I don't know about that." She frowns, but understands him. "I was just kidding, you know." She wasn't so sure she was kidding, but it was better not to bring that topic up again with him unless he starts it. He smiles at her. "Good. We are so too young to do that. But on the other hand..." he raises his eyebrows up and down three or four times and grabs her butt, squeezing it. She giggles. "Not going to happen, and you know it!" Mia giggles. She took his hand off her right butt cheek and kissed him, but it did no good to take it off. He laughs with her. "So, I was thinking, we should meet at some place where my dad and brother won't think to look. I was thinking that we should meet at the public library." He looks at her, then bursts out laughing. "You want to meet at a library and run away from there?" She nods. It was the perfect plan: once her brother and dad were in the moving truck, she would say she forgot her bags and run inside on last time to get them and run out the back door, leaving a note once her dad comes in to look for her to see what was taking her so long with her bags. He would find the note, saying that she was going away and no one could stop her no matter what he did to try and stop it. She would run to the library and meet up with her boyfriend and then they would go from there. And you know what? She had just thought of that plan a few seconds earlier! "Yeah, we go there and our family members don't think to look there because that would be the last place anyone would find us there! You know how I hate books and the quiet. Its perfect!" Mia said, laughing. "I don't think so," said a voice that sent a chill up both her spine and her boyfriends. Mia turns around to see a man with short-cut jet-black hair that obviously had gel in it with a black leather jacket on him with tight black leather pants. He reminded Mia of Danny off of Grease. "Who are you?" Mia asked, frowning. She knew everyone in this town, and he wasn't someone she knew, so he had to be either a newbie, or a passer. "I have a lot of different names. But for you, Mia, you can call me Lucas. I see that your boyfriend Jake just pissed his pants at the sight of me, but not you, Mia. Your not scared of me, are you?" Lucas said, raising an eyebrow at her. Mia's boyfriend ran. "Jake! Where are you going? Are we still running away together?" Mia heard him yell back to her, "Like Hell I am!" Mia's heart felt like it had been ripped out of her chest. He really didn't care about her. He probably only wanted to get into her pants and then dump her off on the street. "You are right again, Mia. He was going to fuck you and then get rid of you. Do you want that to happen to you, Mia?" Lucas asked. Mia's blood started boiling in her veins. She wasn't hurt like she thought she was, but mad now. She had to get back at him before she left town. She looked at the strange man in all black. "How did you know I was thinking that?" He smirks. "I know everything. Nothing is a secret when I am around. And I know you really don't believe in anything but what is living. So, let me ask you something, Mia. Do you believe in Hell?" Mia's lips curled into a smile for not reason at all. Lucas was the bad boy she was looking for, and she could use him to get revenge on Jake. He had to pay for deceiving her. He had to. Lucas smiled. "That's my girl. Come, your cold, and I do not like cold girls in my home town. Go inside your house and I will meet you at your new house tomorrow. Do not tell anyone about me, Mia, okay?" Mia nods, jogging to her front door. She didn't even care if her dad woke up to find her from outside. She was steaming mad. The next day, at her new home Mia sat her luggage down, choking as she breathed in the dusty air. She could tell that no one had been in the house since the Dark Ages, way back then probably, and she already told herself that she didn't like it. The house was an old one that looked like all the carvings in the furniture was made by famous people like Leonardo Da Vinci or whoever carves in wood. She raced up the new stairs that were so old they squeaked with each step she took. Once she was at the top, she looked around for a room to have for herself. She turned the corner and opened one of the doors to find a room with a dusty old bedroom full of baby dolls. And they were all looking at her. She screamed and ran out of the room. Why did she have to have gone into that room when she knew she had a fear of baby dolls. Or dolls for that matter. Also called The Pediophobia--fear of dolls. She's had Pediophobia since she was ten years old when she got her first baby doll for her birthday. She didn't want to think about it, and so she ran down the stairs and ran right into her brother. They fell to the dusty floor and she closed her eyes, feeling her forehead from the gash she had just gotten from slamming into her brother. She was bleeding, and she gasped at the pain. She opened her eyes and saw her brother staring at her with widened eyes. "Mia, I think you need to find a mirror right now." She frowned. What was he talking about? "Huh?" She stared back at her brother and stood, walking out the front door. "Dad!" She found her dad unpacking some of his garden tools in the back yard of the new house. He looked up and smiled at her, then saw her gash on her forehead. "What did you do to your forehead, Mia?" her dad asked, standing to take a closer look. She shrugged. "I ran into Kyle on the way down the stairs." "Well, Honey," her dad said, laughing, "why did you do that? And why were you running?" Her cheeks turned a bright red. She never liked to talk about her fear of dolls. "I went into a room upstairs and found a bunch of freaky looking dolls so I ran back down the stairs to help you, is all." "Oh, well. No thanks. What room did you pick out? There seems to be almost a million rooms to choose from. I think that the last owners had a daughter too and she was younger than you, but she died. I think that's why her stuff is still here if that's what you were talking about, sweetie." "Well, there is no way that I am taking that room she used to have. Is there any downstairs?" she asked, hoping he would say yes. "Oh, yeah. Lots. Pick any of them. Oh, what the heck. Pick two out!" he said sarcastically. He bent down to the ground and Mia walked away. She turned the corner of the house as she looked around the fogged-up back yard and saw a large figure out in the yard. She stopped to take a look, but got curious and decided to take a closer look. She walked closer to it and saw that it was a statue of an angel that wore a white gown and was holding a harp in her hands, looking up to the sky. Mia touched the angel's fingers. They were smooth in her hand. "Like it?" A voice said behind her. Mia turned around to see the strange man named Lucas standing behind her. She nods. "Yes, it looks old. How did you know I was here?" Mia couldn't remember if she told him where she was moving to. "I was born in this house. I told you when we first met that I would meet you at your new house. I am here now." "What do you want?" Mia asked rudely. He smiled, then turned to the angel statue. "This angel was put here by my father's father. My grandfather. He was a brilliant man who loved it here, but I never liked him at all. Nor my father. I hated my whole family." Mia looked at Lucas in the eyes and gasped. He didn't have any pupils. "What's wrong with your eyes?" Mia asked. Lucas looks at her and smiles. "Hmm? Oh, my eyes. I was born like this. I wish I could see, but I cannot. I can only see the evil on this planet." "What do you mean?" MIa looks back to the angel, but something was different about it. She looked scared now rather than what she had been looking like before Lucas came over here. "Do you remember when I asked you if you believed in Hell?" Lucas asked, ignoring her question. She nods. "Yes, I do. But I didn't answer you." "Right. Please, don't answer me just yet," he said, turning away from her. "Where are you going?" Mia asked, not wanting him to go. He twisted back to look at her and he smiled. Something about his smile sent chills up her spine. "No where. I'll be back, but for now, lets just keep this little conversation to yourself, alright?" She nods and blinked slowly. When her eyes opened again, Lucas was gone. Who was this strange man that knew so much? Was he really born in her new house? What was wrong with his eyes and why did he say he could only see evil? She was confused, but she dropped her thoughts as she looked around the foggy yard. Something was strange about all this, but she didn't know what. She walked farther into the foggy yard and the fog got thicker as she went farther into the yard. Then suddenly, a shadow caught her eyes to the left, then another and another. She gasped when she finally realized that she was standing in a cemetery. She looked down and saw she was standing on a grave sight and she looked closer to see who's grave she was standing on. Lucas Malcolm Sands September 4th, 1324-September 4th, 1765 A son, a father and a wonderful grandfather Mia blinked. Was she seeing what she thought she was seeing? How was that even possible? Was this the same Lucas that kept appearing out of nowhere? She shook her head and blinked a couple times. This didn't make any sense. Someone named Lucas was buried here and had died on his birthday more than four hundred and fifty years after his birthday! That couldn't be right. She blinked again and looked back at the grave stone, but it was blank. Could she have imagined it? She shook the chills she was getting and walked back to the house, flabbergasted. "Hey," her brother Kyle said as she walked into the old house, silent. She nodded to him. "Hi. Where's dad?" "Kitchen. He's trying to figure out what to make for dinner. You better go in there and stop him from making something nasty like he always does." She nodded again and walked into the kitchen and found her dad running a pan that was on fire to the kitchen sink. She sighed and looked around. The kitchen was an old fashioned on and she already didn't want to cook in here, even though she loved to cook. Everything was old fashioned even the stove, which you had to light to get it started. "Dad, do you want me to make dinner?" Mia asked him, taking the now burnt pan away from him. He swiped sweat off of his neck and nodded. After a sucky dinner Once dinner was done, she went to take another look around the house, peeking in every room trying to find a place to have her space. She wasn't even going to go upstairs in the room with the dolls, so she finally found a room with a window seat and a large bare bed and a side table. She liked the room. She stood in the middle of the room as the sky turned a deep red and orange. Back in her old town, there was never a sky that beautiful. Suddenly, she heard a crash coming from somewhere in the house and she ran out of her room and into the living room where her dad was sitting reading the news paper and drinking something that probably had alcohol in it. He didn't even look up when she walked into the living room. "Dad?" Mia asked, standing in front of her dad. He looked up from his paper. "Did you hear that crash?" "What crash? I didn't hear anything," he said and went back to his paper. Mia groaned and called Kyle's name. Kyle came running down the stairs. He looked scared. "Mia? I need you." Mia's heart raced as she and her brother ran back up the stairs and into the room with the dolls. She didn't want to go in the room, but something told her to. She took a step into the room with Kyle right behind her. "What happened?" Kyle shrugged. "I don't know. I heard a crash and went looking for whatever it was and opened the door to see all these dolls on the floor." Mia suddenly got mad. "I cannot believe you did this!" Kyle looked at her. "What? I didn't! I was in my room all the way down the hallway and I heard a crash and I just opened the door and found them on the floor! I swear I didn't do it! They were not like that when I first looked in the room!" Tears fell from his eyes. Mia hugged her brother. She knew now that he hadn't done that because he only cries when he was innocent. "I'm sorry I even thought it was you. How do you like your new room?" They walk out of the room with the dolls still all over the floor. "I don't know. It seems too dark up here. Do you think that we could be neighbors?" Kyle said with a smile. Mia liked having her brother near her. They were that close. She nodded. "Okay. There's a room to the left of me. I still wish we never moved here. I want to go home, don't you?" Mia asked, as they walked down the stairs. "Mia! Kyle!" their dad called up the stairs. Mia and Kyle looked at each other and then ran down the stairs two at a time. They hated it when their dad yelled their names because they knew it wouldn't be good. "Dad?" Mia asked him as she turned the corner of the stairs on the ground floor. "What is it?" "I want you to meet someone," her dad said, moving out of the way. Standing behind her dad was an old lay with silver hair. She was wearing something that looked like she was from the twentieth century and Mia could tell that she was Spanish. "HI," Mia and Kyle say in synch. "Hello, sweet hearts! I'm going to be your nanny!" she said, smiling at them. "You must be Mia, and you must be Kyle! I'm Hally, but you can just call me Nanny." Mia almost wanted to burst out laughing. She exchanged a look with Kyle and she could tell that he was thinking the same thing. Her dad smiled at them, obviously hoping they would say something nice to her because they just stood there in the living room staring at each other. "Okay, well. I have to go see my new boss, so you can get to know Hally more," her dad said, kissing them both on the head. "Oh, and Mia. You still should clean your dried blood off of your forehead. Its looking gross." He smiled again at her and Kyle then grabbed his coat and walked out the open door, closing it behind him. He never liked the door to be open. Suddenly, Hally started to speak in Spanish. "Oh, Dios! Esta casa está llena de espíritus!" She waved her hands up in the air and began to cross her hand over her chest, in the shape of a cross. "What's wrong?" Mia asked, hiding her smile. Hally looked at them and frowned. "There are spirits here. You must leave now! Bad things will happen if you do not!" What was she talking about? Spirits? Mia didn't believe in them. "I think you've breathed in too much dust, Hally." She walked away from the crazy nanny and Kyle followed her behind her. "Want to go take a look around the town? I already asked dad and he said he didn't mind as long as we came back before it gets dark outside." Mia nods and opens the door, calling to her new nanny that they were going out to town and began laughing when Kyle closes the front door behind him. "Wow, I think our nanny is crazy. There are spirits in your house!" She mimicked how the nanny threw her hands up in the air and laughed again as they walked down the street. Kyle laughed with her. "Yeah, I think so too. Hey," he pointed to someone walking towards them. "who's that?" Mia shrugs and squints, looking at the boy coming towards them. She waves and a second later, he waved back. "Hi!" Kyle said, stopping a few paces in front of the boy. The boy looked Mia's age and had brownish hair that was so wavy, it made Mia choke on the breath she was taking in when she saw him. "Hey," he said and smiled at her, making her heart race. He was really cute and wore a white tank top that hugged his muscles. "You the new family in the old house over there?" he pointed to their house. "Yeah, just moved in. Has a ton of rooms." "Cool. What's your name?" he asked Mia more than he asked Kyle. "Mia. Yours?" she said, smiling her best smile to him. "Zeth. Are you going to be going to our school? It over on Humbing Street. I can show you around if you want me to. This your brother?" Zeth asked, looking at Kyle. "Yeah, his name is Kyle. How old are you?" Mia asked. "How old are you?" Zeth asked, raising his eyebrows. "Sixteen. Kyle's only thirteen." "Cool, I'm the same. As you, I mean." Mia nods. "So, how long have you lived here?" "Long enough. So, can I show you around?" Zeth asked, holding his arm out for Mia to take. She links her arm with his and they begin to walk away. She turns her head back to look at her brother who mouths, "Have a good time!" She nods and smiles at him, thanking him in her head that he didn't want to go with her. They walked to the end of the street. "So, what do you think of the town since you got here?" Mia shrugs. "I don't know. Not much to say other than it seems to small and too friendly for my taste. Not including you, of course." They laugh. "Well, I agree. I usually don't talk to strangers, but you seem like an exception." "Ditto. So, where do you live?" Mia asked, not sure why she asked him that. "Just down the street from your place. I heard that your house is haunted. Must take a lot of balls to move into a place like that. Never been in it, though," Zeth said. "What do you mean by that?" Mia asked. "Well, people say that there was this family that lived there a long time ago way before there was a cemetery in your back yard. They say that when the person built the house, there was only two people, a man and a woman and they were just married and they soon had a daughter and not long after came another child, a boy this time and he was crazy when he got older. People also say that he talked to the devil and worshipped him or something like that and the devil told him to kill his family and they never left after they did die." Mia's heart was racing, but it wasn't because she was arm in arm with a cute guy, but because of what he was telling her. They turned another corner and now she couldn't see her house anymore. "You mean he killed his family and they stayed there, even after death?" "Yeah. Or so people say. No one has been in that house since the sheriff closed it for investigation." "What do you mean?" Mia asked. "Well, there used to be a museum in the house you live in now and one day a woman went in there and never came out. A boy found her body a couple of days later, on the floor in the living room covered in blood." "Who was the boy?" Mia asked. "No one knows. The sheriff closed the museum and didn't let anyone in it until a couple of months later where its been for sale ever since then. Pretty scary huh?" Zeth asked, raising his eyebrows at her. She nods, not sure what to say. "Did the boy who killed his family die?" "Not that I know of. Why?" Zeth asked, looking at her. "You okay? You look like your going to pass out." Mia stopped on the sidewalk and looked behind her, looking for her house, but she couldn't see it anymore. "I don't know. Do you know what year it was when the family died?" "Uh, I'll have to ask my teacher or someone. Why do you want to know?" Zeth asked, holding Mia up from falling. "You sure your okay? You are looking really pale." She nods. "I think I should go." She started running in the direction she had come from. "Wait! Will I see you again?" Zeth calls to her. "Are you going to go to my school tomorrow?" "Yeah! See you then!" Mia calls and starts running faster. She couldn't think straight and almost stumbled as she ran. She tripped over a rock and fell to the ground, scraping her hands and knees.. "Hey, you okay?" Zeth said, panting as he ran up to her to help her up. She shakes her head. "Can you walk me home? I need to talk to me dad. Please, just walk me home." He nods and helps her up and takes her home. Back at home after Zeth leaves Inside her room, Mia sat on her bed and tried to wrap her head on everything that Zeth had just told her about the family that used to live in the house. Was it possible that her new nanny was right about the spirits being in the house? She didn't know. Suddenly, a knock came at her door and Kyle's head pops around the door. "Hey," Mia barely gets out. "Hey," Kyle said. "You okay? I talked to that Zeth kid and said you freaked out or something and fell so he brought you home." Mia looks up at her brother, wanting so bad to cry. She didn't know why, but she needed to. Kyle's eyes widened and saw tears swell up in his sister's eyes and he sat on her bed and let her cry on his shoulders until she fell asleep. The next morning Mia awoke to the smell of bacon. She loved bacon. She smiled and yanked her covers off of her body, not even remembering putting any on her bed. She walked out of her room and into the kitchen and saw Kyle standing over the stove, cooking. "Morning," Kyle said, turning around to look at her. "You awake yet?" "I'm awake. I didn't even know you cooked, Kyle. When did you learn?" Mia asked, sitting down at the table. "I don't know how, but I thought it couldn't be too hard since I watch you cook all the time. Want burnt bacon and burnt toast and burnt OJ?" He asked sarcastically. Mia laughed. "I love burnt everything, so give me two of each. So you ready for school today?" He nods and goes back to burning the bacon on the pan. "Yeah. Are you going to tell me what happened yesterday when I left you with that guy named Zeth or whatever?" Mia frowns. She didn't want to think about him right now, no matter how cute he is. "Uh, I don't know. It was about this house and who used to live here. I'm starting to think that something pushed those dolls over yesterday." "Well, I sure didn't," Kyle said, putting burnt bacon on her plate. She grabbed one and took a bite out of it. Not bad for his first time, Mia thought. "Hey, did you happen to get into my boxes of stuff and put my covers over me last night?" Kyle turns to look at her. "No, why?" "Well, I awoke with them on me. Not bad, the bacon, Kyle," Mia said, just to be nice. It wasn't that the bacon was bad or anything, she just felt like she should tell him that. "So, I thought Nannies were supposed to cook for us while dad is gone. By the way, is he at work right now? When did he leave?" "Oh, I don't know. I awoke to a note saying see you after school, so I assumed that he left for work." He looked at his watch and groaned. "Looks like we're going to be late for school. We slept in too late. And speaking of our nanny, dad told me last night that she quite. She grabbed her things or something and went to talk to dad while I was in the room and started speaking in Spanish to him or something like that. Lets get to school before we're marked absent." Mia frowned. She wondered why Hally quite. Maybe it was because of the 'spirits' she was talking about yesterday. She shrugged to herself and stood. "We might as well be late than not at school at all. I need to get dressed and set my alarm so we both wake up before school starts. Meet my outside in ten." She walked back to her room and sat on her bed, wondering which box she put all her clothes in. Ten minutes later, outside Mia closed and locked the front door with the spare key and shoved it underneath the porch stair on the very bottom so she could find it when she got back home from school and Kyle and her began walking to the school that Zeth had pointed to yesterday. They walked fast and when they hit the school's street, they jogged onto the campus and yanked open the front door to the school. Immediately, Mia and Kyle were welcomed by a staff member. "Hi, you guys must be Mia and Kyle!" said a tall man with a wig on to hide his bald spot. Mia and Kyle waved. "HI." "So, I will be taking Kyle with me to his classes today and my secretary Maggy will be taking you, Mia. Oh, by the way, I am Principal Jenkins." "HI, Principal Jenkins," Mia said, looking at his secretary. She was very short and had very long hair. "Hello, Mia," she said to her as she put a hand on her back to guide her. "I hear that you live in one of the oldest houses in town, am I right?" Mia nods. "Yeah, people have already said that its haunted or something. I don't really believe in that kind of stuff." She laughed nervously. “How come?” Maggy asked, smiling. Mia could tell that she was trying not to laugh at her. “Well, it never happened to me, so why believe in something that I have never seen before?” Mia said, shrugging. She didn’t know what else to say. Sometime after school at home Mia didn’t have a very good day at school, and she wished she had seen Zeth, but unfortunately, she didn’t have any classes with him. She did see him at lunch, but he didn’t see her, and she didn’t want to go over and ask to sit with him, so she sat with Kyle and ate her lunch in silence. Mia sighed and flopped on her bed, making the bed shift from its spot in the room. Suddenly, she heard something from another room and she sat up, listening to whatever was making the scratching noise. She held her breath as she suddenly got a strange, but familiar feeling and she stood up from her bed and walked out of her room. She peeked around the corner of the hallway and saw nothing, so she slowly walked into the kitchen where she still saw nothing out of the ordinary. “Kyle?” Mia called, hoping it wasn’t Kyle doing anything to scare her. “Hello, Mia,” a familiar voice said from behind her. She twisted around to see Lucas standing behind her, wearing all black leather again as when he had when they first met. “Oh, geez! You scared me, Lucas! How did you get in here? I locked the door behind me when Kyle and I came home,” Mia said, shaking her head. He shrugs. “I have my ways. So, do you still want to get back at your little ex-boyfriend?” Mia frowned. She hadn’t even thought of Jake since she moved here. She didn’t want to deal with him right now, or ever, for that matter. She didn’t really care about him as much as she thought she did. She shrugged. “Hmm,” Lucas said, frowning. “I thought you would surely want to…but I can see you have other things on your mind. Would you care to have a cup of coffee with me later tonight?” Mia hated coffee. Why was he asking this? Mia hardly knew him and he was acting like he knew her all his life. He even walked right into her locked-up house without a key and acted like he’s been doing that for ages now. And something about him just didn’t add up. He had said once to her that he grew up in this house, so he had to know who the other Lucas was outside in the cemetery. “Uh, I don’t know,” Mia said. “I have homework to do.” Lucas frowns again. “Hmm. Well, maybe I was wrong about you after all.” Mia narrows her eyes at him. What was he talking about? “Huh? What do you mean by that?” He shrugs. “Nothing really. I just thought you were those kinds of girls that liked to be on the edge, but I can see that your not.” “What are you talking about? Who said that I was one of those kinds of girls?” Mia asked, suddenly getting angry. “Well, for one, when your boy-friend ran off at the sight of me and you didn’t told me that something was different about you.” “Uh, I’m just a regular girl. Nothing more. I wasn’t thinking straight then because I was in shock, that’s all!” Mia said, defending herself. “And who are you anyways? And what are you even doing in my house? Don’t you know how to knock?” Suddenly, Lucas’ face went white with anger. “Well then. I can see that I am not wanted here. And for your information, I have been here longer than you have. This is my house. And you do not belong here. But, I have moved on to a different place and I am allowing you to stay here as long as you do what I say.” Mia was so shocked. Who was this man? How did he know so much about her and what is he talking about? “Excuse me?” “Mia?” Kyle’s voice rang out down the hallway. “Who are you talking to?” Mia peeked around the corner of the kitchen and saw her brother’s head, pocked out of his bedroom doorway. “No one, just some kid I met.” Kyle walked out into the hallway and frowned at Mia, who was staring at Lucas. “Who is it?” Kyle asked, walking around the corner of the room. “I don’t see anyone.” Mia gasped. “He’s right here. Are you blind or something?” She pointed to Lucas, who was smiling at Kyle. Kyle looked to where she was pointing, but all he saw was the stove. “Your talking to a stove?” “What?” Mia asked, frowning. “Seriously? His name is Lucas and I met him on the night before we moved here. He’s been following me and claims to have lived here a long time ago,” she said, looking back at Lucas, who was hiding a laugh. “but looks way to young to have lived here. And now he won’t leave me alone.” Kyle stared at his sister. “Okay, then. I’m going to leave now. Have fun talking to your imaginary friend.” Kyle walked out of the hallway and Mia heard his door shut behind him. “Why didn’t you say anything to him?” Mia asked, staring at Lucas. “He cannot see me.” “Why not?” Mia asked; hardly believe what he was telling her. “Oh, Mia. In time you will learn my ways. Oh, and Mia, I would advise you not to go out into the cemetery out back. People say its haunted.” Lucas turned to leave, but suddenly Mia had the urge. She grabbed his wrist and stared at him in the eyes. She gasped and saw the same eyes she had seen before. His eyes intrigued her and it felt like all she could see was him. “Mia…” Lucas said, turning away from her gaze. He seemed different as she looked at him. Not the way he always did with being mysterious and all, but somehow vulnerable and weak and small on the inside. “Help me.” Mia almost didn’t hear what he said and blinked. When her eyelids came open, he was gone from her grip and out of her sight. She fell to the floor, dizzy and fainted. Hours later “Mia? You awake yet?” her brother stood over her, staring down. She nodded and blinked the black dots away. She felt tired and weak and stiff in one whole moment and it pained her to think about what Lucas had said to her. Help me. He had said, and then he was gone. Was it possible that something strange was going on with this strange man? He seemed to know enough about her and her knew home, but she knew nothing about him or thins town and this house. “Yeah, what happened?” Mia asked, sitting up once the black dots were gone from her eyesight. Kyle stood. “Well, you passed out I think and I didn’t find you until later last night. Did someone do something to you? I mean, ever since we moved here, you’ve been acting really weird lately. You can tell me, you know.” Mia nods. “I don’t think you would believe me if I told you, anyways, so I don’t think I should tell you.” Kyle made a sound in his throat, obviously thinking that her statement was wrong. “Come on, Mia. You know me better than that. You can tell me anything. I promise I will not laugh at you.” Mia thought about that for a minute. If she was right about what she was thinking, then he probably would laugh at her because it even seemed silly to her! “I don’t know, Kyle. It’s nothing really. Were you really not lying when you couldn’t see Lucas?” Mia asked, her heart racing. Kyle’s face went white. “Mia, I think that you are hallucinating or something. I swear I didn’t see anything. Please, you really are scaring me. Especially when you hurt yourself falling when you were with that Zeth kid and then you fainted in the kitchen. Something is going on, and I want to help you. I am your brother, and I don’t want anything to happen to you, so please, just tell me.” Mia nodded. “Okay. Let’s get something to eat first, my stomach is growling at me to feed it. I’ll tell you while we’re eating.” Kyle nodded and waited for Mia to lead the way to the kitchen to make sure she didn’t faint on him again. A few minutes later, eating a sandwich Kyle was listening to every word that came out of Mia’s mouth. He at first didn’t believe her when she said that she thought that this Lucas person was real, but was only letting her see him because he is a ghost. “But,” Kyle said after Mia was done talking. “If this Lucas guy is supposedly real, then how is it possible for you to only see him and I want to see the grave that you saw.” “So, you believe me?” Mia asked, shocked. “I don’t know. I just think that some of this doesn’t add up. I mean, how would he know where we used to live?” Kyle asked, a suspicious look on his face. He obviously didn’t believe her and was just saying he did. Mia stood. “You don’t believe me, do you? Just forget about everything I said.” Kyle stood. “Wait, Mia. I never said that I didn’t believe you. I just think that some of this is hard to believe. I told you that I wasn’t going to laugh and I am not. I want to see the grave stone out back. So lets go.” Mia nodded and they walked out the back door to where Mia had seen the grave stone, and sure enough, the grave stone was there, but this time, it didn’t read: September 4th, 1324-September 4th, 1765, It read: September 4th, 1324-September 4th, 1408 Mia stood in front of the grave stone in disbelief. She looked at Kyle, who most definitly wasn't looking at Mia because he was staring at the grave stone. "Do you believe me now?" Mia asked Kyle, who stared at her. He nodded. "But didn't you say that the grave stone said something like the seventeen-hundreds or something?" Kyle asked. Mia looked back at the grave stone. Had she imagined the writing? She was in fact very tired when she saw it. "I dont know. I think so, but maybe I was seeing things or something. But I think it is really weird because this Lucas person that keeps coming to me, I think this is him. And maybe his ghost is haunting me or something and that is why you didn't see him. Do you think we should look this up or something?" Kyle looked back at the grave stone and then back at her and nodded. "I think so. We shouldn't tell dad about this because he might think we're just playing a trick on him or something. I don't want to seem like a crazy person or anything." Mia nodded and turned to walk away but then stopped when she got the familiar feeling she always got when someone was about to come up behind her. She slowly turned around and saw Lucas standing behind her, frowning at her. "I thought I told you to stay away from here," Lucas said, a grave look on his face. Mia caught her breath as Kyle cussed under his breath. "Kyle?" Mia whispered and backed up and grabbed Kyle's arm. Kyle nodded, which told Mia that he was seeing Lucas now. "Kyle, is it? Nice to meet you. I'm Lucas." Kyle nodded in aknowledgement and backed up with Mia, who's heart was beating so fast and loudly, Lucas could probably hear it. Lucas took a step towards them, but then suddenly dropped to the ground and he hit his head on the grave Kyle and Mia had been looking at. He landed on the ground, face down with blood gushing out of his head. Mia screamed and her first thought was to run, but then Lucas looked up and she saw something she hadn't before in his eyes. She didn't know what it was, but she ran to him and helped him up. "Mia..." Lucas said, looking into her eyes. "You need to leave. Leave me. You cannot help me. He is too powerful for you to do anything to him! He's here! Leave!" He gasped and Mia accidently let go of him and he once again fell to the damp ground and lay there, bleeding. She screamed again and looked around for Kyle, but he was standing far away from her, pertrified. He looked at her, then back at Lucas, who was now thrashing around on the ground as if someone was kicking him. "Lucas?" Mia asked, bending down to stop him from thrashing himself around. "What's going on?" Lucas suddenly stopped and dropped his head, so it dangled in Mia's arms. She pulled herself up and dragged Lucas over to Kyle, who backed up as if he was a paracite. "Help me ccarry him into the house before someone sees this!" Mia said, grabbing his arms. Kyle grabbed his feet and they carried him into the house. The next day Lucas was in the bedroom that she, Kyle, and her dad had decided was a guest room, and he was still in the bed, sleeping. Or what seemed to be sleeping. He hadn't changed since the day before, and Mia was starting to think that he was in a coma. Mia didn't know if she should tell her dad anything yet, but he was starting to question why she had an unconcious teenage boy in the room to her right of hers. She didn't know what to tell him, so she and Kyle tried their best to say he was wondering around, dazed, not knowing where he was and fell to the ground, (which fit in with all the blood bit, thankfully for Kyle and Mia), unconcious. And so they brought him into the house and let him use the guest bedroom. Their dad believed them, thankfully. He had said when he saw the boy in the room, "Who's the boy? I hope your not dating him, Mia. He doesn't look your type. What's he doing in their and why is there dried blood everywhere?" Mia sighed and closed the front door behind her, making sure it was locked. She couldn't help but think that she had to go to school and not be with Lucas, who hadn't changed since the last time she checked on him, which was only a few seconds ago. Hopefully he would know where he was when he did awaken, and hopefully he wouldn't leave until she got back from school. She walked to the end of her front gate and closed it also and thought about the note she left him just in case he awoke saying: Dear Lucas, Hope you feel better when you awaken. There is some food in the fridge if you want, and don't worry about where Kyle and I are, we are at school. Please don't leave the house until I know your better, Sincerely, Mia She sighed and looked at Kyle as they walked and wished he would say something to her. He hadn't said anything to her since they brought Lucas into the house, and she thought it had something to do with her. But then Kyle looked at her and smiled one of his weak smiles, telling Mia that he was just as flabbergasted as she was. The night that Lucas was brought into the house, Mia had a nightmare when she went to bed. She had dreamed that Lucas was being possessed by a creature. The creature had looked almost devilish and Mia had screamed for him to stop, but he just laughed at her and swung his clawed hand at her and sliced her neck open. Mia had woken up drenched in sweat and a long, red scratch on her neck. "Kyle?" Mia whispered as they turned the corner of their street. Kyle looked at her. "Hmm?" "What do you think happened?" She asked, not knowing what else to say to him. He shrugged. Obviously he didn't want to talk about it. She sighed and looked up at the school. This would be the second day that she's been at the school, and so far, she hadn't had a chance to talk to Zeth, who seemed to avoid her for some unknown reason. "Mia?" Kyle asked, not looking up from the ground. "Yes?" Mia asked, still staring at the school. "Do you think that he could be possessed?" Kyle asked after another minute or so. Mia shrugged. It could be anything for all they knew. "I don't know, Kyle. Lets just not talk about this until we get home, okay?" Kyle nodded and they entered the school and they went their seperate ways to their classes before the bell rang. Mia already had her classes memorized, so she didn't need to look at her schedule. She entered her science class, not wanting to even have to work her brain and her teacher, Mr. Bee was sitting at his desk, grading the test Mia didn't have to take on her first day of school. She sat down at the desk she had sat at on her first day of school and shuffled through her backpack to find her notebook and pencil. "Good morning, Miss Mia," Mr. Bee said, smiling at her. She didn't smile back. "Morning," she said, not looking up from her notebook. "Having a bad morning?" Mr. Bee asked, standing. He walked over to the chalk board and began to write the next assignment on the board before everyone else came to class. "Sort of. I think I woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Mia said, holding back some tears she didn't even want to cry out. Mr. Bee turned around and frowned. "Are you the family living in the old Sands house?" Mia looked up and nodded. "Yes, why?" Mr. Bee walked over to her desk and frowned. "The last family that lived in there left the second day they moved in because their son had committed suicide. That was five years ago. I thought you should know that no one else knows this because the family wanted it to be kept a secret and that you can come and talk to me anytime you want to. I know how it can be. I've been in that house before. Its scary and I believe what other peope say about it being haunted and everything." Mia nodded. "How did you know about the family? Even I didn't know about it." Mr. Bee sighed. "I used to live right next to the house and moved out once I saw what happened to the boy. I hope that your doing okay there. Have you seen the cemetery out back?" Mia nodded again, an image flashing before her eyes of Lucas falling the the ground, bleeding. "Mr. Bee? Do you know a boy named Lucas? I don't know his last name, but he's about my age." Mr. Bee wrinkled his eyesbrows, thinking. "I don't think so, but if I remember, I'll let you know." He walked back to the board to finish writing the assignment and Mia looked down at her paper. She had broken her pencil. She stood and looked around for a pencil sharpener, but couldn't find one, so she took a pen out of her backpack and waited for the bell to ring. Later, during lunch Mia walked to the lunch line, even though she wasn't hungry. She sighed for the millionth time and looked around for Kyle, who was sitting down at a table with the nerds. "Next!" the lunch lady called and Mia grabbed a tray and stood in front of the lunch lady. "What can I get you?" Mia looked at the options and frowned. There--like always--wasn't anything good to eat. "Uh, just give me the salad. Some OJ too, please." "Alright," the lunch lady said and handed Mia the salad and the OJ. "here you go. Hey, are you the one that lives in that haunted house?" Mia groaned. She'd heard that question so many times today from students and teachers she didn't have. "Yes." She walked to the paying area and stopped in front of the man who was waiting impatiantly for her to hand him the money she owed. She felt in her pockets, but couldn't find her ten dollars, so she checked her jacket pocket. "Hold on just a second. Its here somewhere," Mia said to the man. "Hey, I got it," said a voice from behind her. She turned around to see Zeth standing next to her. She sighed with relief. "Thanks. I couldn't find my money," Mia said while Zeth handed the man the money. "I'll pay you back when I can find my money." Zeth smiled at her. "No need. I have enough that I can stomp on and burn and it wouldn't do anything to the money." Zeth put a hand on the small of her back and they walked to a table Zeth was leading her to and she sat down at a table for two. Mia blushed, thinking of the first time she and Jake went out for lunch and sat down at a table for two. Zeth sat down in front of her. "So, how do you like the school so far?" Mia shrugged, taking a bite of her salad. "I don't know, people keep asking if I'm the one who lives in the haunted house." "I bet you get tired of that," Zeth said, smiling. He was staring at her in a strange way. Mia blushed again and looked down at her salad. She suddenly wasn't hungry anymore. She sat her fork down and looked at Zeth, who hadn't moved his eyes from her since she last looked at him. "Zeth, why are you staring at me like that?" Mia asked, looking around to see if anyone else was like that. Zeth shrugged. "I think your interesting." "What do you mean?" Mia asked, feeling her cheeks turn a deep red. "Remember when we first met? You just came up to me like we've known each other since forever. No one likes to talk to me but my closest friends. No girl for that matter has talked to me." Mia looked down at her plate. "Why?" "I don't know. Maybe they think I look weird or something. Who cares anyways? I don't care how many friends I have or not. I just think it was strange for you to come up to me like you did." Mia thought about what he said for a minute, realizing that he was right. It felt like she's known him all her life. "Well, I think your interesting too." "Do you now?" Zeth asked, a little shocked. "Why?" "I don't know, maybe its because you helped a girl pick herself off the ground after he told her a story about the house she lived in and took me home and didn't laugh at me." Zeth stared at her. "I would never laugh at you. Mia, would you like to go to the lake with me after school?" Mia looked up at him and blushed. Was he asking me out on a date? "You mean like a date?" Mia asked, her heart racing. She couldn't remember her heart beating this much when Jake first asked her out. "If you calll it that. You might want to bring a swimming suit too," Zeth said, smiling at her. "I already asked Kyle to come. He's pretty cool." Mia didn't know Zeth had been talking to her brother. "You talk to Kyle?" "Sure, no one else will, though. I think he's cool and I think it would be fun to go to the lake together." Mia blushed, thinking of herself being in a swimming suit in front of Zeth. It seemed so different then it had been with Jake. She's been in one in front of Jake, and it felt so uncomfortable. "Okay, what are we going to do at the lake?" Mia asked. "I was thinking I could show you something." Mia blushed again. What was with her blushing so much in front of him? "Like what?" "Something. You can stop blushing now, you know, even though I do like to see the color of your cheeks like that. It brings out your eyes." Mia blushed even harder and looked down at her untouched salad. "They do?" Mia asked. Zeth nodded. "They do. I like your eyes color anyways. They remind me of the ocean." Mia smiled at him. Not even Jake had said that to her before. "Really? I've never been to the ocean beach before. I bet its beautiful there." Zet smiled back. "Well, I wouldn't say it unless it isn't true." Suddenly, the phone Mia had taken from her dad so that he could call anytime that he wanted to started to vibrate and she took it out of her pocket. "Sorry, Zeth. Hold on, my phone is ringing." She opened the phone and held it to her ear. "Hello?" "Mia?" a familiar voice said from the other line. "Lucas?" Mia asked, standing up from her chair so fast, it fell to the floor with a clatter, making everyone around her look to see what had happened. "Your awake! Where are you?" "Still at your house. How did I get in your bed?" Lucas asked. "I'll explain it to you when I get there. Kyle and I will be there in a minute." "Okay, bye." The phone clicked and Mia shut hers. "Zeth, my friend just woke up from a coma and I have to go see him. Do you want to come?" Mia asked, already grabbing her bag. Zeth stood and nodded. "Lets get your brother." "Okay," Mia said and looked around for Kyle, who was still sitting with the nerds. "Kyle!" Kyle turned to look to where she yelled his name and the look on her face told him that he was awake. He stood up from his seat and jogged over to her. "Is he awake?" "He called me on dad's cell phone. I told him that we would be over in a few minutes and Zeth is coming with us." Kyle nodded towards Zeth, who returned it and they began to jog to the front door, where they were stopped by a teacher Mia didn't know. "What do you three think your doing?" the teacher asked, frowning at them. Mia groaned. "Uh, we really need to get by so that I can go home." She didn't know what else to say to her. "If you are to leave the school, you have to go to the office and with a parent. And you must sign out," the teacher said, staring the three down. "well, we don't have time for that," Kyle said and shoved the teacher out of the way. Mia, Kyle and Zeth ran past the teacher, who was staring at the no the ground with a shocked look on her face. "You get back here!" the teacher yelled, but let them go anyways. A few minutes later, at home Mia, Kyle and Zeth ran into the house and burst into the kitchen, where Lucas was sitting down at the table, eating something from their fridge. "Lucas!" Mia said, hugging Lucas, even though she didn't know why. "Mia, what happened?" Lucas asked, looking at Mia and Kyle. "I'll tell you later. When did you wake up?" Mia asked, both sitting down at the table. Zeth and Kyle sat down in front of the two. "A while ago. All I remember is waking up in your bed and then I walked out into here and saw a number on the fridge, so I called it and you answered." Mia sighed. She was happy that he was awake, but now she had to explain this to her dad and to Zeth, who was just sitting down at the table, not talking. "Zeth, I bet your wanting to know about Lucas, right?" Kyle asked before Mia could. "Uh, yeah. I think. Who is he?" Zeth asked, a questioning look on his face. Mia and Kyle exchanged a look, which told them that they needed to talk alone and figure out how and what to tell him. They stood and exited the room and when they thought that Lucas and Zeth were out of ear shot, they started talking in a whisper. "What are we going to tell Zeth? We can't just tell him the truth, he might think that we're crazy!" Kyle said, looking around the corner. "I know, but I want to tell him the truth. I think he should know. I mean, if we made something up about how Lucas ended up in one of our beds, he might think something is off and then suspect something. Or, like you said, think that we're crazy!" "So lets just tell him the truth and if he doesn't believe us, then lets just burst out laughing and say we got you! Like a joke, you know?" Kyle said. "That could work, but I think he just might believe us!" Mia said and walked back into the kitchen, obviously the conversation was over with. Kyle followed behind her. "Zeth, what we are about to tell you is the truth and I don't want you to just laugh and say something like, 'bull shit' or something like that. If you don't believe us, then its your problem, not ours. Okay?" Zeth nodded, not saying anything, so they told him everything starting with the moment that Lucas showed up in front of Mia when she was talking to Jake to the moment he awoke. Once they finished, Zeth's face was white as a ghost. Mia looked at him. "So, do you believe us?" Zeth didn't say anything for a long time. Then he sighed and looked at Mia. "I believe you." Mia sighed with relief. She didn't know what she would do without him now that he knew everything they did. Lucas stood and looked around the kitchen. He began to breath heavily and Mia and Kyle stood and grabbed his arms, which were cutting into his skin. "Lucas!" Mia said, fearing that he was going to hurt himself. "What's wrong?" Lucas looked at Mia with wide eyes. "He's here." "Who's here?" Mia asked. "Him. He's here and he knows that you know!" Lucas jerked out of Kyle and Mia's grip and knocked her onto the floor, making her hit her head on the side of the table. Zeth was at her side in a split second. "Mia? You okay?" Zeth asked, grabbing her hand. She nodded and rubbed her head where she had hit it. Lucas was on the floor, hiding under the table, looking at Mia. "Please, help me, Mia. I need your help. He'll get me unless you get rid of him. Please." Mia gasped at the pain in her head. She could see that Lucas was in need of her help, but she didn't know how to help him or what he was talking about. "Lucas, I want to help you, but I don't know how. Please, just tell me what your talking about!" She stood with Zeth at her side and ran out of the room, a dosen emotions flooding her all at once. She ran and flopped onto the couch and let the tears fall. She didn't even know why she was crying. She felt Zeth put his arms around her and held her until she stopped crying. When she was done crying, she looked up at Zeth and looked him in the eyes, seeing that it hurt him to see her like that. She had never seen Jake look at her like that. "We'll help him, Mia. I promise," Zeth said and laid her head on his chest again and Mia didn't remember anything after that. Unknown time of day or night Mia awoke to see Lucas and Zeth standing over her. She sat up and smiled at Zeth, who looked really tired. Zeth looked at her and smiled back, but then it faded away within seconds. "Mia, how are you feeling?" Lucas asked. "I don't know. My head still hurts. What happened? All I remember was Zeth sitting on the couch with me crying all over him. Did I fall asleep?" Zeth and Lucas exchanged a look. "Uh, not exactly." "What happened?" Mia asked. "Well, we figured out what was going on with Lucas," Zeth said, turning to the door as Kyle walked in. "Kyle!" Mia said, holding her arms out for him to hug her. She needed a hug right now. Kyle smiled at her and sat down in the farthest chair in her room away from her. "Kyle, what's wrong? And why are you all bandaged up?" Mia asked, getting a bad feeling in her stomach. Suddenly, Lucas sniffed and Mmia and Zeth looked at him and saw tears rolling down his face. "its all my fault. I should never have asked for your help, Mia. He over took you and you attacked Kyle and Zeth. But then you fell to the floor and past out, which told me that you were back to normal." "What are you talking about?" Mia asked, looking at all three. "Lets just say that you were possessed and then you attacked us and Kyle and Zeth ended up in the hospital and then your dad came home and found Kyle and Zeth bandaged up and he freaked, so we kind of had to tell him everything that happened." "What did he say to you?" Mia asked, dreading what was coming next. "Well, lets just say he freaked out some more, but then finally calmed down and I think he is still sceptical, but I think he sort of believes us from what he saw in front of him." "Oh, my God. So this whole time, Lucas has been possessed by something?" Mia asked. "Yeah, ever since I moved in this house a long time ago. Whenever I am possessed, I don't age, so I look younger than I really am. Remember all those times when I would just appear out of nowhere?" Mia nodded. "Yeah, those times were when I was possessed." Lucas explained everything that had happened to him over the years. As he talked, Mia, Zeth and Kyle learned that he moved into this house in the late 1300's and didn't even know that this house had been haunted by the devil. "When I was first possessed by him, I reseached this house and found out that the previous owners who had built this house had a daughter who was obssessed with the devil and made a deal with him that the first man in the house he could take over and have as long as she had kept the deal they had made. My family eventually died, but I stayed because I had to. I didn't want any other man to end up like I did. So, I learned that you were moving here, and so I went to warn you, but I was taken over again by the devil and that's how we met." "I don't understand any of this," Mia said once he was done talking. "So, a girl made a deal with the devil and her part of the deal was to give up the first guy that lived in this house to him and she would get his part od the deal? What was her part?" "Immortality," Lucas said and bowed his head. "Is she still living?" Mia asked, looking at Zeth, who was still looking at her with wide eyes. Lucas nodded. "As long as I stay here she is." Two weeks later, lunch time Zeth looked at Mia and smiled. So far nothing has happened at Mia's house and everything seemed to go back to normal. Lucas had disappeared one night when Mia and Kyle were sleeping and they hadn't heard from him since. "Mia," Zeth said, grabbing her hand. "Hmm?" Mia asked, looking up at him. She loved to look at him and know he felt the same way as she did for him. "Do you and Kyle still want to go to the lake after school? We never got to because of what happened when Lucas woke up, remember?" Zeth said, playing with her fingers. She nods. She needed to get Lucas out of her head and the lake seemed to be like the thing that would. "Sure, why not?" "Great, see you after school then," Zeth said and walked away. She sighed and walked to class, looking down the whole time. After school, at home Mia grabbed her bathing suit and grabbed a towel from the bathroom shelf. She hated being in this house now that she knew what had happened in it a long time ago. Suddenly, she heard something from in the kitchen and she walked into the kitchen to see Kyle raiding the fridge and she sighed with relief. "You still coming with me and Zeth to the lake?" Mia asked, holding her belongings. "Yeah, is it today?" Kyle asked. "Yeah, right now, actually. I'm leaving," Mia said, slipping on her flip flops and turned to the door. "Tell Zeth that I'll be there in half an hour. I have some things to do," Kyle said, shoving a piece of cake in his mouth. Mia nodded and headed out the door to meet with Zeth down the street. Mia looked around for Zeth and finally saw him and waved, almost dropping her towel and bag with a change of clothes in them. "Hi, Mia. Where's Kyle?" He asked, looking around for him. "He said he'll meet us at the lake later, he had something to do or something," Mia said, as they walked. "Oh, cool." "Yeah. So what is it that you were going to show me?" Mia asked. "Oh, just something I think you'll like," Zeth said, smiling at her, which made her blush. "Okay," Mia said and they walked in silence for a while before they heard heavy foot steps from behind them and saw Kyle running to catch up to them. "Hey, guys. You all walk really slowly, you know," Kyle said with a smile. They laughed and walked down the next street, where Mia gasped at how big the lake was from where they were. Down at the lake shore Mia threw her change of clothes onto the sand and took her shirt off, revieling her top of her swimming suit. She then took off her shorts and threw those down on top of her shirt and ran to the edge of the water, where she jumped in, Zeth following behind her. She surfaced and a second later saw Zeth's head bob up. She laughed and swam to him and he grabbed her around the waist. "It feels so great out here," Mia said, leaning her head against his wet bare chest. "Yeah, I agree. I come out here every morning to swim. What do you think of it?" Zeth asked. Mia lifted her head up and looked around, seeing Kyle sitting on the shore, smiling at them. She waved at him and he waved back, finally joining them in the water. "I love it. So, what was it that you wanted to show me?" Mia asked, smiling at him. He smiled back. "I'll show you. You see that rock over there near the side of the shore?" Zeth asked, pointing. Mia nodded, looking. "We need to swim over there." They swam over there and Zeth stood in the water and started climbing on the large rock. When he was on top of the rock, he turned back to Mia and held his hand out for her to take and she did, Zeth helping her up to the top of the rock. Once she was on the top of the rock, she noticed that there was a giant gap in the rock, hiding something she couldn't see very well. Zeth leaned down and put his hand in the gap and pulled out a oxygen tank and a mask and two flippers and handed them to Mia, who sat them down on the rock. He handed her an identical pair of the same thing he had handed her and smiled. "What is all this for?" Mia asked, confused. "I'm going to show you something, but you need to put these things on before we can go down there." Mia looked at him with fright. She didn't know how to use any of these things. "What?" "Here. Let me help." Zeth turned her around and put the two straps over her shoulders and she almost fell over with the weight of the oxygen tank. "Put these on." He handed her the flippers and she put them on her feet and tried to stand, but she again almost fell over. Zeth laughed and helped her up and handed her the mask and told her how to put it on without sucking her face off. Once Zeth was suited up like her, he jumped back into the water and waited for Mia to do the same thing. She jumped and splashed Zeth in the face. She grabbed his hand and he lowered his head underwater. She followed, making sure she didn't do anything else. Zeth held her hand and led her out into the lake and it got colder the farther they went. After some time of just swimming, Zeth stopped and headed down to the bottom of the lake, which took another long time. But as soon as the murky water cleared, Mia gasped through her mouth piece and saw a shape that looked like a building. Zeth turned around to look at her and she saw him smile at her through his mask. He nodded when she pointed to the shape. It was a building. He grabbed her hand again and they swam some more until she saw that there was an intire city under the lake. They looked around some more, but Mia was getting tired and she pointed to the surface and Zeth nodded. They swam until they surfaced and saw Kyle laying on the sand, letting the sun dry them off. She took her mouth piece out of her mouth and waved at Kyle, who sat up when he saw her. He smiled waved back. "So, what did you think?" Zeth asked, still holding her hand. She smiled at him. "It was the most extrordinary thing I have ever seen. Was it a whole town under there?" Mia asked. "Yeah. Before the lake was here there was. Pretty cool huh?" Zeth asked. She nodded. "What was the town called?" "I don't know. We should head in. Its starting to cloud up and when it does that, the lake starts to get rough and I wouldn't want to get lost out here. I don't think a human could withstand the kind of weather that is coming." They headed back to the rock and jumped back into the water to swim back to Kyle, who was already had a suntan. "Hey," Kyle said as they walked onto the shore. "How was it?" "Cool," Mia said, smiling. She grabbed Zeth's hand and he looked up at the sky. "We should head in. Looks like a storm is coming in. And its coming fast!" Zeth said just as rain began to fall. They grabbed their things and ran for the gate that seperated the lake shore from the street and the rain hit them hard, soaking them to the bone. Mia was shivering when they made it to the gate and tried to yank to gate open, but it wouldn't open. "It won't open!" Mia yelled over the hard rain. Zeth nodded. "I know where we can go so that the rain won't get us! We'll have to go to my place to wait out the storm!" Kyle and Mia nodded and jogged with Zeth to a shack that looked condemmed. Zeth yanked the door open as fast as he could and by the time they were inside, they were soaked through and through. "This is where you live? On the lake shore?" Mia asked, looking around. "Yeah. I was tired of living with my parents. They treated my like shit, so I moved out in the middle of the night and never looked back. They probably don't even notice that I'm gone." "Nice place," Kyle said, setting his stuff down on the floor by the door. "We might have to wait out the storm. I heard thunder and saw a couple of lightening bolts a few minutes ago. Its not safe to go out during a storm like this." Mia sighed. "How long will it take?" Zeth shrugged. "I don't know. It might be a few minutes or it might be a few days or even a week. Once I was stuck in here for almost a whole two weeks with hardly any food." Mia sat her stuff down and suddenly needed to pee. "Do you have anywhere to go to the bathroom?" Zeth pointed to a door in the far right and she took her things and opened the door, closing it behind her. While she was getting dressed, Zeth and Kyle talked. "So, Kyle, how are you doing since that one thing happened?" Zeth asked, sitting on his bed. Kyle shrugged. "I don't know. I'm really worried about Mia. I wish she would talk to me, but we haven't talked since it happened and I'm afraid something is going on with her. I'm glad she has someone to lean on, you know?" Zeth nodded. "Yeah." "She likes you, you know," Kyle said, looking around his room. "I know. I like her to, but I haven't had a girl I really liked as much as her to talk to, so I'm not really one to know what to say to her, you know?" Zeth said. "Yeah, I do know. You should tell her how you feel. Being around you makes her feel so much at ease. I think she feels safe around you. With her ex-boyfriend, she was always on edge, caring about everything he said to her, but with you, she doesn't have to worry about that." "Really? She had an ex-boyfriend? I didn't know that." "She doesn't like to talk about him often. He was a jerk to her and she kept going back to him because he was all she had then. But now she has you and she doesn't even know it." "What do you mean?" Zeth asked, sitting up on his bed. "Well, I think that she sort of knows you like her, but she doesn't want to think you do, though. But you might want to ask her yourself," Kyle said, sitting on the other side of his bed. "I want her to know that I have never felt this way about anyone before. She makes me feel happy. I've never felt that way before about anyone. Well, I've never felt anyway towards someone before," Zeth said in a whisper. Kyle looked at him and knew he was telling the truth. Mia walked into the room and saw Kyle and Zeth sitting on his bed in silence. "Is the storm over?" Mia asked, looking out the single window. "Nope. I think this one is going to be a long one," Zeth said. Mia sat her wet suit next to her now empty bag and sat next to Zeth and grabbed his hand. She smiled at him and Zeth smiled back, squeezing her hand. Suddenly, Kyle's phone rang. "Hello?" He asked. "We're at Zeth's place. No, we're fine. We don't know when the storm is going to end, and Zeth said that it might take a while so we're going to be here until it stops. Where are you?" He stopped talking for a minute and then gasped and looked at Mia and Zeth who were listening to Kyle. "Lucas is there? What is he doing there?" Mia sat up when Kyle mentioned Lucas' name. Kyle looked at Mia after he hang the phone up. "Was that dad?" Mia asked. "Yeah, Lucas is there looking for you. Dad said he's acting all weird and throwing things around the house without touching them. Do you think its him?" Kyle asked, wide-eyed. Mia nodded, looking at Zeth, who was thinking. "It has to be him. But why would Lucas want me?" Mia asked, standing. She walked over to the window and saw that the storm was still going on strong. "Mia, we cannot leave here until the storm is over. I know you want to go see him, but we can't leave unless you want struck by lightening," Zeth said. "I can leave, though," Kyle said, grabbing his things. "What?" Mia and Zeth both said at the same time. "No, you cannot leave!" Zeth said, grabbing Kyle's wrist as he put his hand on the door handle. "You'll be badly hurt." "I don't care. Lucas might need my help, and he is our friend, and I want to help, so I am going. Its not that far from our house, so I should be fine." Kyle didn't wait for Zeth or Mia to say anything else, and he was out the door before they could do anything to stop him. Mia screamed and ran to the window, but couldn't see anything but rain and wind. She felt tears rolling down her face and Zeth cradled her in his arms. "He'll be okay, Mia. I know it." "How do you know it?" Mia asked, looking into Zeth's eyes. She saw his truthiness and stopped crying and Zeth held her some more. After a while of silence minus the rain and wind, Mia and Zeth laid down on his bed and fell asleep, holding each other. The next morning Mia awoke to the sound of birds outside and she stretched and looked at Zeth, who stirred in his sleep. She smiled and pulled a lock of hair out of his eyes and he opened his eyes and smiled at her. "Hey," she said. He sat up and looked around. "I think we were spooning." Mia blushed and noticed that they had been. "I can see that." They laughed for a minute or so and then Mia's smile faded as she remembered what had happened yesterday. "Where's Kyle?" Mia asked, jumping off the bed. Zeth didn't move. "He called early this morning saying he was fine. I didn't want to wake you up because you looked so peaceful sleeping," Zeth said and Mia let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. Did he say anything about Lucas?" Mia asked and looked out the window and saw that they whole lake shore was covered in trash from the storm had blown around. Zeth shook his head. Mia stood at the window and finally walked back over to Zeth and laid beside him and leaned her head on his chest. "Zeth, what are we doing?" Mia asked almost too low for Zeth to hear barely. "What do you mean?" he asked, looking at her. "This. We are still spooning. What does it mean?" Mia asked, knowing what he was going to say. "Mia, you should know what it means. I like you, you like me. There isn't nothing wrong with it." Mia nodded and thought for a minute. "My mother told me once that if two people who spooned meant that they love each other," she whispered without looking at Zeth. He looked into her eyes and realized it was true. He did love her. "Mia, I think I do love you," Zeth whispered after a while in silence. "Me too," Mia said, closing her eyes. Zeth kissed her on the forehead and closed his eyes too and they soon fell into a deep sleep. Later in the afternoon Mia and Zeth woke up to hear the door open fast and saw Lucas standing in front of them. "Lucas?" Mia asked, sleepily. "Mia, Zeth. Kyle's missing." Mia and Zeth sat up quickly and Mia's heart raced fast in her chest. She yanked the covers off of her body and slipped her flip flops on and ran out the door. "What are you talking about?" Mia asked, turning back to Lucas, who was staring at the bed Mia and Zeth had slept in. "Mia, did you and Zeth sleep together in that bed?" Lucas asked, frowning. Mia stopped and looked at him. She couldn't believe that he even thought that. "Uh, yeah. I mean no. We fell asleep in the bed, but no we didn't do anything else. Why?" Mia asked, looking around the lake shore with her eyes. "Just wondering. Isn't it kind of weird to sleep with one of your friends in the same bed?" Lucas asked, glaring at Zeth, who backed away from Lucas. Mia looked at Lucas. "Excuse me? It isn't any of your business of we did or not. And I think you know that he is more than just a friend to me." Zeth smiled and grabbed her hand. Lucas glared harder at Zeth. "Where's Kyle?" Mia asked Lucas. Lucas shifted his feet back and forth like he knew something, but he didn't want to say anything. "Lucas." Lucas looked at the ground. "I cannot tell you." "What?" Mia asked, all her anger coming out. She let go of Zeth's hand and ran at Lucas, who didn't even move away from her. She grabbed his throat and they fell to the ground and Zeth was trying to pull them apart. Zeth finally forced Mia off of Lucas and they fell to the sandy ground and Zeth held her while he waited for her to calm down. Lucas laughed. "What did you do with my brother you son of a bitch!" Mia screamed at him and he just laughed. "Where he was supposed to go when he first came here." Zeth held Mia as she screamed at Lucas, cussing with all her might. "Lucas, are you possessed right now?" Zeth asked, looking at Lucas, who hissed. Suddenly, Lucas' body went limp and fell to the ground. Mia stumbled up and backed up grabbing Zeth's hand. A strange black smoke was raising out of Lucas' mouth and she knew that he was possessed. The smoke raised into the air and finally stopped once all of it was out of Lucas' mouth and formed into a figure. "What is it?" Zeth asked, still backing up. "What do you think?" Mia asked, holding her breath. "You are right, Mia. I am what people call the Devil. But I am not. I an nothing, really," the figure said. "What did you do with my brother?" Mia screamed and it just made the smoke figure laugh. "Nothing, really. I will give him back once I am done with him. He made a deal with me last night when he walked into my home, or should I say your home, last night and asked Lucas to call me. When Lucas called me, he made a deal to leave the house if he gave his soul up. I agreed, of course." Mia screamed and closed her eyes against Zeth's chest. He had to be lying. "Why would he do that?" Zeth asked, taking a step towards him. The devil hissed and backed up. "Stay away from me, you!" Zeth took another step towards him and he hissed some more and disappeared, causing them to fall to the ground from the force of his leaving. Mia looked up and saw something falling from the sky and saw that it was another figure. She screamed and saw it was her brother. "Kyle!" Mia yelled and began running to where he landed in the water. "MIa!" Kyle yelled, spitting up water. Mia jumped into the water and splashed around as she swam to her brother. But the current was too strong. Mia stopped swimming, knowing she was going nowhere in the rough water. Suddenly, Mia saw Lucas jump into the water and he began to swim towards Kyle with such force. "Lucas! What are you doing?" Mia asked. Lucas turned around and swam over to her and kissed her right on the lips. "Mia, I love you and I should never have let you move to that house. I'm going to save your brother. Once I do, you have to kill me. If you do not kill me, then He will come back and try to take your brother from you again. I don't know why He gave him back, but he did." Mia was shocked. She should have seen it coming. "You love me?" "I do. More than anything on this earth, minus Zeth. He loves you just as much as I do, and I hope you both live your life long and full of happiness." Lucas looked into Mia's eyes and kissed her again on the lips and then turned to go save her brother. She didn't know what to say. She couldn't talk. Her lips were numb. Actually, everything was numb from the cold of the water. She waded in the water, watching as Lucas helped Kyle over to her. She grabbed Kyle by the arms and pulled him into a hug and they cried together. "Mia..." Kyle said, looking over her shoulders. "Kyle, I thought something bad happened to you. What just happened?" Mia asked, looking at Kyle. "I don't know. I remember coming home during the storm and then I couldn't get a hold of you and then I called in the morning to let you know that I was alright. Lucas wasn't there anymore and then he showed up and killed dad." Kyle began sobbing violently. "What?" Mia couldn't believe that. He had to have been possessed. "How?" Kyle just sobbed and she knew it had to be bad. Zeth waded in and grabbed both of them and they waded to the shore and Mia looked back to see Lucas wading close behind them. Mia let go of Kyle and ran to Lucas and helped him out of the water. He collapsed in her arms. "Lucas?" Mia asked, holding his face in her hands. "Hmm?" He asked, rolling his head around. "You okay now?" Mia asked, looking into his eyes. He nodded but then closed his eyes again. "Mia, we need to get him some warm clothes or he is going to die." Mia looked up at Zeth. "No. He told me that he had to die or He will come back and get Kyle. I think he wants to die anyways." Lucas stirred in Mia's arms. "I do, I really do. Please, let God take me. I don't want to be alive when He has a hold of me! Please!" Zeth looked at Mia then back at Lucas, who's eyes kept rolling in the back of his head. "I don't think so," Kyle said and grabbed a log that had a sharp edge and Mia gasped. "NO!" Mia yelled and Zeth ran to take the log from him, but he held it up to his neck. "I have to. If I do this, then the devil will leave all of you alone and he won't need Lucas anymore! I have to!" Kyle began to cry hard and he barely couldn't see through the tears and Zeth took the chance and grabbed the log from him and turned, but then Lucas grabbed it from him and thrust it into his heart making Mia scream as blood seeped out of his mouth. "Lucas!" Mia, Zeth and Kyle said at the same time. Lucas didn't answer back. Two days later Mia didn't know what day it was, and she surely didn't care what day it was. All she knew was that Lucas was dead and she had almost lost her brother. They were orphans now, and they didn't tell anyone, either. Kyle and Mia just kept it a secret and stayed with Zeth. They had quite school because they didn't care about that anymore, either. Mia was laying on Zeth's bed, looking at the ceiling when Zeth and Kyle came in. "Hey," Zeth said, kissing her on the cheek. She didn't reply back and she just stared at the ceiling until she needed to blink again. "Mia, please, talk to me," her brother said from her left side. Zeth laid down next to her and grabbed her hand, but she didn't notice. "Mia," Zeth said moving a lock her hair out of her face. She turned to look at him, which was a start considering that she hadn't done anything for two whole days since Lucas killed himself. "What?" She asked in a whisper. "Mia, I know its really hard for you, but I do think that he wanted to die anyways. Being possessed by the devil is hard, you know. I wanted to show you something that Kyle and I made just for you." Mia looked to where Kyle was standing. He smiled and looked at her. She nodded and Zeth and Kyle helped her out of his bed and walked her out the door of the old shack and made her close her eyes. They walked her over to where a bunch of rocks were and stopped. "Okay, Mia. You can open your eyes now," Zeth said into her ear. She slowly opened her eyes and gasped when she saw a clay figure of Lucas, standing on the rock, looking out to the lake. It was the most beautiful figure she had ever seen and it brought tears to her eyes. "How long did this take you to make? How did you make it? Its so beautiful!" Mia walked over to the rock and ran her fingers over the lining of his shirt and for some reason, she felt that he was there, watching over her and her brother and Zeth, keeping all evil away from them. "We've been working on it since we sat you on my bed. We stayed up all night working on it, too. We wanted to make it just for you because he loved you, you know," Zeth said quietly. Mia nodded, knowing he had. "I know. He told me when he went to get Kyle out of the water." "He did? I hadn't seen him," Kyle said. She nodded and turned to look at Kyle and Zeth. Then like a wave of water coming to crash against you, her emotions rushed over her and she fell to the ground and cried. "What have I been doing?" She asked, shaking her head. Zeth sat down next to her. "Its okay, Mia. No one blames you," Zeth said into her hair. Mia stopped crying and looked up. In front of her she saw Lucas, standing in front of her, for once smiling and actually looking happy. "Lucas!" Mia stood and ran to him and hugged him with all her might. "Mia," Lucas said. "I came to say goodbye." Mia stopped hugging him and looked into his eyes. They somehow looked different. "Why? I don't want you to leave!" Tears rolled down her face again. Lucas smiled, but his smile only showed sadness. "I know you don't, but I am more happier. You have a good life ahead of you and Zeth is a good man. You should be happy now that I am gone. I should never have asked for your help and I should have burned the house down when I had the chance to, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I don't think that He will bother you anymore. But I know some other people will, though. I could not stop them from being there." "You mean like ghosts?" Mia asked. Lucas nodded. "Yes, for one, the little girl that was there. She likes you and promises not to do anything to hurt or scare you." Mia laughed through her wet eyes. "I don't think that I will ever go back to that house. Not since He had killed my dad," Mia said quietly. Lucas nodded. "I hope you live to your fullest!" He smiled again and then disappeared from Mia's sight. Mia stood there for a long time before she walked back over to Zeth. Lucas was right. She needed to live her life to the fullest instead of carrying this horrible memory. So she smiled to Zeth and Kyle and hugged them both and let them memories of the past month slid into her mind, hidden well in the back of her mind. A month later Mia knocked on the door of Zeth's place, even though she knew she didn't have to and Zeth opened the door. She had been crying and needed to have his company. Zeth led her into the one-room house and she sat on his bed. He followed her and they laid together on the bed, staring at each other, probably thinking the same thing. "I love you, Zeth," Mia whispered and kissed him on the lips. It was the first time that she had kissed Zeth, and it made her head spin. He kissed her back and they didn't stop there. Seventeen years later Mia awoke to the sound of her first born kid named Lucas standing in front of her, looking to the door. She sat up and shook Zeth awake, who rubbed his eyes. "What's wrong, baby?" Mia asked, bringing Lucas into her arms. "There is a man standing outside the house, mama!" he said, shaking in her arms. Mia yanked the covers off and sat Lucas on her bed and kissed him on the forehead and pulled her robe over her body. "I'll go with you," Zeth said, getting out of bed. Mia nodded and walked down the hallway towards the door. Her youngest daughter, Milana, stood by the door and looked back at her mother. "Sweetie, step away from the door." "There's a man outside who wants to talk to you and daddy, mama," Milana said, pointing to the door. Zeth grabbed Milana and picked her up and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Mia opened the door and gasped. "Lucas?" Publication Date: November 10th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-gooses

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-just-us-friendz-blind-ambition/

Just.Us.Friendz Blind Ambition Blind Ambition Chapter 1 Early Ambitions Jacob Steinmann was born in a dusty kibbutz located on the West Bank not far from the Jordanian border. His parents were both Americans from devout Jewish families who had immigrated to the Biblical homeland while still in their early twenties. His father was a quiet, scholarly man who taught in the village school. His mother was a trained dietitian who helped in the kitchens and ran the shared gardens. She somehow coaxed carrots and cabbages, lettuces and herbs from the sandy soil. One of his first memories was of carrying bucket after bucket of the scarce water to individually soak each precious plant. Not that he really knew his parents all that well. He was raised in the communal nursery, and went to school with the same group he had played with all his life. When they turned teens, they moved into barracks together. The few dark and sturdy girls held little attraction for him, and sexual play was frowned upon by the entire community. When he grew up, beautiful, blonde, hard-to-get women held a fascination for him. He did well in school, and spoke and wrote fluently in both Hebrew and English. He took to military training with a will and was commander of his kibbutz's militia at 19. That was when Mossad came looking. Jacob Steinmann jumped at the offer. His drive, energy and ambition impressed his trainers, and he was offered opportunities to travel and learn. Glad to get away from the dull routine of a small farming community, he explored the colorful and sometimes dangerous life in the ancient cities of Jerusalem, Cairo, Beirut, Istanbul and others When the United States seemingly ignored warnings from Mossad that terrorists were planning large scale attacks on major U.S. targets shortly before the World Trade Center and Pentagon disasters, it was decided to place double agents inside the Central Intelligence Agency. Jacob Steinmann was one of the 6 selected for the special training necessary. That's when Jacob Steinmann became Ben Mercer and a whole new history was created for him. With beautifully forged documents that proved he was the son of a Baltimore family that traded in Middle Eastern artifacts and fabrics, and with his knowledge of Farsi and Pashto, he had no trouble being accepted as a C.I.A. recruit. It was no surprise that he aced his training period at the Farm. Chapter 2 Home Again If I never see another airplane again, it will be way too soon, Annie thought as she disembarked at Dulles in the early evening rush. She had left from this same airport some six days ago and flown across the Atlantic to London. From there she flew to Brussels and found a lead that took her on north to Moscow. After the usual dance with the modern Russian state and its system of escorts and watchers, she finally was able to meet briefly with an informer who assured her that the man she wanted had gone to New Delhi. Another endless flight took her there, where she found that all trace of the man had evaporated into the dust and noise of the marketplaces and teaming humanity of India. Her handlers told her to come home. For once, she was more than happy to comply. She slung her tote full of soiled clothes over her shoulder and with a weary lag in her usual confident stride, headed for the exit. For some reason she looked up, and just beyond the glass doors that divided exiting passengers from the concourse she saw a tall, slim figure dressed in quiet colors standing and waiting. He was anchored by just the lightest touch of his shoulder against the wall. His hands rested atop his long, white cane and his head was cocked in an attentive attitude. She picked up speed and burst through the doors in a bubble of passengers. She veered to the side and as soon as he heard her footsteps, he opened his arms. His wide, open-mouthed smile glowed with happiness. She stepped into his welcoming embrace and put her arms around his neck, her face turned upwards for a kiss. "Annie," he murmured as their lips met. "Auggie!" She hated to break their hungry clutch, but this was about as public as it got. "What are you doing here, sweetheart?" It always worried her when he ventured into mobs of people on his own, despite repeated proof that he could manage admirably. "You said you were going home to wait for me." "I know, but I realized that I didn't want to wait that long. Traffic is wild tonight with the Redskins playing at home. You could be hours getting a taxi. I've got a staff car at the South Exit." It amazed her that Auggie could command a car and driver at any hour for anything he could remotely claim to be agency business. He just lifted one eyebrow and said it was part of his original agreement with D.P.D., like the handsome apartment they had bought for him and that he now shared with her. Tonight it was a perk she accepted gladly. She leaned against Auggie as he folded his cane and caught a light grip on her left elbow. He dropped a kiss atop her tousled honey hair and asked, "Tired, love?" "Exhausted. There should be a humane limit to the number of hours they can require you to sit upright on an airplane, breathing recycled air and drinking canned orange juice. I just want to go home, have a long hot bath and fall into bed." "And that's absolutely all you want to do? You have been away six whole days … and nights." "Well, I hope you stocked some Rocky Road ice cream. I haven't had a bite since I left." "Tease!" He laughed. "Ice cream you shall have, and I left roasted chicken and baked potatoes in the oven and one of Mr. Moretti's beautiful, fresh salads in the fridge. Hope you're not too tired to eat … first?" "I'll try to choke something down." Annie had a hearty appetite and, unlike Auggie, rarely forgot to eat. "You spoil me, you know." She snuggled her shoulder against his. Cooking didn't come easily to Auggie. He hadn't done it as a kid, and since losing his sight, it took careful planning and close concentration to avoid cuts and burns. It was a particular treat that he had made one of his specialties, lemon roasted chicken, for her homecoming. He would have chopped chives and crumbled bacon to top the sour cream for the potatoes, as well. It felt great to come home to his warmth and caring. Annie tugged him quickly to one side as a heavily loaded luggage cart trundled near. The driver realized Auggie was blind and stopped. He touched his cap and said, "Ma'am, do you folks need some help. I can call for a cart to drop you off wherever you need to go. It would be here in just a couple of minutes." Annie favored him with one of her radiant smiles and said, "Thanks so much, but we're fine. There's a car waiting outside the next exit." "If you're sure, then," the driver said with a question in his voice. Auggie touched two fingers to his eyebrow in a half salute and said, "We're sure, but thanks anyway." The driver fed his carrier juice and moved away down the corridor. The crowd had thinned, and Annie led them to the exit. Just as Auggie had promised, a plain black sedan with tinted windows awaited them at a stretch of curb clearly marked No Parking. The driver must have shown his agency I.D. Auggie felt the hairs along the base of his neck rise as they approached the vehicle. It was the same feeling of being watched by something hostile that he had experience off and on for the last three weeks. "Annie," he said urgently. "Check out the driver and verify his I.D. before we get in. Something feels off." Accustomed to Auggie's enhanced senses picking up on things that the sighted often missed, Annie did as he said, but the driver cleared with no problem. Soon they were settled in the back seat and on their way home. A hooded shadow stepped from behind a taxi call box 30 feet beyond where they had been parked and blended smoothly into the crowds moving toward the parking area. Inside their sedan, Annie gave Auggie a light shove and said, "You're going to have to tell me what's going on with you, Augs? I know we're paid to be paranoid, but this is getting a little strange." "Later, Annie," he told her. "I think we'll be safe enough at home for now." He switched the subject. "Jake has almost finished work on the extension. I think you'll be pleased when you see what's he's done while you were away." When they had agreed to move in together, Auggie had bought the adjoining apartment, and an old Army buddy of his, Jake Johnson, and his "Everything Jake" construction outfit, had taken down the dividing wall and were refinishing the apartment to meet their needs. She would be glad when it was done and she could unpack the last of her boxes. She leaned close, and Auggie put his arm around her. She let her head rest his shoulder and sighed tiredly. It was good to be home. Chapter 3 The High Life In his new life as Ben Mercer, he had been functioning successfully as a covert agent for both Israel and the U.S. for some 2 years when he met Elfe Kappel. He felt he was performing a service for both sides as he passed useful information back and forth freely, and he enjoyed traveling widely throughout Europe and the East. Elfe was playing alongside him at the twenty-one table in the Casino Gran Madrid. Ben liked the thrill of gambling, but even two salaries, deposited in different accounts under different identities, didn't go far at the tables. He drew on 17 when he should have stayed and went bust when an eight turned up. He was leaving the table when Elfe touched his arm and asked if he like to join her for a drink. She was a stunning Germanic blonde with pale, flawless skin and a mass of spun gold hair. Slender and willowy, almost to the point of being fragile, she turned huge blue eyes up to him and clung to his arm. She was different from any woman he had ever met, and he was intrigued. One drink led to another and on to dinner. He was supposed to meet a contact, but business was forgotten when she invited him to her luxury suite on the top floor of the casino. She taught him things that night that he had never known existed. They skied in Switzerland, sunned on the Cóte d'Azur, and gambled again in Morocco. She had exotic friends everywhere that she was happy to introduce him too. Her soft voice crept into his dreams. He found he thought of her almost constantly. Elfe had become a sweet poison in his blood. He was madly in love with her. When Ben had cleaned out his bank accounts and run his credit cards up to the maximum, Elfe introduced him to Klaus. Klaus was willing to pay handsomely for someone with contacts in the Middle East who could meet with certain groups desperate for firearms and come to terms with them on payment and method of delivery. It wasn't necessary for Ben to dirty his hands with the actual handling of arms, but he was asked to keep an eye open for agents of American or other agencies who frowned on the arms trade. Payments were generous and deposited to an encrypted Swiss account. He selected the name Jason Dourne for these accounts. He has quite liked Matt Damon's spy films. Ben saw no reason not to supplement his salaries. Guns would reach the rebels and insurgents whether he aided in the sales or not. Some were even struggling to better things in their homelands. Things went well for while, and Ben managed to juggle all his assignments and still meet Elfe here and there for a few days of relaxation and gambling. But he saw gradually less of her; Kraus had other assignments that kept her busy. Then in mid-2006 things changed. Ben was on assignment for the CIA, embedded as an advisor to a group of Iraqi native police when, late one night, he got a call on the private satellite phone Kraus used to contact him. This time it wasn't Kraus who answered his drowsy, "Yeah?" Elfe's small, honeyed voice said, "Liebling? Is dis mein darling Benny?" His response was quick and eager in the hot desert night. "Elfe, I've missed you; it's been too long. Where are you?" "Ach, mine schatz, I'm in Monte Carlo. It is so beautiful here. Kraus says you must come. There is some boring business meeting, but I vant to see you again. We will go to the casino and drink champagne and play roulette and be together. I've missed you too, liebling. Please to come soon." It would mean ditching his assignment and trying to hop a flight out of the country, but maybe he could manage a day or two in Monte Carlo and be back before he was missed. He explained to the sergeant in charge of his native police unit that his father was very ill, and he had to go and see him one last time. To expressions of sympathy, he threw some clothes in a travel pack and hitched a ride to Kirkuk. Monte Carlo was wonderful. Elfe met him at the airport in a limo and took him directly to a luxury suite in a fashionable hotel that featured glorious air conditioning, a view of the ocean and a bath tub big enough to swim in. While he bathed, Elfe ordered a sumptuous meal and had vendors bring in a selection of the latest resort wear for his selection. It all went on Klaus' tab. They spent the night at Le Grand Casino wandering from table to table, Elfe's arm intertwined with his, her butterfly kisses inflaming his desire. He won some, but lost a lot more. Not that he really cared. The money was only a way to keep score and to keep Elfe intrigued. It was almost dawn when they tumbled into bed. Kraus shook him awake after only a few hours sleep with the news that the meeting was at noon, and he needed to be present. Elfe was gone. When Ben entered the private dining room where the meeting was held, he found Klaus already present along with two men of Middle Eastern appearance. They wore two thousand dollar custom made business suits, shoes of the finest Italian leather, and had the icy stare of cut-throat killers. Something in the bottom of his stomach turned over. As it developed they only wanted a small piece of information from Ben – the location of two American missile installations in Iraq capable of launching rockets into Iran should the need arise. They would be more than happy to pay generously for the information in gold Krugerrands. To help persuade him, they happened to have a file filled with photos of his meetings with arms dealers and even one of an information exchange with his Mossad contact. There were records of huge gambling losses as well, certified by the casinos concerned. Ben asked for 24 hours to think it over, and was granted the time. He changed into trunks and a beach robe, took a towel and walked away from the crowded beaches of the Monte-Carlo Beach Hotel to a lonely stretch used mostly by Monaco's fishermen. Ben knew he had reached a turning point in his life. If he provided the information they required he would be completely rogue – an outcast from every service, a highly trained agent who worked for the highest bidder. Any particular service might not know for a while, but eventually even the dimmest handler would realize what was happening. He would become fair game for any elimination team that came across him. He could turn himself in to the CIA, although it might be tricky staying alive until they extracted him, but he would be finished as an agent. He would have only some half-pay pension to live on while he remained in safe hiding. If he gave them the information they wanted he could bank the pay in new accounts and go for the highest paying assignments he could find. It was risky, but if his luck held for a few more years, he could put away enough to retire and live quietly but well in Switzerland or perhaps somewhere in South America. It meant too that he could go on seeing Elfe. When he had money to spend, she could meet him at a casino. He would love to introduce her to some of the American ones in places like Atlantic City and Las Vegas. He was on his way back to the hotel, still not fully decided, when a man of average looks and height fell into step beside him. When Ben stopped and turned to face him, the man murmured his Mossad contact code words. He informed Ben that his Iraqi police unit had been wiped out to a man by terrorists in his absence and that Mossad had become aware of his gambling habits. He was completely and finally disavowed as an agent of Israeli intelligence. He was burned! The only reason they did not reveal him to the Americans was their concern for the safety of his fellow agents who were still working in place. Stunned and horrified at the ruthless destruction of his police unit, he stumbled back to the hotel and agreed to their terms. Chapter 4 Suspicions Aroused Another week began much as usual. Annie was set to some translation and analysis duties while Auggie handled an agent sent to learn what he could about the leaders of the Arab Spring movement in Egypt. Annie had picked up the mail from their box when they came in from work. Kept late by a mission debrief, they stopped on the way home and picked up a stir fry of chicken, cashews and snow peas along with a green salad. Annie sat at the table going through the mail, while Auggie poured them each a glass of wine and got out Sunday's leftover boiled shrimp and red sauce. The mail was so much easier since Annie moved in. Auggie had a device that scanned print material of most any type and read it aloud, but who wanted to listen through sheaves of advertisements and unwanted insurance offers in order to locate the credit card bill. Annie could do a quick sort, take out her mail and pass along anything of his that looked important. Tonight Auggie had heard her toss a number of items in the trash and then rip open an envelope. She fell silent as she read. "Augs," Annie said, "this is really sort of strange?" "What is it?" he asked through a healthy bite of shrimp. "It's a letter from Marge." "Who?" He washed the shrimp down with a swallow of wine and listened for the microwave to ping. "You remember I mentioned Marjorie Whitman, the nurse I met in Guam. We got to be friends, went out a few times, and she still emails or writes me now and then." "Okay, yeah, the one who pulled special duty on Ben Mercer so much?" "Don't frown at me, Auggie. I'm with you, remember; not out searching for Ben." "Yeah, okay, sorry, babe." He smiled warmly to make up for his instinctive jealousy. "So what does Marge have to say that's so strange? "She was transferred to Madigan in Tacoma, Washington. She met a major there she really likes. They went for a little R & R in Las Vegas." "Sounds like fun; do they want us to join them?" Auggie took the warmed rice and stir fry out of the microwave and put in on the table. "No, but she saw Ben Mercer there." Auggie turned from the refrigerator with the salad in one hand and focused his attention on her. "Now, that is interesting. Does she say what he was doing?" "Yes, she says that he didn't see her in the crowd, but he was with a beautiful Nordic type blonde, and they lost about $200,000.00 at the roulette table while she watched." "Two hundred thousand! You can't toss around that kind of money on Agency pay." "No, but maybe he has other income – like you do?" "Maybe, and maybe he was on an assignment, but it would be interesting to know." "There's one more thing." "And that is …?" One eyebrow slid up like a visual question mark. "Marge says she asked a croupier about the high roller couple, and he told her they were Jason Dourne and Elfe Kappel. Apparently they're well known in the Vegas casinos." "My, how very careless of them." Auggie's expression was sober and his words dry. "Annie, Elfe Kappel is beautiful, if you like the very pale and clinging type. She is also well known as an enticing contact for a German arms smuggling outfit. Your boy, Ben, seems to be dabbling in dangerous waters." "He's not 'my boy' and you know it." Annie's brown eyes flashed. "You've seen this Elfe? "Long ago and far away, in another life, sweetheart. I was far too small game to interest her." "What should we do?" Annie asked as she scooped a healthy serving of the hot food onto her plate. "Nothing official right now, but maybe I'll poke around a little. Anything else of interest?" Auggie picked up a spoon. A spoon was about the only hope a blind man had of capturing any rice and conveying it safely to his mouth. "There's a letter for you from the Building Association. Seems they want to hold a meeting to discuss raising the Association fees." "Yeah, I've never yet been to a meeting where they wanted to lower them. Put it on my desk after dinner, will you?" Until now, Auggie had carefully avoided looking into Ben Mercer's background and affairs. Some sense told him that Annie would care deeply if she found he hadn't played fair, but things had changed in the last few months. Annie seemed to have made her choice; his heightened senses told him that a circle of danger was slowly closing around them, and now he had proof that something odd was definitely going on with Ben Mercer. He decided to look long and deep into anything he could find. Chapter 5 Heartbreak in Paradise Ben Mercer, under the cover of teaching English to the children of well-to-do Sri Lankan parents, was on the island to sell guns to the Tamil Tigers and evaluate some of their cadre leaders for possible recruitment by other organizations. The LTTE, or Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam, were a group of separatists who had fought the government for more than two decades, but their defeat appeared imminent. Other Southeast Asian terrorist groups would welcome some of their experienced fighters and pay the recruiter well. His cover required that he take a group of his charges to visit historic and beautiful Sigiriya, Lion's Rock. The site had been declared the 8th wonder of the world by UNESCO and dated back to the fifth century. A huge rock fortress and Buddhist monastery surrounded by magnificent gardens and adorned with amazing frescos, it was a major tourist attraction. While leading his students through the vast water gardens, Ben's eye fell upon Annie Walker for the very first time. Annie had been back-packing around much of the Pacific Rim for the best part of a year. With her quick ear, she picked up languages and learned about cultures as she went. She had no clear idea what she wanted to do with the knowledge she gained. The travel in itself was reward enough. She certainly had no plan to fall in love. Elfe Kappel had been elusive for several months, and Ben felt abandoned and alone. He was constantly afraid he would be discovered and totally disavowed by the C.I.A. as well as Mossad. His life would be worth very little if that happened. His secret Swiss accounts had grown fat, but not yet lavish enough to allow the kind of retirement he sought. The beautiful honey blonde trailing delicate fingers through a lily pond looked like nectar in the throat of a golden lily. He instantly wanted her more than anything he had ever seen. He would show Elfe she wasn't the only woman in his world. With his characteristic determination he set out to make Annie his. He deposited his students is the closest tea room, handed the shopkeeper a 200 rupee note and asked him to keep an eye on them. He rushed back to Sigiriya to find Annie cautiously climbing down the long, worn staircase carved from the living rock face after visiting the famous frescos and polished mirror wall. Although Sri Lanka attracted tourists from all over the world, this American beauty wasn't hard to spot. Her fair skin, huge brown eyes and magnificent head of silken, natural blonde hair turned heads wherever she went. He used the children as an excuse to approach Annie. "Excuse me," Ben said, "I don't mean to intrude, but are you by any chance an American?" Of course, he did mean to intrude by any pretense possible. Annie turned to look him up and down. She was no stranger to advances from unknown men, but this one had an intensity that caught her interest. "Why do you ask?" she said. "I have a group of Sri Lankan children here with me. I instruct them in English. It would be a thrill for them to talk with an American. I'm sure that if you could share some of the current slang with them … only 'proper' slang …" he added quickly. "They would gain valuable experience and consider it a special treat. But, if you had other plans, I understand." He looked so saddened by the prospect of losing her interest that she couldn't resist smiling. "And where are these children, sir?" "Oh, forgive me, miss. The students are having tea at a nearby shop, and I should have begun by introducing myself. My name is Ben Mercer. I have identification if you would like to see it. One can't be too careful, I know." It took all of his self control not to reach out and stroke the sun-warmed, perfect skin of her bare arm. "I believe that can wait until we are off these narrow steps," Annie said and nudged him on ahead of her. "I wouldn't mind a cup of tea, myself. The island is famous for its teas, and they brew them well in the little tea shops, I've found." "They do, and I would be delighted if you would permit me to buy you tea and introduce you to the children." They had reached the bottom of the stairs, and Ben dared to take her elbow and steer her toward the exit and the tea room. Annie felt something like an electric shock run up her arm. The children delighted Annie. They were bright and eager and excited to meet a fair American lady who already had a smattering of Sinhale, their native tongue. Annie enjoyed a full English tea while regaling the children with explanations of slang terms like 'mos def,' 'wannabe,' 'epic fail,' and 'blue screen of death.' Ben translated when necessary, and he was as entranced as the children by her ease and quick wit. He soon learned her name and that she was staying in Colombo at the Grand Oriental Hotel with its charming colonial style décor. Ben offered to show her the National Museum with it large collections of antiquities, including rare demon masks, the following afternoon. That led to a visit to the Dehiwala Zoo and on to a picnic on the Galle Face Green, the famous old British seaside promenade. Unlike Elfe, Annie didn't cling; she had a strong, clear mind of her own. She had read widely and had informed opinions on many of the world's affairs. To Ben she was a breath of fresh, cleansing sea air. Annie found him interesting – he had traveled even more widely than she had. He also had an air of mystery and danger that added a thrill to his ardent courting. Soon she was with him in a primitive hut on a magnificent stretch of deserted white beach. Sri Lanka, formerly Ceylon, well deserved its name as The Pearl of the Indian Ocean. They swam and fished and sunned and spent the night in glorious and heated lovemaking. They bought matching shell bracelets, and she thought she had found the love of her life until she woke one morning to find him gone and a note saying only: "The truth is complicated. Forgive me." She paid the fifty dollar bar bill he had left, gathered up the pieces of her broken heart, cradled them in her arms and found her way home to Danielle. After long days of moping and solitary walks and nights of tears, she gave herself a healthy and resounding kick in the posterior portion of her anatomy and joined the C.I.A. She blazed through her training, and before she even quite completed it she was whisked into action. At Langley she met Auggie, Jai, Joan and a host of new friends. Life began to seem worth living again. Chapter 6 Premonitions and Precautions There was something wrong with Auggie. By turns, he was distant and broody or he lavished her with affection and seemed starved for reassurance that she still cared for him. He was tense and hyper-alert whenever they drove anywhere – even to and from work. When he took to searching every cranny and closet in the apartment every time they returned home, she put her foot down. "Auggie, really! Stop that!" She caught his hand and pulled him out of her closet. "There are no boogey men in there. We have got to talk about what's bothering you! You have been as skittery as a water bug in a pond full of storks lately. This apartment has excellent security; you designed it yourself, and all the locks are new. What do you expect to find? Something is wrong. What is it? You can tell me, honest. I'm a spy, remember. I can keep a secret." Auggie groaned and trailed his hand through the apartment and into the living room to collapse into his favorite chair. As she always did, when there were important things to discuss, she pulled the footstool close and sat down with one hand resting on his knee. "I don't know what to tell you, Annie," he said in a low voice. "You probably think I'm going mad, and maybe I am, but it's a feeling I can't shake. Call it a 'Spidey sense' or whatever you like. It's not anything I can hear, or smell or touch, but I know we're being spied on, watched, and whoever is doing it is hostile. He … she… whatever intends us harm. I say us it could be either you or me. But, my spine crawls when we're together in public." His hand found hers and closed around it firmly. "Auggie, I don't understand how you can be so sure? I know some of your senses are highly developed, but you don't have even a crumb of real evidence, do you?" "Babe, as your favorite TV character Michael Weston is wont to say, 'I used to be a spy'." Auggie grinned and waited for a smart comeback from Annie. She didn't disappoint him. "Hey, I like Burn Notice. Fiona is my idol. I've picked up all sorts of great ways to blow up stuff." Her voice told him she was smiling before he went on. "Seriously, from time to time in the field, I was under surveillance by enemies. I also used to be a soldier, and there were a whole lot of people eager to do me and my men harm there. You develop a sense for danger, for ill intent. The one time I ignored it, I nearly died and other good men did. I can't just ignore it now." He looked intent, serious, older in some way. Sometimes he just made her want to weep. He had been so much, done so much, had suffered such a terrible loss and was still the best man she had ever known. She crawled into his lap, wrapped her arms around him, snuggled her head into the bend of his neck. She both sought and offered comfort. "We'll figure it out, sweetheart," she told him. "If it makes you feel safer to search, then search. We'll take care of each other – always!" He gathered her close against him and bent to find her mouth. His kisses where ardent and urgent. They told her of his love without the need for more words. Despite Annie's reassurance, Auggie went ahead with a series of arrangements he had thought out over the past weeks as his sense of danger grew greater. He paid personal visits to his lawyer, his banker and his property manager and left each of them with a detailed letter of instructions. Should Annie approach them with a letter of authorization and certain code words, they were to follow the instructions he laid out in their letters exactly. He also made sure that Joan had an updated statement of his total financial picture and the sources of all of his income. One night when Annie was away on a short mission, he put in a call to his father. They talked for a long time, and Auggie filled him in fully on his relationship with Annie Walker and his hopes for their future together. Last of all, and most reluctantly, he wrote a letter to Annie. In it he listed the names and addresses of a number of people important in his business and personal life. He also dropped several other items he had gradually collected into the thick envelope. One night after a quiet dinner, he slid it across the table to her and said, "Annie, I want you to have this. It's pretty important." She picked it up and turned it over in her hands, felt its weight. "What is it?" she was quick to ask. "Should I open it?" "I wish you wouldn't, sweetheart. I'd like you to just put it away in your safe for now." He could only ask; he knew he had no right, or even the desire, to give her orders. Annie was a strong, intelligent woman with a firm will of her own. "It's only a precaution against something that may never happen. I'd really like you to hang on to it. Open it only if you don't know where I am and you can't find me for a period of 24 hours or more. It has information you might need then." He couldn't see the worried frown that put creases in the creamy skin of her forehead, but he heard it in her voice. "Auggie, isn't this going a little overboard? I know you've been worried about some sort of threat, but it's still so vague. You don't have to do anything special for me. I can take care of myself." His warm baritone was gentle, persuasive. "I know you can, Annie, but it's possible I might need your help. I'll always let you know where I'll be – even in the unlikely event that they send me out on a mission. If I vanish one day for no reason you can see, please, open the envelope. After all, we are 'spies,' 'secret agents,' whatever you like. Unexpected things can happen. I hope that envelope will just molder away in the bottom of your safe, but I want you to have it." "Will it make you feel better, Augs, if I say yes?" "It will. More than you know." He got up and edged around the table until he was behind her chair. He draped his arms around her shoulders and bent to kiss the top of her head. Her hair smelled so clean and wonderful, as it always did. "Please, do it for me. I'll make it worth your while." He nibbled at the edge of her ear. Annie bent her head back until her lips touched his cheeks. "Yeah, what did you have in mind, soldier?" Chapter 7 Poison In The Well Annie had just dropped Auggie off at his apartment after an evening of beer and laughter at Allen's. It had been all she could do to keep from pulling his mouth against hers and throwing all caution to the winds. For her it had gone beyond the friendship he always offered. She wanted more, but she couldn't get the old cliché of the student who fell in love with her teacher out of her head. It would hurt too much if he smiled kindly and rejected her advance. When she pulled into the driveway of the house she shared with Danielle and Michael, she was more than ready for a shower and her bed in the guest cottage. Ben Mercer stepped out of the shadows just as she locked her car and turned toward home. Annie jumped back! Her hand plunged instinctively into her purse for pepper spray. She had last seen Ben less than a month ago when they said goodbye after the hostage situation in Mexico. Now, he had popped up again like a bad penny. Ben raised his hands in mock surrender. "Please, Annie, you don't need protection from me." There was affection and laughter in his voice. "Ben, you startled me. Not a safe approach to a trained CIA agent. Suppose I'd had a gun?" The pepper spray was still in Annie's hand. "You don't carry a gun. It's well known in the inner circles. I rather wish you did. Surely they taught you to shoot." "I know how to shoot; my father taught me." He was trying to lead her off the subject. "What are you doing here, and why didn't you let me know you were in town?" she asked. His habit of appearing unannounced and suddenly was beginning to annoy her. "I apologize for startling you." He was trying to make amends. "I only have a few hours before I have to be on a flight to Beirut. I wanted to see you. It's been too long since Guam." "You saw me in Mexico on that hostage mission." "And you turned down the offer of two weeks decompression time with me on a secluded beach, as I recall. What's wrong, Annie? I thought there was something real growing between us. Now you seem to be spending most of your spare time with that blind computer tech … what's his name … ah, Anderson. It shows your kind heart, Annie dear, that you're willing to share so much of yourself with a disabled veteran, but you need to be careful. Don't let him fall in love with you; he's had enough tragedy in his life. You don't want to spend your life leading some helpless blind cripple around by the hand." Annie found herself speechless. Auggie … a cripple … helpless? By God, far from it! And she didn't lead him by the hand; she guided him by a light grip on her elbow. Ben had no idea what he was talking about. All of her carefully controlled and long suppressed feelings for Auggie rushed to the surface, and she was suddenly furious. She could feel the heat of a flush as it spread over her face and throat. Even in the dim light from a clear sky and the neighboring houses, Ben could tell something was wrong. "Annie, what is it?" he exclaimed. "Did I say something wrong? Surely, you're not falling for that pitiful half-man?" Annie raised the pepper spray. "Leave, leave now before you make it worse – if that's possible! Don't come back until you learn something about the blind and their abilities. Auggie's smarter, tougher and more capable than half the sighted people I know! And he doesn't vanish between one minute and the next, either. In fact, he's more likely to turn up when you need help the most. He's a friend, and a damn good one!" She spun away from Ben and stomped off toward the house without another word. Ben slid into his car and sat for a long time watching Annie's lights as they went on and shortly afterward off again. So, he thought, Tech. Op. August Anderson. He had scarcely registered in Ben's consciousness before, but he was about to become one of the central objects of his attention and hatred. He would take Annie's advice and find out more about the blind – particularly one special blind computer geek. Annie was his. He'd found her, claimed her, even killed for her. And hadn't he caught hell from his terrorist bosses for that one. Nobody else had the right to seek her affections, especially one sad, blind, has-been covert op. Ben laughed quietly. The stupid guy had no idea how much trouble he was asking for. Ben did his research well, and the next time he spoke with Arthur Campbell, he made a casual mention at the end of their conversation. "I've been hearing some whispers lately about one of your special ops guys," he said. Arthur was immediately interested and demanded details. "I don't have many," Ben said, but it appears one of your techno-geeks took his blind mobility training with a minor member of the Saudi royal family. Seems strange enough that you have a blind tech, but I hear he has remained in contact with his Saudi buddy. Maybe you should look into it. Can't be too many blind techs around." With that he dropped the subject. Arthur immediately asked Joan to quiz Auggie on the subject. Auggie readily admitted to the friendship. "Abdul is a very minor member of the al Saud royal family," he told her. "We met when I went for advanced mobility training. He got knocked in the head in a polo match and fell under the horse's hooves. Among his other injuries he lost his sight. The family felt he was too much of a playboy to begin with, and now with his disabilities, he's even less likely to ever have any power or influence." "Still, Auggie," Joan said to him, "it may not be wise to keep up a friendship with someone who might be questionable." She watched him closely for any reaction. Auggie's grin was relaxed and confident. "I wouldn't exactly call it a bromance, Joan. Abdul's experience led him to make some changes in his life. When he went back home, he started a school for poor blind kids. He contacts me once in a while to ask about new equipment to help the kids learn to read and do other daily tasks. I try to help out when I can. I've gotten him some donations from manufacturers, that sort of thing. He has no idea what I do, and probably could care less if he did. He's just not political." Joan seemed satisfied, but that was just the first drop of poison in what was to become a steady trickle of darkling innuendo and hatred. In their next conversation, Arthur answered Ben's question about the tip he had given him. "We checked it out, Mercer. It's just a very minimal contact about helping blind kids in Arabia. Nothing to worry about." "Excellent," Ben said, " I did hear that the man involved is a grandnephew of the head of The General Intelligence Directorate, but if you're sure … " He moved on to other subjects, but left a tiny worm to eat away at Arthur's former total trust in Auggie. h)m$c*a!v% Arthur Campbell had used his special line to alert Ben Mercer that Annie might once again be in trouble in Mexico. Ben threw a few essentials in a shoulder bag and waited for the call to go. It didn't come. Instead, Arthur phoned to say that Annie was safely out of Mexico and on her way home. "Auggie did some amazing work in guiding her through the cave system," Arthur had mentioned in passing. He had no idea how much his words inflamed Ben's hatred of the blind technician. After speaking with Arthur, Ben rushed to his observation post near the entrance of the Langley offices. He was in time to see Annie entered the offices. She looked frazzled and as tired as he had ever seen her. He kept watch until she exited with a look of determination on her face and a re-energized stride. He lost her little red car in the heavy Washington traffic. On a hunch he parked where he could see the entrance to Auggie's apartment building. It was early afternoon when Annie entered loaded with a bulging tote and arms full of groceries. It was past midnight when Ben gave up the watch and returned to his rented room. He kicked the furniture and smashed a lamp. He deleted a message on his cell phone from Elfe. Anger at Annie had driven the German temptress from his mind. Annie had betrayed him with a cripple, one of Joan's effete techno-geeks, a pitiful figure of a man. Auggie could never love her or take care of her as he could. He spent what was left of the night tossing and turning in a fever of envy and hatred. Dawn found him outside the apartment complex once again. It was afternoon when Auggie and Annie emerged to stroll arm in arm through the golden sunlight of late August. Ben used all his spy craft to shadow them through the streets. When a radiantly smiling Annie and a grinning Auggie exited a shop that specialized in pearls, he nearly rushed them. Annie carried a smart shop bag that held something she looked at repeatedly. Auggie looked blissfully content. He had obviously bought her some trinket; women were so easily pleased. Only the crowds of Sunday strollers and shoppers protected Auggie that lovely afternoon. If he were even half the spy he was once supposed to be, he would have sensed the pure malice and malevolence directed at him, Ben thought. An urgent call from his al-Qaeda contact took him away from Washington on the morning flight to Algeria and a long mission that he had to mix with meetings to arrange arms sales for Klaus and Elfe's group. When he got back to the States, he found that Annie and Auggie had been living together for some time. Both appeared happy and content. It couldn't go on. He had to act to destroy him and reclaim her. It would take time and a good plan, but he had both. Ben brought up Auggie's former girlfriend, Natasha, on his next meeting with Arthur Campbell. An internationally known hacker and computer expert, she was wanted by several governments. Arthur explained that Auggie had recently persuaded her to give them a valuable piece of software before she vanished into a cold Canadian night. "Anderson told you that did he?" Ben asked. "We had agents on the spot within minutes of her disappearance," Arthur said. She jumped from a moving train. We had no reason to doubt our man, and he did have the program." "And you're sure he's not still in contact with her? These computer freaks have ways the rest of us would never think of." Ben gave an expressive shrug. "He has information about agents and operations in the field that some countries would pay a lot for. She could be acting as his 'agent' – passing on information and collecting the payments." Arthur straightened. "Anderson has been with the agency for years. We've never had any reason to doubt his loyalty. He's a good man." "If you say so," was Ben's response. "Still, he kept his agency connection when he went into Special Forces?" "He joined as much for our benefit as because he wanted to get into the active end of the fight. He and his unit ran several ops for us. He did us proud." Arthur was smiling. Ben stretched and prepared to get up. "He lost his sight in one of those fights, didn't he? Enough to embitter some men – make them turn against those who put them in that position. Guess you're lucky he didn't go that way." Ben put money on the table to cover his tab in the remote neighborhood bar where they had met, nodded at Arthur and left. Arthur sat for some time deep in thought. Chapter 8 Geeks and Games Auggie's inquiries into Ben Mercer's background had yielded some results. He asked Joan for some private time with her, and when she found herself with half-an-hour free, she called him in. "This is going to sound like a bad mix of sour grapes and bitter almonds," Auggie began. "But I've turned up some information on Ben Mercer that you should know about." "Ben Mercer," Joan all but spat the name out. "Why does that bad penny keep turning up? Is Annie the reason you've taken an interest in him?" "Yes … and no," Auggie said slowly. "Like all of us, I knew Ben and Annie had a brief fling a couple of years before she joined the agency, but I didn't waste a lot of time brooding over it. The past is the past; we all have one. Then I started to feel like Annie and I were being watched almost any time we were out in public." Auggie held up his hands. "Yeah, I know. Don't shake your head, Joan. I'm a blind guy. No matter how good my spy craft is, I can't spot anyone following us. But I can feel them, Joan – that ancient feeling that goes back to prehistory. The hairs lift on the back of your neck, and you know something, someone is watching, and, by God, they intend you lethal harm. You know I'm right; you've felt it when you were in the field. Don't say you haven't." A small smile lifted the corner of Joan's mouth. "Alright, I'll grant you that, Auggie. I'll even agree that you are probably more sensitive to that sort of thing than most of us, but how does that tie into Ben Mercer?" Auggie opened the folder he had carried into her office and felt the top right corner of the first sheet. Joan could see the raised Braille symbol impressed on it. He pulled it out and placed it before her. It was a copy of the letter Annie had received from her nurse friend from Guam. He waited while Joan read it through. "You know who Elfe Kappel is, of course?" Auggie said. Of course. I was actually approached once by her handler, a man who seems to be known only as Klaus. I think he was looking to recruit me, but I didn't stay around long enough to be sure." Joan smoothed her hair and smiled. "This seems to add some substance to my feeling that Mercer has gone completely off the reservation." Auggie pushed the ends of his shaggy dark hair back out of his eyes. "After we got this letter, Annie told me about an incident that happened some time before she moved in with me." He went on to describe the occasion where Ben had displayed his contempt of sightless persons and his disdain for technical experts by making rude remarks about Auggie and warning Annie not to fall for him. "I bring this up only because it adds some weight to the idea that Mercer might have his reasons for being out to get me. He might even be stalking Annie. I just pray he doesn't intend to harm her." "Do you want protection?" Joan asked. "No, no, not at this stage. Annie would flip. I do have a few more items to add to his account." "Go on, Auggie." "His birth into the Baltimore family that he claims as his own was not recorded in the city records until October of 2002. It was skillfully done and backdated, but some things are hard to hide from a good hacker. Mistakes can happen, but I don't think this is one." Auggie gave her another sheaf of printouts. "After I found that, I followed a hunch. I still have a few Mossad friends left from the old days. They were pretty frank with their comments about how badly we blew it on the 9/11 mess. Just suppose their intelligence bosses decided to carefully place a few agents into the C.I.A. to be sure it didn't happen again. I've tried mentioning the name of Ben Mercer to a few of my Mossad friends recently. One and all they start to stammer and then clam up." Auggie lifted his hands and shrugged. "Is he Mossad; if he was, is he still, or has he been disavowed? I don't know. It's all supposition on my part, but I can't help but feel there's something there." They were quiet for a few moments before Auggie said, "I do have one other piece of solid evidence. You can't get information out of Swiss banks without high level support, but others are easier to get into. Mercer transfers funds into and out of a Monte Carlo account assigned to one Jason Dourne." Auggie grinned. "You have to assume he likes the Robert Ludlum thrillers. He's not very careful about covering this identity either. As of yesterday he had a little more than half a million in the account." More printouts changed hands. "That's about it," he said to Joan. I wanted you fully in the picture – just in case." He half-arose and then added, "You got my quarterly financial statement?" "Yes, it's here on my desk somewhere." She searched around a bit. "Find it please, Joan, and have the Agency auditors go over it carefully. If anyone should question my finances, I want you to know where every penny comes from." "I'll find your report, Auggie, and I'll pass your concerns about Mercer on to my husband. He should know. Thank you for coming to me. Let's keep it between us for now, okay?" "Okay." Auggie sketched a salute and found his way out of the office. 9#m^be*d? Auggie and Annie were enjoying a rare lunch break together in the big Langley cafeteria when he put down his fork and asked, "Annie, my geek squad wants to meet you. How about coming with me tonight?" Every other Tuesday night Auggie met with a small group of young people who were seriously into computers. Annie knew little more than that about it. "They want to meet me? I'm barely beyond computer basics." She cocked her head and looked up at Auggie sideways. Of course, the delightful gesture was lost on him, so she added, "How do they even know I exist?" Auggie grinned down at her. "They see you when you drop me off and again when you pick me up after meetings. You've made quite an impression on them. They don't quite whistle and drool – mostly because I insist on courtesy to all females while they're in my hearing – but they are full of questions about you. Come on with me; I think you'll have fun." "What about dinner?" Annie asked. "I was thinking of calling Danielle and seeing if I could treat her and the girls to a meal while I waited for you." "You can do that another time," Auggie told her. Tonight we're having New Orleans fine dining: shrimp cocktail, lobster bisque, oysters Rockefeller, crayfish soufflé, the works. I'm trying to broaden their tastes a little beyond pizza and tacos." "And do I have to cook?" If he was trying to sucker her into preparing that menu for a dozen or so ravenous teens, she was going to kill him. His laugh warmed her as his voice soothed. "No, love, it's all being catered. All you have to do is sit down with us and eat." That brought on the need for more explanations. Auggie's group met in half of a large and well-ventilated loft over a vast computer store in one of Washington's most upscale malls. Auggie had convinced the franchise owner to donate the space as a community service he could brag about and use as a tax write off. In return Auggie had improved the lighting and the flooring and filled the space with computer desks, tables and ergonomic chairs. He also rounded up a variety of computer equipment from several donors, including the Agency. A lot of it the club had rebuilt with Auggie acting as the expert and the kids as his hands and eyes. It wasn't the most expensive stuff on the market, but it was sturdy, and it worked well. When the mother of one of the boys decided to redecorate, her son persuaded her to donate the old living room suite to the club. So now, one corner held two deep-cushioned sofas, a big coffee table and half-a-dozen assorted chairs and end tables. Maybe the rose and gray upholstery was a little funky, but who cared. It was great for breaks and even catered dinners with the addition of a folding table and a few more chairs. "The whole thing got started," Auggie explained to Annie, "when I caught a pair of them trying to break into the D.P.D. system with a two-pronged attack. It wasn't very elegant, but it showed imagination. I could have turned them over to the F.B.I., but I wanted to give them a chance to go 'white hat.' I tracked them down to Pete's mom's basement and dropped in one evening when I knew they were on line." Auggie paused and centered his concentration on Annie's plate. "Are you going to eat the other half of that sandwich?" he asked. Annie drew back in surprise. "How the heck did you know? That sandwich is sitting quietly on my plate. It never made a sound, and I sure didn't mention not eating it." The long lines in Auggie's cheeks creased in a wide grin. "Not enough of the right kind of chewing sounds," he said. "Bread and meat chomp differently from salad. Was it any good?" He sounded hopeful. "Actually, it's quite a decent steak sandwich," she told him. "It was just more than I wanted with that big salad and strawberry shortcake for dessert. Why, do you want it?" "Yeah, I'm still hungry. Do you mind sharing?" Annie pushed the half-sandwich over. "Right at your twelve, babe, happy for you to have it." She was glad to see him hungry. Far too often, he simply got busy and forgot to eat. "Can I get you something else: a glass of milk maybe and the desserts are good today? There's bread pudding with blueberries?" "Yum." His mouth was half-full of her sandwich. He swallowed and said, "If you don't mind standing in line again, I'd love some." "It's not too long now. Be right back." It wasn't long until she was back with the pudding. "Your two o'clock." She put it down with a click. "Now, if we've staved off starvation, I'm dying to know what happened when you showed up at that kid's house." "Who? Oh, Pete's folks, sure." His handsome dark eyes held a hint of mischief in their unfocused gaze as he shifted them to the sound of her voice. "They were horrified, of course. They were ready to banish Pete's buddy, Charlie, permanently from their basement and ground Pete forever. I managed to get them to give the boys a second chance if they would meet with me regularly. It must have sounded better than calling in the Feds, so they agreed. Both boys were 17 and played sports, so I guess they figured they would be safe from a blind guy." Auggie finished his pudding and licked the spoon. "At first we just met in my apartment," he went on. "Then about two months later, it got complicated." Auggie shook his head and laughed quietly. "I just managed to block a sixteen-year-old girl who made a very smart run on our D.P.D. data base. It turned out she was trying to impress Pete – she had a huge crush on him at the time – but she had exposed some weaknesses in the system I had to fix in a hurry." "A sixteen-year-old girl almost hacked our system? Are you kidding me?" "No, embarrassing hardly covers it. I had to bring her in, but once I had Marla, she was way under age remember, we couldn't go on meeting at my apartment." Annie reached across the table and patted his hand. "What, hero, you didn't want to get arrested for contributing to the delinquency of a minor or something a lot worse?" "Just shows the mess you can get into when you try to be a good guy." Auggie made a very sad face, and Annie had to laugh. "Go on, laugh at the trials of your poor, blind companion." Auggie waited for a bit of sympathy, and she patted his hand again. She loved his ability to laugh at himself. "So, what happened then?" Annie said. "I found another place and had her dad come with her to meetings until he got to trust me. So, long story short – we do have to get back to work soon – the group just grew. Charlie asked if Shane Northman could join; he's the current President of the club. Evie hacked the group's private website and turned up on our doorstep. Her parents are old school hippies – her full name is Evening Star Gomez, and she rebelled by being brilliant with computers. Tom Drummond's dad works for the Agency. He asked me to take Tom-Tom on. Seems they had some conflicts at home." Annie collected their trays and dishes and dropped them off at the return station, while Auggie used his laser cane to edge toward an exit. She caught up with him there, took his hand and guided it to her elbow. Together they walked toward the elevators. "We moved into the loft about eighteen months ago," he told her as they walked. "Members tend to come and go. A few drop out; others go away to college or into jobs. We have 12 members right now ranging from 17 to 25. I don't take anyone under 16. Six of them have been with me for 3 or more years; the others are newer." They were at the door to Tech Services. "So will you come with me tonight, Annie? Please?" It seemed to be important to Auggie. He was so darned good to her, Annie thought. Always considerate, always patient and tender, and generous to a fault – how could she turn him down for something this simple? "Sure, Auggie. I'll be glad to go along and meet your 'geek squad'." "Great!" his smile was wide and happy, "but remember 'geek squad' is just the way I think of them. They call themselves 'Hackers, Crackers and Trackers, Inc,' Wait …" Auggie took out his card case, quickly felt the Braille symbol impressed on the corner of a card and handed her one. "Check this out when you get back to your desk." Before she could say more, he was through the door to Tech Services and someone in the bullpen was calling for his attention. Once at her desk, Annie took a good look at the sleek, professional appearing business card. Printed in white against a glossy black background, was a wide-brimmed cowboy hat with "Hackers, Crackers and Trackers, Inc" embossed in vivid red ink around the brim. Underneath was printed the statement, "We're the Good Guys. Let us go gunning for your troublemakers." There were two unfamiliar phone numbers in the lower, right-hand corner of the card. She knew she would have a lot more questions after work. W9a#bo7q%m After briefing Joan on upcoming operations that might affect her section, Arthur opened a new subject. "Look, Joan," he said, "you may not like it, but Ben Mercer has raised some valid concerns about Auggie. He has a friend with connections to Saudi intelligence. He has a supposed ex-girlfriend who's not only Russian, but an expert with computer viruses. Then we know he lost his sight in an ambush that might have been avoided if we'd had better intelligence. What are the chances it has embittered him, turned him against the agency?" Joan's stare was fierce. "Arthur, this is ridiculous! You're repeating all that poison Mercer has been feeding you. He's trying to smear Auggie with innuendo and half-truths. Auggie has been with the Agency since he was in his late teens. We educated him, trained him; you know he was being groomed for fast track advancement. He spied for us, fought for us; then he suffered a horrible injury in our service. Being blind limited his shot at the top levels, but his skills were too valuable to waste. We saw that he had the finest medical care available. He had extensive training in blind living skills and in-depth counseling." Joan's fair skin was flushed, and her hands gripped the back of the chair before her so tightly that her knuckles were white. Arthur thought of a lioness defending her cub. "He came to my section when he was ready, and I bought him the latest equipment to help him deal with his blindness. In return he has developed the finest Tech Support section in the entire intelligence community. His knowledge of field operations coupled with his technical expertise is invaluable. He is totally and completely loyal. I'd trust him with my life." Joan pointed to the dossier that Auggie had compiled. It lay on Arthur's desk. "I showed you the information he brought me on Mercer: the association with known weapons smugglers, the possible false background and connection to Mossad. Then there are the funds that can't be accounted for. He's gone totally rogue, Arthur. Who knows how many masters he's working for? You should bring him in for interrogation!" Arthur paced to his desk, picked up a paperweight and tossed it in his hand for a minute before turning back to his wife. "I have a better idea," he said. The following week orders came down that all Tech Services personnel were to report to the infirmary for their annual flu shots. Along with the vaccine, and unknown to him, Auggie received a miniature RFID device in his shot. He thought the injection hurt a bit more than usual, but shrugged it off. The tiny radio frequency identification transponder settled under his skin and rested there quietly. Chapter 9 Seafood and Surprise. When Auggie shepherded Annie into the club's loft, she found it warm, bright and welcoming. She was quickly surrounded by a swarm of young adults eager to meet her. They were all well scrubbed and smelled fresh – something she suspected Auggie insisted on – but dressed in a variety of styles from the conventional jeans, tee shirt and hoodie to full-blown Goth. One young lady, dressed in a smart business pants suit, was introduced as Marla Ingram. She said she had just come from her part-time job as a data entry clerk for a local law firm. Some of the kids smiled, shook Annie's hand and slipped away quietly to a computer station shortly after being introduced. Others lured her to the break corner for a longer chat. She identified them as Mark Henry, Evie Gomez and the current president of the group, Shane Northman. They wanted to know who she was and what she did. She stuck with her Smithsonian cover story, and they were delighted when they learned she traveled a lot in her job. Of course, they wanted to know all about how she met Auggie and anything else about their relationship they could squeeze out of her. Fortunately, within days of moving in together, Annie and Auggie had agreed on a story that they told outsiders. It included an amusing fiction about how they met when she dropped her program and stopped suddenly. Auggie bumped into her and propelled her into the punch table at a Smithsonian function. Annie was more interested in them. Mark Henry was 25, only four years younger than she was. He was a tall, dark-skinned, attractive African-American man, who shaved his head closely. He was a fully trained Emergency Medical Technician. He wanted to go on to medical school, he told her, and work in biomedical engineering. Evie was Evening Star Gomez, whom Auggie had told her about. It wasn't hard to see that she was brilliant and deeply into computer science. She was studying high performance supercomputing at George Washington University. Pretty much everything she said went directly over Annie's head. Shane Northman was an adult at 22. He had a calm, logical personality and a dry sense of humor that reminded her of Auggie in many ways. It was he who answered some of her questions about the group. "What's this thing with cowboy hats?" she asked him. "Seems a bit old west for such an advanced group?' "Guess the terms do come from old western movies," Shane told her. "White hats are the good guys – people who want to use computers in positive and legal ways. Grey hats are those in-between who fool around with trying to break into sites and other mischief mostly for fun. Black hats are the truly bad dudes who are using computers to steal, crash systems and other nasty stuff. "And Auggie tells me you call yourselves hackers, crackers and trackers. What about those? "Well, hacker is the broad general term. Basically someone who is deeply knowledgeable about computers, someone who loves to experiment, find solutions, open up new possibilities. Cracker is not a racial slur as we use it, but someone who is proficient at breaking software protection like key codes, firewalls and the like. In our case, they would work in computer security, testing and reinforcing systems. A tracker is a programmer who monitors something – follows it through all its stages. It can also refer to tracks in music." Annie shook her head and looked up with wide, curious eyes. "Talk about total ignorance. I am completely out of my depth here. Auggie must think I'm an absolute dunce." Shane cracked a wide and mischievous smile. "Auggie thinks the earth of you, Miss Annie, and so do we. You make him happy and that's more than enough." Annie looked up to see Auggie moving from one computer station to the next. He stopped to talk with each occupant, answer questions and suggest approaches. While he clearly knew the area well, she noticed that he did use his cane. She realized why when she saw its sweep contact a carelessly dropped backpack. Auggie stepped around it and walked on. "You're fond of Auggie, then?" Annie said to the group around her. Everyone started to answer, but Evie won out. "He's the absolute greatest guy on earth," she said with considerable exaggeration, but welcome enthusiasm. "He's done a major save for pretty much everybody here. Some of us he grabbed by the collar and yanked back from the edge of a pit. He's taught us so much, and not just computers either." Donny Carlone had wandered over and now spoke up. "You got that right. He sez we gotta wash, and always talk nice and play fair. I'd ended up in Juvie if my truant officer hadn'ta sent me to him." Mark Henry entered the conversation. "I'm not exactly a 'major save', but one of the top surgeons at Bethesda did ask Auggie to take me in and teach me as much as he could about computers. It's been a real education. I think Colonel Harrison was or is one of Auggie's doctors." "What's he do?" Evie demanded. "Doctor Harrison? He's a neurosurgeon," Mark told her. "Is he going to fix Auggie's eyes, make him see again?" Evie's voice was low with intensity. Annie thought it best to put those speculations to rest at once. She didn't want Auggie to have to deal with it. "I'm afraid that's not possible, Evie," Annie said. "The optic nerves are dead; there's no hope of a recovery." "So he'll never see anything?" Evie sounded so sad. "Well, his implant does let him in a sense see the bounce off a laser…." Annie trailed to a stop, suddenly aware that she was sharing Agency information. "Er… it's highly experimental, just something he's testing for a friend. Tell me about what you want to do, Evie?" The conversation veered away from the dangerous subject, and soon the caterers arrived with dinner. A spare table was set up and chairs dragged over from the computer stations. The spread of New Orleans delicacies was fully as delicious as Auggie had promised, and Annie soon found herself stuffed almost to discomfort. The meal lasted more than an hour, and between them, Annie and Auggie got everyone to talk a little bit about themselves and their plans, their hopes and even their dreams. It became clear that at least three of the kids were dirt poor, but with ambition and what they were learning in the club, a brighter future was possible. Annie would later learn that Auggie was helping two of them with their college tuition. "Well, what did you think?" Auggie asked when the evening was over and they were in the car headed home. "Did you have any fun or was it something you never want to repeat?" 'I enjoyed it far more than I expected," Annie told him. "They are an amazing crew, and you are doing great things with them. You have hidden depths that I have yet to explore." She reached over and slid her hand from his knee up the line of his thigh to the warmth of a deep crease. He clamped his hand down over hers. "Jeeze, Annie, if you don't quit that, you're going to have to stop the car, and we'll probably end up being arrested. I'm glad you had a good time, but it must be all those oysters you ate. Hang on until we get home." H&f4c*y8r$ Arthur Campbell thought he had been very clever. They would be tracking Auggie at all times. Ben had been given strict guidelines. Auggie was to remain in the country and was not to be permanently injured in any way. As soon as they went to ground, a listening array would be secretly dropped into place. The type of questioning would soon reveal Mercer's intentions and confirm or destroy their trust in Anderson – two birds with one stone. Q#u9v*6t^b Auggie wasn't afraid, but he wasn't a fool either. He didn't doubt the deep feeling that someone was watching him – probably Ben Mercer or someone acting for him. When Annie was away on a mission, as she had been for the last four days, he stuck close to home. He let the Agency provide a car and driver to take him to and from work and fixed simple meals for himself. But this was different. Annie had a birthday coming up, and he had ordered something very special for her. Precious Pearls had called to say it was ready. He telephoned to be sure that Evelyn, the salesperson he knew, was in before he walked the three blocks from his apartment building to the shop. He knew the area and made good time. Evelyn was delighted to see him again. She had sold them the pink pearls he bought Annie on the day she moved in with him, and she had taken this special order some weeks ago. She exclaimed over how beautifully his design had been realized. A large and gleaming white, teardrop pearl was centered between two slightly smaller, but perfectly round black pearls. They were strung on gold links with tiny white pearls spaced every half inch along its length. It would hang just between her breasts. Auggie couldn't see it, but he had visualized it, and the reality felt the way he thought it should. He thanked Evelyn for her assistance and paid. She packaged it beautifully for him, included the card he had brought and dropped it into a distinctive Precious Pearls bag. Half a block from Precious Pearls, Auggie heard two sets of heavy footsteps closing on him. Ice ran up his spine, and the hair on the back of his neck stood erect. A hand clamped onto his left arm. "Allow me to assist you, mien Herr." The speaker had a heavy German accent. Auggie spun and brought a knee up into his attacker's balls and his fist into his face at the same instant. The man fell back with an agonized grunt. Auggie had hoped to break the man's nose, but felt his knuckles contact an eye instead. The attacker on his right closed a massive hand around Auggie's upper arm. Auggie thrust his cane between the spread legs behind him and jerked up hard. The resulting screech told him the man's height. He released the cane and brought his shoulder up sharply under a solid chin. Momentarily free, he was about to sprint down the familiar street, when a voice he knew said, "Dammit, you fools! I told you he was dangerous." A powerful electric shock jolted him from behind. He had just time enough to think 'taser', before darkness descended. The End Thanks For Reading Hope You Liked It Publication Date: November 20th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-just.us.friendz

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-robi-crusoe-it-all-started-at-four-corners/

Robi Crusoe It All Started At Four Corners I would like to dedicate this book to the great mystery writer himself, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Thank you, Mr. Doyle, for writing the great blueprint! Chapter One   I have never been ordinary. It’s as if I’m a beacon for all sorts of trouble. So, a while ago, I decided to use my sixth sense for good. I became a private investigator. My goal is to help people, instead of hurt them, as I once did. I believe just as my dearest childhood mentor did that one truth prevails, no matter what the situation is. And as long as I remember that, no case will be too hard, and no crime will remain unsolved. Not for this detective, anyway.                 The night was cold, dark, and damp, the perfect conditions for a heist. The Moriaritys had been preparing for this night day after day, and now, it was finally that time. It was time to strike. Their youngest member went up to the door of the shop, knowing what she was to do. She picked the lock in seventeen seconds, and then set to work helping the gang leader crack the safety system. Finally, they were in. The crew began to collect the riches from the cash register, the safe, and the other somewhat hidden places in the store that a scout found earlier in the week.             Just as they were about finished, a loud wailing echoed throughout the building.             “Run!” cried Jamieson, scrambling for the back door. The young lock pick tried to follow, but tripped on a trash barrel and fell to the floor. She reached up, hoping to receive a hand from her best friend. But to her dismay, he was already turning around and running away.             “Drake, please don’t leave me!” she called. Drake stopped, turned his head slightly, and sighed.             “I’m sorry, Addi.” he said. Then he walked away, leaving his once named partner to the mercy of the Four-Corner’s PD.                                                 “All rise for the trial of Addison Avery Carter, charged with theft and breaking and entering.” commanded Judge Dillon. Addison smiled and stood.             “How do you plead, Miss Carter?” he asked.             “I plead guilty.” Addison said. Then she looked over at the policeman and held out her hands mockingly. “Officer, take me away.”             “Not quite yet, you still need to hear your sentence.” Judge Dillon said. “Addison Carter, you are hereby sentenced to twenty years in prison. Case dismissed.   Seven Years Later…   “The butler did it.” Addison stated, closing her manila folder with her left hand. Dari Stutter, Addison’s cellmate, looked up at her in surprise.             “How did you figure that case out so fast?” she asked. “It must have taken the police two full days to figure that one out and you solved it in fifteen minutes!” Addison laughed. She loved it when Dari asked her how she solved things. It gave her an excuse to explain her deductions.             “Well, first of all, the butler didn’t have a good enough alibi.” she answered. “He said that he was in his room sleeping, and he didn’t have anyone with him to prove he was in his room the entire time. Plus, out of the two possible suspects, he was the only one that was strong enough to hit the victim over the head with the murder weapon.”  Dari just continued staring.             “I still can’t believe that you can crack a case that quickly!” she said. “By the way, do I need to cover for you tonight? You look like you’re out of case folders again.”             “That would be perfect!” replied Addison.             That night, Addison, using her talent for picking locks, crept out of her cell and slipped silently into the back of the prison library. She immediately went to where she had left off, folder two-thousand nine-hundred thirty-seven.             “Ah yes,” Addison whispered. “The Case of the Estranged Doctor, this is sure to be an excellent mystery!”  She whipped the yellowing envelope from the shelf, taking a few other as well, just enough so that she would not have to come back for a couple of days. Quietly she crept back to her cell, tucked the stolen folders into her special compartment in the wall, and crawled into bed, making it seem as if nothing had happened at all.               Little did Addison know that her plan had not been as secretive as she had believed it had been. Outside the prison compound, a disheveled young man rose to his feet, a red notebook and pencil in his blistered hands.             “Yes, I believe she is the one.” he whispered. “I will conduct the final test tomorrow.” He then stood, dusted himself off, and seated himself on his Harley. As the middle-aged man drove away, he glanced back and smiled.             “I’ll see you in the morning, Ms. Carter.”               “Addison, wake up!” shouted Dari, shaking her friend vigorously for the fifth time that morning. “The sergeants are coming! It’s almost time for inspection!”             “I’m awake, alright!” cried Addison. She forced herself up, and yawned. “I must have stayed up a little bit late last night.             “Well you had better pull your act together before the Feds come.” Dari said. “If they see you like this they will know that something’s up.” She helped Addison straighten out her hair and slip on her shoes. The duo then resorted to sprucing up their quarters.             They had just finished when Sergeant Flanders walked in for his daily inspection. His beady eyes scanned every corner of the room, looking for one hair out of place; one thing he could condemn the fugitives for. Finally, he gave up his search, and ordered the girls into the mess hall for breakfast.                         The cafeteria was not exactly the “cleanest” place in the world, nor was it the safest. Masses of inmates crowded the flimsy wooden tables, getting into their well established groups, and growling at the newbies who would try and enter their cliques uninvited. As always, Addison and Dari made their way to a back table, far away from the battlefield at the front. They sat back with all of the nerds and weirdoes who had learned their lessons long ago.             “So, Addison, did you solve another one of your cases last night?” a girl named Janise Rosewell asked, leaning in closer so that she could hear well. She had entered the compound around the same time Addison did, so she knew all about her knack for solving crime.             “In fact, I did.” replied Addison proudly. “It was about this doctor who-.”             “Addison Carter,” yelled Sergeant Flanders, a wicked gleam in his eye. “You are wanted in the front office, immediately!”             “Do you think he found the folders?” Addison asked Dari.             “How could he have, they were hidden so well!” Dari answered. Addison shrugged, then turned around and walked up to Sergeant Flanders, her emotions unreadable, and her step unfaltering. Just as she was marched through the door by the sergeant, a shout arose from the back table.             “Good luck, Addison!” yelled Dari. Then the view of the cafeteria vanished, and all Addison saw was the long stretch of hall ahead.               “Well, if it isn’t Addison Carter!” exclaimed the man sitting in a burgundy armchair. Addison and Sergeant Flanders had just entered Officer Delaney’s study, where he and a young scraggly gentleman were seated.             “Ms. Carter, this man’s name is Detective Connor Doyle. He is a private investigator for the Four Corners Police Department.”             At the mention of the detective’s name, Addison’s breathe caught in her throat. It had been so long, but she could never forget the night that she had first met Detective Doyle. It was the night that Drake had betrayed her. As she looked into Connor’s eyes, she saw a sense of understanding, overlaid with a hint of mystery and a splash of trust. She then knew what he wanted with her. Slowly, she gave him a slight nod, signaling to him that she would do what he asked.             “Alright then, it’s settled.” Connor said. “Ms. Carter shall come to my manor tomorrow at noon. I will arrange transportation as required.”             “Wait a minute!” cried Addison. “I can’t go with you tomorrow, not without Dari!”             “Who’s Dari?” questioned the inspector, a gleam in his eye. Sergeant Flanders answered for her.             “Dari has been Addison’s friend during her time in this facility.” the sergeant explained. “They’ve been inseparable ever since they met.”             “That’s right!” Addison proclaimed. “Dari and I, we’re like peanut butter and jelly, Laverne and Shirley. We’re like Sherlock Holmes and Watson!”             “That’s quite enough, Ms. Carter!” shouted Officer Delaney. “Go back to your cell at once!” Addison gave everyone one last defiant look, and then she sulked back to her cell.                         “Are you sure she’s the one?” questioned Sergeant Flanders. “I mean, I know Addison is smart and all, but still, you have to remember that she is a criminal, and she is liable to turn back to her old ways at any moment!”             “No, she won’t.” answered Detective Doyle. “Even if she didn’t know it, she has been training as a detective for these past seven years.” Dramatically, he produced a manila folder from behind him.             “But, those are our case files!” stammered Officer Delaney.             “Exactly, Addison Carter has been secretly pillaging these cases every night.” explained the detective. “Under our very noses, she has been solving countless numbers of these, keeping score on the wall by her bed.”             “I thought those meant days!” gasped Sergeant Flanders. “I never had any idea that she was actually solving murder mysteries in there!”             Connor snickered.             “She hid her stolen objects very well, by placing them inside a compartment behind a stone in the wall.” he explained. “It’s pretty ingenious, if you think about it. Now, how about those release forms?”                 “We’re in.” said Addison said as she walked into her cell, a satisfied look on her face. Dari looked up from her crossword, confused.             “What do you mean by ‘we’?” she questioned. Addison smiled at her.             “I have successfully convinced the ecstatic Detective Doyle to bail out both of us.”             “Really, we’re actually leaving this dump!” exclaimed Dari. “I can’t believe it… Oh, wait a minute, there’s a catch, isn’t there. There’s always a catch.             “Alright, you got me.” Addison said, raising her hands in the air. “He’ll bail us out, but only if I agree to become his ‘assistant’. The only reason you got included is because, being the amazing friend that I am, I stood up for you.”             “And you agreed to this?” asked Dari.             “Yes, yes I did.” whispered Addison. Then she said goodnight to Dari, and fell into a nice, mystery filled sleep. Chapter Two     The next day, Addison and Dari packed up their things, and left the place that had been their home for the last seven years, for good. They loaded their bags into the back of Detective Doyle’s car, and pretty soon, the trio was driving through the desert at sixty miles-per-hour, heading towards the bustling city of Four Corners, Arizona.             When they arrived at the detective’s mansion, the two girls were introduced to his butler, a clammy old man who went by the name Niles.             “Niles, please show these young ladies to their quarters.” Conner ordered. The butler began walking towards the entrance.             “Follow me, ladies.” he said. They walked down the maze of hallways, finally stopping in front of two gilded doors, one with a rose on the door, the other with a lily.             “Ms. Stutter, your room is on the right.” Niles explained. “Ms. Carter, yours is on the left. Enjoy your stay, ladies.” As soon as he disappeared around the corner, the two girls proceeded to check out their new quarters.             As Addison stepped into her room, she scanned her surroundings, checking anything that could conceal a hidden microphone, or a camera. She had grown up learning from Drake that you should always make sure that there is no chance of you being monitored secretly, even in your own house. “If someone can watch your every move,” he had said. “Then that takes away your privacy, and any time you would have had to plan your next heist.” Addison sighed. Even though he had abandoned her, and gotten her into this whole mess, she still missed Drake. She missed his long lectures about crime and robbery; his laughter that rang out into the night when she would tell him a joke. Addison pushed the wave of memories back. “It’s better to leave the past in the past, and to tackle the present as it comes.” she whispered to herself. Leaving her past behind her, Addison resumed her thorough examination of the room she supposedly was to stay in for the rest of her apprenticeship. The walls were painted an iridescent green, with arches of white here and there. Up on the ceiling, some artist had portrayed a swirl of vines, all coming together in the center, where a bright silver chandelier was hanging. Addison inspected the closet, and found a wide assortment of clothing, all strangely close to her size. “This man must have really looked into me.” she said with a grimace. Still, despite the strangeness of it, she took out an army green jacket and placed it over her shoulders. When Addison looked in the trunk at the foot of her four-poster bed, she found a large collection of odd items. There was a large notebook and pen, an old pocket watch, and many different sized magnifying glasses. Among these she found a very large one attached to a string. Cautiously, she slipped the cord over her head, and let the device rest against her hip. “Perfect, this may come in handy someday.” she whispered. Thinking about it, she placed a smaller looking glass into the breast pocket of her coat, and then, closing the trunk, she walked out into the hallway, heading towards the dining room. After having settled down to a warm supper of russet potatoes and smoked ham, Addison, Dari, and Detective Doyle began discussing what would happen in the days to come. “Ms. Carter, the reason that I have called you here is because I have been monitoring you for some time now, and I feel that you have the skills to be a very qualified detective.” Detective Doyle explained. “All you need is a little bit of professional training.” “ I knew you were stalking me,” Addison thought, a hint of a smile crossing her otherwise expressionless face. “So, for the first part of your training, you will learn all of the basic subjects from Mrs. Porter, the teacher I hired for you.” Connor continued. “She will teach you arithmetic, geometry, and of course, problem solving.” He paused when he caught a glimpse of Addison fingering her newly found magnifying glass. “I see you were exploring your room.” he said cheerily. “This is very good, Ms. Carter, very good indeed!” “Thank you.” replied Addison, blushing, and placing her looking glass back down at her side. “Now, to continue on, the second part of your training-.” Detective Doyle began saying, but at that very moment, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it, sir!” called Niles. It was a few minutes before the butler returned to the dining room, a stranger tagging along behind him. “Sir, this woman’s name is Rita Whittington, and she wishes to speak with you.” Niles explained. “Ah yes, Ms. Whittington,” Detective Doyle cried, standing up to shake the young lady’s hand. “It is a great honor to meet you.” “It is an honor to meet you as well, Detective Doyle.” replied Rita. “But please, could we go into your study? I have a few matters that I wish to discuss with you in private.” “As you command, Ms. Whittington.” said Connor with a nod. The two of them walked into the study, not returning until almost twenty minutes later. “I guess I will see you tomorrow morning, Mr. Doyle.” Rita said as she walked out the door. “I guess so.” called the detective. “Goodnight, Ms. Whittington!” After she left, Connor walked back into the dining room and sat down. Addison and Dari stared at him, silently pressuring him for details. When Connor saw what they were doing, he laughed. “Fine, I’ll tell you everything.” he sighed. “Let’s just say this tale involves a hanging, supposed murder, and two very jealous suitors.”  Addison gasped. “That sounds almost exactly like one of the case files I read at the prison!” “You mean, stole from the prison.” added Dari. Addison gave her a pointed look, quickly quieting Dari’s tongue. “You are both right.” replied Connor. “Don’t worry, Addison, I won’t report you for your past crimes.” Addison breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you very much, Mr. Doyle.” she said. “You’re very welcome. Now then, let’s return to the case.” proposed Connor. “The date was October thirteenth, just about a week ago. Ms. Whittington walked into her house on Shillington Square, only to find a corpse hanging from the chandelier in her living room. The murdered man’s name was Fredrick Muldoon. Ms. Whittington told me that he had been one of three suitors that had been trying to win her hand in marriage for the past few months. She thinks that one of the remaining suitors, Mason Parker or Johnny Hartwell, may, in fact, have murdered Mr. Muldoon.” “I wouldn’t put it past someone,” accused Addison. “Especially, I wouldn’t put it past someone who has the motive to commit a crime like that. Now, when are we going to go and thoroughly investigate the scene of the crime?” “Tomorrow morning, so you’d better get some sleep.” Connor said, ushering Addison and Dari into the hall. “So, I now say goodnight to you both!”   After a fairly peaceful night of rest, Conner and his two apprentices loaded up into his car and began the forty-five minute journey to Whittington Manor. On the way there, Addison thought through what Detective Doyle had told them about the crime last night. Who murdered Mr. Muldoon, and more importantly, why did he do it? “The criminal mind is dark and strange, murderous, and cold.” she whispered to herself. “But in the end, even it is fooled. No matter how smart any villain thinks he or she is, he will always leave behind something; some clue that can incriminate him and put him in his place. The good side will always prevail.” They arrived at the manor in due time. As Conner approached the door, it was answered promptly by Ms. Whittington. “Ah yes, Detective Doyle, I’m so glad you could come!” she exclaimed. “But, why did you bring those two along?” “ We are Mr. Doyle’s apprentices.” announced Addison. “So wherever he goes, we go too!” “Fine, I guess you can all come in.” Ms. Whittington said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She led them through the door and into the living room, where within sat two gentlemen in pristine suits. “The one on the right is Mr. Parker, and the one on the left is Mr. Hartwell.” Addison told Dari. Dari looked back at her, eyes wide. “How do you know?” she asked. Addison grinned. “It’s simple really,” she replied. “I remember reading that Mr. Hartwell was a victim of a burglary once. There was a struggle, and Mr. Hartwell ended up with a nasty scar on his hand. I saw the scar when I came in.” “Oh, now I get it!” Dari exclaimed. “Of course you do.” Addison laughed, placing a hand against her forehead. Just then, Ms. Whittington glared at them, so the two girls stopped their shenanigans and proceeded to follow Rita and Detective Doyle to the scene of the murder. As they entered the room, Addison gasped. Hanging at the dead center was a man’s body suspended by a rope. The ground under him was covered in blood. Addison took in every visible detail, and then started hunting around for the non-visible ones. She used her large magnifying glass that hung by her side to hunt for evidence. It was not like she needed to look though. She already knew who had killed Mr. Muldoon. Now all that was required was for her to prove her theories. With Dari’s help, the whole investigation would take only an hour. Then the murderer would be revealed, and Addison could go home and rest. But until then, she would let Conner have his fun, doing his thing and going over all the steps that she had done instantly when she had first encountered the murder scene. So slowly, Addison sat down in one of the many armchairs situated around the room, and began her long wait. Meanwhile, Connor was trying tirelessly to solve the case. He knew that if he let Ms. Whittington down, that he would never get his paycheck. And if he didn’t get paid, then he would never find out just how smart Addison really was. So, he pushed on, trying in vain to solve a crime that just refused to lend him any hints. “I need to go get a drink.” announced Ms. Whittington. “Johnny, Mason, will you boys come and help me?” “Of course, my lady.” replied Mason with a smile. “Just follow us.” said Johnny. The threesome exited into the kitchen. They had been gone for some time when suddenly a loud scream rang out. The three detectives rushed to the scene. In front of them, Ms. Whittington laid soaking in a pool of her own blood, a large kitchen knife shoved into her back. The two young men were pushed back against the kitchen counter. Behind them, the large glass doors were swinging on their hinges. “There was a break in!” cried Mr. Hartwell. “The killer was dressed all in black, so we couldn’t see his face. He sprang through the glass doors, grabbed a knife, and stabbed dear Rita in the back!” “I don’t think that’s exactly true.” said Addison. She stepped up to the front where everyone could see her. “In fact, I am now certain that you two have been lying to us all along!” She turned towards Conner with a mischievous smile. “My dear Detective Doyle, you probably don’t believe me, but I know who the murderer is.” Everyone looked over at her in shock. “How could you possibly know that?” questioned Johnny. “It has only been a couple of minutes since this murder happened!” “I wasn’t just talking about this most recent murder.” explained Addison. “I was talking about the murder of Mr. Muldoon as well. Now let me explain my reasoning.” She led the group back into the living room, where she sat down in a chair and folded her arms in her lap. “The murderer, or more precisely, the murderers, are you two fiends!” she said, pointing at Mr. Parker and Mr. Hartwell. “But why would we want to murder Ms. Whittington? One of us was supposed to marry her!” “That may be true, but you two are still the killers. I can prove it.” Addison replied. “You see, on the night of October thirteenth, at precisely two-thirty in the morning, you, Mr. Parker, led the unsuspecting Fredrick Muldoon into the study. There your accomplice, Mr. Hartwell, had rigged a noose that you two used to hang Mr. Muldoon and hence, eliminate him from your competition for Ms. Whittington’s hand in marriage. But your evil plot didn’t end there. Even after Ms. Whittington recruited us, you still decided to continue on with your evil scheme. To you, we were just your simple witnesses. After we arrived at the house, both of you, along with Ms. Whittington, went into the kitchen to get a drink. This was when you committed your second act of villainy. You both grabbed the knife at the same time and plunged it into Ms. Whittington’s back. See, I found Ms. Whittington’s will upstairs in her room, and I was surprised by the fact that the envelope that it was in had been opened. But when I read it, I knew the truth. Ms. Whittington wrote that whoever her husband was would inherit her fortune when she died. But, if she happened to pass away before one of you became betrothed to her, all of the remaining suitors would inherit her fortune. That was what you were after, not love, but money. And you were determined to get it, even if it meant killing somebody.” The two men laughed. “That is a mighty fine story, Ms. Carter, but I can assure you that none of it is true. I mean, you don’t even have proof!” “Actually, I think I have enough evidence to put you two away for good! Dari, come here please!” Addison called. Dari Stutter then came rushing into the room, carrying a test tube, and a sheet of crisp white paper. She handed them off to Addison, and then waved at the crowd. Addison rolled her eyes, quickly returning to her explanation. “This test tube contains a sample of blood from Ms. Whittington’s shirt. What surprised me though was that the sample did not just contain one person’s blood. It contained two, yours, Mr. Hartwell, and the victims. I figured that this was because as you and Mr. Parker plunged the kitchen knife into Ms. Whittington’s back, the wound on your hand was reopened, and some of the blood fell on Ms. Whittington’s back. Just to prove my theories even further, I checked for fingerprints on the hilt of the knife, and found a set of yours and a set of Mr. Parker’s. Do I need to explain further, or will you just go ahead and let my friend Detective Doyle cuff you up now.” Both of the young men were scowling now, so Addison knew that everything she had said was one-hundred percent true. She cast a sidelong glance at Conner. “Their expressions speak for themselves.” she concluded. “Constable, take them away.”   Later, after Conner, Addison, and Dari had all given statements in court, the team decided that they would all celebrate with a well deserved trip to Carmelo’s Ice Cream Parlor down on South Tenth. “That was an amazing feat that you pulled off at that last case.” exclaimed Conner. “I didn’t know that you had such good deductive reasoning. You’re a natural young Sherlock Holmes!” “Thanks Detective Doyle!” replied Addison. “But I couldn’t have done it without Dari.” The girls smiled and high-fived each other. “Well, also, if you hadn’t gone to prison and read those police case files, you probably never would have ended up in this position!” said Dari. “That’s true, for if I had never gotten arrested, I never would have met you two!” Addison affirmed. “But still, I wonder what happened to Jamieson, Drake, and the rest of the Moriaritys?” Just then, out of the corner of her eye, Addison saw a flash of movement in the window of the closed convenience store across the street. “I’ll be right back.” she said. Then the young detective raced to Conner’s car, grabbed his gun from the glove compartment, and rushed over to stop the burglary of Casey’s Convenience Store. She kicked open the doors and held the gun out threateningly. “Whoever’s in here, you should come out with your hands up! I have a gun, and I’m not afraid to use it!” Addison called. Slowly, a shadowy figure emerged from behind the counter. “Addi, is that you?” he asked, seemingly surprised. “Is it really the young girl I knew from all those years ago?” “Drake?” Addison questioned, her eyes growing wide. “What are you doing here?” “What does it look like I’m doing?” Drake laughed. “I’m robbing this convenience store!” Addison glared at him and held her weapon higher. “So, after all of this time, you’ve never changed.” Addison sighed. “Well, I’m sorry Drake, but if you’re breaking the law, I will have no choice but to turn you in.” Drake looked at her skeptically. “Addison, honey, why would you do a silly thing like that?” he said calmly. “Hey, I know, why don’t you join back up with me? We could forget all of the events that happened seven years ago, and start a new, crime based life! Come on Addi, just say yes.” The more Addison thought about it, the more she wanted to agree. She hadn’t seen Drake in so long! But then, her thoughts turned back to Conner, Dari, and her escapades in the prison. She couldn’t give that up, not even for her old friend. “I’m sorry Drake, but I cannot go with you.” Addison answered. “But, just this once, I will let you go free. Though, if I ever catch you stealing again, I will turn you into the police, no questions asked.” She gave him one last hard look, and then watched as he ducked out of sight and out of her life forever. Slowly Addison smiled, running out the door, and back towards her future, solving crimes with her best friend Dari, and crazy Detective Conner Doyle.   Well, I guess my life couldn’t be any better. I have an amazing job, an awesome best friend, and a fairly decent employer. So for now, I guess I will go to bed, and ready myself for my first study session with Conner in the morning. To everyone reading my case files, this is Addison Carter, Junior Detective, signing off.                                                     The End Text: RC Productions Editing: Grandma Betty and Me All rights reserved. Publication Date: April 20th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-lilliannagirl101

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Megan Lewis Sheep Snatcher, Thief Catcher, What’s the good in that Old Thatcher? Sheep Snatcher I There was a flock of sheep standing around in a field. This field was distant from everywhere else with in the small village, its owner being Farmer Thatcher, who was very popular with the village people. Farmer Thatcher supplied the village with meat and dairy products from his farm so the villagers often helped him there. They had just finished building a barn for the animals in the winter months, which were fast approaching. This day, was the day of the opening. It was considered a great success to the village because each and every person had contributed in some way, whether it was Mr Harlington supplying the wood or little Elsie passing the paint brush up to her mother who was standing tall on the ladder, reaching for the roof, covering it in a blanket of smooth white. As the village people gathered at the farm, no one knew how much the atmosphere would change over this night, or how much danger each and every one of them was really in. It lurked over the hill then snuck through the trees, watching in the cold early winter breeze, waiting until night because as it was light he could not commit his tragic deed of vengeance and deceit, he hid deep beneath the trees where no one else could see the evil in his eyes, the mystery and lies because as by now you may have realised that this would be no ordinary night but one of sadness, torture and don’t forget the huge fight. You may be thinking what the sheep at the start had to do with the rest of the story read on to find out or close the book now as this could get gory. Anyway, that night after all the happy events prior, he crept out from the trees because he had stopped watching when everyone had left, but not completely as he was still eyeing Farmer Thatcher’s prize sheep. He knew that when that one sheep had gone, leaving a trail of drip drop b l o o d leading from the gravel down the road that Farmer Thatcher would sure to follow as he was a clever man. His prize sheep, which was sought after by every farm near and far, missing and a trail of drip drop b l o o d leading from the field. He would know. Of course he would follow not knowing that this would be leading him to much worse events to follow, for him not for the sheep. But this would just grab his attention; attract him to his death bed. But why would anyone do this to Farmer Thatcher. Maybe because of his sheep. Maybe because of his barn, or could it be because he isn’t who he says he is... The Investigation I 2011-06-04. Cold case team. London. Detective Inspector Lennon had just walked into the office, phone pressed to his ear in one hand and a take-away coffee, large, in the other. His tie wasn’t yet done and his shirt only half-buttoned. He wasn’t ready for the day and everyone could see it. His home life had been trashed at the moment since the fire, which at the time was treated as suspicious but soon dropped. He knew someone had done that to his home, his family, his son, scarred for life, branded by someone else’s doing for everyone to see, right there, on his face. Five. Five and he will have that forever. The remembrance of the day when he couldn't get out, when he didn’t understand, when he had run through the flames which his dad was on the other side of. He would never forget and neither would Lennon. Either way he had to carry on. He hung up the phone which he slammed on the table, which trembled under the force, just to be greeted with morning boss, case from 1965. Man believed to be lured to his death then tortured under humiliating circumstances. With this Lennon replied “what do you mean humiliating?” his colleague stared at him “I mean humiliating boss. There was a group of them, all of them hurting him, only problem is no one knows who.” Lennon returns his stare to see a neat man, barely a man, twenty-four who looked so much more prepared for the day than him and with that he gave out a long sigh and said one word which pretty much left his mouth at least four times every day. “Evidence?” the young man replied “Well yes, there was a sheep left outside and the body in the shed and a knife only two feet away from it. The man’s wife had found the body after she called together some of the village members to ask them to help find her missing husband. Then she did but it was too late. “Lennon thought his next question would be obvious to anyone not just a detective “Name?” the other man, now looking slightly ashamed of himself replied “Davey Thatcher. He was a farmer, popular with all the village people, twenty-seven years old and doing well for himself. He had a lot of friends which we have a list of.” Lennon replied “And his wife, where is she?” Detective Marron, the young man, said “She recently had a heart attack and is in hospital but has agreed to questioning there. Lennon turned to Marron and asked for the time and with this they left to see Mrs Thatcher. They arrived at Rose Hill Hospital and stormed through the ward with no consideration of the other patients, but only getting to the one they want to see. They arrived at her bed and sat at its side. “You must be the detectives who wanted to see me about my husband, that or hit-men by the way you’re dressed but you wouldn’t get through the security that easily without showing them those flashy badges of yours.” Lennon spoke “Yes, fortunately for you miss, were detectives. We need to ask you some very important questions about your husband’s murder in 1965.” The woman started to speak but it almost looked as though she was a puppet, as though she wasn’t speaking, the words were just coming out. “Yes, I found him and yes I do know who killed him does that just about... cover...” Just then the machine she was hooked up to started making some alarming noises and two doctors and a nurse flew over to the bed. Not long after this she died. There was nothing they could do though, nothing would have saved her and she would have been the key to solving Mr Thatcher’s murder. Nothing can ever be so simple though can it? Sheep Snatcher II 1965-07-09 Mr Thatcher’s Farm, Essex Farmer Thatcher had just woken up to the sound of a cockerel, early as usual. He sat bolt upright in his bed and looked out of the window. He stood up and smiled knowing that he was going to go out and do what he loved. He would collect the eggs from the hens, milk the cows, feed the pigs and tender to the sheep. He walked down the stairs with a spring in his step, grabbed hold of the kettle and poured himself a cup of coffee and drank it quickly. He would get some breakfast later on because he knew he had his jobs to do. He stepped through the door and shut it quietly behind him. His wife, Lauren, wasn’t awake yet which was unusual for her so he thought he would let her sleep. He then collected the eggs, milked the cows and fed the pigs. Last he was onto his prize sheep. They meant everything to him as he had had them since they were only lambs. So when he couldn’t see his best, favourite sheep of all, he panicked. Then seeing the trail of blood, he began to follow it. Someone was either pulling a joke on him or purposely trying to upset him. He ran down the trail and followed it until he saw a man, sitting by a sheep, three men around him with the sheep, he knew it was his, but it was just lying there. He dashed towards them, not yet recognising the men until he got closer but then they grabbed him and took him into the shed. They covered his eyes so he could not see they taped his mouth so he could not scream they tied him up to a chair grabbed at him tore out his hair, even though people heard the cries the still just passed by until his young wife noticed he was gone it was too late then and nothing could be done. The Investigation II 2011-07-04. Cold Case Team. London. Just when everyone thought disaster, a new lead was brought in after Lennon decided to put up photos and go on TV to publicise the need for information. A young man came to the office to talk to Detective Inspector Lennon after seeing him talk about the case on ‘Rachael Means News’ last night. He introduced himself as Max Morrison and explained his father new Mrs Thatcher very well and that he also new Mr Thatcher as he used to work for him as a Sheppard. He said that his Auntie worked for them too and that she had information that could help them with the case. Lennon listened blankly. He had gone to the pub straight after work the evening before and met a young girl, around the age of 24. She offered to buy him a drink to this he accepted and soon they were laughing the night away. Suddenly he noticed that it was 1am. To this he invited the girl back to his suburban apartment as the busses had stopped running. As they were walking they noticed a nightclub, bright lights, banging music. He was 36, he son was with his mother at her home in Brighton and after the day he had, he wanted a good time and that with the help of alcohol forced him into that nightclub with a 24 year old woman with long blonde hair and hazel eyes going by the name of Angel. This was why he was so tired that morning but even after all that he knew that this information was really important to the case so decided to pay attention for the first time today. Max was reluctant to tell him in the beginning, but soon he opened up. Lennon could not believe what he was hearing. His eyes widened as the story went on. Mr Thatcher wasn’t as good a man as everyone thought... Explanation I 1965-14-09 Mr Thatcher’s Farm, Essex The body was found two days later, cold and still. The village was so shocked and horrified that someone would do this to such a caring and friendly man, and so brutally. Many people were questioned but even though the village was small, everyone seemed to have an alibi. It was likely to be someone in the village because the place was at least 40 miles away from anywhere else. The police looked into Farmer Thatcher’s money issues and there was nothing. Friends and family were looked at too but there was no problems. So why? The police had to eventually drop the case because nothing could be found out. Someone here was lying but there was no proof anywhere to be found. So someone was covering someone else. But who? The Investigation: Explanation 2011-08-04. Cold Case Team. London. The police were sent out to arrest as Max agreed to be a witness. He had told Lennon that his father and his Uncle had gone to the farm late at night because his father was in a relationship with Madeline Thatcher. His Uncle was to pick her up and drive them both to the airport. They were going to fly to Gretna Green to get married. But whilst they were waiting outside something went wrong and Mr Thatcher came out of the house instead and began shouting at them and then dragged them indoors only to witness Mr Thatcher beginning to beat his wife in anger. So then they plotted to kill the sheep to get vengeance but Mr Morrison was still so angry so met Mrs Thatcher that night and they both killed him. Max’s Auntie told him all this days before the show and then with this information a formal arrest could be made. They had a strong case and this could finally be closed. Or so they thought. The police arrived at the address for Mr Morrison. On entering the police knew something wasn’t right. No pictures, no books, DVD’s not much furniture. Silent. But then they walked upstairs and the giggling and laughing began. They entered the first room and what they saw they couldn’t believe. Mr Morrison was holding young girls from 17+ hostage. But he wasn’t there. This was going to be more difficult that they thought. Each girl was going to have to be questioned and so was Max Morrison. Did he know about it? This was going to be a long struggle but the police force were not going to let this go now. Publication Date: December 24th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-meganlewis

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-m-m-k-and-aaron-kelley-within-the-forest/

M.M.K and Aaron Kelley Within the forest dead men tell no tales~ Dawn is approaching, and the bustling town is filled with hurried drivers still in a sluggish state. Farmers are waking to start a new day in the wide open, sun glazed orchards. They stare out into their wide rolling hills and watch as the nightly mist dissipates. Somewhere beyond the crowded roads lies a forest with dense white fog settling low to the ground. The creatures that inhabit the lush forest are waking for the bright day, or turning from it because they are better off as creatures of the night. Deep within and past the other scurrying animals, graceful deer sit at rushing rivers. The deer listen and watch with caution for the many lurking predators hiding in the shadows. Just beyond, tiny creeping ants continue on a monotonous march of exploration. These and a thousand other scenarios can take place in a forest as vast and ordinary as this one and although all is calm, every forest holds its secrets. The people on the busy city streets sipping coffee, the city dwellers walking their dogs and everyone starting their days obliviously do not know what has taken place in the forest in that early hour. The only witnesses are the silent trees and the frightened deer as they run from the crunch of leaves, the fall of heavy footsteps, the sense of coming danger and the odor of lingering death. A towering figure leans over the river and scrubs crimson stained hands in the clear water. The aged hands grab the heavy spade as he return to his silent victim. Taking hold of a leg, the body scraps over the gravel in its path and moves easily towards the shallow grave. The azure eyes of the dead stare up at him, and their glassy stare gives him a thrill that will be savored. His only fault, was being beautiful. Youth is a gift, and the whispers and muted screams twisting in and out of his consciousness had known that it would give him pleasure to take it from this young man. Seventeen was his targeted age and this one had mistakenly stumbled into the forest on a dare, drunk and slurring with elation. Although the boy had begged for his life, he had not heard his words. He heard the lull of the boy’s rich voice, felt the softness of his skin and the heat of tensed muscles as he placed the cool knife against his heaving chest. I had made him beautiful all over again, covered in such a lush red. Finally, he shoves the body into the grave with his foot and watches it slide easily into the darkness. Its fall is silent and the earth surrounds the boy and the mud is slathered down his arched back now. Vincent will never die an old man and he will never suffer as many mortals do. Staring into the river, his tired face is dark with the stain of sunlight and hardship. His body is lean, but his hands are stained with sin that no water can ever wash away. But he loves the dark thoughts he possesses. He gave Vincent salvation, but no one would ever understand that. Taking hold of his shovel, he begins to fill in the hole. He covers the body up, starting from the feet, up over the legs, chest and then to the tilted head, just so he can admire his eyes one last time. As he leaves his victim to die with his beauty, he knows that he is the salvation of all youth and the controller of time itself. If all beauty is wiped out, than it can never fade. All ready his heart is aching again, the voices are whispering, his fingers are twitching and his legs are on fire. He knows what he will do next. Suddenly, in a moments notice, all is still. A deer hangs in mid leap, ants freeze on the leaf strewn ground. Birds stop in flight, and not so much as a single pulse beats as the forest began to fade. Colors merge to form a black abyss as a boy wakes from his nightmare, gasping as if he had been the victim running for his life in the unforgiving labyrinth of twisting trees as he fought to escape his murderer. The boy only wished it had been a nightmare, one awful dream that would never be true. Text: (c) M.M.K and Aaron Kelley. Text may not be distributed in any other way. Images: "Murder in the Forest" by ~tfoure-deviantart. "Another day, another pain's art"-tumblr All rights reserved. Publication Date: February 25th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-midknight

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-sabrina-crowder-jessica/

Sabrina Crowder Jessica The Ghost That Haunts Me In the Beginning I woke up the morning around 2am to the screaming of my voice and my mother pressuring me to wake up. I had a nightmare about a little girl in a blue and black checkered dress with long, blonde, fine hair, and dark sea blue eyes. She had skin so pale that it showed blue striking veins underneath. She was beautiful but scary at the same time. I woke up realizing that my throat hurts like I was screaming for hours, and I started to loose my voice... "SABRINA!! WAKE UP!!" My mother screamed in my ear. She apparently had been shaking me for an hour. "Wha- What happened? Why am I all sweaty??" "You had a nightmare, and you started screaming an hour ago so I shook you awake." I made her leave after that comment. I wanted to be alone until the rest of the night. I was scared to go back to sleep, so I didn't. I knew that this dream ment some thing, but what I didn't know was that it was only the beginning. The next thing I knew was that she was standing at my bed with blood dripping down her arm, and she seamed to be screaming with no words coming out. I screamed for my mom and she ran in my room and saw the blood on the floor where the little girl was standing, but she had disappeared. I felt a pain in my hand and saw the little girl slice my hand with the knife. She nearly missed, but put a deep indention in my pinkie finger. I quickly hide my hand under the bed cover, in hopes that my mother didn't notice. She asked me where all the blood came from, and I simply said that it came from ketchup. She told me to taste it then and put her finger in it, then rushed to my side, putting the blood in my mouth. Surprisingly it didn't taste like iron. It was warm and sweet, with a hint of mystery that described why the little was standing there. I told her it was yummy and she said okay, and that we should go back to bed. As soon as she left, I started weeping uncontrollably. 2 Years Later It has been two years since the begging of Jessica. I still haven't figured out why I see her or why she haunts me. Since my sister tried to drown me (about a year after seeing Jessica)I have had nightmares where my friends try to drown me and Jessica pulls at my feet to drag me under. Even under water she is strikingly beautiful. It is extremely scary when she harms you. Last night she was pushing me off a cliff, and I woke up and she was next two my bed. She took my arm and twisted it, bit my thumb ti it bleed, and then she took a knife and carved a J into my arm. It was horribly painful, an whats worse is my mother doesn't even believe me. She thinks that I'm faking everything. Since I used to be a cutter, she thinks I carved the J into my skin. She never understands, but my best friend believes me. She says I shouldn't be treated like I am. Addie has helped me through a lot in the past year. When I went to the psych ward, Addie helped me get Jessica to stop making me cut and try to kill myself. I have been so scared to go in water afraid she will drowned me, or scared to sleep because of her... Then the other night my dog was barking at my closet and I had a friend go get him to stop... we walked in there and the window was busted, and then something moved inside the closet. We were so scared that i ran in there with a knife to find Jessica crying in a corner with a shadowy figure hovering above her. My friend screamed when she saw this then the shadow left, passing through us. We turned back to Jessica to find nothing there. When we finally chilled down, my dog went outside and started barking again. We walked outside and something moved in the bushes. My dog ran off, and we couldn't find him for 4 days. Then it hit me, he always goes to the cow pasture. As we ran through the forest after my friend Addison, screaming for Nitro to come home... We found him, but not alive. He was strung out on a tree from his hind legs, and bleeding from his throat. When we saw him we knew that we needed help. The next morning we went to a church and got a Pasture to come to our house. I honestly don't believe in God, but if it got that dammed demon out of my house I would be happy. The next day i went to California to meet my real father. I was laying in the bed all night when i heard a stir of noise next to the window out side. I slowly got up and ran to the door... It slammed and locked and i turned around an there was Jessica sitting on the bed crying. Now let me tell you something... When she cry's, it is blood. Her tears are made of blood. I have heard that only vampires cry blood because they naturally drink it. I don't know if Jessica is half vampire and ghost but it sure as hell freaks me out. But back to the story, I have always believed that when you are blessed with a presence of a ghost, mythical creature, nightmare, or demon like creature then they were sent for you. It's like having a guardian angel that is deadly and wants to hurt you. Even though the concept is way worse, I try to think of seeing dead spirits and beings as a gift. Even as I sit here writing this book I can feel her presence. It has gotten worse and worse over the years. I remember a couple of weeks ago, I was in a bath tub taking a bath and then water was up to my chin. I was trying to get over my fear of water and it didn't work. I was sitting there listening to my music and the lights cut out. I called for my mom and for some odd reason she didn't come. I went to get out and I felt something push me. I fell back and by this point I was freaking out, crying, and everything. I screamed and then my mom ran in and cut the lights on. I explained what had happened and she took me to the doctor for anti-depressant. Publication Date: June 6th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-sabbycat22

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-anzy-irani-the-case-of-the-missing-scientist/

Anzy Irani The Case of the Missing Scientist I slowly ran my fingers over the dotted lettering. ‘Wanted,’ it read ‘identical female twins. Age: 14, Hair: Long and brown, Eyes: Brown. Names: unknown.’ I ran my fingers on the next lot of Braille. ‘Male Age: 26, Hair: Short and black, Eyes: Brown. Name: Richard.’ I turned around, and feel the police officer’s hot garlic breath on my face. I take hold of my walking cane and take a step back, before I faint. “Good morning Mr. Pat,” I greeted him. “Why did you call the greatest detective at 4 in the morning?” “P-P-Professor Albert has gone mi-mi- missing” “That professor,” I mumble to myself, “when I’m not keeping my cane on him, he goes missing.” “I-I-I’m sorry.” Pat said. “Why are you sorry?” I asked. “W-we have s-s-searched everywhere for h-him, but he has not been f-found.” Pat answered. I limped home, putting my weight on my walking cane. “1, 2, 3, 4” I murmured to myself, carefully counting my steps. “18, 19, 20 and turn to the right. 1, 2...” “Hey there’s that blind guy talking to himself again!!” some drunk teenagers laughed, “Go get some real friends!” I ignored them like always, turn to the left, took 5 steps, and entered my house. “Hi Albert! I’m home!!” I called to Albert. I got nothing in return. “Albert?” I started panicking, and searching for him. Then I remembered. Who would want to kidnap Professor Albert? I thought, maybe for his inventions? Why don’t they just break in, and steal them? All those questions gave me a headache. Sitting down on my arm chair, I thought of everyone that could’ve kidnapped him. The twins? Maybe... Richard? Possibly... Pat? Hmm... A loud knock on the door disturbed my thoughts. Startled, I made my way to the door, and opened it. “Wh-o-Who’s there?” I called out shaking. Ever since I have been blind, I have never opened the door. This was the 1st time. I got my cane, and tried to poke my invisible intruder. There was no one there, so I take a step forward. Crunch. What was that noise? I take a step back. Crunch. Hmm... I slowly bend down, and feel the ground. A piece of paper comes to my hand. What could this be? I pick it up, and gradually make my way inside. ]“Hello? This is Vaughn speaking. Can I speak to Mr. Pat please?” “Good morning Sir, how are you?” “Fine thanks. Can you make your way to my place please?” “Sure I will.” “Thanks. See you” I sit back on my chair, and think of all the possible kidnappers. Another soft knock disturbed my thoughts. “Come in!” I said knowing that it was Pat. He noisily made his way in, and sat down onto a chair. “What’s up Sir?” He asked breathing heavily. “I’m going to give you the job of my assistant.” I said straightforward. “S-S-Sir! M-Me!!” He exclaimed happily. Even though I couldn’t see his face, I could imagine it. Eyes twinkling, mouth shaped as an ‘o’ and so much excitement. “Yes Pat, you.” I told him. Was it really that exciting? “Now, I want you to go down to Albert’s workshop, and get all the inventions in sight. Remember don’t touch anything that has a yellow or purple sticky on them.” “Oka-ay” Pat sang as he thumped his way down into the basement. I slowly close my eyes, and go to sleep. Click. Da Da Da Dum. Click. Click. Dum Dum Dum Daaa. “What?” I said sleepily as I open my eyes. “Hey Sir what’s this?” Click. Click. “Why can’t I see a picture? What is this? A type of camera?” I got up, and stretched. How long had I been sleeping for? Taking the lid of my watch, I felt the dots. 1:24 p.m. “Pat, how long have you been here for?’ I asked my new assistant. “Uh a few hours. I came upstairs with his inventions, and you were snoring, so I got a packet of chips, turned the radio on, and played with the glasses. I knew it was wrong, but it was so tempting.” Pat replied, “Oh yea and I saw this envelope on this table, it said ‘To the human who lives with Albert.’ I presumed the human was you, so I didn’t open the envelope. Can I open the envelope please please pleeeease??” “Yea, sure.” I said as I tried to calculate the hours in my head. “Yay thank you! To Mr. V,” Pat started, “I know who’s got Albert. Call 5672431 for a message. Remember if you get the police involved, this guy is dead. Signed, Richard.” Richard... I’ve heard that name somewhere. “Isn’t Richard that guy on the wanted poster?” “Yea it is... I think that Richard was the one who delivered this letter to your place...” Pat said sounding quite thoughtful, “I’ll try this number, and see if I get anywhere.”He got up, walked to the phone noisily, and dialled the number, “Hello... Hel... Hello?? Is... Is th... Is this Ri... Richard...?? What?? Hello? Noo!” “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Well there’s a guy here, that’s saying to meet him at the corner of Walkers Street at 2:00 sharp. He’s not going to wait for us.” I felt the watch’s dots again. 1:45.If we left now, we would be just in time. “Get your keys Pat. We have 15 minutes to get there.” I got my walking cane, and tried to walk as fast as I could, which is not that fast. “Ok. But don’t go that fast. Be careful! You’re going to trip up! Sir lo...!” CRASH! Down I went. I heard cane rolling away. “Uh Sir are you okay?” Pat asked sounding scared, “No broken bones?” “Hmmm?” I asked confused, trying to get up, “Ow. Leave it. We’re going to be late.” “No don’t get up! I’ll call the ambulance. Stay there. Don’t move.” Since my leg hurt a lot and my head was throbbing, I did what I was told to. “Hello? Can I have the ambulance please?” I heard Pat saying, “The address is 27 Hermit Road. Number is 5273984. Mr. Vaughn has tripped up and fell. Mhmm. Yes Mr. Vaughn. V-A-U-G-H-N, Okay, thank-you!” I had no idea what was going on in their conversation. All I knew was that my body was aching. “Good afternoon Sir.” I woke up dazed. “W-W—“ “It’s 6:40 sir.” Pat said interrupting me, as well as answering my question, “You tripped over a book that was lying around, I called the ambulance, and they said you need to rest, and you’re not allowed to use your leg. I have to stay with you, and go wherever you go. By the way, I made myself a packet of microwavable noodles. ” “Ri-Ri-Richard?” “No I didn’t go to Walkers Street, I had to stay here with you!” Pat said, “I’ll try that number now, and see what I get.” “Hmm...” I said not bothered to say anything. I made myself comfortable on the couch, closed my eyes and listened to the soft Beethoven that was playing on the radio. Beep Beep Beep. I sighed. The beeping of the phone was ruining my favourite part of the 5th Symphony. “Hello Vaughn. I have Albert. Since you didn’t come to Walkers at 2, I’ll give you another chance. Come to Maple Avenue at 8 p.m, with $300, 000.” I sighed again. How could Pat put the phone on speaker and ruin the beautiful music? And where am I going to get $300, 000 from? Feeling annoyed, I carried on listening to the message. “—Albert.” Had I had just missed an important part of the message? It was good that Pat was there to listen to the message for me. “Hey Pat,” I started, “what d—“ He cut me off. “Sir! Sir! We’re we going to ge--” I cut him off. “Pa-at just listen.” I said sounding like a 2 year old, “First of all, what did the message say?” “Well it said to come to Maple Avenue at 8 p.m with $300, 000.” “And what did it say after that?” I asked, hoping that he had heard it. “Umm... It said something about Albert...??” Pat guessed. “So you didn’t hear the message?” “Sorry Sir.” In my head I was screaming. How will we find Albert now?? “Pat what’s the time?” “Ummm 7:00.” “Okay I want you to go to the nearest shop, and buy two or three games of Monopoly.” I told him. “Sir, we don’t have time to play games. We have to try and get that money!!” Pat said. “Just do as your told Pat.” I said angrily. Why did I choose him to be my assistant? I can’t fire him now... I put my feet up, closed my eyes, and listened to Don Giovanni. I’m ba-ack!!” Pat sung, “What do I do now?” Back so early? I thought. For the fourth time that day, I checked the time. 7:20. “Find an empty suitcase and get every single note from the game. When you have got all of them, tie them up in rubber ban—“ “Oh I know what you’re doing now sir,” Pat said interrupting me once again, “You are so smart.” Maybe that’s why I’m the detective and you’re the assistant! I thought. “Okay done!” Pat said. Wow that was quick. “Did you remember to put some real notes on top?” I asked. “Yes. All done and ready to go sir.” Pat replied. Once again, checked the time. 7:40. “Um Pat, how long will it take us to go to Maple Ave?”I asked Pat. “Umm in car, 5-10 minutes, walking 15-20 minutes. “ “Let’s go!!” I exclaimed getting up just when the NZSO played the last note of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. When the car stopped, I jumped out of the car, and landed onto a patch of soft grass. “Are we here?” I asked Pat. Pat mumbled a yes in return. I followed his voice, and nearly tripped up the kerb. “Sir-r!” Pat said sounding annoyed, “please don’t break anything! I can’t do this detective work alone!” I was about to say something in return, when there was a gruff voice. “Vaughn!” it said, sounding like Richard, “Give me the case right now with the full money!” “Throw him the case Pat.” I said. I heard a thump of the case hitting the ground, then a skid, as the case slid across the road. “Get the case” Richard whispered. Then there was a shuffle, then a car roaring away. “Pat.” I said, “Where’s Albert?” There was a silence. “Pat?”“I’m s-sorry Sir.” Pat said, sounding scared. “They didn’t give Albert back.” “What!?!” I screamed, not caring about who had heard me, and who hadn’t, “Who were they?? Who was with Richard??” I asked Pat. “Sir, it was Richard and the twins. But how do you know it wasn’t just Richard? How do you there was someone with him?” Pat asked confused. I ignored him, walked to the grass and sat down with my head in my knees, thinking. How could Richard do this? I sat there what felt like hours, when Pat finally said “Sir, I think we should be heading home now.” I stood up, limped my way to the car, and sat down. “Sir we’re here.” Pat said a few minutes later. I got out of the car, and walked towards the house. When Pat unlocked the door, I fell asleep on the couch. “Cock-a-doodle-doo.” The radio screeched, “Good morning everyone! This is Phil on Classical FM. It is 6 am and the weather outside is very sunny today, 28 degrees Celsius!!” I groaned. Why does he have to be so cheerful? “Good morning sir.” Pat said happily, “Would you like some coffee?” “Yes please.” I said getting up. I heard some rattling in the kitchen. I hope he doesn’t break anything I thought. Bring Bring. Bring Bring. The phone rang. “I’ll get it!” Pat said running towards the phone, “Hello? Hello? He... Oh... What!!!?? Okay... Yea... Fine!” Pat slammed the phone down just when some rang the doorbell. “I’ll get it!” I said. I walked towards the door, and opened it. “Hello?” “Hi there!!” the stranger said, “Here is your mail for today.” I reached my hand out, the postman placed the envelopes into my hand, said goodbye and walked off to be cheerful to another neighbour. “Pat! Can you r—“ I stopped and sniffed the air. Something was burning. “Sorry sir, I burnt the toast.” Pat said. “Doesn’t matter. Clean the mess up, and read these letters for me.” “Okay Sir.” I made my way to the couch and sat down thinking. How am I going to get to Richard? “Okay sir, all done!” Pat said as he sat down next to me. “The letters are on the table.” I told him. “Dear Albert,” he started, “Congratulations for winning the-“ “Next” I said interrupting him. “Letterrrrr nummmber twooooo!!!!!!” Pat said sounding like someone from a game show, “To Mr. V, Thank-you for the money last night. I counted it, and it was a full $300,000!! Since you completed the 1st step properly, I’ll make the second one a bit easier. Read the next letter for more info. Signed, Richard.” A full 300,000? What did Richard mean by that?”Pat,” I started, “did you remember to put monopoly money in the suitcase?” “Yes sir.” Pat replied. “Do you know what Richard meant by getting his full 300, 000?” “Uh no. Sorry sir.” Pat said sounding quite thoughtful, “I’ll open the other letter, and see what they say.” There was a lot of ripping, when Pat finally said, “Oh here we go. Hello Mr. V, congrats! You are 1/3 of getting Albert back! 2nd step is to come to 28 Latimer Place at 8:00 a.m, with the Albert’s famous invention. The camera that tells you what will happen in the same spot in 24 hours. Give that to me, and you are 1 step away of getting Albert back.” Pat finished shakily, “But I broke the camera!” He cried. Ignoring what he said, I started giving him instructions. “Let’s leave now, so we have enough time to buy a toy camera.” “But I broke the camera and we can’t buy a new one!” Pat whined obviously not hearing the word ‘toy’. “Just do as I say Pat!” I said nearly yelling. “Right away sir.” Pat said in a small voice, as he went to get changed. “You can turn the radio on if you want, but I’m going to lock all the doors, and windows so no one can come in. Okay?” Pat warned me, sounding quite worried. “Yea sure. Just remember to bring the camera.” I said reassuringly. When Pat slammed the door and walked off, I turned the radio onto my favourite channel. Classic FM. Mozart’s 40th Symphony was playing. I started humming along to it. Just when my favourite bit came, Pat came back. “I’m here sir.” He said greeting me. He placed the plastic bag in the back seat, got into his seat, and started driving. “Where did Richard say we have to meet him?” Pat asked. “28 Latimer Place. It’s the street off Gondawala” I replied. When we got there, we heard people screaming. “What’s happening?” asked Pat. “Oh um.. There are these 8-yr-old girls playing random games.” Pat stammered. “Okaay...” I said probably sounding suspicious, because then Pat said changing the topic, “Shouldn’t we wrap the camera in something before we give it to Richard? Because he’ll know if it’s real or not.” “Great idea Pat!” I told him, trying to get the idea of Pat kidnapping Albert from my mind. Pat stopped the car, got out and went into the backseat. While Beethoven’s 9th Symphony played in the background, Pat worked on the camera trying to make it look as if it was a fragile camera, while asking for my opinion. “Sir, should I put it in a bag or a box?” He asked. “Both.” I answered. “Great idea” Pat said. After a few minutes of silence, apart from the symphony, he asked me, “Should I cover it in news paper?” “Okay” I answered him. “Wow what a fantastic idea!” He said. That went on for a few minutes, when I felt my watch. 7:55. “Done!” Pat exclaimed, as I said “Don’t you think we should be going now?” We got out of the car, when Richard’s voice haunted us again. “Rebecca! Get the camera from him!” He said. I heard a sound of footsteps running towards us. “Pat act as if the box is heavy, and it has breakable things in it.” I murmured to Pat who was standing beside me. Suddenly, he started moaning and groaning as if the box was heavy. Good job I thought trying to send silent telepathy messages to him. I heard this Rebecca person come up to Pat, take the box away delicately. I imagined her carrying the box on her pinkie finger, giving weird looks to us. Oh well. As we headed back home, Pat was getting really excited. “Imagine there faces when they open the box up and there’s nothing but a toy camera wrapped with newspapers!” He said jumping up and down. We did get beeped at quite a few times. I’m glad we didn’t crash into anything. When we arrived home, there was a stranger sitting at the front door waiting for us. “G-G-Goo-Good m-morning s-s-sir-r.” The stranger stammered, “H-h-how--“ Just hurry up and get on with it! I thought. But I didn’t want a bad reputation under my name. “Hello there. I am good thank-you. And you?” I say to this stranger. I must’ve had a bored expression on my face, because then Oat who was standing beside me, said “Hello. I am Sir’s assistant. Is there anything we can do for you?” Pat sounded very confident, as if he had practiced this speech a thousand times before. “R-R-Richard t-told m-m-me to t-tell y-you t-to c-c-ome t-to th-th-the b-big f-forest a-a-at 10:00 a.m.” the stranger stammered and ran off. “What did he say?” I asked Pat as he opened up the door. “Something about going to the forest at 10 a.m.” Pat replied. “Did you just say the forest?” I asked Pat, “Do you know how deadly it is? Everyone who has gone in there has never come out!” “Well, we can be the first people to go out of the forest?” Pat guessed. "Pat this is not funny!” I exclaimed, “Do you think we should go in there?” “I-I think w-we should.” Pat said. “Do you really think we should go into that forest?” “Y-Yes.” “Okay, fine. We are doing this or Albert anyway.” We silently waited for 10 o’clock to arrive. At 9:45, Pat said, “Don’t you think we should leave now?” “Sure let’s go!” I told him standing up. We made our way towards the door, and into the car. We reached the forest just when the hand on my watch went onto 10. We climbed out of the car, and walked towards the forest. I was shaking. This is going to be my first—and hopefully last—time I am going to walk through this forest. I am walking through one of the dangerous forests ever in this country, and I can’t even see. We reached the forest just when the hand on my watch went onto 10. We climbed out of the car, and walked towards the forest. I was shaking. This is going to be my first—and hopefully last—time I am going to walk through this forest. I am walking through one of the dangerous forests ever in this country, and I can’t even see. Out of nowhere, the theme song of Spongebob Squarepants started playing. I nearly jumped out of my skin! “W-w-what is that?”I asked Pat who was standing next to me for safety. “Sorry sir.” He said, “that was my phone.” Pat got his phone and spoke, “Hello? Yes What! YES! Okay. Yea. Bye.” Turning to me he said, “Richard said that he is waiting at the middle of the forest with Albert. The only way to get to him is to walk through the forest, until we see him.” “I guess that is our only way left to save Albert isn’t it?”Not bothering to answer my question, Pat started walking, with on hand on my shoulder. He had promised me that he won’t let me get hurt or trip over anything. “Pat, do you know your way there? Do you have a map or anything?” I asked him feeling stupid. “Uh no sir, but I think we just have to walk in a straight line.” He said sounding uncertain. As we were walking, I found a piece of paper in my pocket. I asked Pat if it said anything on it, and he said no, so I tore it up in tiny pieces, and threw a piece down every 20 steps or so. That way, we wouldn’t get lost. It was a good thing that today was sunny and not windy. I thought happily. “Are we there yet?” I asked Pat. Instead of replying, he stopped walking and took his hand off my shoulder. Then I heard someone running. Had Pat just betrayed me? “Pat? I called to him. How am I going to find him now? Then I heard a muffled Help. I tried to follow the voice, but tripped up a big log that was in front of me. How did it get there? I thought. Not caring about my legs that were now bleeding severely, I listened for the voice again. It sounded like Albert. I made my way to the voice. My legs were throbbing, and hurting really bad. But I had to save Albert first. I heard a ripping noise, then Albert screamed, “Look out!” I ran for it, not knowing where I was going. I just hoped Albert was okay. My walking cane was in front of me, so I knew if I was about to crash in a tree or not. “Albert!” I called, “Where are you?” “Over here!” He called back. Was that a car pulling away? I thought. My hearing is quite sharp. “Turn to your right!” Albert yelled. I kept on running until I Albert grabbed my shoulder. “Where’s Richard?” I asked him. “Richard, Rebecca, Alice and Pat have left!!” He said. “What! So Pat was involved in this?” “Yes! He was the one who kidnapped me!! Vaughn I see you have a terrible bleed on your leg.” “Let’s go home, and I’ll tell you everything that happened.” “No we are not going home, we are going to the hospital. I have a bumps and bruises everywhere, and we need to get those knees fixed. You could get poisoned.” As we made our way to the hospital, a friendly woman saw us and gave us a ride. “What happened?” She asked. “Oh we just had a walk through the forest.” I said smiling as if it was a normal everyday thing. “People these days.” She muttered to herself. When we got there, we got off, and thanked the lady. We were nearly inside, when a nurse came out with 2 squeaky wheelchairs, and made us sit in them. She wheeled us inside, bandaged us, and gave us a ride home. “Thank-you” we said. “The hospital’s pleasure” Nurse Sue said. At home, we discovered that the key of our safe was missing and Albert’s camera was missing as well. Albert also found 3 unopened monopoly games in his rooms. We sat there, and we told our adventure stories. Before I went to sleep that night, I called the police. Mike picked up, and said that Pat was missing. I told him the whole story, and he said that he will inform the Head police straight away. I thanked him, and fell asleep smiling. What an adventurous day.... Publication Date: September 15th 2009 https://www.bookrix.com/-anzyi12

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-sara-hansen-who-am-i/

Sara Hansen Who am I? Finally finished it and I am truly sorry it took so long. Thank you for all the feedback from all my readers it was extremely helpful. Who am I? “So I find myself in front of a computer, head on the desk wondering how I got here. As I look around nothing is familiar to me, all seems to out of place. Was I just sleeping? Why do I not remember where this is? I look on the desk in front of me and find it is almost empty of personal items just a computer and stuff to write a note or two with. Is this my home office or someone else’s? Wait, who am I? What is my name? This is not right, why is my mind so blank? I must find something here to tell me what is going on. I will just look around this room for a clue or a picture that will jog my memory. “ Alex, a 25 year old woman with no memory of who she is or where she is now franticly looking through a room with a desk, computer, a few chairs and bookshelves full of books that look to be for a professor of some type. There are no pictures or personal items to give her the answers she looked for so she moved slowly toward the door. “There must be a reason I am here so maybe I should go look out in the rest of the home to see if I remember anything.” She walked cautiously to the door not sure why she was nervous but shaking as she reached for the door. Her hand grasped the knob and turned it with a squeak, pulling the door open she looked into a hallway that went left or right. As she looked in each direction she still felt in some way not right about being here. She noticed a noise coming from the hallway leading right so she chose this direction to slowly investigate. As she peered around the corner a light gleamed from a room down a short set of stairs. This room appeared to be a sitting room to entertain guests, yet there seemed to be only low music and a few unfamiliar noises she guessed would be her host or her guest she was not sure which. She took a deep breath and slowly descended the stairs to face this unknown person. As he came into view she searched for knowledge of his name or who he might be, but nothing still. “Why can I not remember anything?” she thought to herself as she tried not to startle him. He looked to her finally noticing her entrance into the room, “Ahh you are back is everything ok?” he asked with a puzzled look on his face. “I am not certain, can you tell me who I am?” she spoke with a shake to her voice. “What? What do you mean?” he looked back at her not sure what to say next. “I just awoke in the office upstairs and cannot remember who I am or where I am.” Tears began to fall down her cheeks, but she no longer cared. “Well your name is Alex Wilmore and you are in your home sweetheart.” He spoke with understanding and a little pity. “What could have possibly happened in the 20 minutes you were gone that could have caused you to forget all of this?” he said with such concern that Alex did not know what to say. “I am not sure but will you take me to the hospital so I can get some answers?” she pleaded with him. “Yes of course my dear and I am Jim by the way we were going to discuss a business matter but I guess that can wait till you can remember what business we are in.” He chuckled a little and grabbed his coat. She looked around for a purse or a wallet that might confirm what he said, but she could only find a coat that fit like it was hers so she pulled it on and followed him out the door. At the hospital her company politely gave all the information he knew about her and excused himself to go home to rest. The emergency room doctor admitted her just to do some tests and see if she had any injury but found nothing to indicate foul play. The next morning she woke up to the nurse checking her vitals again for the 20th time since she got there. Annoyed but glad to be talking to the doctor soon about her test results and what she should do. After a breakfast she would hate to relive her doctor knocked on the open door as he walked inside with a smile. “Well I have reviewed everything and still can only tell you that you have amnesia of unknown origin.” You are indeed Alex Wilmore and you do live at the address given by your gentleman friend, so try going home and looking around to see if anything comes to mind worth looking into.” “OK doctor thank you for your time, I guess that’s all then?” she spoke with disappointment and fear of what was happening to her. “I will arrange for a cab to take you home and pay for it as well but if you need anything you call our office and leave me a message.” He said with concern. “Ok I will do that thank you again.” She said as she started to gather herself to prepare for her trip home. She dressed in the clothes she wore the night before and after the discharge was done she climbed in the waiting cab.  “Good day miss.” The cab driver said as they pulled away. She just smiled and nodded politely then looked out the window at her surroundings. Still nothing came to her, not a memory in her head, not the streets not the stores not the trees and birds, nothing reminded her of whom she was or where she was. She stared out the window so long she did not notice they were now outside her home and he was opening her door to help her out. “Oh thank you.” She said shyly as she got up and stepped closer to the walkway to her door. “You are welcome miss have a wonderful day.” And then he got in the cab and drove off. Alex stood there for a moment just looking at the outside of her home, she did not get a good look the night before and just now noticed it was a huge three story homemade of bricks that looked old but well taken care of. “Wow I live here?” she asked herself out loud. “I want to remember but it just does not seem right.” After a few moments she started up the walk to her front door. Stopping before opening and then reaching for the doorknob, but before her hand touched the shiny metal handle the door swung open. “There you are I have been worried sick, come in and sit down.” A big round woman guided her into the entry and took her coat off of her to hang up. “I’m sorry but I... she was cut off by this woman “No no you will come sit with me in the den and tell me all about it in front of the fire with some coffee dear .” she said as she guided her into the room she found Jim in last night. They finally sat in the big arm chairs in front of the fire with coffee and cakes to talk. “So how did your meeting go last night I was so sorry I had to leave early?” “Well, I don’t know what to say I awoke in the office upstairs and could not remember who I was or where I was.” Alex spoke all at once overwhelmed with questions for this woman who seemed to know her. “Wait, you woke up in your office and remembered nothing?” she asked with confusion. “Yes then I came down to find Jim who took me to the hospital and then they sent me home and I am sorry but I don’t know your name or who you are.” She began to cry again not able to stop herself. “Oh my dear you have had a night haven’t you?” the kind woman reached over to wipe the tears off Alex’s face with a hanky. “I am your maid and cook Sandra and I have worked for your family in this house since you were a little girl. Your father left you this home and all his money and businesses when he passed last year. You and I have been living alone here for that year.” “Why don’t I remember what happened or who I am?” Alex sobbed again and put her face in her hands. “I don’t know dear but we will figure it out together just you wait and see I know you and you would never give up on finding out anything your heart wanted to know.” “Thank you Sandra I am sorry to be a bother I must be such a horrible person to want to forget my whole life.” “Oh no dear you are a wonderful person your father raised you well even if he did it on his own.” “Are there any pictures of my family to look at and try to remember?” “Yes I think they are up in the attic in a trunk your father put there after your mother passed on. I will get them in a few but first let’s get you in to a bath and fresh clothes then have lunch in the sun room.” Sandra seemed to know just what to do so Alex followed her all through the steps. As Alex walked through her room gathering what she thought she needed for her bath she searched for anything that would show a sign of familiarity. Her clothes seemed to be professional and expensive, she had antique furniture in all the rooms she saw so far, yet they all seemed so empty with no personal effects on the walls or shelves. She could hear the bath water running in the other room as she took her time getting to know her belongings again one by one. Sandra called out to her “The water is ready and just how you like it miss you should come and soak a bit while I prepare lunch for us in the kitchen.” She said in a loud voice so she would not intrude on Alex and her search. “Thank you I will be right there Sandra.” Alex replied as she started to head for the door that connected her room to the bathroom. She opened the door all the way and found it very relaxing. The door to the hall was closed and the steam was already making the room into a sauna which opened her clogged sinuses that where due to all the crying. She placed her change of clothes on the counter and started to take the outfit she had on since last night off. Placing it in the basket by the door she slowly put one foot in the tub finding the water oddly comfortable despite the deceptive steam. Easing into the water Alex seemed to melt and started to relax a little closing her eyes for a moment. She jumped at a sound made downstairs by Sandra no doubt and then relaxed back in the water, listening for any other noise Sandra might make in the kitchen. It was silent for a while and she must have dosed off because when she woke up she was not where she thought she should be.  “Where was the tub? How did I get dressed? And Where am I now?” all came to mind not to mention “have I been kidnapped?” and “Was I dreaming this whole time?” Two lives? As Alex lifted her head from the floor she felt her world spin so she stayed a little longer trying to clear her head. “This floor looks strangely familiar but yet I am not sure where I have seen it.” She thought to herself “Is this my home and did I fall or faint?” she looked around her the best she could and slowly tried to rise to her feet once more. She reached her knees and the spins started slowing down so she rose to her feet holding onto a wall for support. “This does not look like the old house I was just in, and I am warring clothes I don’t know how can this happen to me twice?” She started to tear up but forced herself to calm down by taking a deep breath. I will have to go out and see what I find this time to see if I am going crazy or what.” She realized too late she was talking to herself. Alex headed for the door and her hand again shook as she grabbed the knob and opened the door. This time she was in a small home with maybe three rooms and it was not an old home as in old money home it was run down and well lived in but not taken care of. Remembering her house guest the last time she called out “Hello?” as she slowly walked to the end of the short hallway to a small living room. No one answered so she kept walking toward the pictures on the wall to see if they could tell her where she was. As she walked closer to inspect the people in the photos she almost fainted, but the fear of where she would wake up next made that feeling subside. The photos were of her and a family smiling and having fun on trips and holidays. She thought she knew them but could not place it still. “What happened to the big house and Sandra? What happened to the bath and lunch?” she grasped for a breath then a voice startled her, “Who is Sandra dear?” A man stood in the doorway to the kitchen just behind her she could see him in the picture glass. She turned, “Ah I am sorry…. She stuttered and he came closer to hold her arm as she started to sway again light headed. “Are you alright dear? You seem like something is wrong.” He spoke as if he cared for her she was not scared just so confused. “You might think I am crazy but I don’t remember who I am or who you are and I don’t feel right.” She struggled to speak she was so dizzy but trying not to pass out afraid of what would happen next. “I am not sure I understand, you came in to use the bathroom and 20 minutes later I found you looking at our pictures talking to yourself about someone named Sandra. Are you ok or would you like me to call the doctor?” “Please call a doctor I am not well.” She sat back in a chair as this kind man walked to the phone and dialed a number she assumed was a doctor. She did not care if it was or not she was so unsure of what was happening to her so she started looking around again for more information trying not to alarm the man on the phone. He hung up and walked back in to sit with her, “Are you feeling better yet? The doctor said he would come by so we could have you looked at.”” I am not sure, what is my name?” she asked not sure she wanted him to tell her. “Your name is Alex dear why?” “Ok so that is the same at least what is your name?” she replied trying to keep her head clear. “My name is Jim I am your husband and you are starting to scare me here so I think I need to make you some tea.” He got up and walked into the kitchen making the noises that go with tea. She could hear a faint scream and laughter from the back yard and wondered if they were her children and how she could forget having them. “Where is that doctor I really think he should have been here by now?” Jim said as he handed the tea to Alex then paced in front of the front door looking out the window. “Please don’t get all worked up over me I am sorry I even said anything, you look so worried about me.” She spoke with a slight pity in her voice but he could see she really was not herself. “You said you woke up on the floor in the back bedroom?” he asked. “Yes and I remember before that being in a bathtub not a bedroom.” She added knowing he would not understand but just trying to understand herself. “There he is!” Jim said as he opened the door and walked out to meet the doctor at the walk. As both men walked in she could hear them talking about her and she wondered again “Am I going crazy?” “So have you got any pain Mrs. Willman?” He asked as he sat next to her and set down his bag. “Not really just dizzy and confused.” “Your husband tells me you woke up on the floor and could not remember anything about yourself or him, have you remembered anything since you have been sitting here?” the doctor continued to pull out things to examine her with as they talked. “No I feel like I did this before but in a different home with a different last name and no family.” “Is that the big home you mentioned earlier?” Jim asked. “Yes I lived there alone with a housekeeper named Sandra, I woke up in the office there and the man in my parlor told me who I was. His name was Jim too.” You sound like you took a fall and had a dream while out cold.” The doctor said. “So that’s it I fell and dreamed the other life and now I am back in real life?” she asked hoping it was true. “Yes we will keep an eye on you for a day or two but you should be fine.” He reassured her and walked with Jim to the door. She could tell they were mumbling to each other about her but she didn’t care it was all over. “Would you like to lay down my dear?” Jim asked her as he picked up there cups and walked to the kitchen. “Yes maybe I should, did the doctor tell you when I should get my memory back?” she looked worried. “He said it could take a few hours or a few weeks but he thinks it will come back.” He smiled as he helped her to their room. “Do we have children?” she asked and almost regretted it immediately. “Yes we do but you should rest we will worry about that latter.” He helped her into the bed and kissed her forehead, “rest well my love call if you need me.” And he was gone out the door. She was alone and tired so she drifted into a sleep that seemed to envelope her in quite. “Well my dear are you coming down for lunch? Or are you going to stay till you shrivel up into a prune?” a familiar voice called through water filled ears. Alex shot up in a panic, “Sandra you’re here! What is going on I am….I… so…”Don’t try to talk just calm down child I am here don’t worry we will figure this out. Let’s get you dressed and we will talk all about it. What is going on? Alex got dressed and walked down to the Sun room to join Sandra for a bite to eat. As she walked in Sandra stood up and handed her a cup of tea, “here you are dear have a seat and tell me what just happened.” She said with calm in her voice. “Sandra I am so confused, I even tried to pinch myself but it hurt.” “Oh my dear clam down there has to be an explanation and I am certain if we put our heads together we will figure it out.” “You are right I need to think straight and see if I can figure it out.” She finally agreed. “Well, tell me what happened while I was downstairs.” “Ok I lay back in the tub to relax, like you suggested I do before lunch, and then when I opened my eyes I was on the floor of an old run down 3 room home in a back room. I tried to lift my head and got dizzy so I waited then as I explored I found a wall with pictures of me and a family that seemed familiar but I am not sure from where. A man said his name was Jim and he was my husband, I could hear our children in the back yard. He said I had been gone 20 minutes to use the bathroom and he called a doctor when I told him I could not remember. The doctor told me the same as the one here did and sent me to bed, and then I woke up to you calling to me. Am I going crazy?” “No dear it sounds very strange though, in both worlds you have a Jim to be the first to greet you and in both they got you medical attention.” Sandra said sounding as though she was still pondering the facts for similarities. They finished lunch with mostly silence both pondering what the next step should be and what it all meant. Sandra stood up and gathered the dishes to take to the kitchen and Alex stared at the trees in the yard swaying with the wind. “Sandra,” Alex yelled to her as she got up and walked toward her. I remember something about the weather, it was summer I could see the sky out the window and I was dressed in a summer dress with sandals, It must have been a dream don’t you think?” “Yes you could be right let’s give the doc a call anyways just to check in. “she said still sounding worried. The call went through easy enough and Sandra made her an appointment for the next morning. “Well there is nothing much we can do today what would you like to do to pass the time?” Sandra asked Alex as she wiped the counter off. “Well, I guess I should look around to see if I can remember anything else.” She replied. “Ok but you be careful I am worried about you taking a fall so no high places today.” Sandra said with almost an order in her voice. “Ok as you request I will stay off ladders and away from the tops of staircases.” She giggled a little it sounded so funny to say. Alex walked off to the parlor to look around; funny how she had been here twice and still did not take a good look around. Like all the rooms in this house the furniture was all antique, mostly impersonal, and cozy dim. The book shelves where filled with books from all countries some old and some newer. Not many where in English so she passed on reading them, and just looked for something that looked more recently moved. As she looked over the tables and chairs not finding much, “Sandra is too good at her job.” She thought out loud to herself with a giggle. Off to the next room she finds a door down the short hallway to the kitchen and laundry area, and decides to open it. The door was heavy wood with shiny metal in the handle and hinges; it opened slowly to a dark staircase. Alex stood there a moment then decided to tell Sandra before attempting the stairs maybe it was not worth going down. “Sandra, where does this staircase lead too? Is it somewhere I might find answers?” “Oh dear that goes to the basement and there is a lot of old things down there, but nothing recent you should start in your upstairs rooms and later we will go down there together.” Sandra replied as she walked in with a towel in her hands. “I haven’t been down there since before your father died dear we need to change the bulb so I will work on that while you are upstairs.” “Ok sounds good I will be upstairs till you need me. “ Alex said as she walked off to the stairs by the parlor. As she reached the top of the stairs she walked slowly to the office door where she first woke up. Opening the door she got a chill that ran through her whole body. Nothing seemed to be different so she quickly left to walk the other end of the hall she had not looked down before. She past the room that Sandra told her was hers and the bathroom door where she had her second strange event. There were two rooms left and another staircase to the attic. Alex walked slowly to the door on the right and reached for the knob, also shiny her father must have liked everything polished. “What is in here I wonder.” She spoke out loud to herself. The room was filled with furniture that looked as though it belonged to her parents, untouched and kept tidy. It was almost sad to think she could not remember her parents or what they looked like. She began looking for a picture but still could find none just old love letters her father wrote her mother a long time ago. Alex then crossed the hall to the next room and found another office, this one was full of things to go through and it looked more like her father’s office. There was one photo on the desk of what she could tell her father and mother and her around 9 years old or so. She really did not recognize them but she could not see why it would be anyone else. Holding on to it so she could ask Sandra about it later she walked out to check the attic knowing she could spend hours in her father’s office later. Walking up the spiral steps was claustrophobic but she managed to reach the top and open the small door. She stepped into what seemed like the past 100 years in boxes, trunks, and wooden cabinets. “Wow this could take forever to go through I doubt this will help with what is happening now but latter it might help me remember more of my past.” She walked back down and went straight to Sandra in the hall coming out of the stairs to the basement. “I could only find one picture this one and do you know why there are no pictures for that matter?” Alex almost got a glare but Sandra understood her frustration and calmly replied, “Your father put them all away after your mother passed away he would cry every time he saw her face. It was so sad when he asked me to take them all down and pack them I did with no question.” “Ok that sounds like a good reason I suppose, are they in the basement or attic?” Alex asked hopping to get to them today. “Well I am not quite sure after I packed them he put them away I suppose we might have to look in both places.” Sandra said with hands on her hips. They had been in the basement 2 hours searching through boxes and found only holiday decorations, old school work from when Alex was in grade school, and old gardening supplies. There was only one corner left and they dug right in, “Well I never did realize how many things your family hung on to till today.” Sandra stated as she opened a box and pulled out some handmade blankets. “Yeah it does seem like a lot and we haven’t looked in the attic yet.” Alex giggled. “Those are beautiful blankets Sandra where did they come from?” “Well your mother made this one and your grandmother made this one, but I am not sure about the rest they might have also been made by family.” Sandra replied as she pulled them out to look at. “I think I want to take these upstairs and wash them to use is that ok?” Alex asked Sandra. “Yes dear we can do that tonight.” She replied putting them back in the box to take upstairs. “Well should we go upstairs for a break? I don’t think we will find what we are looking for here.” Sandra stated as she lifted the box and headed for the stairs. “Yes I think that sounds good let get some rest before we try another room.” Alex began to follow, but something caught her eye. She slowly walked to the back of the basement in the darkest corner, straining to see clearer what was in the shadows. As her eyes adjusted she could make out an open slit in the wall that seemed to be out of place, so she leaned in closer for a better look. A breeze hit her face and she jumped. “Alex, are you coming dear?” Sandra called from the top of the stairs. “Yes coming.” Alex pulled her-self away and walked upstairs. “Well it is getting late I started the blankets in the wash so I will let you know when they are done. “ Sandra stated as Alex came into the kitchen. “Ok I guess I will go upstairs and look in my father’s office and mine to see why I might be forgetting things.” Alex said as she grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and walked out. She started in the office she woke up in thinking this has to be where the memory loss started, looking all around the desk that sat in one end of the room. The computer was off so she turned it on hoping to find clues as to what she was doing before waking up. As it loaded she looked at the note pad that had a note she paid no attention to before, now realizing there was a time written on it that read ”7pm Tuesday night.” Looking back at the computer screen she realized she had it pass coded for protection and she did not have a clue what it was. “Well another dead end for now, so what should I do?” she sighed with frustration. Putting her head down on the desk she closed her eyes and tried to remember what she was doing in the office before she woke up there. Now she already knows according to the gentleman named Jim that they had a business meeting that night and he was waiting for her return to the room. What made her go upstairs before she woke up? She strained but could not remember anything before opening her eyes. She sat up but found she was not in a chair but in a bed, in the dark alone. “Wait a minute am I back in the home with the children again, but I did not fall asleep, did I?” She got up and moved to the door so she could look out the door. To have a family As she opened the door she felt disappointed that she was back in the home with her being a mother. It was hard enough not remembering your life or which was real, but if this one was real she forgot her children, that to her seemed worse than forgetting her dead parents. Down the hall she walked hoping no one was home to question her again. She peeked into another room as she passed and the children were sleeping in two beds all done in different colors. “It must be night” she thought to herself as she continued walking. As she neared the living room where she sat with Jim last time, she noticed he slept on the couch with a handmade blanket she swore she had seen before. “Are you ok? Is something wrong?” Jim whispered trying not to startle her. “Oh I was just looking for something to drink, where is the kitchen?” she tried to not sound so confused but she was. “So the memory still gone uh?” he said a little louder but with disappointment. “Well come with me we will make some honey tea it was your favorite on sleepless nights.” He said with a pain in his voice as he walked to the kitchen. “I am sorry to pry but if you are my husband then why sleep on the couch?” she asked hoping not to upset him more. “Well, I thought with your memory gone you would feel like you were sleeping next to a stranger, so I wanted to wait till you remembered me.” He looked away as if it hurt to look at her. Her heart broke a little and she was sad for him, sad for the love she must have lost along with her memory. She almost wanted to go back to the other reality for a while less hurt and less people counting on her to remember. They had their tea and spoke about what was happening right before she came too in the other room. She didn’t learn much just that her boys and her where enjoying a barbeque and she stepped inside to use the restroom. They have been married for 15 years and had twin boys age 9. He was a computer specialist and she was a stay at home mom who did the entire PTA mom stuff. Her husband had just come home and found the boys outside playing and that is when she had come out. “Well I am not sure what is real anymore and every time I close my eyes I end up switching so what should I do?” she spoke so utterly confused searching for any answer he could give. “I don’t know my love we need to try not to worry the boys so I will take time off to help you get through this. I know I have saved some vacation time and if need be I have sick time, we will get through this we get through everything.” He said with determination almost trying to convince himself as much as her. “I should let you get some rest it is late and we have a lot to do tomorrow to make this look like everything is ok.” She said hoping not to sound like she wanted to get away just tired. “I agree you need rest as well, are you going to be ok? Do you want me to make sure you don’t vanish or something?” he asked almost lost as to what he might witness. “I never thought of that but if you want you can stay in the room to make sure I am ok.” She answered knowing he needed to feel helpful. “I will sleep in the arm chair in the corner so if something strange happens there is someone to remember it if you don’t.” he stated finally satisfied he could help. After he gathered up the blanket and pillow he was using they both headed to the room she woke up in. She returned to her spot in bed and he lay out on the chair like he said. “Where did that blanket come from?” she asked before they both dosed off. “This one was made by your mother and the one you have on top is the one you made.” He said in a kind voice and rolled to one side. “Thank you.” She said as she rolled over as well. She stared at the wall for a while not sure she wanted to try to sleep. “Will I wake up in my office again? Has Sandra noticed I am gone? Do I have two bodies and one mind? How does this work?” she had so many questions and no answers. Sleep took over and there was nothing, silence, darkness, sleep. When the sun came through the window, it woke her from this deep sleep. She looked around to find she was still in the home she fell asleep in. Her husband must have awoken earlier; he had already folded his blanket and left the room. She sat up trying to decide if it was better to stay here or chance a visit with the twins. Her husband decided for her reentering the room with a tray of food. “Here is something to eat and drink for breakfast, I told the boys you were sick so when their home they will not bother you.” He said as if he read her mind. “They are heading out for the bus I told them they could peek in to say goodbye, I hope that is ok.” He said setting the tray on the bed next to her. “Yes that is fine I would love to say goodbye.” She replied looking over the tray he set down with hungry eyes. He walked to the door and simply said “Alright boys time to go come say bye to your mother now.” And they both ran down the hall toward her room. “Good bye mother, feel better soon.” They both said at the same time as they waved and ran back to the front door slamming it on their way out. “They are so much alike it is strange but familiar.” She said not wanting to be weird. “They are a handful; sometimes I don’t see how you do it every day.” He replied as he started to leave the room. “Thank you for the food and letting me see them, will you be home all day today?” she spoke between bites of toast. “Yes unless we need something I must go out for.” He replied and smiled at her. He left her to eat and went to clean the kitchen, or at least that is what it sounded like. She ate her food and drank her juice thinking “Could I really be this lucky to have two children and a husband as kind as Jim?” After eating she went through her room looking for some clothes to change into. “I thought you might like to look through all our old things to see if you remember anything so I pulled all the memory boxes from the shed.” Jim popped his head in a few minutes later motioning to join him when she was ready. “Oh Jim thank you, that is just what I need to help me.” She looked at him and smiled as she walked over to the door holding the clothes she picked out. “Where is the bathroom again?” she looked confused again. “Just down there, be careful the hot handle is a little tricky.” He motioned like he was wiggling the handle. She smiled again and walked to the door for the restroom. “Strange why I would have woke up in the room when I said I was coming here?” she pondered as she freshened up. True the rooms are not that far apart but still made her wonder. After a day of going through all the photos and everything she ever kept of their lives she still felt no closer to her answers. They ate dinner without her to keep up the allusion of her being ill. She ate in her room still thinking of what she should do next. That night they slept the same and Jim stayed awake staring at Alex, wondering why this was happening. The next morning she woke up feeling stiff and sore like she had slept wrong. Then she realized “I’m at the desk again crap.” Which me is the real me? Realizing she was never going to stop jumping from one reality to the other without figuring out which one was the real reality, she sighed with frustration. It was still daylight out and she could still hear noise coming from downstairs so she had not been gone for long.  "Sandra?" Alex called out as she headed out of the room towards the stairs.  "Yes dear?" "I'm in the kitchen but I can come up if you need me to." She replied while still moving things around in the kitchen.   Alex came through the swinging kitchen door with a frustrated look on her face. “It just happened again, how long have I been upstairs?" She asked Sandra.  "Only 20 minutes or so, lunch is just about done." They sat on the patio, overlooking a grand yard full of flowers, trees, little stone pathways, and a pond with a fountain at its center. It definitely matched the big house in grandeur and old worldliness. Sandra had made finger sandwiches and a veggie plate with iced tea to drink. They both nibbled and watched the birds chase the squirrels around the garden. It was nice to sit in silence for a moment and relax, however Alex could not shake the feeling something else was happening to her that neither reality was showing her. “Sandra? Do you think I could have been hurt and my real body is laying in a hospital bed in a coma?” Alex was not sure how Sandra would respond but how would she figure it out if she did not try everything that came to mind? “I suppose it could be possible but then what am I and this place we are in? She asked back as if the thought had crossed her mind as well but sounded too wild to believe. “I just wish I could be sure where the real me should be.” Alex sighed with frustration again. They both started to gather the dishes and head to the kitchen when the doorbell rang. “Who could that be?” Sandra asked out loud as they set the dirty things on the counter to be sorted. “I will get it this time” Alex said as she walked to the hall leading to the front entrance. The door opened with a slight creak like old thing do, and on the other side was Jim the man she first encountered when her amnesia started. “Hello” he said with a smile. “Good afternoon to you” she replied as she stepped aside to let him in the door. “What brings you by today?” she asked as he pulled his coat off and hung it by the door. “Well to tell the truth I have been worried about you ever since I left you at the hospital. I had to drop by to check how you are today and ask for a new business meeting if you are up to it.” She was not sure she should tell him about the jump to another life and not knowing which was real. Would he think her crazy and try to have her locked up? “I am still not sure what I remember and things just seem so off I cannot put my finger on what it is.” She finally blurted after what seemed like to long of a silence. The sounds of Sandra in the kitchen cleaning up made Jim smile as he walked towards the sound. “Is that you Sandra? I was hoping you where home and we could discuss last night.” He said as he entered the room and Sandra greeted him with a smile. Jim walked over to Sandra planting a kiss on her cheek as she hugged him like well-known friends. Sandra seeing the confusion in Alex’s eyes explained, “Jim was a long time acquaintance of your father which is why you were both meeting last night. We have spent many long weekends with your father going over business details and such.” “How have you been Sandra?” Jim asked genuinely interested. “Well busy as one woman can be I suppose.” She answered with a sigh and a smile. “Well I was going to reschedule our meeting but is seems you are still not feeling quite yourself. We can put it off for now it is not a pressing matter.” Jim spoke to Alex now with concern. “Thank you, it has been a strange couple of days and I am not sure of anything right now.” Alex smiled awkwardly. The conversation kept on for a few hours with Jim and Sandra regaling Alex with stories of her father from the last ten years. Sandra went on explaining that until her father had passed she was overseas working as a consultant for a corporation. Although her father said they spoke often Alex was too busy to visit and they just spent those years apart, Sandra explained. Jim went on talking of dinner parties her father would throw or attend that they would have fun playing pranks on the other guests. Once even going as far as a fake proposal to one of the main donors, in this rouse was a center full of assistance a rich person could enlist to help them spend their money in case they run out of ideas on what to spend their mass amounts of money on.  The guy almost donated 10 million towards its startup and staffing. That’s how good her father was at his business dealings and could talk anyone into almost anything, Jim went on to boast. The hours flew by almost without any notice at all. The clock in the kitchen dinged its dinner time bell letting them know they should take a break and have dinner. Jim excused himself saying he had errands he still should do before heading home and he hoped to see them both again soon. Eating dinner was not quite as talkative as the afternoon had been but they both had lots to think about. Sandra could not help thinking back to happy times, and Alex wondered why her memory was so blank and when would it come back.  After a pleasant meal and clean up the two women said there goodnights and went about getting ready for bed.  Sandra was in the servant’s wing of the house which had three rooms and one full bathroom. Even though she had been the only live in employee for as long as she could remember she always kept the other rooms ready for company in case of anything. Alex was on the second floor in her office at the desk. Too afraid to sleep and wake up in that other home having to pretend sick so as to not upset her children was not a pleasant thought. There was a light tap on the door as it swung the rest of the way open. “Are you ok?” Sandra asked as she walked in already dressed for bed. “I am worried if I go to sleep I won’t be here when I wake up again. I know it can still happen even if I don’t sleep but I fear sleeping is that strange?” Alex confided in Sandra. “Well let’s get you ready for bed and talk it out” Sandra said as she guided Alex out of her office and down the hall to her bedroom. Alex hesitant to sleep alone convinced Sandra to stay on a pull out in her room with her just to be safe. It was strange but it almost felt like when she was not in one place time froze for them and only moved slowly if at all. Would anyone notice if she blinked out of one existence into another? Would she bounce between them for the remainder of her life? How would she ever figure out what was real? It seemed as if time just slowed down and sleep took forever to come yet the nothingness did come. The confusion intensifies Alex awoke in darkness, not just dark but nothingness was closer to how it felt as she tried to feel around her for some sort of clue as to where she was now. Even though she was laying down it felt like nothing was under her and yet she did not fall but hung there like some untouchable force was holding her in whatever way she moved. It was almost what she thought flying would be like if people could do so without machines. Standing on what she hoped was a floor but could not tell in the darkness she reached out around her feeling for a wall or furniture to guide her. Alex felt horror as she realized the nothing was everywhere and she was now lost in the dark alone. “Hello?” Alex cried out a few times but there was no response, in fact not even another sound or echo. It was overwhelming and emotion rushed through her raising her body temp and making her perspire. As she reached up to wipe her forehead with the back of her hand she started to see a glow in the distance. As if it was moving closer the light got brighter until Alex no longer could look at it because it hurt her eyes like the sun. She began to hear sounds around her that kind of sounded mumbled but became clearer as her eyes began to adjust to the brightness around her. Something about the sound reminded her of shuffling footsteps and low whispers. “Is it true?” one voice whispers as another from another direction whispers “Did you hear?” More gasps and mumbles from all around her now as her eyes blur back into focus. Small figures dressed in bright white robes lined up five rows deep on again what seemed like nothing under them. Every direction seemed to be thick with robed figures all whispering amongst themselves seemingly unaware she could now see them and was staring at them. From somewhere around them came a loud voice “SILENCE! EVERYONE SILENCE!” and all was quiet and still. Alex was not sure if she was dreaming or maybe dead? But this was next level freaky and she needed answers. Before she could get the courage up to speak the loud voice that came from everywhere spoke again. “WE ARE HERE FOR A REASON! AS UNCOMFORTABLE AS IT IS WE MUST DISCUSS WHAT HAS HAPPENED HERE.” The voice rang out and mumbling amongst the crowd began again. “SOMEONE HAS MESSED WITH THE FABRIC OF OUR UNIVURSE AND SENT SEVERL DEMENTIONS INTO SPINS AND COLISIONS.” The voice continued over the murmur. Alex was unsure if they even knew she was there since not one of them would look directly at her or acknowledge her walking around the center of the crowd as if she was concealed by some unseen wall. “WE ALL ARE WORRIED I KNOW, HOWEVER THE ONLY WAY TO PUT THINGS RIGHT IS TO WORK TOGETHER AND PUT OUR CURIOSITY ON HOLD FOR NOW.” The loud voice spoke again. “Have you some clue as to how we are going to fix this dimensional spiral?” spoke a small voice from the crowd around her. It seemed everyone wanted to know the response because it again fell eerily quiet. “THE OTHERS HERE AND I ARE WORKING ON A SULUTION TO THE SPIRAL, WHAT WE NEED YOUR HELP WITH IS FINDING THIS HUMANS RIGHTFUL DEMENTION. IT HAS BECOME APPARENT THAT THREE OR FOUR OF HER DEMETIONS HAVE BEEN CRASHING INTO ONE ANOTHER. SEVERAL OF HER OTHER SELVES HAVE BEEN DESTROYED DURING THE CHAOS AND THE RESULT HAS PULLED HER INTO THE SPLIT.” The loud voice seemed to be waiting for a response but all Alex could focus on was the words she just heard. Was she going mad? Or did that voice just say several dimensions of her world where crashing into each other and other hers where dead because of it? Alex became suddenly aware of the voices growing in volume with discussions all around her. Most was in a language she did not understand but some words would come through like Human, Dead, Lost, and looks in her direction. They were in small groups cluttered around her in circular patterns. Then after several intense, minutes? Hours? She couldn’t tell anymore, one of them broke off from a group and ran to the one next to them; another broke off of there and ran to another group. This continued for a while until all of the groups had been visited. They began surrounding her and got really quiet again. A small voice came from the crowd, “Human do you have anything to add before we put you into a stable open dimension?” Alex was shocked that they even would take her feelings into account with all the important things they must do, or at least she imagined they must do. “I can’t remember where I’m from but, I liked both of the two I remember bouncing between. I cannot imagine not knowing all of them. This sent them into a new frenzy of discussion most of which Alex could not follow. “We have decided! The human shall be sent as soon as word comes that the spiral has been halted.” Another small voice rang out from the now silent crowd. “THE SPIRAL HAS BEEN DEALT WITH, HAVE YOU CHOSEN A DIMENSION FOR THIS HUMAN?” The loud voice questioned. “We have!” called out another small voice. Then the crowd began to hum. The hum grew louder and from out of nowhere the bright light grew around her again. Her head began to spin and she felt like she was flying through space. As fast as it began she was in darkness again, like sleep this time. She could now feel soft comfort around her. The memories of creatures and voices began to become fuzzy and faded like a dream. Home?   Something moved next to Alex bringing her to open her eyes and look around her. “Mom your up.” Cried out a small voice. A young boy around 9 years old jumped onto the big bed next to her. Another boy identical to the first ran in behind him and joined them as the body next to her started to stir. She remembered their names, Tod and Henry her twins from the run down three room home. Wait, she thought this is not the run down three room house this looks more like the mansion. Her bed was very large and covered in expensive luxury sheets and comforter. The room had old wood furniture and drapes over the huge windows.  Alex was still a little foggy but hungry tummies where begging for food and Jim was up for helping, so off to the kitchen they all went. As she walked down the hall to the stairs she noticed the walls filled with photos of all kinds of relatives and family gatherings. The boys ran down the stairs leaving Alex in the hall for a moment alone. Looking at all the walls and rooms she passed it was just like the mansion but a little different and the more she tried to figure out the differences the harder it was to remember what at all she was trying to do. Jim came up behind her and they continued down the stairs to join the boys. It was already sunny out and the birds could be heard from some open window somewhere. Alex smiled at Jim and they continued down the hall to the kitchen. Sounds and smells came rushing down the hall to greet them as they entered the kitchen to find Sandra already making pancakes and eggs with bacon. “Well it’s about time sleepy heads I already fed your father and he is in the garden waiting for you so come on now eat up.” Sandra rang out with glee in her voice. Through the kitchen window could be seen Alex’s father sat on a bench overlooking the fountain at the center of the back garden. Jim poured coffee into three cups and Sandra helped the boys load up plates. A man dressed in a long coat and top hat walked into the room and went for his own cup of coffee, kissing Sandra on the mouth before announcing he would be off to handle his duties if anyone needed him. Alex felt like something was different for a moment but shook it off and loaded her own plate to go sit with the boys. Happy laughter filled the house all morning and it seemed like everyone was just where they were supposed to be. It was Saturday and they all had plans for fun and relaxation so it was a very busy day. They spent time outside for most of it but did sit around the television for the evening news like always. A story went on about strange things happening over the past few days and how they expect it was because of a “full moon” effect on the populace. This made Alex feel like she forgot something but she shook it off again. After the news they all spent some time reading and working on homework left undone. This went on till it was time to go to bed. The boys where fast asleep and Jim was getting into his bedclothes while Sandra and her husband Edward where in there wing also readying for bed. Her father was in his office reading up on some paperwork from the day before. Knocking gently as to not startle him Alex entered the room. “Dad? Are you busy?” she asked. “No nothing I can’t do later, what is it dear?” He waved her over to sit in the chair next to his. “I just feel like I am forgetting something important but can’t put my finger on it.” She sighed. “Well maybe a goodnight of sleeping will help you remember by morning.” He responded gently not sure what was so important she would worry about forgetting. “Maybe you’re right I am probably just restless or something maybe we should travel a bit this next summer.” She smiled and touched his hand as she got up to leave. He smiled back “Goodnight my dear.” He said as she walked out. Alex entered her room to find Jim sitting up in bed reading a book through thick black framed glasses. After her nightly routine of brushing teeth and hair, changing and climbing into bed Jim was already asleep book still in hand. She took off his glasses and placed them on top of the book and back on his table with a smile.  Kissing his forehead from her spot beside him that feeling kept nagging at her but less each time so she tuned over and dosed off to sleep. Nothing but darkness now as her mind relaxed and let go of all the questions. Somewhere far into places very few human eyes have ever seen, the little figures watch her as she blends into the timeline almost seamlessly. A Large figure of light watches from over them pleased with the dimension chosen for her. Other groups are also watching but not just Alex, timelines and humans from all effected dimensions must be monitored, patched, and blended where needed. In one Jim walks around a pile of rubble that used to be the mansion looking for Alex and Sandra after the largest earthquake on record hit the area. He cries out in frustration when he realizes they are beyond help if under all that debris. A few people wonder around in the distance behind him also looking for loved ones. One group look on a dimension where Jim, Alex, and the twins disappeared from the run down three room home without a trace. It seems in this timeline the world woke to many friends and family just gone taken by some unseen force like Armageddon. The news went on to describe how people started praying in the streets to every god ever worshiped in hopes of answers. All over the world people were getting along in a peace that none had ever seen before.  Governments wanted to collaborate on global defense strategies instead of argue who was right or wrong. Yet another group watches on as other human’s lives are blended into new dimensions trying to patch as many realities as possible amongst the few involved in the spiral. Some happy ones and some horrible ones but time and space will continue on now with no one remembering a thing. That is no one but the tiny creatures and the large figure of light that watch from somewhere far away. THE END Publication Date: September 30th 2021 https://www.bookrix.com/-sarahansen

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-k-darley-dancing-on-strings/

K. Darley Dancing on Strings Prologue The night was like any other, as the odd star shone bright in the dark blue sky and the vibrant yellow lights of the Newport mansion illuminated the surrounding property for hundreds of square feet. A symphonic harmony lulled its way through the living-turned-ballroom, setting the scene for the images that looked like they came from a storybook. Feet waltzed around the room in circles. Some were black dress shoes and others diamond patent heels. But all were succinctly wealthy. As the women laughed in high-pitched tones and talk of wall-street investors and stock-markets hung in the air, the atmosphere was that of another successful east-coast fund-raiser. Which was really just another occasion to flaunt one's self and the amount of money a particular stockbroker had invested in as of late. It was the kind of party the young hated and the old clung to. Past the bickering and gleaming white teeth were the expensive creams and beiges of the many large rooms of the suburban mansion. And outside, on a second story balcony on the south-side of the grandeur home, stood a dolled-up woman, leaning against the marble pillar of the upstairs veranda. She was sucking on a cigarette. Inhaling slowly, the blonde practically moaned in her throat as the first flow of nicotine bubbled in her mouth, her first fix in over three hours – and for the petite blonde, that was torture. Evie Calloway blew out the grey smoke in ecstasy, her made-up lashes fluttering over bright blue eyes. The buzz from downstairs was faint and Evie felt relaxed for the first time that night. Having to shake hands and curtsy to most of the guests was sickeningly boring. To the majority, she smiled and said her greetings when her mother elbowed her to attention, but her withdrawals had kicked in but only a half hour into the event. She had excused herself from dancing with an old, greying man when she felt her fingers shaking on his shoulders. So, up to her room she fled. The Calloway's winter home was not one of Evie's favourite places. It was too secluded. Nothing ever happened there but the parties that her parents threw. One of the only places she did enjoy being, however, was her bedroom, to which she'd already hidden several packets of cigarettes in when they'd arrived the day before. The commotion below was drowned out as Evie started to focus on the surrounding forest, the rush she was currently feeling from the nicotine sedating her. It was always an amazing view from her veranda; the woods were always dark, with the only illumination coming from the moon and stars. It was haunting, yet she knew that just behind the vast amount of trees lay the lake she had swam in since she was a child. More than a hundred square feet, it was bigger than any pool her parents could have installed. It served as the only entertainment Evie could get in the otherwise dead area. In a world of her own, seconds quickly turned to minutes, and before Evie knew it, she'd been through 6 cigarettes in a half hour. It wasn't until a bang on the door that she was aware time had passed, and she threw her 7th newly lit cigarette on the floor, stubbing it out with her heel and kicking it off the balcony. “Relax,” the voice said. “I'm not gonna go running to mommy and daddy about your filthy habit.” Evie's head snapped backwards and she rolled her eyes. Exhaling, she turned towards the newcomer and leant her back against the stone barrier of the balcony that she had been resting on. She harrumphed unhappily. “Shit,” she glared down at her fallen cigarette, “I thought you were my mother.” “I figured. Though you'd have heard me coming if I were your mother,” the newcomer said sarcastically. Morgan Thornton casually walked into the room, making herself comfortable on the crimson canopy bed instead of joining the brunette outside. Unlike her friend, she couldn't stand smoking. “Your mother's simply frantic.” Morgan crossed one leg over the other, proving a challenge in her short black dress. “She thinks you've ran off. Of course, she hasn't voiced these opinions, but I know a breakdown when I see one.” She laughed to herself. “Her left eye is twitching more than normal, too.” “Well, alert the media,” Evie said sarcastically, taking a drag of yet another fresh cigarette. “My mother's turned into a fucking crackpot.” “Not that everyone didn't already know that.” Evie chuckled, smoke escaping in odd ripples. “True.” Morgan ran a hand through her long mane of hair. She glanced at the digital clock on the bedside cabinet and turned again to the smoking brunette. “Do you plan on joining the party any time soon? It's awfully boring down there without your witty narcissism.” “I don't know what you're talking about,” she muttered quietly, taking her last drag and holding it as long as she could, making her voice sound strained and rough. “I'm a prime example of a perfect daughter.” Morgan grinned, “In the public's eye.” Evie exhaled and mashed the butt-end out under her black Gucci-wearing foot. “What I do in my own time is no one's business but my own,” she finalised. Morgan watched her strut out of the room in her little rouge dress. The same one she'd been pining over since it was advertised in Vera Wang's fall collection. Only one was ever made and she had gotten her hands on it. Of course, it was typical that it looked stunning on her, she thought. But Evie Calloway always had, and always would get, what she wanted. The blonde rose from the silk sheets and traipsed after her friend. If she knew anything about Evie, it was that she had a blatant disregard for higher figures of authority. Which meant, no doubt, the rest of the night would be highly entertaining for her. And with that notion, the cast was set for unforeseen events to unravel. Chapter 1 A cloudy day in late October could only mean one thing: snow. It wasn't exactly the best of news for New Yorkers, but given the state the weather had been in lately, the citizens were more than welcoming to the cool change. All, that is, but one. A tall man was busy striding down the mid-morning streets of Manhattan. Minding his own business, he was oblivious to the blatant staring from the opposite sex as his muscles rippled beneath his grey turtle-neck sweater and dark jeans. The weather bit at his bare skin and he took a moment to stop suddenly, sneezing violently once, twice, before shaking his head and cursing the drastic drop in temperature. However, before the dirty blonde could be on his way, the worst thing of all happened to Arthur Reynolds. He stopped, rigid, in his tracks. The sudden cold feeling on his neck was dissipating due to his body heat. He slowly and reluctantly turned his eyes skyward and groaned, his whole demure changing. “Really?” He cursed, still glaring up at the colourless sky. “You're really going to do this to me? Today of all days?” He pulled the collar of his dark jacket further to his neck and trailed down the path that was slowly starting to fill up with small white specks. “That's what you get, Arthur,” he mumbled to himself, “When you transfer to New York.” The man continued to berate himself until he'd reached a busy little street with several stores lining his way. He passed the bright lit boutiques before turning into a café named 'Coco and Chanel's'. It was dark oak on the outside, with the white, fancy logo on top of a freshly painted beige headboard. He entered the store and a little jingle sounded from the steel bell it hit. Most looked towards the new customer with vague interest, while others either talked animatedly between themselves or clicked away at a laptop in a corner. Arthur glanced around for a moment, before his eyes found a brunette in a booth near the window. Her dark eyes were fixed outside at the falling snow as her head was resting in her hand. He walked over towards the woman, his boots squelching on the cream linoleum floor. “Is this seat taken?” His deep voice startled her, and she looked up. She smiled broadly. “I thought the snow had scared you away,” she teased as he sat. “Yeah, well,” he ran his hands through his hair and shook it messily, soaking the table with water and white flakes of snow. She smiled at the innocent action. “It was close. If I wasn't already half-way here I would've turned back.” “I'm charmed,” she rolled her eyes. He gave her a cheeky grin, dimples a contrast to the light stubble adorning his face. “What're you having?” She sighed happily. “A hot chocolate.” He peered over the table into her mug and sat back in his chair, catching the attention of a passing waitress with his big smile. “Excuse me,” he said. “Can I get a hot chocolate and an espresso?” The young waitress practically giggled to herself and nodded her head, turning on her heel and quickly wondering off to the counter. Arthur's smile was still gracing his face as he turned back to Julia, who looked less than impressed. “Really?” “What?” He asked, almost insulted. She shook her head. “You're going to have a teenage stalker one day, I assure you.” He seemed to contemplate it, but his lips cracked into a goofy grin before he could even attempt to be serious. “I guess it's my devilishly good looks.” “Hah!” She snorted. “You good your looks from Dad, you pompous jerk!” This made the man frown. “I did not. Everyone says I take after mom.” “Everyone lies,” she quipped back almost instantly, shrugging. He was about to retort when the young dark-haired and freckled waitress shot back. It was perhaps the quickest they'd ever been served in a café before. “Here you go,” her voice was unsteady, and she almost squealed when Arthur's fingers brushed her own. “Thank you,” brother and sister chimed at the same time. The girl, whose little white name-tag read 'Linsey', glanced in a suspicious manner towards Julia. She gave Arthur one last ogling look before she scooted off to serve more customers. Julia stared at the spot the girl had been in, a less-than-pleased look gracing her delicate features. She had always been annoyed by the way she was most likely hated as women assumed she was 'romantically linked' with her brother. She wanted to give each of them a good shake. “So,” Arthur started, his hands cradling his mug. “What brings you to New York this time of year? Isn't this when your company profits most?” “Ronald gave our division the week off to scour for new ideas,” she reassured, taking a sip of her steaming chocolate. “And New York inspires most, they say.” “I'm not sure who says that,” he disagreed mildly, “but I do suppose it has its sights.” Julia smiled. The petite brunette worked for a company called Lindort, which dealt in designing new clothing lines for each season, with winter being the highest-grossing each year. When people get festive, they're more likely to throw their inhibitions to the wind and their money out the window. In 6 short years, Julia had climbed the management ladder to the second highest in command. Along with 7 others, she was chief designer for the company. If any ideas were pitched, they went to them. Though mostly the company would go with the visionary sights of her small clan of fashion junkies. “Although, as much as I wanted to come see what New York has to offer, and of course my favourite big brother-” “Your only big brother,” he interjected. “-I also have a meeting with a client of ours who lives somewhere in the neighbourhood.” “Who?” She grinned, “I'm not at liberty to discuss that.” Arthur frowned at her. “Fine, keep your little secrets to yourself.” She laughed and brought the mug to her lips, leaving it there to linger as she revelled in the heat it gave. She sighed, content. “How's work?” Warmth lingered in her words. Arthur shrugged, “Can't complain.” Julia raised a dark eyebrow, and he chuckled. “Alright, I can.” She shook her head at his easy confession. She was about to launch into more, wanting to dissect his life in the big apple further, but his phone started vibrating in his pocket and a ringing sound emanated. He seemed confused for a moment before fishing the object out of his pocket. “Hello?” He asked. The caller ID was unknown. There was no answer. Not even breathing came from the other side. Again, Arthur repeated his greeting, but was greeted with cold silence. Annoyed, he pressed the red button and hung up the call. Julia's concerned expression was plastered across her face, but Arthur played it off coolly. The last thing he wanted to do was worry her over nothing and spoil her trip. “Wrong number.” Although he knew she was smarter than to believe him, Julia's muscles relaxed and she gave him a smile. “Anyway, you were going to say?” He picked up, and Julia wasn't so shocked he knew she was about to carry on her informal interrogation about his life. “Oh, I was just going to-” Again, the blonde's phone buzzed, this time on the table. He shot her an apologetic smile and Julia's brows furrowed at him in faux annoyance, signalling for him to pick it up. “Hello?” “Detective Reynolds?” Came a male voice. He sounded shaken. “Yes?” He was unsure where this was going. “C-Chief wants you down to Newport, Rhode Island as soon as you can. You...you gotta see this.” It didn't leave him with much to go by, but Arthur suddenly had that gut feeling that it wasn't going to be good, as his insides squirmed. “I'll be there in three hours. I need someone to mail me directions or co-ordinates to my phone.” “Yes sir.” Arthur shut the phone off and placed it in his jeans pocket. For a moment he pondered what it could be, but by the tone of the obviously upset officer, he already had a pretty good idea of what it was. His frown was fixed on his face as he turned to his sister. She already knew. “Julia, I'm sorry.” “It's fine, go.” She dismissed and slouched back into the black cushioned seats. “Sorry,” he stood up and kissed her head. “I'll call you later?” She nodded, her dark curls bouncing. “Sure.” Arthur slapped a $20 down on the table and left his steaming mug behind reluctantly. He hurried his way out of the shop and back into the blizzard. The streets of New York were bad enough with all the crazy drivers, but factoring the snow and his impatient driving, he'd be lucky if they weren't going to have to scrape his corpse out of his car from a wreck. Arthur sighed heavily. One thing was certain. He would not be making it to Rhode Island in the next three hours. Publication Date: October 23rd 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-hellokerry

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-m-jade-glock-it-takes-two-to-murder/

M. Jade Glock It Takes Two To Murder Chapter 1 She sat at her desk frustrated. She dug her fingertips into her hair and looked at her book. Final exams were tomorrow and she had nothing ready at all. She had been out all day and hadn't had any time to study. It was now 11 o'clock in the evening, she was tired and couldn't keep her eyes open but she could hardly make for her bed, even if she tried she knew she would collapse and fall asleep right there in the middle of her living room floor. Besides, if she went into that classroom unprepared she would never forgive herself, and neither would her mother, if she failed the test. She thought this over but soon had nodded off onto the desk she was seated at, shortly after that she began to snore lightly. It was completely over after that. Her alarm went off. She jolted upright, she could feel the bags under her eyes and the noise from the alarm clock felt like it was screaming in her ears. She scooted out from the desk and began to walk to her bedroom to turn off the alarm; once she reached the doorway of her room was when she remembered. She didn't study! Panic rippled through her sending a chill up her spine, she could just feel the color drain from her face. What time was it? She jerked the clock off of her end table and just stared at the digital numbers across the plastic screen. It was 7 in the morning, which hardly gave her time to do anything. Like a whirlwind she got dressed and tried to wash her face some, ate breakfast and studied what she could before 8, she ran out the door and to the car “Why oh why did I have to live off-campus?” her mother’s words came to her “Are you sure you want to live off-campus honey? It would be so much easier if you lived with a roommate in the dorms” “But no, uh uh, not me, I had to go off and be all independent and show everyone that I could live on my own without a problem “She grumbled as she slipped into the car. As soon as the keys were in the ignition she was off and down the road in record time. It took her about half an hour to actually get into the campus parking lot. Those were 30 minutes she didn’t have. As soon as her car was parked she jumped out and closed the door. This was one instance that she appreciated the automatic lock button on her key ring. She pressed the button and her headlights flashed, although she barely noticed. She walked through the glass double doors that made up the entrance to the college and was sitting in a seat in her classroom before anyone could ask her a question. Her teacher, Mr. Thurman gave her a quizzical look that said “Where have you been?” but he didn’t ask any questions. He addressed the class: “As you all know finals are today, you know the drill and as always, good luck” she began to perspire as she sifted through her bag for a pen and some paper. How was she going to get through this without failing? What was her mom going to say when she found out? How was her mom anyway? She began thinking that over “I haven’t called my mom in forever” she thought to herself. “I wonder if she’s doing alright.” It wasn’t until someone had given her the test before she slipped out of thought and back into reality. “No more thinking about things that don’t pertain to the test” she scolded herself. “I can think about mom later” “Begin” Mr. Thurman said. After that she whizzed through the test, the whole time nervous of her score and the fact that she hadn’t studied as well as concerned because her mom hadn’t called her in forever. She assumed that it was because her mom was giving her some space, you know; let her be a college kid, but it had been so long now that it was worrisome to her. She stopped writing and started thinking about her mom again “Are you finished Lisa?” Mr. Thurman asked her, his quizzical brow back. “No sir.” she stammered a bit. “Then I suggest you get back to writing” He was right of course, but still, she couldn’t get her mind off of her mom. The clock kept ticking and ticking, she barely noticed as her mind drifted from the test to her mother. “Pencils down” Mr. Thurman boomed Lisa was jolted back to the classroom. She looked down at her test and saw that it was only about halfway finished. She picked up her pencil and randomly shaded in different circles. To her it kind of looked like a smiley face, but enough distractions. Mr. Thurman was coming to collect the tests and she wasn’t very many rows away from the front. “I said pencils down Lisa” He didn’t look angry just annoyed. “Honestly, what’s wrong with you today?” “Nothing, sir” “Well then, we can talk about nothing after class” Lisa groaned as he passed by to take up the other tests. “What’s up with me today?” She thought to herself. “All I want to do is go home, go to sleep and dream that this whole day didn’t happen” It didn’t take long before Mr. Thurman had collected all of the tests. He dismissed the class and Lisa was hoping that she could sneak by him or that he forgot that he wanted to talk to her. But no, it was just her luck that he would remember. “Except for you Lisa, I need to have a word with you” ‘I need to have a word with you’? Really? That never sounded good, especially coming from Mr. Thurman. Lisa slowly approached his desk and he looked at her through the tops of his glasses. “What’s the matter Lisa?” He asked inquisitively. “Usually you’re the most concentrated person in the class, but today it was as if an opposite you had walked through that door, you were late and you didn’t finish the test.” “I finished the test” She protested but then he gave her his eyebrow again “I did!” the eyebrow “Okay, I didn’t” She said, sounding defeated. “So what is the matter?” “Nothing’s the matter” Gave her the eyebrow “Fine, I was distracted, that’s all, I was up most of the night trying to study and I was just tired.” He seemed to be satisfied with her answer because he dismissed her and told her not to do it again and that I should study rather than go out and hang with my friends. Honestly, how am I supposed to have a social life if all I’m supposed to do is study? My mom was right; I should have stuck with a roommate on campus. It wasn’t until a couple of weeks later before she got her test results. She was afraid to even open up the envelope. She was so afraid in fact that she did all sorts of stuff that she wouldn’t normally do. Cleaned out the garage, organized her cupboards. Everything but look to see what was inside that envelope. “Why am I so nervous” great, now I’m talking to myself too, what else could happen? “I mean, I know what my results are going to be so there isn’t going to be any surprise to it” Stop it! I can’t start talking to myself, that’s what crazy people do. I was about to argue that point with myself but my better half decided I should open the envelope “I mean, what’s the worst thing that could happen?” Shut up, you want to get me into an insane asylum? The voice stopped speaking after that. She grabbed the envelope off of the dining room table and headed for her bedroom. I really don’t know why I walked to my bedroom when I could have just opened the envelope right then and there and been done with it but I’m trying to create some kind of climax here, I’ll be it, a lame one. She sat down onto her bed, the mattress bowing to her weight. She ran her fingertips across the letter. She used her index finger to open up the flap and she pulled the contents out of their package and unfolded the pages. “Huh, who knew” she said as she scanned the results, the test had given her an 87 which was a B. That wasn’t too bad. “I knew there was a pattern to those tests” she said as she cast aside the papers. She was finally graduating, that’s when it hit her. “I’m graduating” she whispered. “I’m graduating!” the excitement filled her almost immediately. “I’m going to call my mom” she thought. Her excitement deflated a little as she stared at the phone. I hope she’s okay she thought with a grimace as she dialed the familiar numbers that made up her mother’s telephone number. Her mother answered on the second ring. “Mom?” “Lisa, honey” She could hear her mother’s surprise “How are you doing?” she could also tell that her mother was smiling while she talked. She always smiled while talking to Lisa. “I’m doing okay” a slight pause “Guess what mom?” she decided not to inquire why her mother hadn’t called in a while, she decided to leave it. “What?” Her mother started to grow excited “I passed my finals, I’m going to graduate!” She could hear her mother squealing on the other end like a school girl, her mom always got easily excited, when Lisa was younger she found it annoying but now it was the best thing that she could have heard from her mom. “When’s the ceremony?” She could just imagine her mother trying to find a pen and paper, her mother was always supportive, even when she changed her major 5 times in 2 months her mother had always encouraged her in every field. “I’m not sure, but I’ll let you know as soon as I find out” “Okay, you better” Her mom was still smiling “Mom?” “Yes?” “I love you” she could hear her mom growing thick with emotion “I love you too” Their conversation went on for a little while longer before her mother had to be somewhere, something about going out with the girls tonight. She reminded Lisa to call her as soon as she got the date for the graduation ceremony, they exchanged another round of ‘I love you’ and Lisa hung up the phone. Publication Date: January 21st 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-renaldowen

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-robi-crusoe-hope-is-a-very-mysterious-thing/

Robi Crusoe Hope Is A Very Mysterious Thing Almost everyone knows the story of the mysterious Hope Diamond. How it went from person to person, leaving a trail of misfortune in its wake. Most people thought it was the curse of an Indian Goddess causing the strange occurences to happen. Though what if it was not a curse that caused all of the suffering? What if instead it was a person, or a group of people who wanted the diamond for their own gain? Just think of all the people they would have had to get rid of! People like Marie Antoinette, Lord Francis Hope and James Todd! Only a group of horrible and malicious criminals would do something like that. Maybe, if they had done all of that since 1793, they would try to steal the diamond again. And if they did, they would again kill anyone who got in their way. Chapter 1 Hanna Brennan was sitting in her room, minding her own business, when a paper airplane sailed through the window and hit her in the head. “Yow!” she cried. Then Hanna ran to the window and yelled, “Tanner Hasbro, there had better be a good reason for this!” Hanna slowly bent down and picked up the airplane that had fallen to the ground. When she unfolded it, Hanna was surprised to find that it was not Tanner’s writing on the note. What was even more surprising was what the note said. Dear Hanna Brennan, I need your help. You must stop them from getting the Diamond. They cannot have it! You're the only one I would trust to do this. I am counting on you, Hanna, to save the world from evil. You must guard the Diamond with your life, just like I always have. I have faith in you, Hanna Brennan. I will miss you the most. Love, Nana “Is this some kind of joke?” Hanna whispered to herself. "What does she mean by this anyway? Suddenly, Hanna’s mother burst into the room. “Hanna, I have terrible news.” She said. “Your grandma has just passed away.” Hanna looked up at her mom, tears filling her eyes, “You mean that Nana is dead.” She replied. “Yes honey, Nana is dead.” Whispered Hanna’s mother. "Honey, I am so sorry." Then Mrs. Brennan sat Hanna on her knee and watched her cry for the next hour, comforting her as she did. The next day, the entire Brennan family attended Nana’s funeral. Hanna was up at the front, a sad look on her face. She reached down to touch her grandmother’s heart. As her hand reached the spot where Nana’s heart should have been she gasped. She then decided to go investigate later, since there were so many people around. Soon the funeral was over and everyone started heading home. Hanna hid in a curtain, knowing that her parents would not miss her. As soon as everyone had left, she strode over to the coffin and peered inside. Her grandmother was lying there, quiet and serene. She then softly put her hand on Nana’s chest. As she laid it there, she could feel the little hole that was right where Nana’s heart would have been. Immediately, Hanna knew what had happened. Her grandmother had not died of natural causes! She had been murdered! Hanna then remembered the note. She gasped. Her grandmother must have died getting this note to her! Hanna gritted her teeth in anger. How could someone do this to her poor Nana? “Nana, I will do anything in my power to keep the people that did this to you away from the Diamond. I swear that on my life.” She said. Then Hanna slowly walked away, even though she thought she saw a smile light up her grandmother’s face. Chapter 2 “Morning Honey!” called Hanna’s mom as she walked up the steps.”Guess where we’re going!’ “Where are we going?” asked Hanna glumly. “We’re going to the Smithsonian! Your grandmother gave us her house to live in when she…died. And as it happens, her house is inside the Smithsonian Museum!” “Fine, I’ll pack my things.” Sighed Hanna. Soon the entire Brennan family was pack in the car and ready to go. When they reached the museum, the Brennans were greeted by an over-excited tour guide named Leslie. “Welcome to the Smithsonian!” she said. “How may I assist you?” “Could we please see a certain exhibit I had in mind?“ Asked Hanna’s mother. She then went over and whispered in the guide’s ear. “Excellent choice.” Whispered Leslie. She then led them through the hallways, towards the very back of the museum. Hanna wondered what they would be seeing. Would it be a camel, or a cave painting? She didn’t know what to expect in this place. Then she saw it. It was the most beautiful diamond in the entire world, the Hope Diamond. The diamond’s amazing blue color cast light all around the room. It was breathtaking. Hanna looked over for her mother, but found she was not in sight. Hanna looked around, but couldn’t find her anywhere. She then shrugged her shoulders and walked on with the rest of the family. As soon as the family reached Nana’s room, Hanna noticed the sign above her grandmother’s door. It said, “Hope is a very mysterious thing.” “What is that supposed to mean?” Hanna asked herself. Then she walked inside the house and fell asleep on her grandma’s bed. Hanna awoke at around ten o’clock that evening. She quietly rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and sat up. On the wall was the same message that was on the front door. As Hanna studied the message for a minute, something in the words kept on nagging at her. Then she found it. It was the word hope. Instantly, Hanna knew what the Diamond was. It was all in the name. The diamond that her grandmother had protected all those years was the Hope Diamond. Suddenly, Hanna heard a loud crash resound from the back of the museum. Someone was trying to steal the diamond! Quickly, Hanna ran through the dark hallways of the Smithsonian. As soon as she reached the display, she saw a figure cloaked in black trying to cut through the glass. “Stop right there!” shouted Hanna. She watched the figure stop and slowly turn around. She was amazed when she saw who it was. Then she put the impossible into words. “Mother?” Chapter 3 “Hello, Hanna.” Replied Hanna’s mother, lifting up her mask so that Hanna could see her face. “Mom, why are you trying to steal the Hope Diamond?” asked Hanna. “Why couldn’t you just buy a fake one from the gift shop?” “Because, Hanna, It was my mission.” Said Mrs. Brennan. “I am part of a secret organization called E. A. I. or Evil Artifacts Incorporated. My mission was to steal the Hope Diamond and kill anyone that got in my way.” Sudden realization dawned on Hanna’s face. “That means you killed Nana! Mom how could you!” she said. “It was part of the job I’m afraid. Nana got in my way, so she had to be disposed of.” Hanna’s mom replied. “I promised Nana that I would protect the Diamond with my life. And I’m not planning on breaking that promise any time soon.” Hanna said, placing herself in between her mom and the Hope Diamond.” “Well, then I guess that means you’ll have to be disposed of too.” Replied Hanna’s mom casually. Hanna watched as her mom pulled out a Berretta M9. “Say goodbye, Hanna Brennan.” Said her mother. Then she shot. Quickly, Hanna leapt up and grabbed the bar above her, getting out of harm’s way. But sadly, the bar couldn’t hold her weight, and soon she crashed back down to earth. The pipe had come with her though, giving her a weapon. She brandished it threateningly. Her mother just laughed. “Silly child!” she hissed. “Haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘Never bring a knife to a gunfight.’ before?” Her mother then shot the gun again, aiming for Hanna’s heart. Hanna ducked, and then blindly swung her pipe, trying to hit her mother’s legs. Surprisingly, that’s exactly what happened. Soon, Hanna’s mother crumpled to the floor. Hanna then hit her bar over her mom’s head, knocking Mrs. Brennan out cold. Hanna then took her mom’s cell phone, and dialed 911. “Hello, police.” She said. “I have a criminal here for you; she tried to steal the Hope Diamond.” Then she hung up the phone and went back to bed, not ready to face the morning. When Hanna awoke, everything outside the house was in chaos. Reporters and Photographers were closing in on all sides, trying to catch a glimpse of the Brennan family. When one reporter caught sight of Hanna, he walked over and held a microphone up to her face. “Hanna Brennan, what do you have to say about this situation?” he asked her. Hanna immediately knew exactly what to say. “Hope is a very mysterious thing.” Publication Date: July 19th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-lilliannagirl101

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-charles-dickens-the-mystery-of-edwin-drood/

Charles Dickens The Mystery of Edwin Drood CHAPTER I--THE DAWN An ancient English Cathedral Tower? How can the ancient English Cathedral tower be here! The well-known massive gray square tower of its old Cathedral? How can that be here! There is no spike of rusty iron in the air, between the eye and it, from any point of the real prospect. What is the spike that intervenes, and who has set it up? Maybe it is set up by the Sultan's orders for the impaling of a horde of Turkish robbers, one by one. It is so, for cymbals clash, and the Sultan goes by to his palace in long procession. Ten thousand scimitars flash in the sunlight, and thrice ten thousand dancing-girls strew flowers. Then, follow white elephants caparisoned in countless gorgeous colours, and infinite in number and attendants. Still the Cathedral Tower rises in the background, where it cannot be, and still no writhing figure is on the grim spike. Stay! Is the spike so low a thing as the rusty spike on the top of a post of an old bedstead that has tumbled all awry? Some vague period of drowsy laughter must be devoted to the consideration of this possibility. Shaking from head to foot, the man whose scattered consciousness has thus fantastically pieced itself together, at length rises, supports his trembling frame upon his arms, and looks around. He is in the meanest and closest of small rooms. Through the ragged window-curtain, the light of early day steals in from a miserable court. He lies, dressed, across a large unseemly bed, upon a bedstead that has indeed given way under the weight upon it. Lying, also dressed and also across the bed, not longwise, are a Chinaman, a Lascar, and a haggard woman. The two first are in a sleep or stupor; the last is blowing at a kind of pipe, to kindle it. And as she blows, and shading it with her lean hand, concentrates its red spark of light, it serves in the dim morning as a lamp to show him what he sees of her. 'Another?' says this woman, in a querulous, rattling whisper. 'Have another?' He looks about him, with his hand to his forehead. 'Ye've smoked as many as five since ye come in at midnight,' the woman goes on, as she chronically complains. 'Poor me, poor me, my head is so bad. Them two come in after ye. Ah, poor me, the business is slack, is slack! Few Chinamen about the Docks, and fewer Lascars, and no ships coming in, these say! Here's another ready for ye, deary. Ye'll remember like a good soul, won't ye, that the market price is dreffle high just now? More nor three shillings and sixpence for a thimbleful! And ye'll remember that nobody but me (and Jack Chinaman t'other side the court; but he can't do it as well as me) has the true secret of mixing it? Ye'll pay up accordingly, deary, won't ye?' She blows at the pipe as she speaks, and, occasionally bubbling at it, inhales much of its contents. 'O me, O me, my lungs is weak, my lungs is bad! It's nearly ready for ye, deary. Ah, poor me, poor me, my poor hand shakes like to drop off! I see ye coming-to, and I ses to my poor self, "I'll have another ready for him, and he'll bear in mind the market price of opium, and pay according." O my poor head! I makes my pipes of old penny ink-bottles, ye see, deary--this is one--and I fits-in a mouthpiece, this way, and I takes my mixter out of this thimble with this little horn spoon; and so I fills, deary. Ah, my poor nerves! I got Heavens-hard drunk for sixteen year afore I took to this; but this don't hurt me, not to speak of. And it takes away the hunger as well as wittles, deary.' She hands him the nearly-emptied pipe, and sinks back, turning over on her face. He rises unsteadily from the bed, lays the pipe upon the hearth- stone, draws back the ragged curtain, and looks with repugnance at his three companions. He notices that the woman has opium-smoked herself into a strange likeness of the Chinaman. His form of cheek, eye, and temple, and his colour, are repeated in her. Said Chinaman convulsively wrestles with one of his many Gods or Devils, perhaps, and snarls horribly. The Lascar laughs and dribbles at the mouth. The hostess is still. 'What visions can SHE have?' the waking man muses, as he turns her face towards him, and stands looking down at it. 'Visions of many butchers' shops, and public-houses, and much credit? Of an increase of hideous customers, and this horrible bedstead set upright again, and this horrible court swept clean? What can she rise to, under any quantity of opium, higher than that!--Eh?' He bends down his ear, to listen to her mutterings. 'Unintelligible!' As he watches the spasmodic shoots and darts that break out of her face and limbs, like fitful lightning out of a dark sky, some contagion in them seizes upon him: insomuch that he has to withdraw himself to a lean arm-chair by the hearth--placed there, perhaps, for such emergencies--and to sit in it, holding tight, until he has got the better of this unclean spirit of imitation. Then he comes back, pounces on the Chinaman, and seizing him with both hands by the throat, turns him violently on the bed. The Chinaman clutches the aggressive hands, resists, gasps, and protests. 'What do you say?' A watchful pause. 'Unintelligible!' Slowly loosening his grasp as he listens to the incoherent jargon with an attentive frown, he turns to the Lascar and fairly drags him forth upon the floor. As he falls, the Lascar starts into a half-risen attitude, glares with his eyes, lashes about him fiercely with his arms, and draws a phantom knife. It then becomes apparent that the woman has taken possession of this knife, for safety's sake; for, she too starting up, and restraining and expostulating with him, the knife is visible in her dress, not in his, when they drowsily drop back, side by side. There has been chattering and clattering enough between them, but to no purpose. When any distinct word has been flung into the air, it has had no sense or sequence. Wherefore 'unintelligible!' is again the comment of the watcher, made with some reassured nodding of his head, and a gloomy smile. He then lays certain silver money on the table, finds his hat, gropes his way down the broken stairs, gives a good morning to some rat-ridden doorkeeper, in bed in a black hutch beneath the stairs, and passes out. That same afternoon, the massive gray square tower of an old Cathedral rises before the sight of a jaded traveller. The bells are going for daily vesper service, and he must needs attend it, one would say, from his haste to reach the open Cathedral door. The choir are getting on their sullied white robes, in a hurry, when he arrives among them, gets on his own robe, and falls into the procession filing in to service. Then, the Sacristan locks the iron-barred gates that divide the sanctuary from the chancel, and all of the procession having scuttled into their places, hide their faces; and then the intoned words, 'WHEN THE WICKED MAN--' rise among groins of arches and beams of roof, awakening muttered thunder. CHAPTER II--A DEAN, AND A CHAPTER ALSO Whosoever has observed that sedate and clerical bird, the rook, may perhaps have noticed that when he wings his way homeward towards nightfall, in a sedate and clerical company, two rooks will suddenly detach themselves from the rest, will retrace their flight for some distance, and will there poise and linger; conveying to mere men the fancy that it is of some occult importance to the body politic, that this artful couple should pretend to have renounced connection with it. Similarly, service being over in the old Cathedral with the square tower, and the choir scuffling out again, and divers venerable persons of rook-like aspect dispersing, two of these latter retrace their steps, and walk together in the echoing Close. Not only is the day waning, but the year. The low sun is fiery and yet cold behind the monastery ruin, and the Virginia creeper on the Cathedral wall has showered half its deep-red leaves down on the pavement. There has been rain this afternoon, and a wintry shudder goes among the little pools on the cracked, uneven flag-stones, and through the giant elm-trees as they shed a gust of tears. Their fallen leaves lie strewn thickly about. Some of these leaves, in a timid rush, seek sanctuary within the low arched Cathedral door; but two men coming out resist them, and cast them forth again with their feet; this done, one of the two locks the door with a goodly key, and the other flits away with a folio music-book. 'Mr. Jasper was that, Tope?' 'Yes, Mr. Dean.' 'He has stayed late.' 'Yes, Mr. Dean. I have stayed for him, your Reverence. He has been took a little poorly.' 'Say "taken," Tope--to the Dean,' the younger rook interposes in a low tone with this touch of correction, as who should say: 'You may offer bad grammar to the laity, or the humbler clergy, not to the Dean.' Mr. Tope, Chief Verger and Showman, and accustomed to be high with excursion parties, declines with a silent loftiness to perceive that any suggestion has been tendered to him. 'And when and how has Mr. Jasper been taken--for, as Mr. Crisparkle has remarked, it is better to say taken--taken--' repeats the Dean; 'when and how has Mr. Jasper been Taken--' 'Taken, sir,' Tope deferentially murmurs. '--Poorly, Tope?' 'Why, sir, Mr. Jasper was that breathed--' 'I wouldn't say "That breathed," Tope,' Mr. Crisparkle interposes with the same touch as before. 'Not English--to the Dean.' 'Breathed to that extent,' the Dean (not unflattered by this indirect homage) condescendingly remarks, 'would be preferable.' 'Mr. Jasper's breathing was so remarkably short'--thus discreetly does Mr. Tope work his way round the sunken rock--'when he came in, that it distressed him mightily to get his notes out: which was perhaps the cause of his having a kind of fit on him after a little. His memory grew DAZED.' Mr. Tope, with his eyes on the Reverend Mr. Crisparkle, shoots this word out, as defying him to improve upon it: 'and a dimness and giddiness crept over him as strange as ever I saw: though he didn't seem to mind it particularly, himself. However, a little time and a little water brought him out of his DAZE.' Mr. Tope repeats the word and its emphasis, with the air of saying: 'As I HAVE made a success, I'll make it again.' 'And Mr. Jasper has gone home quite himself, has he?' asked the Dean. 'Your Reverence, he has gone home quite himself. And I'm glad to see he's having his fire kindled up, for it's chilly after the wet, and the Cathedral had both a damp feel and a damp touch this afternoon, and he was very shivery.' They all three look towards an old stone gatehouse crossing the Close, with an arched thoroughfare passing beneath it. Through its latticed window, a fire shines out upon the fast-darkening scene, involving in shadow the pendent masses of ivy and creeper covering the building's front. As the deep Cathedral-bell strikes the hour, a ripple of wind goes through these at their distance, like a ripple of the solemn sound that hums through tomb and tower, broken niche and defaced statue, in the pile close at hand. 'Is Mr. Jasper's nephew with him?' the Dean asks. 'No, sir,' replied the Verger, 'but expected. There's his own solitary shadow betwixt his two windows--the one looking this way, and the one looking down into the High Street--drawing his own curtains now.' 'Well, well,' says the Dean, with a sprightly air of breaking up the little conference, 'I hope Mr. Jasper's heart may not be too much set upon his nephew. Our affections, however laudable, in this transitory world, should never master us; we should guide them, guide them. I find I am not disagreeably reminded of my dinner, by hearing my dinner-bell. Perhaps, Mr. Crisparkle, you will, before going home, look in on Jasper?' 'Certainly, Mr. Dean. And tell him that you had the kindness to desire to know how he was?' 'Ay; do so, do so. Certainly. Wished to know how he was. By all means. Wished to know how he was.' With a pleasant air of patronage, the Dean as nearly cocks his quaint hat as a Dean in good spirits may, and directs his comely gaiters towards the ruddy dining-room of the snug old red-brick house where he is at present, 'in residence' with Mrs. Dean and Miss Dean. Mr. Crisparkle, Minor Canon, fair and rosy, and perpetually pitching himself head-foremost into all the deep running water in the surrounding country; Mr. Crisparkle, Minor Canon, early riser, musical, classical, cheerful, kind, good-natured, social, contented, and boy-like; Mr. Crisparkle, Minor Canon and good man, lately 'Coach' upon the chief Pagan high roads, but since promoted by a patron (grateful for a well-taught son) to his present Christian beat; betakes himself to the gatehouse, on his way home to his early tea. 'Sorry to hear from Tope that you have not been well, Jasper.' 'O, it was nothing, nothing!' 'You look a little worn.' 'Do I? O, I don't think so. What is better, I don't feel so. Tope has made too much of it, I suspect. It's his trade to make the most of everything appertaining to the Cathedral, you know.' 'I may tell the Dean--I call expressly from the Dean--that you are all right again?' The reply, with a slight smile, is: 'Certainly; with my respects and thanks to the Dean.' 'I'm glad to hear that you expect young Drood.' 'I expect the dear fellow every moment.' 'Ah! He will do you more good than a doctor, Jasper.' 'More good than a dozen doctors. For I love him dearly, and I don't love doctors, or doctors' stuff.' Mr. Jasper is a dark man of some six-and-twenty, with thick, lustrous, well-arranged black hair and whiskers. He looks older than he is, as dark men often do. His voice is deep and good, his face and figure are good, his manner is a little sombre. His room is a little sombre, and may have had its influence in forming his manner. It is mostly in shadow. Even when the sun shines brilliantly, it seldom touches the grand piano in the recess, or the folio music-books on the stand, or the book-shelves on the wall, or the unfinished picture of a blooming schoolgirl hanging over the chimneypiece; her flowing brown hair tied with a blue riband, and her beauty remarkable for a quite childish, almost babyish, touch of saucy discontent, comically conscious of itself. (There is not the least artistic merit in this picture, which is a mere daub; but it is clear that the painter has made it humorously- -one might almost say, revengefully--like the original.) 'We shall miss you, Jasper, at the "Alternate Musical Wednesdays" to-night; but no doubt you are best at home. Good-night. God bless you! "Tell me, shep-herds, te-e-ell me; tell me-e-e, have you seen (have you seen, have you seen, have you seen) my-y-y Flo- o-ora-a pass this way!"' Melodiously good Minor Canon the Reverend Septimus Crisparkle thus delivers himself, in musical rhythm, as he withdraws his amiable face from the doorway and conveys it down- stairs. Sounds of recognition and greeting pass between the Reverend Septimus and somebody else, at the stair-foot. Mr. Jasper listens, starts from his chair, and catches a young fellow in his arms, exclaiming: 'My dear Edwin!' 'My dear Jack! So glad to see you!' 'Get off your greatcoat, bright boy, and sit down here in your own corner. Your feet are not wet? Pull your boots off. Do pull your boots off.' 'My dear Jack, I am as dry as a bone. Don't moddley-coddley, there's a good fellow. I like anything better than being moddley- coddleyed.' With the check upon him of being unsympathetically restrained in a genial outburst of enthusiasm, Mr. Jasper stands still, and looks on intently at the young fellow, divesting himself of his outward coat, hat, gloves, and so forth. Once for all, a look of intentness and intensity--a look of hungry, exacting, watchful, and yet devoted affection--is always, now and ever afterwards, on the Jasper face whenever the Jasper face is addressed in this direction. And whenever it is so addressed, it is never, on this occasion or on any other, dividedly addressed; it is always concentrated. 'Now I am right, and now I'll take my corner, Jack. Any dinner, Jack?' Mr. Jasper opens a door at the upper end of the room, and discloses a small inner room pleasantly lighted and prepared, wherein a comely dame is in the act of setting dishes on table. 'What a jolly old Jack it is!' cries the young fellow, with a clap of his hands. 'Look here, Jack; tell me; whose birthday is it?' 'Not yours, I know,' Mr. Jasper answers, pausing to consider. 'Not mine, you know? No; not mine, _I_ know! Pussy's!' Fixed as the look the young fellow meets, is, there is yet in it some strange power of suddenly including the sketch over the chimneypiece. 'Pussy's, Jack! We must drink Many happy returns to her. Come, uncle; take your dutiful and sharp-set nephew in to dinner.' As the boy (for he is little more) lays a hand on Jasper's shoulder, Jasper cordially and gaily lays a hand on HIS shoulder, and so Marseillaise-wise they go in to dinner. 'And, Lord! here's Mrs. Tope!' cries the boy. 'Lovelier than ever!' 'Never you mind me, Master Edwin,' retorts the Verger's wife; 'I can take care of myself.' 'You can't. You're much too handsome. Give me a kiss because it's Pussy's birthday.' 'I'd Pussy you, young man, if I was Pussy, as you call her,' Mrs. Tope blushingly retorts, after being saluted. 'Your uncle's too much wrapt up in you, that's where it is. He makes so much of you, that it's my opinion you think you've only to call your Pussys by the dozen, to make 'em come.' 'You forget, Mrs. Tope,' Mr. Jasper interposes, taking his place at the table with a genial smile, 'and so do you, Ned, that Uncle and Nephew are words prohibited here by common consent and express agreement. For what we are going to receive His holy name be praised!' 'Done like the Dean! Witness, Edwin Drood! Please to carve, Jack, for I can't.' This sally ushers in the dinner. Little to the present purpose, or to any purpose, is said, while it is in course of being disposed of. At length the cloth is drawn, and a dish of walnuts and a decanter of rich-coloured sherry are placed upon the table. 'I say! Tell me, Jack,' the young fellow then flows on: 'do you really and truly feel as if the mention of our relationship divided us at all? _I_ don't.' 'Uncles as a rule, Ned, are so much older than their nephews,' is the reply, 'that I have that feeling instinctively.' 'As a rule! Ah, may-be! But what is a difference in age of half- a-dozen years or so? And some uncles, in large families, are even younger than their nephews. By George, I wish it was the case with us!' 'Why?' 'Because if it was, I'd take the lead with you, Jack, and be as wise as Begone, dull Care! that turned a young man gray, and Begone, dull Care! that turned an old man to clay.--Halloa, Jack! Don't drink.' 'Why not?' 'Asks why not, on Pussy's birthday, and no Happy returns proposed! Pussy, Jack, and many of 'em! Happy returns, I mean.' Laying an affectionate and laughing touch on the boy's extended hand, as if it were at once his giddy head and his light heart, Mr. Jasper drinks the toast in silence. 'Hip, hip, hip, and nine times nine, and one to finish with, and all that, understood. Hooray, hooray, hooray!--And now, Jack, let's have a little talk about Pussy. Two pairs of nut-crackers? Pass me one, and take the other.' Crack. 'How's Pussy getting on Jack?' 'With her music? Fairly.' 'What a dreadfully conscientious fellow you are, Jack! But _I_ know, Lord bless you! Inattentive, isn't she?' 'She can learn anything, if she will.' 'IF she will! Egad, that's it. But if she won't?' Crack!--on Mr. Jasper's part. 'How's she looking, Jack?' Mr. Jasper's concentrated face again includes the portrait as he returns: 'Very like your sketch indeed.' 'I AM a little proud of it,' says the young fellow, glancing up at the sketch with complacency, and then shutting one eye, and taking a corrected prospect of it over a level bridge of nut-crackers in the air: 'Not badly hit off from memory. But I ought to have caught that expression pretty well, for I have seen it often enough.' Crack!--on Edwin Drood's part. Crack!--on Mr. Jasper's part. 'In point of fact,' the former resumes, after some silent dipping among his fragments of walnut with an air of pique, 'I see it whenever I go to see Pussy. If I don't find it on her face, I leave it there.--You know I do, Miss Scornful Pert. Booh!' With a twirl of the nut-crackers at the portrait. Crack! crack! crack. Slowly, on Mr. Jasper's part. Crack. Sharply on the part of Edwin Drood. Silence on both sides. 'Have you lost your tongue, Jack?' 'Have you found yours, Ned?' 'No, but really;--isn't it, you know, after all--' Mr. Jasper lifts his dark eyebrows inquiringly. 'Isn't it unsatisfactory to be cut off from choice in such a matter? There, Jack! I tell you! If I could choose, I would choose Pussy from all the pretty girls in the world.' 'But you have not got to choose.' 'That's what I complain of. My dead and gone father and Pussy's dead and gone father must needs marry us together by anticipation. Why the--Devil, I was going to say, if it had been respectful to their memory--couldn't they leave us alone?' 'Tut, tut, dear boy,' Mr. Jasper remonstrates, in a tone of gentle deprecation. 'Tut, tut? Yes, Jack, it's all very well for YOU. YOU can take it easily. YOUR life is not laid down to scale, and lined and dotted out for you, like a surveyor's plan. YOU have no uncomfortable suspicion that you are forced upon anybody, nor has anybody an uncomfortable suspicion that she is forced upon you, or that you are forced upon her. YOU can choose for yourself. Life, for YOU, is a plum with the natural bloom on; it hasn't been over-carefully wiped off for YOU--' 'Don't stop, dear fellow. Go on.' 'Can I anyhow have hurt your feelings, Jack?' 'How can you have hurt my feelings?' 'Good Heaven, Jack, you look frightfully ill! There's a strange film come over your eyes.' Mr. Jasper, with a forced smile, stretches out his right hand, as if at once to disarm apprehension and gain time to get better. After a while he says faintly: 'I have been taking opium for a pain--an agony--that sometimes overcomes me. The effects of the medicine steal over me like a blight or a cloud, and pass. You see them in the act of passing; they will be gone directly. Look away from me. They will go all the sooner.' With a scared face the younger man complies by casting his eyes downward at the ashes on the hearth. Not relaxing his own gaze on the fire, but rather strengthening it with a fierce, firm grip upon his elbow-chair, the elder sits for a few moments rigid, and then, with thick drops standing on his forehead, and a sharp catch of his breath, becomes as he was before. On his so subsiding in his chair, his nephew gently and assiduously tends him while he quite recovers. When Jasper is restored, he lays a tender hand upon his nephew's shoulder, and, in a tone of voice less troubled than the purport of his words--indeed with something of raillery or banter in it--thus addresses him: 'There is said to be a hidden skeleton in every house; but you thought there was none in mine, dear Ned.' 'Upon my life, Jack, I did think so. However, when I come to consider that even in Pussy's house--if she had one--and in mine-- if I had one--' 'You were going to say (but that I interrupted you in spite of myself) what a quiet life mine is. No whirl and uproar around me, no distracting commerce or calculation, no risk, no change of place, myself devoted to the art I pursue, my business my pleasure.' 'I really was going to say something of the kind, Jack; but you see, you, speaking of yourself, almost necessarily leave out much that I should have put in. For instance: I should have put in the foreground your being so much respected as Lay Precentor, or Lay Clerk, or whatever you call it, of this Cathedral; your enjoying the reputation of having done such wonders with the choir; your choosing your society, and holding such an independent position in this queer old place; your gift of teaching (why, even Pussy, who don't like being taught, says there never was such a Master as you are!), and your connexion.' 'Yes; I saw what you were tending to. I hate it.' 'Hate it, Jack?' (Much bewildered.) 'I hate it. The cramped monotony of my existence grinds me away by the grain. How does our service sound to you?' 'Beautiful! Quite celestial!' 'It often sounds to me quite devilish. I am so weary of it. The echoes of my own voice among the arches seem to mock me with my daily drudging round. No wretched monk who droned his life away in that gloomy place, before me, can have been more tired of it than I am. He could take for relief (and did take) to carving demons out of the stalls and seats and desks. What shall I do? Must I take to carving them out of my heart?' 'I thought you had so exactly found your niche in life, Jack,' Edwin Drood returns, astonished, bending forward in his chair to lay a sympathetic hand on Jasper's knee, and looking at him with an anxious face. 'I know you thought so. They all think so.' 'Well, I suppose they do,' says Edwin, meditating aloud. 'Pussy thinks so.' 'When did she tell you that?' 'The last time I was here. You remember when. Three months ago.' 'How did she phrase it?' 'O, she only said that she had become your pupil, and that you were made for your vocation.' The younger man glances at the portrait. The elder sees it in him. 'Anyhow, my dear Ned,' Jasper resumes, as he shakes his head with a grave cheerfulness, 'I must subdue myself to my vocation: which is much the same thing outwardly. It's too late to find another now. This is a confidence between us.' 'It shall be sacredly preserved, Jack.' 'I have reposed it in you, because--' 'I feel it, I assure you. Because we are fast friends, and because you love and trust me, as I love and trust you. Both hands, Jack.' As each stands looking into the other's eyes, and as the uncle holds the nephew's hands, the uncle thus proceeds: 'You know now, don't you, that even a poor monotonous chorister and grinder of music--in his niche--may be troubled with some stray sort of ambition, aspiration, restlessness, dissatisfaction, what shall we call it?' 'Yes, dear Jack.' 'And you will remember?' 'My dear Jack, I only ask you, am I likely to forget what you have said with so much feeling?' 'Take it as a warning, then.' In the act of having his hands released, and of moving a step back, Edwin pauses for an instant to consider the application of these last words. The instant over, he says, sensibly touched: 'I am afraid I am but a shallow, surface kind of fellow, Jack, and that my headpiece is none of the best. But I needn't say I am young; and perhaps I shall not grow worse as I grow older. At all events, I hope I have something impressible within me, which feels- -deeply feels--the disinterestedness of your painfully laying your inner self bare, as a warning to me.' Mr. Jasper's steadiness of face and figure becomes so marvellous that his breathing seems to have stopped. 'I couldn't fail to notice, Jack, that it cost you a great effort, and that you were very much moved, and very unlike your usual self. Of course I knew that you were extremely fond of me, but I really was not prepared for your, as I may say, sacrificing yourself to me in that way.' Mr. Jasper, becoming a breathing man again without the smallest stage of transition between the two extreme states, lifts his shoulders, laughs, and waves his right arm. 'No; don't put the sentiment away, Jack; please don't; for I am very much in earnest. I have no doubt that that unhealthy state of mind which you have so powerfully described is attended with some real suffering, and is hard to bear. But let me reassure you, Jack, as to the chances of its overcoming me. I don't think I am in the way of it. In some few months less than another year, you know, I shall carry Pussy off from school as Mrs. Edwin Drood. I shall then go engineering into the East, and Pussy with me. And although we have our little tiffs now, arising out of a certain unavoidable flatness that attends our love-making, owing to its end being all settled beforehand, still I have no doubt of our getting on capitally then, when it's done and can't be helped. In short, Jack, to go back to the old song I was freely quoting at dinner (and who knows old songs better than you?), my wife shall dance, and I will sing, so merrily pass the day. Of Pussy's being beautiful there cannot be a doubt;--and when you are good besides, Little Miss Impudence,' once more apostrophising the portrait, 'I'll burn your comic likeness, and paint your music-master another.' Mr. Jasper, with his hand to his chin, and with an expression of musing benevolence on his face, has attentively watched every animated look and gesture attending the delivery of these words. He remains in that attitude after they, are spoken, as if in a kind of fascination attendant on his strong interest in the youthful spirit that he loves so well. Then he says with a quiet smile: 'You won't be warned, then?' 'No, Jack.' 'You can't be warned, then?' 'No, Jack, not by you. Besides that I don't really consider myself in danger, I don't like your putting yourself in that position.' 'Shall we go and walk in the churchyard?' 'By all means. You won't mind my slipping out of it for half a moment to the Nuns' House, and leaving a parcel there? Only gloves for Pussy; as many pairs of gloves as she is years old to-day. Rather poetical, Jack?' Mr. Jasper, still in the same attitude, murmurs: '"Nothing half so sweet in life," Ned!' 'Here's the parcel in my greatcoat-pocket. They must be presented to-night, or the poetry is gone. It's against regulations for me to call at night, but not to leave a packet. I am ready, Jack!' Mr. Jasper dissolves his attitude, and they go out together. CHAPTER III--THE NUNS' HOUSE For sufficient reasons, which this narrative will itself unfold as it advances, a fictitious name must be bestowed upon the old Cathedral town. Let it stand in these pages as Cloisterham. It was once possibly known to the Druids by another name, and certainly to the Romans by another, and to the Saxons by another, and to the Normans by another; and a name more or less in the course of many centuries can be of little moment to its dusty chronicles. An ancient city, Cloisterham, and no meet dwelling-place for any one with hankerings after the noisy world. A monotonous, silent city, deriving an earthy flavour throughout from its Cathedral crypt, and so abounding in vestiges of monastic graves, that the Cloisterham children grow small salad in the dust of abbots and abbesses, and make dirt-pies of nuns and friars; while every ploughman in its outlying fields renders to once puissant Lord Treasurers, Archbishops, Bishops, and such-like, the attention which the Ogre in the story-book desired to render to his unbidden visitor, and grinds their bones to make his bread. A drowsy city, Cloisterham, whose inhabitants seem to suppose, with an inconsistency more strange than rare, that all its changes lie behind it, and that there are no more to come. A queer moral to derive from antiquity, yet older than any traceable antiquity. So silent are the streets of Cloisterham (though prone to echo on the smallest provocation), that of a summer-day the sunblinds of its shops scarce dare to flap in the south wind; while the sun-browned tramps, who pass along and stare, quicken their limp a little, that they may the sooner get beyond the confines of its oppressive respectability. This is a feat not difficult of achievement, seeing that the streets of Cloisterham city are little more than one narrow street by which you get into it and get out of it: the rest being mostly disappointing yards with pumps in them and no thoroughfare--exception made of the Cathedral-close, and a paved Quaker settlement, in colour and general confirmation very like a Quakeress's bonnet, up in a shady corner. In a word, a city of another and a bygone time is Cloisterham, with its hoarse Cathedral-bell, its hoarse rooks hovering about the Cathedral tower, its hoarser and less distinct rooks in the stalls far beneath. Fragments of old wall, saint's chapel, chapter-house, convent and monastery, have got incongruously or obstructively built into many of its houses and gardens, much as kindred jumbled notions have become incorporated into many of its citizens' minds. All things in it are of the past. Even its single pawnbroker takes in no pledges, nor has he for a long time, but offers vainly an unredeemed stock for sale, of which the costlier articles are dim and pale old watches apparently in a slow perspiration, tarnished sugar-tongs with ineffectual legs, and odd volumes of dismal books. The most abundant and the most agreeable evidences of progressing life in Cloisterham are the evidences of vegetable life in many gardens; even its drooping and despondent little theatre has its poor strip of garden, receiving the foul fiend, when he ducks from its stage into the infernal regions, among scarlet-beans or oyster- shells, according to the season of the year. In the midst of Cloisterham stands the Nuns' House: a venerable brick edifice, whose present appellation is doubtless derived from the legend of its conventual uses. On the trim gate enclosing its old courtyard is a resplendent brass plate flashing forth the legend: 'Seminary for Young Ladies. Miss Twinkleton.' The house- front is so old and worn, and the brass plate is so shining and staring, that the general result has reminded imaginative strangers of a battered old beau with a large modern eye-glass stuck in his blind eye. Whether the nuns of yore, being of a submissive rather than a stiff-necked generation, habitually bent their contemplative heads to avoid collision with the beams in the low ceilings of the many chambers of their House; whether they sat in its long low windows telling their beads for their mortification, instead of making necklaces of them for their adornment; whether they were ever walled up alive in odd angles and jutting gables of the building for having some ineradicable leaven of busy mother Nature in them which has kept the fermenting world alive ever since; these may be matters of interest to its haunting ghosts (if any), but constitute no item in Miss Twinkleton's half-yearly accounts. They are neither of Miss Twinkleton's inclusive regulars, nor of her extras. The lady who undertakes the poetical department of the establishment at so much (or so little) a quarter has no pieces in her list of recitals bearing on such unprofitable questions. As, in some cases of drunkenness, and in others of animal magnetism, there are two states of consciousness which never clash, but each of which pursues its separate course as though it were continuous instead of broken (thus, if I hide my watch when I am drunk, I must be drunk again before I can remember where), so Miss Twinkleton has two distinct and separate phases of being. Every night, the moment the young ladies have retired to rest, does Miss Twinkleton smarten up her curls a little, brighten up her eyes a little, and become a sprightlier Miss Twinkleton than the young ladies have ever seen. Every night, at the same hour, does Miss Twinkleton resume the topics of the previous night, comprehending the tenderer scandal of Cloisterham, of which she has no knowledge whatever by day, and references to a certain season at Tunbridge Wells (airily called by Miss Twinkleton in this state of her existence 'The Wells'), notably the season wherein a certain finished gentleman (compassionately called by Miss Twinkleton, in this stage of her existence, 'Foolish Mr. Porters') revealed a homage of the heart, whereof Miss Twinkleton, in her scholastic state of existence, is as ignorant as a granite pillar. Miss Twinkleton's companion in both states of existence, and equally adaptable to either, is one Mrs. Tisher: a deferential widow with a weak back, a chronic sigh, and a suppressed voice, who looks after the young ladies' wardrobes, and leads them to infer that she has seen better days. Perhaps this is the reason why it is an article of faith with the servants, handed down from race to race, that the departed Tisher was a hairdresser. The pet pupil of the Nuns' House is Miss Rosa Bud, of course called Rosebud; wonderfully pretty, wonderfully childish, wonderfully whimsical. An awkward interest (awkward because romantic) attaches to Miss Bud in the minds of the young ladies, on account of its being known to them that a husband has been chosen for her by will and bequest, and that her guardian is bound down to bestow her on that husband when he comes of age. Miss Twinkleton, in her seminarial state of existence, has combated the romantic aspect of this destiny by affecting to shake her head over it behind Miss Bud's dimpled shoulders, and to brood on the unhappy lot of that doomed little victim. But with no better effect--possibly some unfelt touch of foolish Mr. Porters has undermined the endeavour-- than to evoke from the young ladies an unanimous bedchamber cry of 'O, what a pretending old thing Miss Twinkleton is, my dear!' The Nuns' House is never in such a state of flutter as when this allotted husband calls to see little Rosebud. (It is unanimously understood by the young ladies that he is lawfully entitled to this privilege, and that if Miss Twinkleton disputed it, she would be instantly taken up and transported.) When his ring at the gate- bell is expected, or takes place, every young lady who can, under any pretence, look out of window, looks out of window; while every young lady who is 'practising,' practises out of time; and the French class becomes so demoralised that the mark goes round as briskly as the bottle at a convivial party in the last century. On the afternoon of the day next after the dinner of two at the gatehouse, the bell is rung with the usual fluttering results. 'Mr. Edwin Drood to see Miss Rosa.' This is the announcement of the parlour-maid in chief. Miss Twinkleton, with an exemplary air of melancholy on her, turns to the sacrifice, and says, 'You may go down, my dear.' Miss Bud goes down, followed by all eyes. Mr. Edwin Drood is waiting in Miss Twinkleton's own parlour: a dainty room, with nothing more directly scholastic in it than a terrestrial and a celestial globe. These expressive machines imply (to parents and guardians) that even when Miss Twinkleton retires into the bosom of privacy, duty may at any moment compel her to become a sort of Wandering Jewess, scouring the earth and soaring through the skies in search of knowledge for her pupils. The last new maid, who has never seen the young gentleman Miss Rosa is engaged to, and who is making his acquaintance between the hinges of the open door, left open for the purpose, stumbles guiltily down the kitchen stairs, as a charming little apparition, with its face concealed by a little silk apron thrown over its head, glides into the parlour. 'O! IT IS so ridiculous!' says the apparition, stopping and shrinking. 'Don't, Eddy!' 'Don't what, Rosa?' 'Don't come any nearer, please. It IS so absurd.' 'What is absurd, Rosa?' 'The whole thing is. It IS so absurd to be an engaged orphan and it IS so absurd to have the girls and the servants scuttling about after one, like mice in the wainscot; and it IS so absurd to be called upon!' The apparition appears to have a thumb in the corner of its mouth while making this complaint. 'You give me an affectionate reception, Pussy, I must say.' 'Well, I will in a minute, Eddy, but I can't just yet. How are you?' (very shortly.) 'I am unable to reply that I am much the better for seeing you, Pussy, inasmuch as I see nothing of you.' This second remonstrance brings a dark, bright, pouting eye out from a corner of the apron; but it swiftly becomes invisible again, as the apparition exclaims: 'O good gracious! you have had half your hair cut off!' 'I should have done better to have had my head cut off, I think,' says Edwin, rumpling the hair in question, with a fierce glance at the looking-glass, and giving an impatient stamp. 'Shall I go?' 'No; you needn't go just yet, Eddy. The girls would all be asking questions why you went.' 'Once for all, Rosa, will you uncover that ridiculous little head of yours and give me a welcome?' The apron is pulled off the childish head, as its wearer replies: 'You're very welcome, Eddy. There! I'm sure that's nice. Shake hands. No, I can't kiss you, because I've got an acidulated drop in my mouth.' 'Are you at all glad to see me, Pussy?' 'O, yes, I'm dreadfully glad.--Go and sit down.--Miss Twinkleton.' It is the custom of that excellent lady when these visits occur, to appear every three minutes, either in her own person or in that of Mrs. Tisher, and lay an offering on the shrine of Propriety by affecting to look for some desiderated article. On the present occasion Miss Twinkleton, gracefully gliding in and out, says in passing: 'How do you do, Mr. Drood? Very glad indeed to have the pleasure. Pray excuse me. Tweezers. Thank you!' 'I got the gloves last evening, Eddy, and I like them very much. They are beauties.' 'Well, that's something,' the affianced replies, half grumbling. 'The smallest encouragement thankfully received. And how did you pass your birthday, Pussy?' 'Delightfully! Everybody gave me a present. And we had a feast. And we had a ball at night.' 'A feast and a ball, eh? These occasions seem to go off tolerably well without me, Pussy.' 'De-lightfully!' cries Rosa, in a quite spontaneous manner, and without the least pretence of reserve. 'Hah! And what was the feast?' 'Tarts, oranges, jellies, and shrimps.' 'Any partners at the ball?' 'We danced with one another, of course, sir. But some of the girls made game to be their brothers. It WAS so droll!' 'Did anybody make game to be--' 'To be you? O dear yes!' cries Rosa, laughing with great enjoyment. 'That was the first thing done.' 'I hope she did it pretty well,' says Edwin rather doubtfully. 'O, it was excellent!--I wouldn't dance with you, you know.' Edwin scarcely seems to see the force of this; begs to know if he may take the liberty to ask why? 'Because I was so tired of you,' returns Rosa. But she quickly adds, and pleadingly too, seeing displeasure in his face: 'Dear Eddy, you were just as tired of me, you know.' 'Did I say so, Rosa?' 'Say so! Do you ever say so? No, you only showed it. O, she did it so well!' cries Rosa, in a sudden ecstasy with her counterfeit betrothed. 'It strikes me that she must be a devilish impudent girl,' says Edwin Drood. 'And so, Pussy, you have passed your last birthday in this old house.' 'Ah, yes!' Rosa clasps her hands, looks down with a sigh, and shakes her head. 'You seem to be sorry, Rosa.' 'I am sorry for the poor old place. Somehow, I feel as if it would miss me, when I am gone so far away, so young.' 'Perhaps we had better stop short, Rosa?' She looks up at him with a swift bright look; next moment shakes her head, sighs, and looks down again. 'That is to say, is it, Pussy, that we are both resigned?' She nods her head again, and after a short silence, quaintly bursts out with: 'You know we must be married, and married from here, Eddy, or the poor girls will be so dreadfully disappointed!' For the moment there is more of compassion, both for her and for himself, in her affianced husband's face, than there is of love. He checks the look, and asks: 'Shall I take you out for a walk, Rosa dear?' Rosa dear does not seem at all clear on this point, until her face, which has been comically reflective, brightens. 'O, yes, Eddy; let us go for a walk! And I tell you what we'll do. You shall pretend that you are engaged to somebody else, and I'll pretend that I am not engaged to anybody, and then we shan't quarrel.' 'Do you think that will prevent our falling out, Rosa?' 'I know it will. Hush! Pretend to look out of window--Mrs. Tisher!' Through a fortuitous concourse of accidents, the matronly Tisher heaves in sight, says, in rustling through the room like the legendary ghost of a dowager in silken skirts: 'I hope I see Mr. Drood well; though I needn't ask, if I may judge from his complexion. I trust I disturb no one; but there WAS a paper-knife- -O, thank you, I am sure!' and disappears with her prize. 'One other thing you must do, Eddy, to oblige me,' says Rosebud. 'The moment we get into the street, you must put me outside, and keep close to the house yourself--squeeze and graze yourself against it.' 'By all means, Rosa, if you wish it. Might I ask why?' 'O! because I don't want the girls to see you.' 'It's a fine day; but would you like me to carry an umbrella up?' 'Don't be foolish, sir. You haven't got polished leather boots on,' pouting, with one shoulder raised. 'Perhaps that might escape the notice of the girls, even if they did see me,' remarks Edwin, looking down at his boots with a sudden distaste for them. 'Nothing escapes their notice, sir. And then I know what would happen. Some of them would begin reflecting on me by saying (for THEY are free) that they never will on any account engage themselves to lovers without polished leather boots. Hark! Miss Twinkleton. I'll ask for leave.' That discreet lady being indeed heard without, inquiring of nobody in a blandly conversational tone as she advances: 'Eh? Indeed! Are you quite sure you saw my mother-of-pearl button-holder on the work-table in my room?' is at once solicited for walking leave, and graciously accords it. And soon the young couple go out of the Nuns' House, taking all precautions against the discovery of the so vitally defective boots of Mr. Edwin Drood: precautions, let us hope, effective for the peace of Mrs. Edwin Drood that is to be. 'Which way shall we take, Rosa?' Rosa replies: 'I want to go to the Lumps-of-Delight shop.' 'To the--?' 'A Turkish sweetmeat, sir. My gracious me, don't you understand anything? Call yourself an Engineer, and not know THAT?' 'Why, how should I know it, Rosa?' 'Because I am very fond of them. But O! I forgot what we are to pretend. No, you needn't know anything about them; never mind.' So he is gloomily borne off to the Lumps-of-Delight shop, where Rosa makes her purchase, and, after offering some to him (which he rather indignantly declines), begins to partake of it with great zest: previously taking off and rolling up a pair of little pink gloves, like rose-leaves, and occasionally putting her little pink fingers to her rosy lips, to cleanse them from the Dust of Delight that comes off the Lumps. 'Now, be a good-tempered Eddy, and pretend. And so you are engaged?' 'And so I am engaged.' 'Is she nice?' 'Charming.' 'Tall?' 'Immensely tall!' Rosa being short. 'Must be gawky, I should think,' is Rosa's quiet commentary. 'I beg your pardon; not at all,' contradiction rising in him. 'What is termed a fine woman; a splendid woman.' 'Big nose, no doubt,' is the quiet commentary again. 'Not a little one, certainly,' is the quick reply, (Rosa's being a little one.) 'Long pale nose, with a red knob in the middle. I know the sort of nose,' says Rosa, with a satisfied nod, and tranquilly enjoying the Lumps. 'You DON'T know the sort of nose, Rosa,' with some warmth; 'because it's nothing of the kind.' 'Not a pale nose, Eddy?' 'No.' Determined not to assent. 'A red nose? O! I don't like red noses. However; to be sure she can always powder it.' 'She would scorn to powder it,' says Edwin, becoming heated. 'Would she? What a stupid thing she must be! Is she stupid in everything?' 'No; in nothing.' After a pause, in which the whimsically wicked face has not been unobservant of him, Rosa says: 'And this most sensible of creatures likes the idea of being carried off to Egypt; does she, Eddy?' 'Yes. She takes a sensible interest in triumphs of engineering skill: especially when they are to change the whole condition of an undeveloped country.' 'Lor!' says Rosa, shrugging her shoulders, with a little laugh of wonder. 'Do you object,' Edwin inquires, with a majestic turn of his eyes downward upon the fairy figure: 'do you object, Rosa, to her feeling that interest?' 'Object? my dear Eddy! But really, doesn't she hate boilers and things?' 'I can answer for her not being so idiotic as to hate Boilers,' he returns with angry emphasis; 'though I cannot answer for her views about Things; really not understanding what Things are meant.' 'But don't she hate Arabs, and Turks, and Fellahs, and people?' 'Certainly not.' Very firmly. 'At least she MUST hate the Pyramids? Come, Eddy?' 'Why should she be such a little--tall, I mean--goose, as to hate the Pyramids, Rosa?' 'Ah! you should hear Miss Twinkleton,' often nodding her head, and much enjoying the Lumps, 'bore about them, and then you wouldn't ask. Tiresome old burying-grounds! Isises, and Ibises, and Cheopses, and Pharaohses; who cares about them? And then there was Belzoni, or somebody, dragged out by the legs, half-choked with bats and dust. All the girls say: Serve him right, and hope it hurt him, and wish he had been quite choked.' The two youthful figures, side by side, but not now arm-in-arm, wander discontentedly about the old Close; and each sometimes stops and slowly imprints a deeper footstep in the fallen leaves. 'Well!' says Edwin, after a lengthy silence. 'According to custom. We can't get on, Rosa.' Rosa tosses her head, and says she don't want to get on. 'That's a pretty sentiment, Rosa, considering.' 'Considering what?' 'If I say what, you'll go wrong again.' 'YOU'LL go wrong, you mean, Eddy. Don't be ungenerous.' 'Ungenerous! I like that!' 'Then I DON'T like that, and so I tell you plainly,' Rosa pouts. 'Now, Rosa, I put it to you. Who disparaged my profession, my destination--' 'You are not going to be buried in the Pyramids, I hope?' she interrupts, arching her delicate eyebrows. 'You never said you were. If you are, why haven't you mentioned it to me? I can't find out your plans by instinct.' 'Now, Rosa, you know very well what I mean, my dear.' 'Well then, why did you begin with your detestable red-nosed giantesses? And she would, she would, she would, she would, she WOULD powder it!' cries Rosa, in a little burst of comical contradictory spleen. 'Somehow or other, I never can come right in these discussions,' says Edwin, sighing and becoming resigned. 'How is it possible, sir, that you ever can come right when you're always wrong? And as to Belzoni, I suppose he's dead;--I'm sure I hope he is--and how can his legs or his chokes concern you?' 'It is nearly time for your return, Rosa. We have not had a very happy walk, have we?' 'A happy walk? A detestably unhappy walk, sir. If I go up-stairs the moment I get in and cry till I can't take my dancing lesson, you are responsible, mind!' 'Let us be friends, Rosa.' 'Ah!' cries Rosa, shaking her head and bursting into real tears, 'I wish we COULD be friends! It's because we can't be friends, that we try one another so. I am a young little thing, Eddy, to have an old heartache; but I really, really have, sometimes. Don't be angry. I know you have one yourself too often. We should both of us have done better, if What is to be had been left What might have been. I am quite a little serious thing now, and not teasing you. Let each of us forbear, this one time, on our own account, and on the other's!' Disarmed by this glimpse of a woman's nature in the spoilt child, though for an instant disposed to resent it as seeming to involve the enforced infliction of himself upon her, Edwin Drood stands watching her as she childishly cries and sobs, with both hands to the handkerchief at her eyes, and then--she becoming more composed, and indeed beginning in her young inconstancy to laugh at herself for having been so moved--leads her to a seat hard by, under the elm-trees. 'One clear word of understanding, Pussy dear. I am not clever out of my own line--now I come to think of it, I don't know that I am particularly clever in it--but I want to do right. There is not-- there may be--I really don't see my way to what I want to say, but I must say it before we part--there is not any other young--' 'O no, Eddy! It's generous of you to ask me; but no, no, no!' They have come very near to the Cathedral windows, and at this moment the organ and the choir sound out sublimely. As they sit listening to the solemn swell, the confidence of last night rises in young Edwin Drood's mind, and he thinks how unlike this music is to that discordance. 'I fancy I can distinguish Jack's voice,' is his remark in a low tone in connection with the train of thought. 'Take me back at once, please,' urges his Affianced, quickly laying her light hand upon his wrist. 'They will all be coming out directly; let us get away. O, what a resounding chord! But don't let us stop to listen to it; let us get away!' Her hurry is over as soon as they have passed out of the Close. They go arm-in-arm now, gravely and deliberately enough, along the old High-street, to the Nuns' House. At the gate, the street being within sight empty, Edwin bends down his face to Rosebud's. She remonstrates, laughing, and is a childish schoolgirl again. 'Eddy, no! I'm too sticky to be kissed. But give me your hand, and I'll blow a kiss into that.' He does so. She breathes a light breath into it and asks, retaining it and looking into it:- 'Now say, what do you see?' 'See, Rosa?' 'Why, I thought you Egyptian boys could look into a hand and see all sorts of phantoms. Can't you see a happy Future?' For certain, neither of them sees a happy Present, as the gate opens and closes, and one goes in, and the other goes away. CHAPTER IV--MR. SAPSEA Accepting the Jackass as the type of self-sufficient stupidity and conceit--a custom, perhaps, like some few other customs, more conventional than fair--then the purest jackass in Cloisterham is Mr. Thomas Sapsea, Auctioneer. Mr. Sapsea 'dresses at' the Dean; has been bowed to for the Dean, in mistake; has even been spoken to in the street as My Lord, under the impression that he was the Bishop come down unexpectedly, without his chaplain. Mr. Sapsea is very proud of this, and of his voice, and of his style. He has even (in selling landed property) tried the experiment of slightly intoning in his pulpit, to make himself more like what he takes to be the genuine ecclesiastical article. So, in ending a Sale by Public Auction, Mr. Sapsea finishes off with an air of bestowing a benediction on the assembled brokers, which leaves the real Dean--a modest and worthy gentleman--far behind. Mr. Sapsea has many admirers; indeed, the proposition is carried by a large local majority, even including non-believers in his wisdom, that he is a credit to Cloisterham. He possesses the great qualities of being portentous and dull, and of having a roll in his speech, and another roll in his gait; not to mention a certain gravely flowing action with his hands, as if he were presently going to Confirm the individual with whom he holds discourse. Much nearer sixty years of age than fifty, with a flowing outline of stomach, and horizontal creases in his waistcoat; reputed to be rich; voting at elections in the strictly respectable interest; morally satisfied that nothing but he himself has grown since he was a baby; how can dunder-headed Mr. Sapsea be otherwise than a credit to Cloisterham, and society? Mr. Sapsea's premises are in the High-street, over against the Nuns' House. They are of about the period of the Nuns' House, irregularly modernised here and there, as steadily deteriorating generations found, more and more, that they preferred air and light to Fever and the Plague. Over the doorway is a wooden effigy, about half life-size, representing Mr. Sapsea's father, in a curly wig and toga, in the act of selling. The chastity of the idea, and the natural appearance of the little finger, hammer, and pulpit, have been much admired. Mr. Sapsea sits in his dull ground-floor sitting-room, giving first on his paved back yard; and then on his railed-off garden. Mr. Sapsea has a bottle of port wine on a table before the fire--the fire is an early luxury, but pleasant on the cool, chilly autumn evening--and is characteristically attended by his portrait, his eight-day clock, and his weather-glass. Characteristically, because he would uphold himself against mankind, his weather-glass against weather, and his clock against time. By Mr. Sapsea's side on the table are a writing-desk and writing materials. Glancing at a scrap of manuscript, Mr. Sapsea reads it to himself with a lofty air, and then, slowly pacing the room with his thumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat, repeats it from memory: so internally, though with much dignity, that the word 'Ethelinda' is alone audible. There are three clean wineglasses in a tray on the table. His serving-maid entering, and announcing 'Mr. Jasper is come, sir,' Mr. Sapsea waves 'Admit him,' and draws two wineglasses from the rank, as being claimed. 'Glad to see you, sir. I congratulate myself on having the honour of receiving you here for the first time.' Mr. Sapsea does the honours of his house in this wise. 'You are very good. The honour is mine and the self-congratulation is mine.' 'You are pleased to say so, sir. But I do assure you that it is a satisfaction to me to receive you in my humble home. And that is what I would not say to everybody.' Ineffable loftiness on Mr. Sapsea's part accompanies these words, as leaving the sentence to be understood: 'You will not easily believe that your society can be a satisfaction to a man like myself; nevertheless, it is.' 'I have for some time desired to know you, Mr. Sapsea.' 'And I, sir, have long known you by reputation as a man of taste. Let me fill your glass. I will give you, sir,' says Mr. Sapsea, filling his own: 'When the French come over, May we meet them at Dover!' This was a patriotic toast in Mr. Sapsea's infancy, and he is therefore fully convinced of its being appropriate to any subsequent era. 'You can scarcely be ignorant, Mr. Sapsea,' observes Jasper, watching the auctioneer with a smile as the latter stretches out his legs before the fire, 'that you know the world.' 'Well, sir,' is the chuckling reply, 'I think I know something of it; something of it.' 'Your reputation for that knowledge has always interested and surprised me, and made me wish to know you. For Cloisterham is a little place. Cooped up in it myself, I know nothing beyond it, and feel it to be a very little place.' 'If I have not gone to foreign countries, young man,' Mr. Sapsea begins, and then stops:- 'You will excuse me calling you young man, Mr. Jasper? You are much my junior.' 'By all means.' 'If I have not gone to foreign countries, young man, foreign countries have come to me. They have come to me in the way of business, and I have improved upon my opportunities. Put it that I take an inventory, or make a catalogue. I see a French clock. I never saw him before, in my life, but I instantly lay my finger on him and say "Paris!" I see some cups and saucers of Chinese make, equally strangers to me personally: I put my finger on them, then and there, and I say "Pekin, Nankin, and Canton." It is the same with Japan, with Egypt, and with bamboo and sandalwood from the East Indies; I put my finger on them all. I have put my finger on the North Pole before now, and said "Spear of Esquimaux make, for half a pint of pale sherry!"' 'Really? A very remarkable way, Mr. Sapsea, of acquiring a knowledge of men and things.' 'I mention it, sir,' Mr. Sapsea rejoins, with unspeakable complacency, 'because, as I say, it don't do to boast of what you are; but show how you came to be it, and then you prove it.' 'Most interesting. We were to speak of the late Mrs. Sapsea.' 'We were, sir.' Mr. Sapsea fills both glasses, and takes the decanter into safe keeping again. 'Before I consult your opinion as a man of taste on this little trifle'--holding it up--'which is BUT a trifle, and still has required some thought, sir, some little fever of the brow, I ought perhaps to describe the character of the late Mrs. Sapsea, now dead three quarters of a year.' Mr. Jasper, in the act of yawning behind his wineglass, puts down that screen and calls up a look of interest. It is a little impaired in its expressiveness by his having a shut-up gape still to dispose of, with watering eyes. 'Half a dozen years ago, or so,' Mr. Sapsea proceeds, 'when I had enlarged my mind up to--I will not say to what it now is, for that might seem to aim at too much, but up to the pitch of wanting another mind to be absorbed in it--I cast my eye about me for a nuptial partner. Because, as I say, it is not good for man to be alone.' Mr. Jasper appears to commit this original idea to memory. 'Miss Brobity at that time kept, I will not call it the rival establishment to the establishment at the Nuns' House opposite, but I will call it the other parallel establishment down town. The world did have it that she showed a passion for attending my sales, when they took place on half holidays, or in vacation time. The world did put it about, that she admired my style. The world did notice that as time flowed by, my style became traceable in the dictation-exercises of Miss Brobity's pupils. Young man, a whisper even sprang up in obscure malignity, that one ignorant and besotted Churl (a parent) so committed himself as to object to it by name. But I do not believe this. For is it likely that any human creature in his right senses would so lay himself open to be pointed at, by what I call the finger of scorn?' Mr. Jasper shakes his head. Not in the least likely. Mr. Sapsea, in a grandiloquent state of absence of mind, seems to refill his visitor's glass, which is full already; and does really refill his own, which is empty. 'Miss Brobity's Being, young man, was deeply imbued with homage to Mind. She revered Mind, when launched, or, as I say, precipitated, on an extensive knowledge of the world. When I made my proposal, she did me the honour to be so overshadowed with a species of Awe, as to be able to articulate only the two words, "O Thou!" meaning myself. Her limpid blue eyes were fixed upon me, her semi- transparent hands were clasped together, pallor overspread her aquiline features, and, though encouraged to proceed, she never did proceed a word further. I disposed of the parallel establishment by private contract, and we became as nearly one as could be expected under the circumstances. But she never could, and she never did, find a phrase satisfactory to her perhaps-too-favourable estimate of my intellect. To the very last (feeble action of liver), she addressed me in the same unfinished terms.' Mr. Jasper has closed his eyes as the auctioneer has deepened his voice. He now abruptly opens them, and says, in unison with the deepened voice 'Ah!'--rather as if stopping himself on the extreme verge of adding--'men!' 'I have been since,' says Mr. Sapsea, with his legs stretched out, and solemnly enjoying himself with the wine and the fire, 'what you behold me; I have been since a solitary mourner; I have been since, as I say, wasting my evening conversation on the desert air. I will not say that I have reproached myself; but there have been times when I have asked myself the question: What if her husband had been nearer on a level with her? If she had not had to look up quite so high, what might the stimulating action have been upon the liver?' Mr. Jasper says, with an appearance of having fallen into dreadfully low spirits, that he 'supposes it was to be.' 'We can only suppose so, sir,' Mr. Sapsea coincides. 'As I say, Man proposes, Heaven disposes. It may or may not be putting the same thought in another form; but that is the way I put it.' Mr. Jasper murmurs assent. 'And now, Mr. Jasper,' resumes the auctioneer, producing his scrap of manuscript, 'Mrs. Sapsea's monument having had full time to settle and dry, let me take your opinion, as a man of taste, on the inscription I have (as I before remarked, not without some little fever of the brow) drawn out for it. Take it in your own hand. The setting out of the lines requires to be followed with the eye, as well as the contents with the mind.' Mr. Jasper complying, sees and reads as follows: ETHELINDA, Reverential Wife of MR. THOMAS SAPSEA, AUCTIONEER, VALUER, ESTATE AGENT, &c., OF THIS CITY. Whose Knowledge of the World, Though somewhat extensive, Never brought him acquainted with A SPIRIT More capable of LOOKING UP TO HIM. STRANGER, PAUSE And ask thyself the Question, CANST THOU DO LIKEWISE? If Not, WITH A BLUSH RETIRE. Mr. Sapsea having risen and stationed himself with his back to the fire, for the purpose of observing the effect of these lines on the countenance of a man of taste, consequently has his face towards the door, when his serving-maid, again appearing, announces, 'Durdles is come, sir!' He promptly draws forth and fills the third wineglass, as being now claimed, and replies, 'Show Durdles in.' 'Admirable!' quoth Mr. Jasper, handing back the paper. 'You approve, sir?' 'Impossible not to approve. Striking, characteristic, and complete.' The auctioneer inclines his head, as one accepting his due and giving a receipt; and invites the entering Durdles to take off that glass of wine (handing the same), for it will warm him. Durdles is a stonemason; chiefly in the gravestone, tomb, and monument way, and wholly of their colour from head to foot. No man is better known in Cloisterham. He is the chartered libertine of the place. Fame trumpets him a wonderful workman--which, for aught that anybody knows, he may be (as he never works); and a wonderful sot--which everybody knows he is. With the Cathedral crypt he is better acquainted than any living authority; it may even be than any dead one. It is said that the intimacy of this acquaintance began in his habitually resorting to that secret place, to lock-out the Cloisterham boy-populace, and sleep off fumes of liquor: he having ready access to the Cathedral, as contractor for rough repairs. Be this as it may, he does know much about it, and, in the demolition of impedimental fragments of wall, buttress, and pavement, has seen strange sights. He often speaks of himself in the third person; perhaps, being a little misty as to his own identity, when he narrates; perhaps impartially adopting the Cloisterham nomenclature in reference to a character of acknowledged distinction. Thus he will say, touching his strange sights: 'Durdles come upon the old chap,' in reference to a buried magnate of ancient time and high degree, 'by striking right into the coffin with his pick. The old chap gave Durdles a look with his open eyes, as much as to say, "Is your name Durdles? Why, my man, I've been waiting for you a devil of a time!" And then he turned to powder.' With a two-foot rule always in his pocket, and a mason's hammer all but always in his hand, Durdles goes continually sounding and tapping all about and about the Cathedral; and whenever he says to Tope: 'Tope, here's another old 'un in here!' Tope announces it to the Dean as an established discovery. In a suit of coarse flannel with horn buttons, a yellow neckerchief with draggled ends, an old hat more russet-coloured than black, and laced boots of the hue of his stony calling, Durdles leads a hazy, gipsy sort of life, carrying his dinner about with him in a small bundle, and sitting on all manner of tombstones to dine. This dinner of Durdles's has become quite a Cloisterham institution: not only because of his never appearing in public without it, but because of its having been, on certain renowned occasions, taken into custody along with Durdles (as drunk and incapable), and exhibited before the Bench of justices at the townhall. These occasions, however, have been few and far apart: Durdles being as seldom drunk as sober. For the rest, he is an old bachelor, and he lives in a little antiquated hole of a house that was never finished: supposed to be built, so far, of stones stolen from the city wall. To this abode there is an approach, ankle-deep in stone chips, resembling a petrified grove of tombstones, urns, draperies, and broken columns, in all stages of sculpture. Herein two journeymen incessantly chip, while other two journeymen, who face each other, incessantly saw stone; dipping as regularly in and out of their sheltering sentry-boxes, as if they were mechanical figures emblematical of Time and Death. To Durdles, when he had consumed his glass of port, Mr. Sapsea intrusts that precious effort of his Muse. Durdles unfeelingly takes out his two-foot rule, and measures the lines calmly, alloying them with stone-grit. 'This is for the monument, is it, Mr. Sapsea?' 'The Inscription. Yes.' Mr. Sapsea waits for its effect on a common mind. 'It'll come in to a eighth of a inch,' says Durdles. 'Your servant, Mr. Jasper. Hope I see you well.' 'How are you Durdles?' 'I've got a touch of the Tombatism on me, Mr. Jasper, but that I must expect.' 'You mean the Rheumatism,' says Sapsea, in a sharp tone. (He is nettled by having his composition so mechanically received.) 'No, I don't. I mean, Mr. Sapsea, the Tombatism. It's another sort from Rheumatism. Mr. Jasper knows what Durdles means. You get among them Tombs afore it's well light on a winter morning, and keep on, as the Catechism says, a-walking in the same all the days of your life, and YOU'LL know what Durdles means.' 'It is a bitter cold place,' Mr. Jasper assents, with an antipathetic shiver. 'And if it's bitter cold for you, up in the chancel, with a lot of live breath smoking out about you, what the bitterness is to Durdles, down in the crypt among the earthy damps there, and the dead breath of the old 'uns,' returns that individual, 'Durdles leaves you to judge.--Is this to be put in hand at once, Mr. Sapsea?' Mr. Sapsea, with an Author's anxiety to rush into publication, replies that it cannot be out of hand too soon. 'You had better let me have the key then,' says Durdles. 'Why, man, it is not to be put inside the monument!' 'Durdles knows where it's to be put, Mr. Sapsea; no man better. Ask 'ere a man in Cloisterham whether Durdles knows his work.' Mr. Sapsea rises, takes a key from a drawer, unlocks an iron safe let into the wall, and takes from it another key. 'When Durdles puts a touch or a finish upon his work, no matter where, inside or outside, Durdles likes to look at his work all round, and see that his work is a-doing him credit,' Durdles explains, doggedly. The key proffered him by the bereaved widower being a large one, he slips his two-foot rule into a side-pocket of his flannel trousers made for it, and deliberately opens his flannel coat, and opens the mouth of a large breast-pocket within it before taking the key to place it in that repository. 'Why, Durdles!' exclaims Jasper, looking on amused, 'you are undermined with pockets!' 'And I carries weight in 'em too, Mr. Jasper. Feel those!' producing two other large keys. 'Hand me Mr. Sapsea's likewise. Surely this is the heaviest of the three.' 'You'll find 'em much of a muchness, I expect,' says Durdles. 'They all belong to monuments. They all open Durdles's work. Durdles keeps the keys of his work mostly. Not that they're much used.' 'By the bye,' it comes into Jasper's mind to say, as he idly examines the keys, 'I have been going to ask you, many a day, and have always forgotten. You know they sometimes call you Stony Durdles, don't you?' 'Cloisterham knows me as Durdles, Mr. Jasper.' 'I am aware of that, of course. But the boys sometimes--' 'O! if you mind them young imps of boys--' Durdles gruffly interrupts. 'I don't mind them any more than you do. But there was a discussion the other day among the Choir, whether Stony stood for Tony;' clinking one key against another. ('Take care of the wards, Mr. Jasper.') 'Or whether Stony stood for Stephen;' clinking with a change of keys. ('You can't make a pitch pipe of 'em, Mr. Jasper.') 'Or whether the name comes from your trade. How stands the fact?' Mr. Jasper weighs the three keys in his hand, lifts his head from his idly stooping attitude over the fire, and delivers the keys to Durdles with an ingenuous and friendly face. But the stony one is a gruff one likewise, and that hazy state of his is always an uncertain state, highly conscious of its dignity, and prone to take offence. He drops his two keys back into his pocket one by one, and buttons them up; he takes his dinner-bundle from the chair-back on which he hung it when he came in; he distributes the weight he carries, by tying the third key up in it, as though he were an Ostrich, and liked to dine off cold iron; and he gets out of the room, deigning no word of answer. Mr. Sapsea then proposes a hit at backgammon, which, seasoned with his own improving conversation, and terminating in a supper of cold roast beef and salad, beguiles the golden evening until pretty late. Mr. Sapsea's wisdom being, in its delivery to mortals, rather of the diffuse than the epigrammatic order, is by no means expended even then; but his visitor intimates that he will come back for more of the precious commodity on future occasions, and Mr. Sapsea lets him off for the present, to ponder on the instalment he carries away. CHAPTER V--MR. DURDLES AND FRIEND John Jasper, on his way home through the Close, is brought to a stand-still by the spectacle of Stony Durdles, dinner-bundle and all, leaning his back against the iron railing of the burial-ground enclosing it from the old cloister-arches; and a hideous small boy in rags flinging stones at him as a well-defined mark in the moonlight. Sometimes the stones hit him, and sometimes they miss him, but Durdles seems indifferent to either fortune. The hideous small boy, on the contrary, whenever he hits Durdles, blows a whistle of triumph through a jagged gap, convenient for the purpose, in the front of his mouth, where half his teeth are wanting; and whenever he misses him, yelps out 'Mulled agin!' and tries to atone for the failure by taking a more correct and vicious aim. 'What are you doing to the man?' demands Jasper, stepping out into the moonlight from the shade. 'Making a cock-shy of him,' replies the hideous small boy. 'Give me those stones in your hand.' 'Yes, I'll give 'em you down your throat, if you come a-ketching hold of me,' says the small boy, shaking himself loose, and backing. 'I'll smash your eye, if you don't look out!' 'Baby-Devil that you are, what has the man done to you?' 'He won't go home.' 'What is that to you?' 'He gives me a 'apenny to pelt him home if I ketches him out too late,' says the boy. And then chants, like a little savage, half stumbling and half dancing among the rags and laces of his dilapidated boots:- 'Widdy widdy wen! I--ket--ches--Im--out--ar--ter--ten, Widdy widdy wy! Then--E--don't--go--then--I--shy - Widdy Widdy Wake-cock warning!' - with a comprehensive sweep on the last word, and one more delivery at Durdles. This would seem to be a poetical note of preparation, agreed upon, as a caution to Durdles to stand clear if he can, or to betake himself homeward. John Jasper invites the boy with a beck of his head to follow him (feeling it hopeless to drag him, or coax him), and crosses to the iron railing where the Stony (and stoned) One is profoundly meditating. 'Do you know this thing, this child?' asks Jasper, at a loss for a word that will define this thing. 'Deputy,' says Durdles, with a nod. 'Is that its--his--name?' 'Deputy,' assents Durdles. 'I'm man-servant up at the Travellers' Twopenny in Gas Works Garding,' this thing explains. 'All us man-servants at Travellers' Lodgings is named Deputy. When we're chock full and the Travellers is all a-bed I come out for my 'elth.' Then withdrawing into the road, and taking aim, he resumes:- 'Widdy widdy wen! I--ket--ches--Im--out--ar--ter--' 'Hold your hand,' cries Jasper, 'and don't throw while I stand so near him, or I'll kill you! Come, Durdles; let me walk home with you to-night. Shall I carry your bundle?' 'Not on any account,' replies Durdles, adjusting it. 'Durdles was making his reflections here when you come up, sir, surrounded by his works, like a poplar Author.--Your own brother-in-law;' introducing a sarcophagus within the railing, white and cold in the moonlight. 'Mrs. Sapsea;' introducing the monument of that devoted wife. 'Late Incumbent;' introducing the Reverend Gentleman's broken column. 'Departed Assessed Taxes;' introducing a vase and towel, standing on what might represent the cake of soap. 'Former pastrycook and Muffin-maker, much respected;' introducing gravestone. 'All safe and sound here, sir, and all Durdles's work. Of the common folk, that is merely bundled up in turf and brambles, the less said the better. A poor lot, soon forgot.' 'This creature, Deputy, is behind us,' says Jasper, looking back. 'Is he to follow us?' The relations between Durdles and Deputy are of a capricious kind; for, on Durdles's turning himself about with the slow gravity of beery suddenness, Deputy makes a pretty wide circuit into the road and stands on the defensive. 'You never cried Widdy Warning before you begun to-night,' says Durdles, unexpectedly reminded of, or imagining, an injury. 'Yer lie, I did,' says Deputy, in his only form of polite contradiction. 'Own brother, sir,' observes Durdles, turning himself about again, and as unexpectedly forgetting his offence as he had recalled or conceived it; 'own brother to Peter the Wild Boy! But I gave him an object in life.' 'At which he takes aim?' Mr. Jasper suggests. 'That's it, sir,' returns Durdles, quite satisfied; 'at which he takes aim. I took him in hand and gave him an object. What was he before? A destroyer. What work did he do? Nothing but destruction. What did he earn by it? Short terms in Cloisterham jail. Not a person, not a piece of property, not a winder, not a horse, nor a dog, nor a cat, nor a bird, nor a fowl, nor a pig, but what he stoned, for want of an enlightened object. I put that enlightened object before him, and now he can turn his honest halfpenny by the three penn'orth a week.' 'I wonder he has no competitors.' 'He has plenty, Mr. Jasper, but he stones 'em all away. Now, I don't know what this scheme of mine comes to,' pursues Durdles, considering about it with the same sodden gravity; 'I don't know what you may precisely call it. It ain't a sort of a--scheme of a- -National Education?' 'I should say not,' replies Jasper. 'I should say not,' assents Durdles; 'then we won't try to give it a name.' 'He still keeps behind us,' repeats Jasper, looking over his shoulder; 'is he to follow us?' 'We can't help going round by the Travellers' Twopenny, if we go the short way, which is the back way,' Durdles answers, 'and we'll drop him there.' So they go on; Deputy, as a rear rank one, taking open order, and invading the silence of the hour and place by stoning every wall, post, pillar, and other inanimate object, by the deserted way. 'Is there anything new down in the crypt, Durdles?' asks John Jasper. 'Anything old, I think you mean,' growls Durdles. 'It ain't a spot for novelty.' 'Any new discovery on your part, I meant.' 'There's a old 'un under the seventh pillar on the left as you go down the broken steps of the little underground chapel as formerly was; I make him out (so fur as I've made him out yet) to be one of them old 'uns with a crook. To judge from the size of the passages in the walls, and of the steps and doors, by which they come and went, them crooks must have been a good deal in the way of the old 'uns! Two on 'em meeting promiscuous must have hitched one another by the mitre pretty often, I should say.' Without any endeavour to correct the literality of this opinion, Jasper surveys his companion--covered from head to foot with old mortar, lime, and stone grit--as though he, Jasper, were getting imbued with a romantic interest in his weird life. 'Yours is a curious existence.' Without furnishing the least clue to the question, whether he receives this as a compliment or as quite the reverse, Durdles gruffly answers: 'Yours is another.' 'Well! inasmuch as my lot is cast in the same old earthy, chilly, never-changing place, Yes. But there is much more mystery and interest in your connection with the Cathedral than in mine. Indeed, I am beginning to have some idea of asking you to take me on as a sort of student, or free 'prentice, under you, and to let me go about with you sometimes, and see some of these odd nooks in which you pass your days.' The Stony One replies, in a general way, 'All right. Everybody knows where to find Durdles, when he's wanted.' Which, if not strictly true, is approximately so, if taken to express that Durdles may always be found in a state of vagabondage somewhere. 'What I dwell upon most,' says Jasper, pursuing his subject of romantic interest, 'is the remarkable accuracy with which you would seem to find out where people are buried.--What is the matter? That bundle is in your way; let me hold it.' Durdles has stopped and backed a little (Deputy, attentive to all his movements, immediately skirmishing into the road), and was looking about for some ledge or corner to place his bundle on, when thus relieved of it. 'Just you give me my hammer out of that,' says Durdles, 'and I'll show you.' Clink, clink. And his hammer is handed him. 'Now, lookee here. You pitch your note, don't you, Mr. Jasper?' 'Yes.' 'So I sound for mine. I take my hammer, and I tap.' (Here he strikes the pavement, and the attentive Deputy skirmishes at a rather wider range, as supposing that his head may be in requisition.) 'I tap, tap, tap. Solid! I go on tapping. Solid still! Tap again. Holloa! Hollow! Tap again, persevering. Solid in hollow! Tap, tap, tap, to try it better. Solid in hollow; and inside solid, hollow again! There you are! Old 'un crumbled away in stone coffin, in vault!' 'Astonishing!' 'I have even done this,' says Durdles, drawing out his two-foot rule (Deputy meanwhile skirmishing nearer, as suspecting that Treasure may be about to be discovered, which may somehow lead to his own enrichment, and the delicious treat of the discoverers being hanged by the neck, on his evidence, until they are dead). 'Say that hammer of mine's a wall--my work. Two; four; and two is six,' measuring on the pavement. 'Six foot inside that wall is Mrs. Sapsea.' 'Not really Mrs. Sapsea?' 'Say Mrs. Sapsea. Her wall's thicker, but say Mrs. Sapsea. Durdles taps, that wall represented by that hammer, and says, after good sounding: "Something betwixt us!" Sure enough, some rubbish has been left in that same six-foot space by Durdles's men!' Jasper opines that such accuracy 'is a gift.' 'I wouldn't have it at a gift,' returns Durdles, by no means receiving the observation in good part. 'I worked it out for myself. Durdles comes by HIS knowledge through grubbing deep for it, and having it up by the roots when it don't want to come.-- Holloa you Deputy!' 'Widdy!' is Deputy's shrill response, standing off again. 'Catch that ha'penny. And don't let me see any more of you to- night, after we come to the Travellers' Twopenny.' 'Warning!' returns Deputy, having caught the halfpenny, and appearing by this mystic word to express his assent to the arrangement. They have but to cross what was once the vineyard, belonging to what was once the Monastery, to come into the narrow back lane wherein stands the crazy wooden house of two low stories currently known as the Travellers' Twopenny:- a house all warped and distorted, like the morals of the travellers, with scant remains of a lattice-work porch over the door, and also of a rustic fence before its stamped-out garden; by reason of the travellers being so bound to the premises by a tender sentiment (or so fond of having a fire by the roadside in the course of the day), that they can never be persuaded or threatened into departure, without violently possessing themselves of some wooden forget-me-not, and bearing it off. The semblance of an inn is attempted to be given to this wretched place by fragments of conventional red curtaining in the windows, which rags are made muddily transparent in the night-season by feeble lights of rush or cotton dip burning dully in the close air of the inside. As Durdles and Jasper come near, they are addressed by an inscribed paper lantern over the door, setting forth the purport of the house. They are also addressed by some half-dozen other hideous small boys--whether twopenny lodgers or followers or hangers-on of such, who knows!--who, as if attracted by some carrion-scent of Deputy in the air, start into the moonlight, as vultures might gather in the desert, and instantly fall to stoning him and one another. 'Stop, you young brutes,' cries Jasper angrily, 'and let us go by!' This remonstrance being received with yells and flying stones, according to a custom of late years comfortably established among the police regulations of our English communities, where Christians are stoned on all sides, as if the days of Saint Stephen were revived, Durdles remarks of the young savages, with some point, that 'they haven't got an object,' and leads the way down the lane. At the corner of the lane, Jasper, hotly enraged, checks his companion and looks back. All is silent. Next moment, a stone coming rattling at his hat, and a distant yell of 'Wake-Cock! Warning!' followed by a crow, as from some infernally-hatched Chanticleer, apprising him under whose victorious fire he stands, he turns the corner into safety, and takes Durdles home: Durdles stumbling among the litter of his stony yard as if he were going to turn head foremost into one of the unfinished tombs. John Jasper returns by another way to his gatehouse, and entering softly with his key, finds his fire still burning. He takes from a locked press a peculiar-looking pipe, which he fills--but not with tobacco--and, having adjusted the contents of the bowl, very carefully, with a little instrument, ascends an inner staircase of only a few steps, leading to two rooms. One of these is his own sleeping chamber: the other is his nephew's. There is a light in each. His nephew lies asleep, calm and untroubled. John Jasper stands looking down upon him, his unlighted pipe in his hand, for some time, with a fixed and deep attention. Then, hushing his footsteps, he passes to his own room, lights his pipe, and delivers himself to the Spectres it invokes at midnight. CHAPTER VI--PHILANTHROPY IN MINOR CANON CORNER The Reverend Septimus Crisparkle (Septimus, because six little brother Crisparkles before him went out, one by one, as they were born, like six weak little rushlights, as they were lighted), having broken the thin morning ice near Cloisterham Weir with his amiable head, much to the invigoration of his frame, was now assisting his circulation by boxing at a looking-glass with great science and prowess. A fresh and healthy portrait the looking- glass presented of the Reverend Septimus, feinting and dodging with the utmost artfulness, and hitting out from the shoulder with the utmost straightness, while his radiant features teemed with innocence, and soft-hearted benevolence beamed from his boxing- gloves. It was scarcely breakfast-time yet, for Mrs. Crisparkle--mother, not wife of the Reverend Septimus--was only just down, and waiting for the urn. Indeed, the Reverend Septimus left off at this very moment to take the pretty old lady's entering face between his boxing-gloves and kiss it. Having done so with tenderness, the Reverend Septimus turned to again, countering with his left, and putting in his right, in a tremendous manner. 'I say, every morning of my life, that you'll do it at last, Sept,' remarked the old lady, looking on; 'and so you will.' 'Do what, Ma dear?' 'Break the pier-glass, or burst a blood-vessel.' 'Neither, please God, Ma dear. Here's wind, Ma. Look at this!' In a concluding round of great severity, the Reverend Septimus administered and escaped all sorts of punishment, and wound up by getting the old lady's cap into Chancery--such is the technical term used in scientific circles by the learned in the Noble Art-- with a lightness of touch that hardly stirred the lightest lavender or cherry riband on it. Magnanimously releasing the defeated, just in time to get his gloves into a drawer and feign to be looking out of window in a contemplative state of mind when a servant entered, the Reverend Septimus then gave place to the urn and other preparations for breakfast. These completed, and the two alone again, it was pleasant to see (or would have been, if there had been any one to see it, which there never was), the old lady standing to say the Lord's Prayer aloud, and her son, Minor Canon nevertheless, standing with bent head to hear it, he being within five years of forty: much as he had stood to hear the same words from the same lips when he was within five months of four. What is prettier than an old lady--except a young lady--when her eyes are bright, when her figure is trim and compact, when her face is cheerful and calm, when her dress is as the dress of a china shepherdess: so dainty in its colours, so individually assorted to herself, so neatly moulded on her? Nothing is prettier, thought the good Minor Canon frequently, when taking his seat at table opposite his long-widowed mother. Her thought at such times may be condensed into the two words that oftenest did duty together in all her conversations: 'My Sept!' They were a good pair to sit breakfasting together in Minor Canon Corner, Cloisterham. For Minor Canon Corner was a quiet place in the shadow of the Cathedral, which the cawing of the rooks, the echoing footsteps of rare passers, the sound of the Cathedral bell, or the roll of the Cathedral organ, seemed to render more quiet than absolute silence. Swaggering fighting men had had their centuries of ramping and raving about Minor Canon Corner, and beaten serfs had had their centuries of drudging and dying there, and powerful monks had had their centuries of being sometimes useful and sometimes harmful there, and behold they were all gone out of Minor Canon Corner, and so much the better. Perhaps one of the highest uses of their ever having been there, was, that there might be left behind, that blessed air of tranquillity which pervaded Minor Canon Corner, and that serenely romantic state of the mind--productive for the most part of pity and forbearance-- which is engendered by a sorrowful story that is all told, or a pathetic play that is played out. Red-brick walls harmoniously toned down in colour by time, strong- rooted ivy, latticed windows, panelled rooms, big oaken beams in little places, and stone-walled gardens where annual fruit yet ripened upon monkish trees, were the principal surroundings of pretty old Mrs. Crisparkle and the Reverend Septimus as they sat at breakfast. 'And what, Ma dear,' inquired the Minor Canon, giving proof of a wholesome and vigorous appetite, 'does the letter say?' The pretty old lady, after reading it, had just laid it down upon the breakfast-cloth. She handed it over to her son. Now, the old lady was exceedingly proud of her bright eyes being so clear that she could read writing without spectacles. Her son was also so proud of the circumstance, and so dutifully bent on her deriving the utmost possible gratification from it, that he had invented the pretence that he himself could NOT read writing without spectacles. Therefore he now assumed a pair, of grave and prodigious proportions, which not only seriously inconvenienced his nose and his breakfast, but seriously impeded his perusal of the letter. For, he had the eyes of a microscope and a telescope combined, when they were unassisted. 'It's from Mr. Honeythunder, of course,' said the old lady, folding her arms. 'Of course,' assented her son. He then lamely read on: '"Haven of Philanthropy, Chief Offices, London, Wednesday. '"DEAR MADAM, '"I write in the--;" In the what's this? What does he write in?' 'In the chair,' said the old lady. The Reverend Septimus took off his spectacles, that he might see her face, as he exclaimed: 'Why, what should he write in?' 'Bless me, bless me, Sept,' returned the old lady, 'you don't see the context! Give it back to me, my dear.' Glad to get his spectacles off (for they always made his eyes water), her son obeyed: murmuring that his sight for reading manuscript got worse and worse daily. '"I write,"' his mother went on, reading very perspicuously and precisely, '"from the chair, to which I shall probably be confined for some hours."' Septimus looked at the row of chairs against the wall, with a half- protesting and half-appealing countenance. '"We have,"' the old lady read on with a little extra emphasis, '"a meeting of our Convened Chief Composite Committee of Central and District Philanthropists, at our Head Haven as above; and it is their unanimous pleasure that I take the chair."' Septimus breathed more freely, and muttered: 'O! if he comes to THAT, let him,' '"Not to lose a day's post, I take the opportunity of a long report being read, denouncing a public miscreant--"' 'It is a most extraordinary thing,' interposed the gentle Minor Canon, laying down his knife and fork to rub his ear in a vexed manner, 'that these Philanthropists are always denouncing somebody. And it is another most extraordinary thing that they are always so violently flush of miscreants!' '"Denouncing a public miscreant--"'--the old lady resumed, '"to get our little affair of business off my mind. I have spoken with my two wards, Neville and Helena Landless, on the subject of their defective education, and they give in to the plan proposed; as I should have taken good care they did, whether they liked it or not."' 'And it is another most extraordinary thing,' remarked the Minor Canon in the same tone as before, 'that these philanthropists are so given to seizing their fellow-creatures by the scruff of the neck, and (as one may say) bumping them into the paths of peace.--I beg your pardon, Ma dear, for interrupting.' '"Therefore, dear Madam, you will please prepare your son, the Rev. Mr. Septimus, to expect Neville as an inmate to be read with, on Monday next. On the same day Helena will accompany him to Cloisterham, to take up her quarters at the Nuns' House, the establishment recommended by yourself and son jointly. Please likewise to prepare for her reception and tuition there. The terms in both cases are understood to be exactly as stated to me in writing by yourself, when I opened a correspondence with you on this subject, after the honour of being introduced to you at your sister's house in town here. With compliments to the Rev. Mr. Septimus, I am, Dear Madam, Your affectionate brother (In Philanthropy), LUKE HONEYTHUNDER."' 'Well, Ma,' said Septimus, after a little more rubbing of his ear, 'we must try it. There can be no doubt that we have room for an inmate, and that I have time to bestow upon him, and inclination too. I must confess to feeling rather glad that he is not Mr. Honeythunder himself. Though that seems wretchedly prejudiced-- does it not?--for I never saw him. Is he a large man, Ma?' 'I should call him a large man, my dear,' the old lady replied after some hesitation, 'but that his voice is so much larger.' 'Than himself?' 'Than anybody.' 'Hah!' said Septimus. And finished his breakfast as if the flavour of the Superior Family Souchong, and also of the ham and toast and eggs, were a little on the wane. Mrs. Crisparkle's sister, another piece of Dresden china, and matching her so neatly that they would have made a delightful pair of ornaments for the two ends of any capacious old-fashioned chimneypiece, and by right should never have been seen apart, was the childless wife of a clergyman holding Corporation preferment in London City. Mr. Honeythunder in his public character of Professor of Philanthropy had come to know Mrs. Crisparkle during the last re-matching of the china ornaments (in other words during her last annual visit to her sister), after a public occasion of a philanthropic nature, when certain devoted orphans of tender years had been glutted with plum buns, and plump bumptiousness. These were all the antecedents known in Minor Canon Corner of the coming pupils. 'I am sure you will agree with me, Ma,' said Mr. Crisparkle, after thinking the matter over, 'that the first thing to be done, is, to put these young people as much at their ease as possible. There is nothing disinterested in the notion, because we cannot be at our ease with them unless they are at their ease with us. Now, Jasper's nephew is down here at present; and like takes to like, and youth takes to youth. He is a cordial young fellow, and we will have him to meet the brother and sister at dinner. That's three. We can't think of asking him, without asking Jasper. That's four. Add Miss Twinkleton and the fairy bride that is to be, and that's six. Add our two selves, and that's eight. Would eight at a friendly dinner at all put you out, Ma?' 'Nine would, Sept,' returned the old lady, visibly nervous. 'My dear Ma, I particularise eight.' 'The exact size of the table and the room, my dear.' So it was settled that way: and when Mr. Crisparkle called with his mother upon Miss Twinkleton, to arrange for the reception of Miss Helena Landless at the Nuns' House, the two other invitations having reference to that establishment were proffered and accepted. Miss Twinkleton did, indeed, glance at the globes, as regretting that they were not formed to be taken out into society; but became reconciled to leaving them behind. Instructions were then despatched to the Philanthropist for the departure and arrival, in good time for dinner, of Mr. Neville and Miss Helena; and stock for soup became fragrant in the air of Minor Canon Corner. In those days there was no railway to Cloisterham, and Mr. Sapsea said there never would be. Mr. Sapsea said more; he said there never should be. And yet, marvellous to consider, it has come to pass, in these days, that Express Trains don't think Cloisterham worth stopping at, but yell and whirl through it on their larger errands, casting the dust off their wheels as a testimony against its insignificance. Some remote fragment of Main Line to somewhere else, there was, which was going to ruin the Money Market if it failed, and Church and State if it succeeded, and (of course), the Constitution, whether or no; but even that had already so unsettled Cloisterham traffic, that the traffic, deserting the high road, came sneaking in from an unprecedented part of the country by a back stable-way, for many years labelled at the corner: 'Beware of the Dog.' To this ignominious avenue of approach, Mr. Crisparkle repaired, awaiting the arrival of a short, squat omnibus, with a disproportionate heap of luggage on the roof--like a little Elephant with infinitely too much Castle--which was then the daily service between Cloisterham and external mankind. As this vehicle lumbered up, Mr. Crisparkle could hardly see anything else of it for a large outside passenger seated on the box, with his elbows squared, and his hands on his knees, compressing the driver into a most uncomfortably small compass, and glowering about him with a strongly-marked face. 'Is this Cloisterham?' demanded the passenger, in a tremendous voice. 'It is,' replied the driver, rubbing himself as if he ached, after throwing the reins to the ostler. 'And I never was so glad to see it.' 'Tell your master to make his box-seat wider, then,' returned the passenger. 'Your master is morally bound--and ought to be legally, under ruinous penalties--to provide for the comfort of his fellow- man.' The driver instituted, with the palms of his hands, a superficial perquisition into the state of his skeleton; which seemed to make him anxious. 'Have I sat upon you?' asked the passenger. 'You have,' said the driver, as if he didn't like it at all. 'Take that card, my friend.' 'I think I won't deprive you on it,' returned the driver, casting his eyes over it with no great favour, without taking it. 'What's the good of it to me?' 'Be a Member of that Society,' said the passenger. 'What shall I get by it?' asked the driver. 'Brotherhood,' returned the passenger, in a ferocious voice. 'Thankee,' said the driver, very deliberately, as he got down; 'my mother was contented with myself, and so am I. I don't want no brothers.' 'But you must have them,' replied the passenger, also descending, 'whether you like it or not. I am your brother.' ' I say!' expostulated the driver, becoming more chafed in temper, 'not too fur! The worm WILL, when--' But here, Mr. Crisparkle interposed, remonstrating aside, in a friendly voice: 'Joe, Joe, Joe! don't forget yourself, Joe, my good fellow!' and then, when Joe peaceably touched his hat, accosting the passenger with: 'Mr. Honeythunder?' 'That is my name, sir.' 'My name is Crisparkle.' 'Reverend Mr. Septimus? Glad to see you, sir. Neville and Helena are inside. Having a little succumbed of late, under the pressure of my public labours, I thought I would take a mouthful of fresh air, and come down with them, and return at night. So you are the Reverend Mr. Septimus, are you?' surveying him on the whole with disappointment, and twisting a double eyeglass by its ribbon, as if he were roasting it, but not otherwise using it. 'Hah! I expected to see you older, sir.' 'I hope you will,' was the good-humoured reply. 'Eh?' demanded Mr. Honeythunder. 'Only a poor little joke. Not worth repeating.' 'Joke? Ay; I never see a joke,' Mr. Honeythunder frowningly retorted. 'A joke is wasted upon me, sir. Where are they? Helena and Neville, come here! Mr. Crisparkle has come down to meet you.' An unusually handsome lithe young fellow, and an unusually handsome lithe girl; much alike; both very dark, and very rich in colour; she of almost the gipsy type; something untamed about them both; a certain air upon them of hunter and huntress; yet withal a certain air of being the objects of the chase, rather than the followers. Slender, supple, quick of eye and limb; half shy, half defiant; fierce of look; an indefinable kind of pause coming and going on their whole expression, both of face and form, which might be equally likened to the pause before a crouch or a bound. The rough mental notes made in the first five minutes by Mr. Crisparkle would have read thus, verbatim. He invited Mr. Honeythunder to dinner, with a troubled mind (for the discomfiture of the dear old china shepherdess lay heavy on it), and gave his arm to Helena Landless. Both she and her brother, as they walked all together through the ancient streets, took great delight in what he pointed out of the Cathedral and the Monastery ruin, and wondered--so his notes ran on--much as if they were beautiful barbaric captives brought from some wild tropical dominion. Mr. Honeythunder walked in the middle of the road, shouldering the natives out of his way, and loudly developing a scheme he had, for making a raid on all the unemployed persons in the United Kingdom, laying them every one by the heels in jail, and forcing them, on pain of prompt extermination, to become philanthropists. Mrs. Crisparkle had need of her own share of philanthropy when she beheld this very large and very loud excrescence on the little party. Always something in the nature of a Boil upon the face of society, Mr. Honeythunder expanded into an inflammatory Wen in Minor Canon Corner. Though it was not literally true, as was facetiously charged against him by public unbelievers, that he called aloud to his fellow-creatures: 'Curse your souls and bodies, come here and be blessed!' still his philanthropy was of that gunpowderous sort that the difference between it and animosity was hard to determine. You were to abolish military force, but you were first to bring all commanding officers who had done their duty, to trial by court-martial for that offence, and shoot them. You were to abolish war, but were to make converts by making war upon them, and charging them with loving war as the apple of their eye. You were to have no capital punishment, but were first to sweep off the face of the earth all legislators, jurists, and judges, who were of the contrary opinion. You were to have universal concord, and were to get it by eliminating all the people who wouldn't, or conscientiously couldn't, be concordant. You were to love your brother as yourself, but after an indefinite interval of maligning him (very much as if you hated him), and calling him all manner of names. Above all things, you were to do nothing in private, or on your own account. You were to go to the offices of the Haven of Philanthropy, and put your name down as a Member and a Professing Philanthropist. Then, you were to pay up your subscription, get your card of membership and your riband and medal, and were evermore to live upon a platform, and evermore to say what Mr. Honeythunder said, and what the Treasurer said, and what the sub-Treasurer said, and what the Committee said, and what the sub-Committee said, and what the Secretary said, and what the Vice-Secretary said. And this was usually said in the unanimously- carried resolution under hand and seal, to the effect: 'That this assembled Body of Professing Philanthropists views, with indignant scorn and contempt, not unmixed with utter detestation and loathing abhorrence'--in short, the baseness of all those who do not belong to it, and pledges itself to make as many obnoxious statements as possible about them, without being at all particular as to facts. The dinner was a most doleful breakdown. The philanthropist deranged the symmetry of the table, sat himself in the way of the waiting, blocked up the thoroughfare, and drove Mr. Tope (who assisted the parlour-maid) to the verge of distraction by passing plates and dishes on, over his own head. Nobody could talk to anybody, because he held forth to everybody at once, as if the company had no individual existence, but were a Meeting. He impounded the Reverend Mr. Septimus, as an official personage to be addressed, or kind of human peg to hang his oratorical hat on, and fell into the exasperating habit, common among such orators, of impersonating him as a wicked and weak opponent. Thus, he would ask: 'And will you, sir, now stultify yourself by telling me'--and so forth, when the innocent man had not opened his lips, nor meant to open them. Or he would say: 'Now see, sir, to what a position you are reduced. I will leave you no escape. After exhausting all the resources of fraud and falsehood, during years upon years; after exhibiting a combination of dastardly meanness with ensanguined daring, such as the world has not often witnessed; you have now the hypocrisy to bend the knee before the most degraded of mankind, and to sue and whine and howl for mercy!' Whereat the unfortunate Minor Canon would look, in part indignant and in part perplexed; while his worthy mother sat bridling, with tears in her eyes, and the remainder of the party lapsed into a sort of gelatinous state, in which there was no flavour or solidity, and very little resistance. But the gush of philanthropy that burst forth when the departure of Mr. Honeythunder began to impend, must have been highly gratifying to the feelings of that distinguished man. His coffee was produced, by the special activity of Mr. Tope, a full hour before he wanted it. Mr. Crisparkle sat with his watch in his hand for about the same period, lest he should overstay his time. The four young people were unanimous in believing that the Cathedral clock struck three-quarters, when it actually struck but one. Miss Twinkleton estimated the distance to the omnibus at five-and-twenty minutes' walk, when it was really five. The affectionate kindness of the whole circle hustled him into his greatcoat, and shoved him out into the moonlight, as if he were a fugitive traitor with whom they sympathised, and a troop of horse were at the back door. Mr. Crisparkle and his new charge, who took him to the omnibus, were so fervent in their apprehensions of his catching cold, that they shut him up in it instantly and left him, with still half-an-hour to spare. CHAPTER VII--MORE CONFIDENCES THAN ONE 'I know very little of that gentleman, sir,' said Neville to the Minor Canon as they turned back. 'You know very little of your guardian?' the Minor Canon repeated. 'Almost nothing!' 'How came he--' 'To BE my guardian? I'll tell you, sir. I suppose you know that we come (my sister and I) from Ceylon?' 'Indeed, no.' 'I wonder at that. We lived with a stepfather there. Our mother died there, when we were little children. We have had a wretched existence. She made him our guardian, and he was a miserly wretch who grudged us food to eat, and clothes to wear. At his death, he passed us over to this man; for no better reason that I know of, than his being a friend or connexion of his, whose name was always in print and catching his attention.' 'That was lately, I suppose?' 'Quite lately, sir. This stepfather of ours was a cruel brute as well as a grinding one. It is well he died when he did, or I might have killed him.' Mr. Crisparkle stopped short in the moonlight and looked at his hopeful pupil in consternation. 'I surprise you, sir?' he said, with a quick change to a submissive manner. 'You shock me; unspeakably shock me.' The pupil hung his head for a little while, as they walked on, and then said: 'You never saw him beat your sister. I have seen him beat mine, more than once or twice, and I never forgot it.' 'Nothing,' said Mr. Crisparkle, 'not even a beloved and beautiful sister's tears under dastardly ill-usage;' he became less severe, in spite of himself, as his indignation rose; 'could justify those horrible expressions that you used.' 'I am sorry I used them, and especially to you, sir. I beg to recall them. But permit me to set you right on one point. You spoke of my sister's tears. My sister would have let him tear her to pieces, before she would have let him believe that he could make her shed a tear.' Mr. Crisparkle reviewed those mental notes of his, and was neither at all surprised to hear it, nor at all disposed to question it. 'Perhaps you will think it strange, sir,'--this was said in a hesitating voice--'that I should so soon ask you to allow me to confide in you, and to have the kindness to hear a word or two from me in my defence?' 'Defence?' Mr. Crisparkle repeated. 'You are not on your defence, Mr. Neville.' 'I think I am, sir. At least I know I should be, if you were better acquainted with my character.' 'Well, Mr. Neville,' was the rejoinder. 'What if you leave me to find it out?' 'Since it is your pleasure, sir,' answered the young man, with a quick change in his manner to sullen disappointment: 'since it is your pleasure to check me in my impulse, I must submit.' There was that in the tone of this short speech which made the conscientious man to whom it was addressed uneasy. It hinted to him that he might, without meaning it, turn aside a trustfulness beneficial to a mis-shapen young mind and perhaps to his own power of directing and improving it. They were within sight of the lights in his windows, and he stopped. 'Let us turn back and take a turn or two up and down, Mr. Neville, or you may not have time to finish what you wish to say to me. You are hasty in thinking that I mean to check you. Quite the contrary. I invite your confidence.' 'You have invited it, sir, without knowing it, ever since I came here. I say "ever since," as if I had been here a week. The truth is, we came here (my sister and I) to quarrel with you, and affront you, and break away again.' 'Really?' said Mr. Crisparkle, at a dead loss for anything else to say. 'You see, we could not know what you were beforehand, sir; could we?' 'Clearly not,' said Mr. Crisparkle. 'And having liked no one else with whom we have ever been brought into contact, we had made up our minds not to like you.' 'Really?' said Mr. Crisparkle again. 'But we do like you, sir, and we see an unmistakable difference between your house and your reception of us, and anything else we have ever known. This--and my happening to be alone with you--and everything around us seeming so quiet and peaceful after Mr. Honeythunder's departure--and Cloisterham being so old and grave and beautiful, with the moon shining on it--these things inclined me to open my heart.' 'I quite understand, Mr. Neville. And it is salutary to listen to such influences.' 'In describing my own imperfections, sir, I must ask you not to suppose that I am describing my sister's. She has come out of the disadvantages of our miserable life, as much better than I am, as that Cathedral tower is higher than those chimneys.' Mr. Crisparkle in his own breast was not so sure of this. 'I have had, sir, from my earliest remembrance, to suppress a deadly and bitter hatred. This has made me secret and revengeful. I have been always tyrannically held down by the strong hand. This has driven me, in my weakness, to the resource of being false and mean. I have been stinted of education, liberty, money, dress, the very necessaries of life, the commonest pleasures of childhood, the commonest possessions of youth. This has caused me to be utterly wanting in I don't know what emotions, or remembrances, or good instincts--I have not even a name for the thing, you see!--that you have had to work upon in other young men to whom you have been accustomed.' 'This is evidently true. But this is not encouraging,' thought Mr. Crisparkle as they turned again. 'And to finish with, sir: I have been brought up among abject and servile dependents, of an inferior race, and I may easily have contracted some affinity with them. Sometimes, I don't know but that it may be a drop of what is tigerish in their blood.' 'As in the case of that remark just now,' thought Mr. Crisparkle. 'In a last word of reference to my sister, sir (we are twin children), you ought to know, to her honour, that nothing in our misery ever subdued her, though it often cowed me. When we ran away from it (we ran away four times in six years, to be soon brought back and cruelly punished), the flight was always of her planning and leading. Each time she dressed as a boy, and showed the daring of a man. I take it we were seven years old when we first decamped; but I remember, when I lost the pocket-knife with which she was to have cut her hair short, how desperately she tried to tear it out, or bite it off. I have nothing further to say, sir, except that I hope you will bear with me and make allowance for me.' 'Of that, Mr. Neville, you may be sure,' returned the Minor Canon. 'I don't preach more than I can help, and I will not repay your confidence with a sermon. But I entreat you to bear in mind, very seriously and steadily, that if I am to do you any good, it can only be with your own assistance; and that you can only render that, efficiently, by seeking aid from Heaven.' 'I will try to do my part, sir.' 'And, Mr. Neville, I will try to do mine. Here is my hand on it. May God bless our endeavours!' They were now standing at his house-door, and a cheerful sound of voices and laughter was heard within. 'We will take one more turn before going in,' said Mr. Crisparkle, 'for I want to ask you a question. When you said you were in a changed mind concerning me, you spoke, not only for yourself, but for your sister too?' 'Undoubtedly I did, sir.' 'Excuse me, Mr. Neville, but I think you have had no opportunity of communicating with your sister, since I met you. Mr. Honeythunder was very eloquent; but perhaps I may venture to say, without ill- nature, that he rather monopolised the occasion. May you not have answered for your sister without sufficient warrant?' Neville shook his head with a proud smile. 'You don't know, sir, yet, what a complete understanding can exist between my sister and me, though no spoken word--perhaps hardly as much as a look--may have passed between us. She not only feels as I have described, but she very well knows that I am taking this opportunity of speaking to you, both for her and for myself.' Mr. Crisparkle looked in his face, with some incredulity; but his face expressed such absolute and firm conviction of the truth of what he said, that Mr. Crisparkle looked at the pavement, and mused, until they came to his door again. 'I will ask for one more turn, sir, this time,' said the young man, with a rather heightened colour rising in his face. 'But for Mr. Honeythunder's--I think you called it eloquence, sir?' (somewhat slyly.) 'I--yes, I called it eloquence,' said Mr. Crisparkle. 'But for Mr. Honeythunder's eloquence, I might have had no need to ask you what I am going to ask you. This Mr. Edwin Drood, sir: I think that's the name?' 'Quite correct,' said Mr. Crisparkle. 'D-r-double o-d.' 'Does he--or did he--read with you, sir?' 'Never, Mr. Neville. He comes here visiting his relation, Mr. Jasper.' 'Is Miss Bud his relation too, sir?' ('Now, why should he ask that, with sudden superciliousness?' thought Mr. Crisparkle.) Then he explained, aloud, what he knew of the little story of their betrothal. 'O! THAT'S it, is it?' said the young man. 'I understand his air of proprietorship now!' This was said so evidently to himself, or to anybody rather than Mr. Crisparkle, that the latter instinctively felt as if to notice it would be almost tantamount to noticing a passage in a letter which he had read by chance over the writer's shoulder. A moment afterwards they re-entered the house. Mr. Jasper was seated at the piano as they came into his drawing- room, and was accompanying Miss Rosebud while she sang. It was a consequence of his playing the accompaniment without notes, and of her being a heedless little creature, very apt to go wrong, that he followed her lips most attentively, with his eyes as well as hands; carefully and softly hinting the key-note from time to time. Standing with an arm drawn round her, but with a face far more intent on Mr. Jasper than on her singing, stood Helena, between whom and her brother an instantaneous recognition passed, in which Mr. Crisparkle saw, or thought he saw, the understanding that had been spoken of, flash out. Mr. Neville then took his admiring station, leaning against the piano, opposite the singer; Mr. Crisparkle sat down by the china shepherdess; Edwin Drood gallantly furled and unfurled Miss Twinkleton's fan; and that lady passively claimed that sort of exhibitor's proprietorship in the accomplishment on view, which Mr. Tope, the Verger, daily claimed in the Cathedral service. The song went on. It was a sorrowful strain of parting, and the fresh young voice was very plaintive and tender. As Jasper watched the pretty lips, and ever and again hinted the one note, as though it were a low whisper from himself, the voice became less steady, until all at once the singer broke into a burst of tears, and shrieked out, with her hands over her eyes: 'I can't bear this! I am frightened! Take me away!' With one swift turn of her lithe figures Helena laid the little beauty on a sofa, as if she had never caught her up. Then, on one knee beside her, and with one hand upon her rosy mouth, while with the other she appealed to all the rest, Helena said to them: 'It's nothing; it's all over; don't speak to her for one minute, and she is well!' Jasper's hands had, in the same instant, lifted themselves from the keys, and were now poised above them, as though he waited to resume. In that attitude he yet sat quiet: not even looking round, when all the rest had changed their places and were reassuring one another. 'Pussy's not used to an audience; that's the fact,' said Edwin Drood. 'She got nervous, and couldn't hold out. Besides, Jack, you are such a conscientious master, and require so much, that I believe you make her afraid of you. No wonder.' 'No wonder,' repeated Helena. 'There, Jack, you hear! You would be afraid of him, under similar circumstances, wouldn't you, Miss Landless?' 'Not under any circumstances,' returned Helena. Jasper brought down his hands, looked over his shoulder, and begged to thank Miss Landless for her vindication of his character. Then he fell to dumbly playing, without striking the notes, while his little pupil was taken to an open window for air, and was otherwise petted and restored. When she was brought back, his place was empty. 'Jack's gone, Pussy,' Edwin told her. 'I am more than half afraid he didn't like to be charged with being the Monster who had frightened you.' But she answered never a word, and shivered, as if they had made her a little too cold. Miss Twinkleton now opining that indeed these were late hours, Mrs. Crisparkle, for finding ourselves outside the walls of the Nuns' House, and that we who undertook the formation of the future wives and mothers of England (the last words in a lower voice, as requiring to be communicated in confidence) were really bound (voice coming up again) to set a better example than one of rakish habits, wrappers were put in requisition, and the two young cavaliers volunteered to see the ladies home. It was soon done, and the gate of the Nuns' House closed upon them. The boarders had retired, and only Mrs. Tisher in solitary vigil awaited the new pupil. Her bedroom being within Rosa's, very little introduction or explanation was necessary, before she was placed in charge of her new friend, and left for the night. 'This is a blessed relief, my dear,' said Helena. 'I have been dreading all day, that I should be brought to bay at this time.' 'There are not many of us,' returned Rosa, 'and we are good-natured girls; at least the others are; I can answer for them.' 'I can answer for you,' laughed Helena, searching the lovely little face with her dark, fiery eyes, and tenderly caressing the small figure. 'You will be a friend to me, won't you?' 'I hope so. But the idea of my being a friend to you seems too absurd, though.' 'Why?' 'O, I am such a mite of a thing, and you are so womanly and handsome. You seem to have resolution and power enough to crush me. I shrink into nothing by the side of your presence even.' 'I am a neglected creature, my dear, unacquainted with all accomplishments, sensitively conscious that I have everything to learn, and deeply ashamed to own my ignorance.' 'And yet you acknowledge everything to me!' said Rosa. 'My pretty one, can I help it? There is a fascination in you.' 'O! is there though?' pouted Rosa, half in jest and half in earnest. 'What a pity Master Eddy doesn't feel it more!' Of course her relations towards that young gentleman had been already imparted in Minor Canon Corner. 'Why, surely he must love you with all his heart!' cried Helena, with an earnestness that threatened to blaze into ferocity if he didn't. 'Eh? O, well, I suppose he does,' said Rosa, pouting again; 'I am sure I have no right to say he doesn't. Perhaps it's my fault. Perhaps I am not as nice to him as I ought to be. I don't think I am. But it IS so ridiculous!' Helena's eyes demanded what was. 'WE are,' said Rosa, answering as if she had spoken. 'We are such a ridiculous couple. And we are always quarrelling.' 'Why?' 'Because we both know we are ridiculous, my dear!' Rosa gave that answer as if it were the most conclusive answer in the world. Helena's masterful look was intent upon her face for a few moments, and then she impulsively put out both her hands and said: 'You will be my friend and help me?' 'Indeed, my dear, I will,' replied Rosa, in a tone of affectionate childishness that went straight and true to her heart; 'I will be as good a friend as such a mite of a thing can be to such a noble creature as you. And be a friend to me, please; I don't understand myself: and I want a friend who can understand me, very much indeed.' Helena Landless kissed her, and retaining both her hands said: 'Who is Mr. Jasper?' Rosa turned aside her head in answering: 'Eddy's uncle, and my music-master.' 'You do not love him?' 'Ugh!' She put her hands up to her face, and shook with fear or horror. 'You know that he loves you?' 'O, don't, don't, don't!' cried Rosa, dropping on her knees, and clinging to her new resource. 'Don't tell me of it! He terrifies me. He haunts my thoughts, like a dreadful ghost. I feel that I am never safe from him. I feel as if he could pass in through the wall when he is spoken of.' She actually did look round, as if she dreaded to see him standing in the shadow behind her. 'Try to tell me more about it, darling.' 'Yes, I will, I will. Because you are so strong. But hold me the while, and stay with me afterwards.' 'My child! You speak as if he had threatened you in some dark way.' 'He has never spoken to me about--that. Never.' 'What has he done?' 'He has made a slave of me with his looks. He has forced me to understand him, without his saying a word; and he has forced me to keep silence, without his uttering a threat. When I play, he never moves his eyes from my hands. When I sing, he never moves his eyes from my lips. When he corrects me, and strikes a note, or a chord, or plays a passage, he himself is in the sounds, whispering that he pursues me as a lover, and commanding me to keep his secret. I avoid his eyes, but he forces me to see them without looking at them. Even when a glaze comes over them (which is sometimes the case), and he seems to wander away into a frightful sort of dream in which he threatens most, he obliges me to know it, and to know that he is sitting close at my side, more terrible to me than ever.' 'What is this imagined threatening, pretty one? What is threatened?' 'I don't know. I have never even dared to think or wonder what it is.' 'And was this all, to-night?' 'This was all; except that to-night when he watched my lips so closely as I was singing, besides feeling terrified I felt ashamed and passionately hurt. It was as if he kissed me, and I couldn't bear it, but cried out. You must never breathe this to any one. Eddy is devoted to him. But you said to-night that you would not be afraid of him, under any circumstances, and that gives me--who am so much afraid of him--courage to tell only you. Hold me! Stay with me! I am too frightened to be left by myself.' The lustrous gipsy-face drooped over the clinging arms and bosom, and the wild black hair fell down protectingly over the childish form. There was a slumbering gleam of fire in the intense dark eyes, though they were then softened with compassion and admiration. Let whomsoever it most concerned look well to it! CHAPTER VIII--DAGGERS DRAWN The two young men, having seen the damsels, their charges, enter the courtyard of the Nuns' House, and finding themselves coldly stared at by the brazen door-plate, as if the battered old beau with the glass in his eye were insolent, look at one another, look along the perspective of the moonlit street, and slowly walk away together. 'Do you stay here long, Mr. Drood?' says Neville. 'Not this time,' is the careless answer. 'I leave for London again, to-morrow. But I shall be here, off and on, until next Midsummer; then I shall take my leave of Cloisterham, and England too; for many a long day, I expect.' 'Are you going abroad?' 'Going to wake up Egypt a little,' is the condescending answer. 'Are you reading?' 'Reading?' repeats Edwin Drood, with a touch of contempt. 'No. Doing, working, engineering. My small patrimony was left a part of the capital of the Firm I am with, by my father, a former partner; and I am a charge upon the Firm until I come of age; and then I step into my modest share in the concern. Jack--you met him at dinner--is, until then, my guardian and trustee.' 'I heard from Mr. Crisparkle of your other good fortune.' 'What do you mean by my other good fortune?' Neville has made his remark in a watchfully advancing, and yet furtive and shy manner, very expressive of that peculiar air already noticed, of being at once hunter and hunted. Edwin has made his retort with an abruptness not at all polite. They stop and interchange a rather heated look. 'I hope,' says Neville, 'there is no offence, Mr. Drood, in my innocently referring to your betrothal?' 'By George!' cries Edwin, leading on again at a somewhat quicker pace; 'everybody in this chattering old Cloisterham refers to it I wonder no public-house has been set up, with my portrait for the sign of The Betrothed's Head. Or Pussy's portrait. One or the other.' 'I am not accountable for Mr. Crisparkle's mentioning the matter to me, quite openly,' Neville begins. 'No; that's true; you are not,' Edwin Drood assents. 'But,' resumes Neville, 'I am accountable for mentioning it to you. And I did so, on the supposition that you could not fail to be highly proud of it.' Now, there are these two curious touches of human nature working the secret springs of this dialogue. Neville Landless is already enough impressed by Little Rosebud, to feel indignant that Edwin Drood (far below her) should hold his prize so lightly. Edwin Drood is already enough impressed by Helena, to feel indignant that Helena's brother (far below her) should dispose of him so coolly, and put him out of the way so entirely. However, the last remark had better be answered. So, says Edwin: 'I don't know, Mr. Neville' (adopting that mode of address from Mr. Crisparkle), 'that what people are proudest of, they usually talk most about; I don't know either, that what they are proudest of, they most like other people to talk about. But I live a busy life, and I speak under correction by you readers, who ought to know everything, and I daresay do.' By this time they had both become savage; Mr. Neville out in the open; Edwin Drood under the transparent cover of a popular tune, and a stop now and then to pretend to admire picturesque effects in the moonlight before him. 'It does not seem to me very civil in you,' remarks Neville, at length, 'to reflect upon a stranger who comes here, not having had your advantages, to try to make up for lost time. But, to be sure, I was not brought up in "busy life," and my ideas of civility were formed among Heathens.' 'Perhaps, the best civility, whatever kind of people we are brought up among,' retorts Edwin Drood, 'is to mind our own business. If you will set me that example, I promise to follow it.' 'Do you know that you take a great deal too much upon yourself?' is the angry rejoinder, 'and that in the part of the world I come from, you would be called to account for it?' 'By whom, for instance?' asks Edwin Drood, coming to a halt, and surveying the other with a look of disdain. But, here a startling right hand is laid on Edwin's shoulder, and Jasper stands between them. For, it would seem that he, too, has strolled round by the Nuns' House, and has come up behind them on the shadowy side of the road. 'Ned, Ned, Ned!' he says; 'we must have no more of this. I don't like this. I have overheard high words between you two. Remember, my dear boy, you are almost in the position of host to-night. You belong, as it were, to the place, and in a manner represent it towards a stranger. Mr. Neville is a stranger, and you should respect the obligations of hospitality. And, Mr. Neville,' laying his left hand on the inner shoulder of that young gentleman, and thus walking on between them, hand to shoulder on either side: 'you will pardon me; but I appeal to you to govern your temper too. Now, what is amiss? But why ask! Let there be nothing amiss, and the question is superfluous. We are all three on a good understanding, are we not?' After a silent struggle between the two young men who shall speak last, Edwin Drood strikes in with: 'So far as I am concerned, Jack, there is no anger in me.' 'Nor in me,' says Neville Landless, though not so freely; or perhaps so carelessly. 'But if Mr. Drood knew all that lies behind me, far away from here, he might know better how it is that sharp- edged words have sharp edges to wound me.' 'Perhaps,' says Jasper, in a soothing manner, 'we had better not qualify our good understanding. We had better not say anything having the appearance of a remonstrance or condition; it might not seem generous. Frankly and freely, you see there is no anger in Ned. Frankly and freely, there is no anger in you, Mr. Neville?' 'None at all, Mr. Jasper.' Still, not quite so frankly or so freely; or, be it said once again, not quite so carelessly perhaps. 'All over then! Now, my bachelor gatehouse is a few yards from here, and the heater is on the fire, and the wine and glasses are on the table, and it is not a stone's throw from Minor Canon Corner. Ned, you are up and away to-morrow. We will carry Mr. Neville in with us, to take a stirrup-cup.' 'With all my heart, Jack.' 'And with all mine, Mr. Jasper.' Neville feels it impossible to say less, but would rather not go. He has an impression upon him that he has lost hold of his temper; feels that Edwin Drood's coolness, so far from being infectious, makes him red-hot. Mr. Jasper, still walking in the centre, hand to shoulder on either side, beautifully turns the Refrain of a drinking song, and they all go up to his rooms. There, the first object visible, when he adds the light of a lamp to that of the fire, is the portrait over the chimneypicce. It is not an object calculated to improve the understanding between the two young men, as rather awkwardly reviving the subject of their difference. Accordingly, they both glance at it consciously, but say nothing. Jasper, however (who would appear from his conduct to have gained but an imperfect clue to the cause of their late high words), directly calls attention to it. 'You recognise that picture, Mr. Neville?' shading the lamp to throw the light upon it. 'I recognise it, but it is far from flattering the original.' 'O, you are hard upon it! It was done by Ned, who made me a present of it.' 'I am sorry for that, Mr. Drood.' Neville apologises, with a real intention to apologise; 'if I had known I was in the artist's presence--' 'O, a joke, sir, a mere joke,' Edwin cuts in, with a provoking yawn. 'A little humouring of Pussy's points! I'm going to paint her gravely, one of these days, if she's good.' The air of leisurely patronage and indifference with which this is said, as the speaker throws himself back in a chair and clasps his hands at the back of his head, as a rest for it, is very exasperating to the excitable and excited Neville. Jasper looks observantly from the one to the other, slightly smiles, and turns his back to mix a jug of mulled wine at the fire. It seems to require much mixing and compounding. 'I suppose, Mr. Neville,' says Edwin, quick to resent the indignant protest against himself in the face of young Landless, which is fully as visible as the portrait, or the fire, or the lamp: 'I suppose that if you painted the picture of your lady love--' 'I can't paint,' is the hasty interruption. 'That's your misfortune, and not your fault. You would if you could. But if you could, I suppose you would make her (no matter what she was in reality), Juno, Minerva, Diana, and Venus, all in one. Eh?' 'I have no lady love, and I can't say.' 'If I were to try my hand,' says Edwin, with a boyish boastfulness getting up in him, 'on a portrait of Miss Landless--in earnest, mind you; in earnest--you should see what I could do!' 'My sister's consent to sit for it being first got, I suppose? As it never will be got, I am afraid I shall never see what you can do. I must bear the loss.' Jasper turns round from the fire, fills a large goblet glass for Neville, fills a large goblet glass for Edwin, and hands each his own; then fills for himself, saying: 'Come, Mr. Neville, we are to drink to my nephew, Ned. As it is his foot that is in the stirrup--metaphorically--our stirrup-cup is to be devoted to him. Ned, my dearest fellow, my love!' Jasper sets the example of nearly emptying his glass, and Neville follows it. Edwin Drood says, 'Thank you both very much,' and follows the double example. 'Look at him,' cries Jasper, stretching out his hand admiringly and tenderly, though rallyingly too. 'See where he lounges so easily, Mr. Neville! The world is all before him where to choose. A life of stirring work and interest, a life of change and excitement, a life of domestic ease and love! Look at him!' Edwin Drood's face has become quickly and remarkably flushed with the wine; so has the face of Neville Landless. Edwin still sits thrown back in his chair, making that rest of clasped hands for his head. 'See how little he heeds it all!' Jasper proceeds in a bantering vein. 'It is hardly worth his while to pluck the golden fruit that hangs ripe on the tree for him. And yet consider the contrast, Mr. Neville. You and I have no prospect of stirring work and interest, or of change and excitement, or of domestic ease and love. You and I have no prospect (unless you are more fortunate than I am, which may easily be), but the tedious unchanging round of this dull place.' 'Upon my soul, Jack,' says Edwin, complacently, 'I feel quite apologetic for having my way smoothed as you describe. But you know what I know, Jack, and it may not be so very easy as it seems, after all. May it, Pussy?' To the portrait, with a snap of his thumb and finger. 'We have got to hit it off yet; haven't we, Pussy? You know what I mean, Jack.' His speech has become thick and indistinct. Jasper, quiet and self-possessed, looks to Neville, as expecting his answer or comment. When Neville speaks, HIS speech is also thick and indistinct. 'It might have been better for Mr. Drood to have known some hardships,' he says, defiantly. 'Pray,' retorts Edwin, turning merely his eyes in that direction, 'pray why might it have been better for Mr. Drood to have known some hardships?' 'Ay,' Jasper assents, with an air of interest; 'let us know why?' 'Because they might have made him more sensible,' says Neville, 'of good fortune that is not by any means necessarily the result of his own merits.' Mr. Jasper quickly looks to his nephew for his rejoinder. 'Have YOU known hardships, may I ask?' says Edwin Drood, sitting upright. Mr. Jasper quickly looks to the other for his retort. 'I have.' 'And what have they made you sensible of?' Mr. Jasper's play of eyes between the two holds good throughout the dialogue, to the end. 'I have told you once before to-night.' 'You have done nothing of the sort.' 'I tell you I have. That you take a great deal too much upon yourself.' 'You added something else to that, if I remember?' 'Yes, I did say something else.' 'Say it again.' 'I said that in the part of the world I come from, you would be called to account for it.' 'Only there?' cries Edwin Drood, with a contemptuous laugh. 'A long way off, I believe? Yes; I see! That part of the world is at a safe distance.' 'Say here, then,' rejoins the other, rising in a fury. 'Say anywhere! Your vanity is intolerable, your conceit is beyond endurance; you talk as if you were some rare and precious prize, instead of a common boaster. You are a common fellow, and a common boaster.' 'Pooh, pooh,' says Edwin Drood, equally furious, but more collected; 'how should you know? You may know a black common fellow, or a black common boaster, when you see him (and no doubt you have a large acquaintance that way); but you are no judge of white men.' This insulting allusion to his dark skin infuriates Neville to that violent degree, that he flings the dregs of his wine at Edwin Drood, and is in the act of flinging the goblet after it, when his arm is caught in the nick of time by Jasper. 'Ned, my dear fellow!' he cries in a loud voice; 'I entreat you, I command you, to be still!' There has been a rush of all the three, and a clattering of glasses and overturning of chairs. 'Mr. Neville, for shame! Give this glass to me. Open your hand, sir. I WILL have it!' But Neville throws him off, and pauses for an instant, in a raging passion, with the goblet yet in his uplifted hand. Then, he dashes it down under the grate, with such force that the broken splinters fly out again in a shower; and he leaves the house. When he first emerges into the night air, nothing around him is still or steady; nothing around him shows like what it is; he only knows that he stands with a bare head in the midst of a blood-red whirl, waiting to be struggled with, and to struggle to the death. But, nothing happening, and the moon looking down upon him as if he were dead after a fit of wrath, he holds his steam-hammer beating head and heart, and staggers away. Then, he becomes half-conscious of having heard himself bolted and barred out, like a dangerous animal; and thinks what shall he do? Some wildly passionate ideas of the river dissolve under the spell of the moonlight on the Cathedral and the graves, and the remembrance of his sister, and the thought of what he owes to the good man who has but that very day won his confidence and given him his pledge. He repairs to Minor Canon Corner, and knocks softly at the door. It is Mr. Crisparkle's custom to sit up last of the early household, very softly touching his piano and practising his favourite parts in concerted vocal music. The south wind that goes where it lists, by way of Minor Canon Corner on a still night, is not more subdued than Mr. Crisparkle at such times, regardful of the slumbers of the china shepherdess. His knock is immediately answered by Mr. Crisparkle himself. When he opens the door, candle in hand, his cheerful face falls, and disappointed amazement is in it. 'Mr. Neville! In this disorder! Where have you been?' 'I have been to Mr. Jasper's, sir. With his nephew.' 'Come in.' The Minor Canon props him by the elbow with a strong hand (in a strictly scientific manner, worthy of his morning trainings), and turns him into his own little book-room, and shuts the door.' 'I have begun ill, sir. I have begun dreadfully ill.' 'Too true. You are not sober, Mr. Neville.' 'I am afraid I am not, sir, though I can satisfy you at another time that I have had a very little indeed to drink, and that it overcame me in the strangest and most sudden manner.' 'Mr. Neville, Mr. Neville,' says the Minor Canon, shaking his head with a sorrowful smile; 'I have heard that said before.' 'I think--my mind is much confused, but I think--it is equally true of Mr. Jasper's nephew, sir.' 'Very likely,' is the dry rejoinder. 'We quarrelled, sir. He insulted me most grossly. He had heated that tigerish blood I told you of to-day, before then.' 'Mr. Neville,' rejoins the Minor Canon, mildly, but firmly: 'I request you not to speak to me with that clenched right hand. Unclench it, if you please.' 'He goaded me, sir,' pursues the young man, instantly obeying, 'beyond my power of endurance. I cannot say whether or no he meant it at first, but he did it. He certainly meant it at last. In short, sir,' with an irrepressible outburst, 'in the passion into which he lashed me, I would have cut him down if I could, and I tried to do it.' 'You have clenched that hand again,' is Mr. Crisparkle's quiet commentary. 'I beg your pardon, sir.' 'You know your room, for I showed it you before dinner; but I will accompany you to it once more. Your arm, if you please. Softly, for the house is all a-bed.' Scooping his hand into the same scientific elbow-rest as before, and backing it up with the inert strength of his arm, as skilfully as a Police Expert, and with an apparent repose quite unattainable by novices, Mr. Crisparkle conducts his pupil to the pleasant and orderly old room prepared for him. Arrived there, the young man throws himself into a chair, and, flinging his arms upon his reading-table, rests his head upon them with an air of wretched self-reproach. The gentle Minor Canon has had it in his thoughts to leave the room, without a word. But looking round at the door, and seeing this dejected figure, he turns back to it, touches it with a mild hand, says 'Good night!' A sob is his only acknowledgment. He might have had many a worse; perhaps, could have had few better. Another soft knock at the outer door attracts his attention as he goes down-stairs. He opens it to Mr. Jasper, holding in his hand the pupil's hat. 'We have had an awful scene with him,' says Jasper, in a low voice. 'Has it been so bad as that?' 'Murderous!' Mr. Crisparkle remonstrates: 'No, no, no. Do not use such strong words.' 'He might have laid my dear boy dead at my feet. It is no fault of his, that he did not. But that I was, through the mercy of God, swift and strong with him, he would have cut him down on my hearth.' The phrase smites home. 'Ah!' thinks Mr. Crisparkle, 'his own words!' 'Seeing what I have seen to-night, and hearing what I have heard,' adds Jasper, with great earnestness, 'I shall never know peace of mind when there is danger of those two coming together, with no one else to interfere. It was horrible. There is something of the tiger in his dark blood.' 'Ah!' thinks Mr. Crisparkle, 'so he said!' 'You, my dear sir,' pursues Jasper, taking his hand, 'even you, have accepted a dangerous charge.' 'You need have no fear for me, Jasper,' returns Mr. Crisparkle, with a quiet smile. 'I have none for myself.' 'I have none for myself,' returns Jasper, with an emphasis on the last pronoun, 'because I am not, nor am I in the way of being, the object of his hostility. But you may be, and my dear boy has been. Good night!' Mr. Crisparkle goes in, with the hat that has so easily, so almost imperceptibly, acquired the right to be hung up in his hall; hangs it up; and goes thoughtfully to bed. CHAPTER IX--BIRDS IN THE BUSH Rosa, having no relation that she knew of in the world, had, from the seventh year of her age, known no home but the Nuns' House, and no mother but Miss Twinkleton. Her remembrance of her own mother was of a pretty little creature like herself (not much older than herself it seemed to her), who had been brought home in her father's arms, drowned. The fatal accident had happened at a party of pleasure. Every fold and colour in the pretty summer dress, and even the long wet hair, with scattered petals of ruined flowers still clinging to it, as the dead young figure, in its sad, sad beauty lay upon the bed, were fixed indelibly in Rosa's recollection. So were the wild despair and the subsequent bowed- down grief of her poor young father, who died broken-hearted on the first anniversary of that hard day. The betrothal of Rosa grew out of the soothing of his year of mental distress by his fast friend and old college companion, Drood: who likewise had been left a widower in his youth. But he, too, went the silent road into which all earthly pilgrimages merge, some sooner, and some later; and thus the young couple had come to be as they were. The atmosphere of pity surrounding the little orphan girl when she first came to Cloisterham, had never cleared away. It had taken brighter hues as she grew older, happier, prettier; now it had been golden, now roseate, and now azure; but it had always adorned her with some soft light of its own. The general desire to console and caress her, had caused her to be treated in the beginning as a child much younger than her years; the same desire had caused her to be still petted when she was a child no longer. Who should be her favourite, who should anticipate this or that small present, or do her this or that small service; who should take her home for the holidays; who should write to her the oftenest when they were separated, and whom she would most rejoice to see again when they were reunited; even these gentle rivalries were not without their slight dashes of bitterness in the Nuns' House. Well for the poor Nuns in their day, if they hid no harder strife under their veils and rosaries! Thus Rosa had grown to be an amiable, giddy, wilful, winning little creature; spoilt, in the sense of counting upon kindness from all around her; but not in the sense of repaying it with indifference. Possessing an exhaustless well of affection in her nature, its sparkling waters had freshened and brightened the Nuns' House for years, and yet its depths had never yet been moved: what might betide when that came to pass; what developing changes might fall upon the heedless head, and light heart, then; remained to be seen. By what means the news that there had been a quarrel between the two young men overnight, involving even some kind of onslaught by Mr. Neville upon Edwin Drood, got into Miss Twinkleton's establishment before breakfast, it is impossible to say. Whether it was brought in by the birds of the air, or came blowing in with the very air itself, when the casement windows were set open; whether the baker brought it kneaded into the bread, or the milkman delivered it as part of the adulteration of his milk; or the housemaids, beating the dust out of their mats against the gateposts, received it in exchange deposited on the mats by the town atmosphere; certain it is that the news permeated every gable of the old building before Miss Twinkleton was down, and that Miss Twinkleton herself received it through Mrs. Tisher, while yet in the act of dressing; or (as she might have expressed the phrase to a parent or guardian of a mythological turn) of sacrificing to the Graces. Miss Landless's brother had thrown a bottle at Mr. Edwin Drood. Miss Landless's brother had thrown a knife at Mr. Edwin Drood. A knife became suggestive of a fork; and Miss Landless's brother had thrown a fork at Mr. Edwin Drood. As in the governing precedence of Peter Piper, alleged to have picked the peck of pickled pepper, it was held physically desirable to have evidence of the existence of the peck of pickled pepper which Peter Piper was alleged to have picked; so, in this case, it was held psychologically important to know why Miss Landless's brother threw a bottle, knife, or fork-or bottle, knife, AND fork-- for the cook had been given to understand it was all three--at Mr. Edwin Drood? Well, then. Miss Landless's brother had said he admired Miss Bud. Mr. Edwin Drood had said to Miss Landless's brother that he had no business to admire Miss Bud. Miss Landless's brother had then 'up'd' (this was the cook's exact information) with the bottle, knife, fork, and decanter (the decanter now coolly flying at everybody's head, without the least introduction), and thrown them all at Mr. Edwin Drood. Poor little Rosa put a forefinger into each of her ears when these rumours began to circulate, and retired into a corner, beseeching not to be told any more; but Miss Landless, begging permission of Miss Twinkleton to go and speak with her brother, and pretty plainly showing that she would take it if it were not given, struck out the more definite course of going to Mr. Crisparkle's for accurate intelligence. When she came back (being first closeted with Miss Twinkleton, in order that anything objectionable in her tidings might be retained by that discreet filter), she imparted to Rosa only, what had taken place; dwelling with a flushed cheek on the provocation her brother had received, but almost limiting it to that last gross affront as crowning 'some other words between them,' and, out of consideration for her new friend, passing lightly over the fact that the other words had originated in her lover's taking things in general so very easily. To Rosa direct, she brought a petition from her brother that she would forgive him; and, having delivered it with sisterly earnestness, made an end of the subject. It was reserved for Miss Twinkleton to tone down the public mind of the Nuns' House. That lady, therefore, entering in a stately manner what plebeians might have called the school-room, but what, in the patrician language of the head of the Nuns' House, was euphuistically, not to say round-aboutedly, denominated 'the apartment allotted to study,' and saying with a forensic air, 'Ladies!' all rose. Mrs. Tisher at the same time grouped herself behind her chief, as representing Queen Elizabeth's first historical female friend at Tilbury fort. Miss Twinkleton then proceeded to remark that Rumour, Ladies, had been represented by the bard of Avon--needless were it to mention the immortal SHAKESPEARE, also called the Swan of his native river, not improbably with some reference to the ancient superstition that that bird of graceful plumage (Miss Jennings will please stand upright) sang sweetly on the approach of death, for which we have no ornithological authority,--Rumour, Ladies, had been represented by that bard--hem! - 'who drew The celebrated Jew,' as painted full of tongues. Rumour in Cloisterham (Miss Ferdinand will honour me with her attention) was no exception to the great limner's portrait of Rumour elsewhere. A slight fracas between two young gentlemen occurring last night within a hundred miles of these peaceful walls (Miss Ferdinand, being apparently incorrigible, will have the kindness to write out this evening, in the original language, the first four fables of our vivacious neighbour, Monsieur La Fontaine) had been very grossly exaggerated by Rumour's voice. In the first alarm and anxiety arising from our sympathy with a sweet young friend, not wholly to be dissociated from one of the gladiators in the bloodless arena in question (the impropriety of Miss Reynolds's appearing to stab herself in the hand with a pin, is far too obvious, and too glaringly unladylike, to be pointed out), we descended from our maiden elevation to discuss this uncongenial and this unfit theme. Responsible inquiries having assured us that it was but one of those 'airy nothings' pointed at by the Poet (whose name and date of birth Miss Giggles will supply within half an hour), we would now discard the subject, and concentrate our minds upon the grateful labours of the day. But the subject so survived all day, nevertheless, that Miss Ferdinand got into new trouble by surreptitiously clapping on a paper moustache at dinner-time, and going through the motions of aiming a water-bottle at Miss Giggles, who drew a table-spoon in defence. Now, Rosa thought of this unlucky quarrel a great deal, and thought of it with an uncomfortable feeling that she was involved in it, as cause, or consequence, or what not, through being in a false position altogether as to her marriage engagement. Never free from such uneasiness when she was with her affianced husband, it was not likely that she would be free from it when they were apart. To- day, too, she was cast in upon herself, and deprived of the relief of talking freely with her new friend, because the quarrel had been with Helena's brother, and Helena undisguisedly avoided the subject as a delicate and difficult one to herself. At this critical time, of all times, Rosa's guardian was announced as having come to see her. Mr. Grewgious had been well selected for his trust, as a man of incorruptible integrity, but certainly for no other appropriate quality discernible on the surface. He was an arid, sandy man, who, if he had been put into a grinding-mill, looked as if he would have ground immediately into high-dried snuff. He had a scanty flat crop of hair, in colour and consistency like some very mangy yellow fur tippet; it was so unlike hair, that it must have been a wig, but for the stupendous improbability of anybody's voluntarily sporting such a head. The little play of feature that his face presented, was cut deep into it, in a few hard curves that made it more like work; and he had certain notches in his forehead, which looked as though Nature had been about to touch them into sensibility or refinement, when she had impatiently thrown away the chisel, and said: 'I really cannot be worried to finish off this man; let him go as he is.' With too great length of throat at his upper end, and too much ankle-bone and heel at his lower; with an awkward and hesitating manner; with a shambling walk; and with what is called a near sight--which perhaps prevented his observing how much white cotton stocking he displayed to the public eye, in contrast with his black suit--Mr. Grewgious still had some strange capacity in him of making on the whole an agreeable impression. Mr. Grewgious was discovered by his ward, much discomfited by being in Miss Twinkleton's company in Miss Twinkleton's own sacred room. Dim forebodings of being examined in something, and not coming well out of it, seemed to oppress the poor gentleman when found in these circumstances. 'My dear, how do you do? I am glad to see you. My dear, how much improved you are. Permit me to hand you a chair, my dear.' Miss Twinkleton rose at her little writing-table, saying, with general sweetness, as to the polite Universe: 'Will you permit me to retire?' 'By no means, madam, on my account. I beg that you will not move.' 'I must entreat permission to MOVE,' returned Miss Twinkleton, repeating the word with a charming grace; 'but I will not withdraw, since you are so obliging. If I wheel my desk to this corner window, shall I be in the way?' 'Madam! In the way!' 'You are very kind.--Rosa, my dear, you will be under no restraint, I am sure.' Here Mr. Grewgious, left by the fire with Rosa, said again: 'My dear, how do you do? I am glad to see you, my dear.' And having waited for her to sit down, sat down himself. 'My visits,' said Mr. Grewgious, 'are, like those of the angels-- not that I compare myself to an angel.' 'No, sir,' said Rosa. 'Not by any means,' assented Mr. Grewgious. 'I merely refer to my visits, which are few and far between. The angels are, we know very well, up-stairs.' Miss Twinkleton looked round with a kind of stiff stare. 'I refer, my dear,' said Mr. Grewgious, laying his hand on Rosa's, as the possibility thrilled through his frame of his otherwise seeming to take the awful liberty of calling Miss Twinkleton my dear; 'I refer to the other young ladies.' Miss Twinkleton resumed her writing. Mr. Grewgious, with a sense of not having managed his opening point quite as neatly as he might have desired, smoothed his head from back to front as if he had just dived, and were pressing the water out--this smoothing action, however superfluous, was habitual with him--and took a pocket-book from his coat-pocket, and a stump of black-lead pencil from his waistcoat-pocket. 'I made,' he said, turning the leaves: 'I made a guiding memorandum or so--as I usually do, for I have no conversational powers whatever--to which I will, with your permission, my dear, refer. "Well and happy." Truly. You are well and happy, my dear? You look so.' 'Yes, indeed, sir,' answered Rosa. 'For which,' said Mr. Grewgious, with a bend of his head towards the corner window, 'our warmest acknowledgments are due, and I am sure are rendered, to the maternal kindness and the constant care and consideration of the lady whom I have now the honour to see before me.' This point, again, made but a lame departure from Mr. Grewgious, and never got to its destination; for, Miss Twinkleton, feeling that the courtesies required her to be by this time quite outside the conversation, was biting the end of her pen, and looking upward, as waiting for the descent of an idea from any member of the Celestial Nine who might have one to spare. Mr. Grewgious smoothed his smooth head again, and then made another reference to his pocket-book; lining out 'well and happy,' as disposed of. '"Pounds, shillings, and pence," is my next note. A dry subject for a young lady, but an important subject too. Life is pounds, shillings, and pence. Death is--' A sudden recollection of the death of her two parents seemed to stop him, and he said in a softer tone, and evidently inserting the negative as an after- thought: 'Death is NOT pounds, shillings, and pence.' His voice was as hard and dry as himself, and Fancy might have ground it straight, like himself, into high-dried snuff. And yet, through the very limited means of expression that he possessed, he seemed to express kindness. If Nature had but finished him off, kindness might have been recognisable in his face at this moment. But if the notches in his forehead wouldn't fuse together, and if his face would work and couldn't play, what could he do, poor man! '"Pounds, shillings, and pence." You find your allowance always sufficient for your wants, my dear?' Rosa wanted for nothing, and therefore it was ample. 'And you are not in debt?' Rosa laughed at the idea of being in debt. It seemed, to her inexperience, a comical vagary of the imagination. Mr. Grewgious stretched his near sight to be sure that this was her view of the case. 'Ah!' he said, as comment, with a furtive glance towards Miss Twinkleton, and lining out pounds, shillings, and pence: 'I spoke of having got among the angels! So I did!' Rosa felt what his next memorandum would prove to be, and was blushing and folding a crease in her dress with one embarrassed hand, long before he found it. '"Marriage." Hem!' Mr. Grewgious carried his smoothing hand down over his eyes and nose, and even chin, before drawing his chair a little nearer, and speaking a little more confidentially: 'I now touch, my dear, upon the point that is the direct cause of my troubling you with the present visit. Othenwise, being a particularly Angular man, I should not have intruded here. I am the last man to intrude into a sphere for which I am so entirely unfitted. I feel, on these premises, as if I was a bear--with the cramp--in a youthful Cotillon.' His ungainliness gave him enough of the air of his simile to set Rosa off laughing heartily. 'It strikes you in the same light,' said Mr. Grewgious, with perfect calmness. 'Just so. To return to my memorandum. Mr. Edwin has been to and fro here, as was arranged. You have mentioned that, in your quarterly letters to me. And you like him, and he likes you.' 'I LIKE him very much, sir,' rejoined Rosa. 'So I said, my dear,' returned her guardian, for whose ear the timid emphasis was much too fine. 'Good. And you correspond.' 'We write to one another,' said Rosa, pouting, as she recalled their epistolary differences. 'Such is the meaning that I attach to the word "correspond" in this application, my dear,' said Mr. Grewgious. 'Good. All goes well, time works on, and at this next Christmas-time it will become necessary, as a matter of form, to give the exemplary lady in the corner window, to whom we are so much indebted, business notice of your departure in the ensuing half-year. Your relations with her are far more than business relations, no doubt; but a residue of business remains in them, and business is business ever. I am a particularly Angular man,' proceeded Mr. Grewgious, as if it suddenly occurred to him to mention it, 'and I am not used to give anything away. If, for these two reasons, some competent Proxy would give YOU away, I should take it very kindly.' Rosa intimated, with her eyes on the ground, that she thought a substitute might be found, if required. 'Surely, surely,' said Mr. Grewgious. 'For instance, the gentleman who teaches Dancing here--he would know how to do it with graceful propriety. He would advance and retire in a manner satisfactory to the feelings of the officiating clergyman, and of yourself, and the bridegroom, and all parties concerned. I am--I am a particularly Angular man,' said Mr. Grewgious, as if he had made up his mind to screw it out at last: 'and should only blunder.' Rosa sat still and silent. Perhaps her mind had not got quite so far as the ceremony yet, but was lagging on the way there. 'Memorandum, "Will." Now, my dear,' said Mr. Grewgious, referring to his notes, disposing of 'Marriage' with his pencil, and taking a paper from his pocket; 'although. I have before possessed you with the contents of your father's will, I think it right at this time to leave a certified copy of it in your hands. And although Mr. Edwin is also aware of its contents, I think it right at this time likewise to place a certified copy of it in Mr. Jasper's hand--' 'Not in his own!' asked Rosa, looking up quickly. 'Cannot the copy go to Eddy himself?' 'Why, yes, my dear, if you particularly wish it; but I spoke of Mr. Jasper as being his trustee.' 'I do particularly wish it, if you please,' said Rosa, hurriedly and earnestly; 'I don't like Mr. Jasper to come between us, in any way.' 'It is natural, I suppose,' said Mr. Grewgious, 'that your young husband should be all in all. Yes. You observe that I say, I suppose. The fact is, I am a particularly Unnatural man, and I don't know from my own knowledge.' Rosa looked at him with some wonder. 'I mean,' he explained, 'that young ways were never my ways. I was the only offspring of parents far advanced in life, and I half believe I was born advanced in life myself. No personality is intended towards the name you will so soon change, when I remark that while the general growth of people seem to have come into existence, buds, I seem to have come into existence a chip. I was a chip--and a very dry one--when I first became aware of myself. Respecting the other certified copy, your wish shall be complied with. Respecting your inheritance, I think you know all. It is an annuity of two hundred and fifty pounds. The savings upon that annuity, and some other items to your credit, all duly carried to account, with vouchers, will place you in possession of a lump-sum of money, rather exceeding Seventeen Hundred Pounds. I am empowered to advance the cost of your preparations for your marriage out of that fund. All is told.' 'Will you please tell me,' said Rosa, taking the paper with a prettily knitted brow, but not opening it: 'whether I am right in what I am going to say? I can understand what you tell me, so very much better than what I read in law-writings. My poor papa and Eddy's father made their agreement together, as very dear and firm and fast friends, in order that we, too, might be very dear and firm and fast friends after them?' 'Just so.' 'For the lasting good of both of us, and the lasting happiness of both of us?' 'Just so.' 'That we might be to one another even much more than they had been to one another?' 'Just so.' 'It was not bound upon Eddy, and it was not bound upon me, by any forfeit, in case--' 'Don't be agitated, my dear. In the case that it brings tears into your affectionate eyes even to picture to yourself--in the case of your not marrying one another--no, no forfeiture on either side. You would then have been my ward until you were of age. No worse would have befallen you. Bad enough perhaps!' 'And Eddy?' 'He would have come into his partnership derived from his father, and into its arrears to his credit (if any), on attaining his majority, just as now.' Rosa, with her perplexed face and knitted brow, bit the corner of her attested copy, as she sat with her head on one side, looking abstractedly on the floor, and smoothing it with her foot. 'In short,' said Mr. Grewgious, 'this betrothal is a wish, a sentiment, a friendly project, tenderly expressed on both sides. That it was strongly felt, and that there was a lively hope that it would prosper, there can be no doubt. When you were both children, you began to be accustomed to it, and it HAS prospered. But circumstances alter cases; and I made this visit to-day, partly, indeed principally, to discharge myself of the duty of telling you, my dear, that two young people can only be betrothed in marriage (except as a matter of convenience, and therefore mockery and misery) of their own free will, their own attachment, and their own assurance (it may or it may not prove a mistaken one, but we must take our chance of that), that they are suited to each other, and will make each other happy. Is it to be supposed, for example, that if either of your fathers were living now, and had any mistrust on that subject, his mind would not be changed by the change of circumstances involved in the change of your years? Untenable, unreasonable, inconclusive, and preposterous!' Mr. Grewgious said all this, as if he were reading it aloud; or, still more, as if he were repeating a lesson. So expressionless of any approach to spontaneity were his face and manner. 'I have now, my dear,' he added, blurring out 'Will' with his pencil, 'discharged myself of what is doubtless a formal duty in this case, but still a duty in such a case. Memorandum, "Wishes." My dear, is there any wish of yours that I can further?' Rosa shook her head, with an almost plaintive air of hesitation in want of help. 'Is there any instruction that I can take from you with reference to your affairs?' 'I--I should like to settle them with Eddy first, if you please,' said Rosa, plaiting the crease in her dress. 'Surely, surely,' returned Mr. Grewgious. 'You two should be of one mind in all things. Is the young gentleman expected shortly?' 'He has gone away only this morning. He will be back at Christmas.' 'Nothing could happen better. You will, on his return at Christmas, arrange all matters of detail with him; you will then communicate with me; and I will discharge myself (as a mere business acquaintance) of my business responsibilities towards the accomplished lady in the corner window. They will accrue at that season.' Blurring pencil once again. 'Memorandum, "Leave." Yes. I will now, my dear, take my leave.' 'Could I,' said Rosa, rising, as he jerked out of his chair in his ungainly way: 'could I ask you, most kindly to come to me at Christmas, if I had anything particular to say to you?' 'Why, certainly, certainly,' he rejoined; apparently--if such a word can be used of one who had no apparent lights or shadows about him--complimented by the question. 'As a particularly Angular man, I do not fit smoothly into the social circle, and consequently I have no other engagement at Christmas-time than to partake, on the twenty-fifth, of a boiled turkey and celery sauce with a--with a particularly Angular clerk I have the good fortune to possess, whose father, being a Norfolk farmer, sends him up (the turkey up), as a present to me, from the neighbourhood of Norwich. I should be quite proud of your wishing to see me, my dear. As a professional Receiver of rents, so very few people DO wish to see me, that the novelty would be bracing.' For his ready acquiescence, the grateful Rosa put her hands upon his shoulders, stood on tiptoe, and instantly kissed him. 'Lord bless me!' cried Mr. Grewgious. 'Thank you, my dear! The honour is almost equal to the pleasure. Miss Twinkleton, madam, I have had a most satisfactory conversation with my ward, and I will now release you from the incumbrance of my presence.' 'Nay, sir,' rejoined Miss Twinkleton, rising with a gracious condescension: 'say not incumbrance. Not so, by any means. I cannot permit you to say so.' 'Thank you, madam. I have read in the newspapers,' said Mr. Grewgious, stammering a little, 'that when a distinguished visitor (not that I am one: far from it) goes to a school (not that this is one: far from it), he asks for a holiday, or some sort of grace. It being now the afternoon in the--College--of which you are the eminent head, the young ladies might gain nothing, except in name, by having the rest of the day allowed them. But if there is any young lady at all under a cloud, might I solicit--' 'Ah, Mr. Grewgious, Mr. Grewgious!' cried Miss Twinkleton, with a chastely-rallying forefinger. 'O you gentlemen, you gentlemen! Fie for shame, that you are so hard upon us poor maligned disciplinarians of our sex, for your sakes! But as Miss Ferdinand is at present weighed down by an incubus'--Miss Twinkleton might have said a pen-and-ink-ubus of writing out Monsieur La Fontaine-- 'go to her, Rosa my dear, and tell her the penalty is remitted, in deference to the intercession of your guardian, Mr. Grewgious.' Miss Twinkleton here achieved a curtsey, suggestive of marvels happening to her respected legs, and which she came out of nobly, three yards behind her starting-point. As he held it incumbent upon him to call on Mr. Jasper before leaving Cloisterham, Mr. Grewgious went to the gatehouse, and climbed its postern stair. But Mr. Jasper's door being closed, and presenting on a slip of paper the word 'Cathedral,' the fact of its being service-time was borne into the mind of Mr. Grewgious. So he descended the stair again, and, crossing the Close, paused at the great western folding-door of the Cathedral, which stood open on the fine and bright, though short-lived, afternoon, for the airing of the place. 'Dear me,' said Mr. Grewgious, peeping in, 'it's like looking down the throat of Old Time.' Old Time heaved a mouldy sigh from tomb and arch and vault; and gloomy shadows began to deepen in corners; and damps began to rise from green patches of stone; and jewels, cast upon the pavement of the nave from stained glass by the declining sun, began to perish. Within the grill-gate of the chancel, up the steps surmounted loomingly by the fast-darkening organ, white robes could be dimly seen, and one feeble voice, rising and falling in a cracked, monotonous mutter, could at intervals be faintly heard. In the free outer air, the river, the green pastures, and the brown arable lands, the teeming hills and dales, were reddened by the sunset: while the distant little windows in windmills and farm homesteads, shone, patches of bright beaten gold. In the Cathedral, all became gray, murky, and sepulchral, and the cracked monotonous mutter went on like a dying voice, until the organ and the choir burst forth, and drowned it in a sea of music. Then, the sea fell, and the dying voice made another feeble effort, and then the sea rose high, and beat its life out, and lashed the roof, and surged among the arches, and pierced the heights of the great tower; and then the sea was dry, and all was still. Mr. Grewgious had by that time walked to the chancel-steps, where he met the living waters coming out. 'Nothing is the matter?' Thus Jasper accosted him, rather quickly. 'You have not been sent for?' 'Not at all, not at all. I came down of my own accord. I have been to my pretty ward's, and am now homeward bound again.' 'You found her thriving?' 'Blooming indeed. Most blooming. I merely came to tell her, seriously, what a betrothal by deceased parents is.' 'And what is it--according to your judgment?' Mr. Grewgious noticed the whiteness of the lips that asked the question, and put it down to the chilling account of the Cathedral. 'I merely came to tell her that it could not be considered binding, against any such reason for its dissolution as a want of affection, or want of disposition to carry it into effect, on the side of either party.' 'May I ask, had you any especial reason for telling her that?' Mr. Grewgious answered somewhat sharply: 'The especial reason of doing my duty, sir. Simply that.' Then he added: 'Come, Mr. Jasper; I know your affection for your nephew, and that you are quick to feel on his behalf. I assure you that this implies not the least doubt of, or disrespect to, your nephew.' 'You could not,' returned Jasper, with a friendly pressure of his arm, as they walked on side by side, 'speak more handsomely.' Mr. Grewgious pulled off his hat to smooth his head, and, having smoothed it, nodded it contentedly, and put his hat on again. 'I will wager,' said Jasper, smiling--his lips were still so white that he was conscious of it, and bit and moistened them while speaking: 'I will wager that she hinted no wish to be released from Ned.' 'And you will win your wager, if you do,' retorted Mr. Grewgious. 'We should allow some margin for little maidenly delicacies in a young motherless creature, under such circumstances, I suppose; it is not in my line; what do you think?' 'There can be no doubt of it.' 'I am glad you say so. Because,' proceeded Mr. Grewgious, who had all this time very knowingly felt his way round to action on his remembrance of what she had said of Jasper himself: 'because she seems to have some little delicate instinct that all preliminary arrangements had best be made between Mr. Edwin Drood and herself, don't you see? She don't want us, don't you know?' Jasper touched himself on the breast, and said, somewhat indistinctly: 'You mean me.' Mr. Grewgious touched himself on the breast, and said: 'I mean us. Therefore, let them have their little discussions and councils together, when Mr. Edwin Drood comes back here at Christmas; and then you and I will step in, and put the final touches to the business.' 'So, you settled with her that you would come back at Christmas?' observed Jasper. 'I see! Mr. Grewgious, as you quite fairly said just now, there is such an exceptional attachment between my nephew and me, that I am more sensitive for the dear, fortunate, happy, happy fellow than for myself. But it is only right that the young lady should be considered, as you have pointed out, and that I should accept my cue from you. I accept it. I understand that at Christmas they will complete their preparations for May, and that their marriage will be put in final train by themselves, and that nothing will remain for us but to put ourselves in train also, and have everything ready for our formal release from our trusts, on Edwin's birthday.' 'That is my understanding,' assented Mr. Grewgious, as they shook hands to part. 'God bless them both!' 'God save them both!' cried Jasper. 'I said, bless them,' remarked the former, looking back over his shoulder. 'I said, save them,' returned the latter. 'Is there any difference?' CHAPTER X--SMOOTHING THE WAY It has been often enough remarked that women have a curious power of divining the characters of men, which would seem to be innate and instinctive; seeing that it is arrived at through no patient process of reasoning, that it can give no satisfactory or sufficient account of itself, and that it pronounces in the most confident manner even against accumulated observation on the part of the other sex. But it has not been quite so often remarked that this power (fallible, like every other human attribute) is for the most part absolutely incapable of self-revision; and that when it has delivered an adverse opinion which by all human lights is subsequently proved to have failed, it is undistinguishable from prejudice, in respect of its determination not to be corrected. Nay, the very possibility of contradiction or disproof, however remote, communicates to this feminine judgment from the first, in nine cases out of ten, the weakness attendant on the testimony of an interested witness; so personally and strongly does the fair diviner connect herself with her divination. 'Now, don't you think, Ma dear,' said the Minor Canon to his mother one day as she sat at her knitting in his little book-room, 'that you are rather hard on Mr. Neville?' 'No, I do NOT, Sept,' returned the old lady. 'Let us discuss it, Ma.' 'I have no objection to discuss it, Sept. I trust, my dear, I am always open to discussion.' There was a vibration in the old lady's cap, as though she internally added: 'and I should like to see the discussion that would change MY mind!' 'Very good, Ma,' said her conciliatory son. 'There is nothing like being open to discussion.' 'I hope not, my dear,' returned the old lady, evidently shut to it. 'Well! Mr. Neville, on that unfortunate occasion, commits himself under provocation.' 'And under mulled wine,' added the old lady. 'I must admit the wine. Though I believe the two young men were much alike in that regard.' 'I don't,' said the old lady. 'Why not, Ma?' 'Because I DON'T,' said the old lady. 'Still, I am quite open to discussion.' 'But, my dear Ma, I cannot see how we are to discuss, if you take that line.' 'Blame Mr. Neville for it, Sept, and not me,' said the old lady, with stately severity. 'My dear Ma! why Mr. Neville?' 'Because,' said Mrs. Crisparkle, retiring on first principles, 'he came home intoxicated, and did great discredit to this house, and showed great disrespect to this family.' 'That is not to be denied, Ma. He was then, and he is now, very sorry for it.' 'But for Mr. Jasper's well-bred consideration in coming up to me, next day, after service, in the Nave itself, with his gown still on, and expressing his hope that I had not been greatly alarmed or had my rest violently broken, I believe I might never have heard of that disgraceful transaction,' said the old lady. 'To be candid, Ma, I think I should have kept it from you if I could: though I had not decidedly made up my mind. I was following Jasper out, to confer with him on the subject, and to consider the expediency of his and my jointly hushing the thing up on all accounts, when I found him speaking to you. Then it was too late.' 'Too late, indeed, Sept. He was still as pale as gentlemanly ashes at what had taken place in his rooms overnight.' 'If I HAD kept it from you, Ma, you may be sure it would have been for your peace and quiet, and for the good of the young men, and in my best discharge of my duty according to my lights.' The old lady immediately walked across the room and kissed him: saying, 'Of course, my dear Sept, I am sure of that.' 'However, it became the town-talk,' said Mr. Crisparkle, rubbing his ear, as his mother resumed her seat, and her knitting, 'and passed out of my power.' 'And I said then, Sept,' returned the old lady, 'that I thought ill of Mr. Neville. And I say now, that I think ill of Mr. Neville. And I said then, and I say now, that I hope Mr. Neville may come to good, but I don't believe he will.' Here the cap vibrated again considerably. 'I am sorry to hear you say so, Ma--' 'I am sorry to say so, my dear,' interposed the old lady, knitting on firmly, 'but I can't help it.' '--For,' pursued the Minor Canon, 'it is undeniable that Mr. Neville is exceedingly industrious and attentive, and that he improves apace, and that he has--I hope I may say--an attachment to me.' 'There is no merit in the last article, my dear,' said the old lady, quickly; 'and if he says there is, I think the worse of him for the boast.' 'But, my dear Ma, he never said there was.' 'Perhaps not,' returned the old lady; 'still, I don't see that it greatly signifies.' There was no impatience in the pleasant look with which Mr. Crisparkle contemplated the pretty old piece of china as it knitted; but there was, certainly, a humorous sense of its not being a piece of china to argue with very closely. 'Besides, Sept, ask yourself what he would be without his sister. You know what an influence she has over him; you know what a capacity she has; you know that whatever he reads with you, he reads with her. Give her her fair share of your praise, and how much do you leave for him?' At these words Mr. Crisparkle fell into a little reverie, in which he thought of several things. He thought of the times he had seen the brother and sister together in deep converse over one of his own old college books; now, in the rimy mornings, when he made those sharpening pilgrimages to Cloisterham Weir; now, in the sombre evenings, when he faced the wind at sunset, having climbed his favourite outlook, a beetling fragment of monastery ruin; and the two studious figures passed below him along the margin of the river, in which the town fires and lights already shone, making the landscape bleaker. He thought how the consciousness had stolen upon him that in teaching one, he was teaching two; and how he had almost insensibly adapted his explanations to both minds--that with which his own was daily in contact, and that which he only approached through it. He thought of the gossip that had reached him from the Nuns' House, to the effect that Helena, whom he had mistrusted as so proud and fierce, submitted herself to the fairy- bride (as he called her), and learnt from her what she knew. He thought of the picturesque alliance between those two, externally so very different. He thought--perhaps most of all--could it be that these things were yet but so many weeks old, and had become an integral part of his life? As, whenever the Reverend Septimus fell a-musing, his good mother took it to be an infallible sign that he 'wanted support,' the blooming old lady made all haste to the dining-room closet, to produce from it the support embodied in a glass of Constantia and a home-made biscuit. It was a most wonderful closet, worthy of Cloisterham and of Minor Canon Corner. Above it, a portrait of Handel in a flowing wig beamed down at the spectator, with a knowing air of being up to the contents of the closet, and a musical air of intending to combine all its harmonies in one delicious fugue. No common closet with a vulgar door on hinges, openable all at once, and leaving nothing to be disclosed by degrees, this rare closet had a lock in mid-air, where two perpendicular slides met; the one falling down, and the other pushing up. The upper slide, on being pulled down (leaving the lower a double mystery), revealed deep shelves of pickle-jars, jam- pots, tin canisters, spice-boxes, and agreeably outlandish vessels of blue and white, the luscious lodgings of preserved tamarinds and ginger. Every benevolent inhabitant of this retreat had his name inscribed upon his stomach. The pickles, in a uniform of rich brown double-breasted buttoned coat, and yellow or sombre drab continuations, announced their portly forms, in printed capitals, as Walnut, Gherkin, Onion, Cabbage, Cauliflower, Mixed, and other members of that noble family. The jams, as being of a less masculine temperament, and as wearing curlpapers, announced themselves in feminine caligraphy, like a soft whisper, to be Raspberry, Gooseberry, Apricot, Plum, Damson, Apple, and Peach. The scene closing on these charmers, and the lower slide ascending, oranges were revealed, attended by a mighty japanned sugar-box, to temper their acerbity if unripe. Home-made biscuits waited at the Court of these Powers, accompanied by a goodly fragment of plum- cake, and various slender ladies' fingers, to be dipped into sweet wine and kissed. Lowest of all, a compact leaden-vault enshrined the sweet wine and a stock of cordials: whence issued whispers of Seville Orange, Lemon, Almond, and Caraway-seed. There was a crowning air upon this closet of closets, of having been for ages hummed through by the Cathedral bell and organ, until those venerable bees had made sublimated honey of everything in store; and it was always observed that every dipper among the shelves (deep, as has been noticed, and swallowing up head, shoulders, and elbows) came forth again mellow-faced, and seeming to have undergone a saccharine transfiguration. The Reverend Septimus yielded himself up quite as willing a victim to a nauseous medicinal herb-closet, also presided over by the china shepherdess, as to this glorious cupboard. To what amazing infusions of gentian, peppermint, gilliflower, sage, parsley, thyme, rue, rosemary, and dandelion, did his courageous stomach submit itself! In what wonderful wrappers, enclosing layers of dried leaves, would he swathe his rosy and contented face, if his mother suspected him of a toothache! What botanical blotches would he cheerfully stick upon his cheek, or forehead, if the dear old lady convicted him of an imperceptible pimple there! Into this herbaceous penitentiary, situated on an upper staircase-landing: a low and narrow whitewashed cell, where bunches of dried leaves hung from rusty hooks in the ceiling, and were spread out upon shelves, in company with portentous bottles: would the Reverend Septimus submissively be led, like the highly popular lamb who has so long and unresistingly been led to the slaughter, and there would he, unlike that lamb, bore nobody but himself. Not even doing that much, so that the old lady were busy and pleased, he would quietly swallow what was given him, merely taking a corrective dip of hands and face into the great bowl of dried rose-leaves, and into the other great bowl of dried lavender, and then would go out, as confident in the sweetening powers of Cloisterham Weir and a wholesome mind, as Lady Macbeth was hopeless of those of all the seas that roll. In the present instance the good Minor Canon took his glass of Constantia with an excellent grace, and, so supported to his mother's satisfaction, applied himself to the remaining duties of the day. In their orderly and punctual progress they brought round Vesper Service and twilight. The Cathedral being very cold, he set off for a brisk trot after service; the trot to end in a charge at his favourite fragment of ruin, which was to be carried by storm, without a pause for breath. He carried it in a masterly manner, and, not breathed even then, stood looking down upon the river. The river at Cloisterham is sufficiently near the sea to throw up oftentimes a quantity of seaweed. An unusual quantity had come in with the last tide, and this, and the confusion of the water, and the restless dipping and flapping of the noisy gulls, and an angry light out seaward beyond the brown-sailed barges that were turning black, foreshadowed a stormy night. In his mind he was contrasting the wild and noisy sea with the quiet harbour of Minor Canon Corner, when Helena and Neville Landless passed below him. He had had the two together in his thoughts all day, and at once climbed down to speak to them together. The footing was rough in an uncertain light for any tread save that of a good climber; but the Minor Canon was as good a climber as most men, and stood beside them before many good climbers would have been half-way down. 'A wild evening, Miss Landless! Do you not find your usual walk with your brother too exposed and cold for the time of year? Or at all events, when the sun is down, and the weather is driving in from the sea?' Helena thought not. It was their favourite walk. It was very retired. 'It is very retired,' assented Mr. Crisparkle, laying hold of his opportunity straightway, and walking on with them. 'It is a place of all others where one can speak without interruption, as I wish to do. Mr. Neville, I believe you tell your sister everything that passes between us?' 'Everything, sir.' 'Consequently,' said Mr. Crisparkle, 'your sister is aware that I have repeatedly urged you to make some kind of apology for that unfortunate occurrence which befell on the night of your arrival here.' In saying it he looked to her, and not to him; therefore it was she, and not he, who replied: 'Yes.' 'I call it unfortunate, Miss Helena,' resumed Mr. Crisparkle, 'forasmuch as it certainly has engendered a prejudice against Neville. There is a notion about, that he is a dangerously passionate fellow, of an uncontrollable and furious temper: he is really avoided as such.' 'I have no doubt he is, poor fellow,' said Helena, with a look of proud compassion at her brother, expressing a deep sense of his being ungenerously treated. 'I should be quite sure of it, from your saying so; but what you tell me is confirmed by suppressed hints and references that I meet with every day.' 'Now,' Mr. Crisparkle again resumed, in a tone of mild though firm persuasion, 'is not this to be regretted, and ought it not to be amended? These are early days of Neville's in Cloisterham, and I have no fear of his outliving such a prejudice, and proving himself to have been misunderstood. But how much wiser to take action at once, than to trust to uncertain time! Besides, apart from its being politic, it is right. For there can be no question that Neville was wrong.' 'He was provoked,' Helena submitted. 'He was the assailant,' Mr. Crisparkle submitted. They walked on in silence, until Helena raised her eyes to the Minor Canon's face, and said, almost reproachfully: 'O Mr. Crisparkle, would you have Neville throw himself at young Drood's feet, or at Mr. Jasper's, who maligns him every day? In your heart you cannot mean it. From your heart you could not do it, if his case were yours.' 'I have represented to Mr. Crisparkle, Helena,' said Neville, with a glance of deference towards his tutor, 'that if I could do it from my heart, I would. But I cannot, and I revolt from the pretence. You forget however, that to put the case to Mr. Crisparkle as his own, is to suppose to have done what I did.' 'I ask his pardon,' said Helena. 'You see,' remarked Mr. Crisparkle, again laying hold of his opportunity, though with a moderate and delicate touch, 'you both instinctively acknowledge that Neville did wrong. Then why stop short, and not otherwise acknowledge it?' 'Is there no difference,' asked Helena, with a little faltering in her manner; 'between submission to a generous spirit, and submission to a base or trivial one?' Before the worthy Minor Canon was quite ready with his argument in reference to this nice distinction, Neville struck in: 'Help me to clear myself with Mr. Crisparkle, Helena. Help me to convince him that I cannot be the first to make concessions without mockery and falsehood. My nature must be changed before I can do so, and it is not changed. I am sensible of inexpressible affront, and deliberate aggravation of inexpressible affront, and I am angry. The plain truth is, I am still as angry when I recall that night as I was that night.' 'Neville,' hinted the Minor Canon, with a steady countenance, 'you have repeated that former action of your hands, which I so much dislike.' 'I am sorry for it, sir, but it was involuntary. I confessed that I was still as angry.' 'And I confess,' said Mr. Crisparkle, 'that I hoped for better things.' 'I am sorry to disappoint you, sir, but it would be far worse to deceive you, and I should deceive you grossly if I pretended that you had softened me in this respect. The time may come when your powerful influence will do even that with the difficult pupil whose antecedents you know; but it has not come yet. Is this so, and in spite of my struggles against myself, Helena?' She, whose dark eyes were watching the effect of what he said on Mr. Crisparkle's face, replied--to Mr. Crisparkle, not to him: 'It is so.' After a short pause, she answered the slightest look of inquiry conceivable, in her brother's eyes, with as slight an affirmative bend of her own head; and he went on: 'I have never yet had the courage to say to you, sir, what in full openness I ought to have said when you first talked with me on this subject. It is not easy to say, and I have been withheld by a fear of its seeming ridiculous, which is very strong upon me down to this last moment, and might, but for my sister, prevent my being quite open with you even now.--I admire Miss Bud, sir, so very much, that I cannot bear her being treated with conceit or indifference; and even if I did not feel that I had an injury against young Drood on my own account, I should feel that I had an injury against him on hers.' Mr. Crisparkle, in utter amazement, looked at Helena for corroboration, and met in her expressive face full corroboration, and a plea for advice. 'The young lady of whom you speak is, as you know, Mr. Neville, shortly to be married,' said Mr. Crisparkle, gravely; 'therefore your admiration, if it be of that special nature which you seem to indicate, is outrageously misplaced. Moreover, it is monstrous that you should take upon yourself to be the young lady's champion against her chosen husband. Besides, you have seen them only once. The young lady has become your sister's friend; and I wonder that your sister, even on her behalf, has not checked you in this irrational and culpable fancy.' 'She has tried, sir, but uselessly. Husband or no husband, that fellow is incapable of the feeling with which I am inspired towards the beautiful young creature whom he treats like a doll. I say he is as incapable of it, as he is unworthy of her. I say she is sacrificed in being bestowed upon him. I say that I love her, and despise and hate him!' This with a face so flushed, and a gesture so violent, that his sister crossed to his side, and caught his arm, remonstrating, 'Neville, Neville!' Thus recalled to himself, he quickly became sensible of having lost the guard he had set upon his passionate tendency, and covered his face with his hand, as one repentant and wretched. Mr. Crisparkle, watching him attentively, and at the same time meditating how to proceed, walked on for some paces in silence. Then he spoke: 'Mr. Neville, Mr. Neville, I am sorely grieved to see in you more traces of a character as sullen, angry, and wild, as the night now closing in. They are of too serious an aspect to leave me the resource of treating the infatuation you have disclosed, as undeserving serious consideration. I give it very serious consideration, and I speak to you accordingly. This feud between you and young Drood must not go on. I cannot permit it to go on any longer, knowing what I now know from you, and you living under my roof. Whatever prejudiced and unauthorised constructions your blind and envious wrath may put upon his character, it is a frank, good-natured character. I know I can trust to it for that. Now, pray observe what I am about to say. On reflection, and on your sister's representation, I am willing to admit that, in making peace with young Drood, you have a right to be met half-way. I will engage that you shall be, and even that young Drood shall make the first advance. This condition fulfilled, you will pledge me the honour of a Christian gentleman that the quarrel is for ever at an end on your side. What may be in your heart when you give him your hand, can only be known to the Searcher of all hearts; but it will never go well with you, if there be any treachery there. So far, as to that; next as to what I must again speak of as your infatuation. I understand it to have been confided to me, and to be known to no other person save your sister and yourself. Do I understand aright?' Helena answered in a low voice: 'It is only known to us three who are here together.' 'It is not at all known to the young lady, your friend?' 'On my soul, no!' 'I require you, then, to give me your similar and solemn pledge, Mr. Neville, that it shall remain the secret it is, and that you will take no other action whatsoever upon it than endeavouring (and that most earnestly) to erase it from your mind. I will not tell you that it will soon pass; I will not tell you that it is the fancy of the moment; I will not tell you that such caprices have their rise and fall among the young and ardent every hour; I will leave you undisturbed in the belief that it has few parallels or none, that it will abide with you a long time, and that it will be very difficult to conquer. So much the more weight shall I attach to the pledge I require from you, when it is unreservedly given.' The young man twice or thrice essayed to speak, but failed. 'Let me leave you with your sister, whom it is time you took home,' said Mr. Crisparkle. 'You will find me alone in my room by-and- by.' 'Pray do not leave us yet,' Helena implored him. 'Another minute.' 'I should not,' said Neville, pressing his hand upon his face, 'have needed so much as another minute, if you had been less patient with me, Mr. Crisparkle, less considerate of me, and less unpretendingly good and true. O, if in my childhood I had known such a guide!' 'Follow your guide now, Neville,' murmured Helena, 'and follow him to Heaven!' There was that in her tone which broke the good Minor Canon's voice, or it would have repudiated her exaltation of him. As it was, he laid a finger on his lips, and looked towards her brother. 'To say that I give both pledges, Mr. Crisparkle, out of my innermost heart, and to say that there is no treachery in it, is to say nothing!' Thus Neville, greatly moved. 'I beg your forgiveness for my miserable lapse into a burst of passion.' 'Not mine, Neville, not mine. You know with whom forgiveness lies, as the highest attribute conceivable. Miss Helena, you and your brother are twin children. You came into this world with the same dispositions, and you passed your younger days together surrounded by the same adverse circumstances. What you have overcome in yourself, can you not overcome in him? You see the rock that lies in his course. Who but you can keep him clear of it?' 'Who but you, sir?' replied Helena. 'What is my influence, or my weak wisdom, compared with yours!' 'You have the wisdom of Love,' returned the Minor Canon, 'and it was the highest wisdom ever known upon this earth, remember. As to mine--but the less said of that commonplace commodity the better. Good night!' She took the hand he offered her, and gratefully and almost reverently raised it to her lips. 'Tut!' said the Minor Canon softly, 'I am much overpaid!' and turned away. Retracing his steps towards the Cathedral Close, he tried, as he went along in the dark, to think out the best means of bringing to pass what he had promised to effect, and what must somehow be done. 'I shall probably be asked to marry them,' he reflected, 'and I would they were married and gone! But this presses first.' He debated principally whether he should write to young Drood, or whether he should speak to Jasper. The consciousness of being popular with the whole Cathedral establishment inclined him to the latter course, and the well-timed sight of the lighted gatehouse decided him to take it. 'I will strike while the iron is hot,' he said, 'and see him now.' Jasper was lying asleep on a couch before the fire, when, having ascended the postern-stair, and received no answer to his knock at the door, Mr. Crisparkle gently turned the handle and looked in. Long afterwards he had cause to remember how Jasper sprang from the couch in a delirious state between sleeping and waking, and crying out: 'What is the matter? Who did it?' 'It is only I, Jasper. I am sorry to have disturbed you.' The glare of his eyes settled down into a look of recognition, and he moved a chair or two, to make a way to the fireside. 'I was dreaming at a great rate, and am glad to be disturbed from an indigestive after-dinner sleep. Not to mention that you are always welcome.' 'Thank you. I am not confident,' returned Mr. Crisparkle, as he sat himself down in the easy-chair placed for him, 'that my subject will at first sight be quite as welcome as myself; but I am a minister of peace, and I pursue my subject in the interests of peace. In a word, Jasper, I want to establish peace between these two young fellows.' A very perplexed expression took hold of Mr. Jasper's face; a very perplexing expression too, for Mr. Crisparkle could make nothing of it. 'How?' was Jasper's inquiry, in a low and slow voice, after a silence. 'For the "How" I come to you. I want to ask you to do me the great favour and service of interposing with your nephew (I have already interposed with Mr. Neville), and getting him to write you a short note, in his lively way, saying that he is willing to shake hands. I know what a good-natured fellow he is, and what influence you have with him. And without in the least defending Mr. Neville, we must all admit that he was bitterly stung.' Jasper turned that perplexed face towards the fire. Mr. Crisparkle continuing to observe it, found it even more perplexing than before, inasmuch as it seemed to denote (which could hardly be) some close internal calculation. 'I know that you are not prepossessed in Mr. Neville's favour,' the Minor Canon was going on, when Jasper stopped him: 'You have cause to say so. I am not, indeed.' 'Undoubtedly; and I admit his lamentable violence of temper, though I hope he and I will get the better of it between us. But I have exacted a very solemn promise from him as to his future demeanour towards your nephew, if you do kindly interpose; and I am sure he will keep it.' 'You are always responsible and trustworthy, Mr. Crisparkle. Do you really feel sure that you can answer for him so confidently?' 'I do.' The perplexed and perplexing look vanished. 'Then you relieve my mind of a great dread, and a heavy weight,' said Jasper; 'I will do it.' Mr. Crisparkle, delighted by the swiftness and completeness of his success, acknowledged it in the handsomest terms. 'I will do it,' repeated Jasper, 'for the comfort of having your guarantee against my vague and unfounded fears. You will laugh-- but do you keep a Diary?' 'A line for a day; not more.' 'A line for a day would be quite as much as my uneventful life would need, Heaven knows,' said Jasper, taking a book from a desk, 'but that my Diary is, in fact, a Diary of Ned's life too. You will laugh at this entry; you will guess when it was made: '"Past midnight.--After what I have just now seen, I have a morbid dread upon me of some horrible consequences resulting to my dear boy, that I cannot reason with or in any way contend against. All my efforts are vain. The demoniacal passion of this Neville Landless, his strength in his fury, and his savage rage for the destruction of its object, appal me. So profound is the impression, that twice since I have gone into my dear boy's room, to assure myself of his sleeping safely, and not lying dead in his blood." 'Here is another entry next morning: '"Ned up and away. Light-hearted and unsuspicious as ever. He laughed when I cautioned him, and said he was as good a man as Neville Landless any day. I told him that might be, but he was not as bad a man. He continued to make light of it, but I travelled with him as far as I could, and left him most unwillingly. I am unable to shake off these dark intangible presentiments of evil--if feelings founded upon staring facts are to be so called." 'Again and again,' said Jasper, in conclusion, twirling the leaves of the book before putting it by, 'I have relapsed into these moods, as other entries show. But I have now your assurance at my back, and shall put it in my book, and make it an antidote to my black humours.' 'Such an antidote, I hope,' returned Mr. Crisparkle, 'as will induce you before long to consign the black humours to the flames. I ought to be the last to find any fault with you this evening, when you have met my wishes so freely; but I must say, Jasper, that your devotion to your nephew has made you exaggerative here.' 'You are my witness,' said Jasper, shrugging his shoulders, 'what my state of mind honestly was, that night, before I sat down to write, and in what words I expressed it. You remember objecting to a word I used, as being too strong? It was a stronger word than any in my Diary.' 'Well, well. Try the antidote,' rejoined Mr. Crisparkle; 'and may it give you a brighter and better view of the case! We will discuss it no more now. I have to thank you for myself, thank you sincerely.' 'You shall find,' said Jasper, as they shook hands, 'that I will not do the thing you wish me to do, by halves. I will take care that Ned, giving way at all, shall give way thoroughly.' On the third day after this conversation, he called on Mr. Crisparkle with the following letter: 'MY DEAR JACK, 'I am touched by your account of your interview with Mr. Crisparkle, whom I much respect and esteem. At once I openly say that I forgot myself on that occasion quite as much as Mr. Landless did, and that I wish that bygone to be a bygone, and all to be right again. 'Look here, dear old boy. Ask Mr. Landless to dinner on Christmas Eve (the better the day the better the deed), and let there be only we three, and let us shake hands all round there and then, and say no more about it. 'My dear Jack, 'Ever your most affectionate, 'EDWIN DROOD. 'P.S. Love to Miss Pussy at the next music-lesson.' 'You expect Mr. Neville, then?' said Mr. Crisparkle. 'I count upon his coming,' said Mr. Jasper. CHAPTER XI--A PICTURE AND A RING Behind the most ancient part of Holborn, London, where certain gabled houses some centuries of age still stand looking on the public way, as if disconsolately looking for the Old Bourne that has long run dry, is a little nook composed of two irregular quadrangles, called Staple Inn. It is one of those nooks, the turning into which out of the clashing street, imparts to the relieved pedestrian the sensation of having put cotton in his ears, and velvet soles on his boots. It is one of those nooks where a few smoky sparrows twitter in smoky trees, as though they called to one another, 'Let us play at country,' and where a few feet of garden-mould and a few yards of gravel enable them to do that refreshing violence to their tiny understandings. Moreover, it is one of those nooks which are legal nooks; and it contains a little Hall, with a little lantern in its roof: to what obstructive purposes devoted, and at whose expense, this history knoweth not. In the days when Cloisterham took offence at the existence of a railroad afar off, as menacing that sensitive constitution, the property of us Britons: the odd fortune of which sacred institution it is to be in exactly equal degrees croaked about, trembled for, and boasted of, whatever happens to anything, anywhere in the world: in those days no neighbouring architecture of lofty proportions had arisen to overshadow Staple Inn. The westering sun bestowed bright glances on it, and the south-west wind blew into it unimpeded. Neither wind nor sun, however, favoured Staple Inn one December afternoon towards six o'clock, when it was filled with fog, and candles shed murky and blurred rays through the windows of all its then-occupied sets of chambers; notably from a set of chambers in a corner house in the little inner quadrangle, presenting in black and white over its ugly portal the mysterious inscription: P J T 1747 In which set of chambers, never having troubled his head about the inscription, unless to bethink himself at odd times on glancing up at it, that haply it might mean Perhaps John Thomas, or Perhaps Joe Tyler, sat Mr. Grewgious writing by his fire. Who could have told, by looking at Mr. Grewgious, whether he had ever known ambition or disappointment? He had been bred to the Bar, and had laid himself out for chamber practice; to draw deeds; 'convey the wise it call,' as Pistol says. But Conveyancing and he had made such a very indifferent marriage of it that they had separated by consent--if there can be said to be separation where there has never been coming together. No. Coy Conveyancing would not come to Mr. Grewgious. She was wooed, not won, and they went their several ways. But an Arbitration being blown towards him by some unaccountable wind, and he gaining great credit in it as one indefatigable in seeking out right and doing right, a pretty fat Receivership was next blown into his pocket by a wind more traceable to its source. So, by chance, he had found his niche. Receiver and Agent now, to two rich estates, and deputing their legal business, in an amount worth having, to a firm of solicitors on the floor below, he had snuffed out his ambition (supposing him to have ever lighted it), and had settled down with his snuffers for the rest of his life under the dry vine and fig-tree of P. J. T., who planted in seventeen-forty- seven. Many accounts and account-books, many files of correspondence, and several strong boxes, garnished Mr. Grewgious's room. They can scarcely be represented as having lumbered it, so conscientious and precise was their orderly arrangement. The apprehension of dying suddenly, and leaving one fact or one figure with any incompleteness or obscurity attaching to it, would have stretched Mr. Grewgious stone-dead any day. The largest fidelity to a trust was the life-blood of the man. There are sorts of life-blood that course more quickly, more gaily, more attractively; but there is no better sort in circulation. There was no luxury in his room. Even its comforts were limited to its being dry and warm, and having a snug though faded fireside. What may be called its private life was confined to the hearth, and all easy-chair, and an old-fashioned occasional round table that was brought out upon the rug after business hours, from a corner where it elsewise remained turned up like a shining mahogany shield. Behind it, when standing thus on the defensive, was a closet, usually containing something good to drink. An outer room was the clerk's room; Mr. Grewgious's sleeping-room was across the common stair; and he held some not empty cellarage at the bottom of the common stair. Three hundred days in the year, at least, he crossed over to the hotel in Furnival's Inn for his dinner, and after dinner crossed back again, to make the most of these simplicities until it should become broad business day once more, with P. J. T., date seventeen-forty-seven. As Mr. Grewgious sat and wrote by his fire that afternoon, so did the clerk of Mr. Grewgious sit and write by HIS fire. A pale, puffy-faced, dark-haired person of thirty, with big dark eyes that wholly wanted lustre, and a dissatisfied doughy complexion, that seemed to ask to be sent to the baker's, this attendant was a mysterious being, possessed of some strange power over Mr. Grewgious. As though he had been called into existence, like a fabulous Familiar, by a magic spell which had failed when required to dismiss him, he stuck tight to Mr. Grewgious's stool, although Mr. Grewgious's comfort and convenience would manifestly have been advanced by dispossessing him. A gloomy person with tangled locks, and a general air of having been reared under the shadow of that baleful tree of Java which has given shelter to more lies than the whole botanical kingdom, Mr. Grewgious, nevertheless, treated him with unaccountable consideration. 'Now, Bazzard,' said Mr. Grewgious, on the entrance of his clerk: looking up from his papers as he arranged them for the night: 'what is in the wind besides fog?' 'Mr. Drood,' said Bazzard. 'What of him?' 'Has called,' said Bazzard. 'You might have shown him in.' 'I am doing it,' said Bazzard. The visitor came in accordingly. 'Dear me!' said Mr. Grewgious, looking round his pair of office candles. 'I thought you had called and merely left your name and gone. How do you do, Mr. Edwin? Dear me, you're choking!' 'It's this fog,' returned Edwin; 'and it makes my eyes smart, like Cayenne pepper.' 'Is it really so bad as that? Pray undo your wrappers. It's fortunate I have so good a fire; but Mr. Bazzard has taken care of me.' 'No I haven't,' said Mr. Bazzard at the door. 'Ah! then it follows that I must have taken care of myself without observing it,' said Mr. Grewgious. 'Pray be seated in my chair. No. I beg! Coming out of such an atmosphere, in MY chair.' Edwin took the easy-chair in the corner; and the fog he had brought in with him, and the fog he took off with his greatcoat and neck- shawl, was speedily licked up by the eager fire. 'I look,' said Edwin, smiling, 'as if I had come to stop.' '--By the by,' cried Mr. Grewgious; 'excuse my interrupting you; do stop. The fog may clear in an hour or two. We can have dinner in from just across Holborn. You had better take your Cayenne pepper here than outside; pray stop and dine.' 'You are very kind,' said Edwin, glancing about him as though attracted by the notion of a new and relishing sort of gipsy-party. 'Not at all,' said Mr. Grewgious; 'YOU are very kind to join issue with a bachelor in chambers, and take pot-luck. And I'll ask,' said Mr. Grewgious, dropping his voice, and speaking with a twinkling eye, as if inspired with a bright thought: 'I'll ask Bazzard. He mightn't like it else.--Bazzard!' Bazzard reappeared. 'Dine presently with Mr. Drood and me.' 'If I am ordered to dine, of course I will, sir,' was the gloomy answer. 'Save the man!' cried Mr. Grewgious. 'You're not ordered; you're invited.' 'Thank you, sir,' said Bazzard; 'in that case I don't care if I do.' 'That's arranged. And perhaps you wouldn't mind,' said Mr. Grewgious, 'stepping over to the hotel in Furnival's, and asking them to send in materials for laying the cloth. For dinner we'll have a tureen of the hottest and strongest soup available, and we'll have the best made-dish that can be recommended, and we'll have a joint (such as a haunch of mutton), and we'll have a goose, or a turkey, or any little stuffed thing of that sort that may happen to be in the bill of fare--in short, we'll have whatever there is on hand.' These liberal directions Mr. Grewgious issued with his usual air of reading an inventory, or repeating a lesson, or doing anything else by rote. Bazzard, after drawing out the round table, withdrew to execute them. 'I was a little delicate, you see,' said Mr. Grewgious, in a lower tone, after his clerk's departure, 'about employing him in the foraging or commissariat department. Because he mightn't like it.' 'He seems to have his own way, sir,' remarked Edwin. 'His own way?' returned Mr. Grewgious. 'O dear no! Poor fellow, you quite mistake him. If he had his own way, he wouldn't be here.' 'I wonder where he would be!' Edwin thought. But he only thought it, because Mr. Grewgious came and stood himself with his back to the other corner of the fire, and his shoulder-blades against the chimneypiece, and collected his skirts for easy conversation. 'I take it, without having the gift of prophecy, that you have done me the favour of looking in to mention that you are going down yonder--where I can tell you, you are expected--and to offer to execute any little commission from me to my charming ward, and perhaps to sharpen me up a bit in any proceedings? Eh, Mr. Edwin?' 'I called, sir, before going down, as an act of attention.' 'Of attention!' said Mr. Grewgious. 'Ah! of course, not of impatience?' 'Impatience, sir?' Mr. Grewgious had meant to be arch--not that he in the remotest degree expressed that meaning--and had brought himself into scarcely supportable proximity with the fire, as if to burn the fullest effect of his archness into himself, as other subtle impressions are burnt into hard metals. But his archness suddenly flying before the composed face and manner of his visitor, and only the fire remaining, he started and rubbed himself. 'I have lately been down yonder,' said Mr. Grewgious, rearranging his skirts; 'and that was what I referred to, when I said I could tell you you are expected.' 'Indeed, sir! Yes; I knew that Pussy was looking out for me.' 'Do you keep a cat down there?' asked Mr. Grewgious. Edwin coloured a little as he explained: 'I call Rosa Pussy.' 'O, really,' said Mr. Grewgious, smoothing down his head; 'that's very affable.' Edwin glanced at his face, uncertain whether or no he seriously objected to the appellation. But Edwin might as well have glanced at the face of a clock. 'A pet name, sir,' he explained again. 'Umps,' said Mr. Grewgious, with a nod. But with such an extraordinary compromise between an unqualified assent and a qualified dissent, that his visitor was much disconcerted. 'Did PRosa--' Edwin began by way of recovering himself. 'PRosa?' repeated Mr. Grewgious. 'I was going to say Pussy, and changed my mind;--did she tell you anything about the Landlesses?' 'No,' said Mr. Grewgious. 'What is the Landlesses? An estate? A villa? A farm?' 'A brother and sister. The sister is at the Nuns' House, and has become a great friend of P--' 'PRosa's,' Mr. Grewgious struck in, with a fixed face. 'She is a strikingly handsome girl, sir, and I thought she might have been described to you, or presented to you perhaps?' 'Neither,' said Mr. Grewgious. 'But here is Bazzard.' Bazzard returned, accompanied by two waiters--an immovable waiter, and a flying waiter; and the three brought in with them as much fog as gave a new roar to the fire. The flying waiter, who had brought everything on his shoulders, laid the cloth with amazing rapidity and dexterity; while the immovable waiter, who had brought nothing, found fault with him. The flying waiter then highly polished all the glasses he had brought, and the immovable waiter looked through them. The flying waiter then flew across Holborn for the soup, and flew back again, and then took another flight for the made-dish, and flew back again, and then took another flight for the joint and poultry, and flew back again, and between whiles took supplementary flights for a great variety of articles, as it was discovered from time to time that the immovable waiter had forgotten them all. But let the flying waiter cleave the air as he might, he was always reproached on his return by the immovable waiter for bringing fog with him, and being out of breath. At the conclusion of the repast, by which time the flying waiter was severely blown, the immovable waiter gathered up the tablecloth under his arm with a grand air, and having sternly (not to say with indignation) looked on at the flying waiter while he set the clean glasses round, directed a valedictory glance towards Mr. Grewgious, conveying: 'Let it be clearly understood between us that the reward is mine, and that Nil is the claim of this slave,' and pushed the flying waiter before him out of the room. It was like a highly-finished miniature painting representing My Lords of the Circumlocution Department, Commandership-in-Chief of any sort, Government. It was quite an edifying little picture to be hung on the line in the National Gallery. As the fog had been the proximate cause of this sumptuous repast, so the fog served for its general sauce. To hear the out-door clerks sneezing, wheezing, and beating their feet on the gravel was a zest far surpassing Doctor Kitchener's. To bid, with a shiver, the unfortunate flying waiter shut the door before he had opened it, was a condiment of a profounder flavour than Harvey. And here let it be noticed, parenthetically, that the leg of this young man, in its application to the door, evinced the finest sense of touch: always preceding himself and tray (with something of an angling air about it), by some seconds: and always lingering after he and the tray had disappeared, like Macbeth's leg when accompanying him off the stage with reluctance to the assassination of Duncan. The host had gone below to the cellar, and had brought up bottles of ruby, straw-coloured, and golden drinks, which had ripened long ago in lands where no fogs are, and had since lain slumbering in the shade. Sparkling and tingling after so long a nap, they pushed at their corks to help the corkscrew (like prisoners helping rioters to force their gates), and danced out gaily. If P. J. T. in seventeen-forty-seven, or in any other year of his period, drank such wines--then, for a certainty, P. J. T. was Pretty Jolly Too. Externally, Mr. Grewgious showed no signs of being mellowed by these glowing vintages. Instead of his drinking them, they might have been poured over him in his high-dried snuff form, and run to waste, for any lights and shades they caused to flicker over his face. Neither was his manner influenced. But, in his wooden way, he had observant eyes for Edwin; and when at the end of dinner, he motioned Edwin back to his own easy-chair in the fireside corner, and Edwin sank luxuriously into it after very brief remonstrance, Mr. Grewgious, as he turned his seat round towards the fire too, and smoothed his head and face, might have been seen looking at his visitor between his smoothing fingers. 'Bazzard!' said Mr. Grewgious, suddenly turning to him. 'I follow you, sir,' returned Bazzard; who had done his work of consuming meat and drink in a workmanlike manner, though mostly in speechlessness. 'I drink to you, Bazzard; Mr. Edwin, success to Mr. Bazzard!' 'Success to Mr. Bazzard!' echoed Edwin, with a totally unfounded appearance of enthusiasm, and with the unspoken addition: 'What in, I wonder!' 'And May!' pursued Mr. Grewgious--'I am not at liberty to be definite--May!--my conversational powers are so very limited that I know I shall not come well out of this--May!--it ought to be put imaginatively, but I have no imagination--May!--the thorn of anxiety is as nearly the mark as I am likely to get--May it come out at last!' Mr. Bazzard, with a frowning smile at the fire, put a hand into his tangled locks, as if the thorn of anxiety were there; then into his waistcoat, as if it were there; then into his pockets, as if it were there. In all these movements he was closely followed by the eyes of Edwin, as if that young gentleman expected to see the thorn in action. It was not produced, however, and Mr. Bazzard merely said: 'I follow you, sir, and I thank you.' 'I am going,' said Mr. Grewgious, jingling his glass on the table with one hand, and bending aside under cover of the other, to whisper to Edwin, 'to drink to my ward. But I put Bazzard first. He mightn't like it else.' This was said with a mysterious wink; or what would have been a wink, if, in Mr. Grewgious's hands, it could have been quick enough. So Edwin winked responsively, without the least idea what he meant by doing so. 'And now,' said Mr. Grewgious, 'I devote a bumper to the fair and fascinating Miss Rosa. Bazzard, the fair and fascinating Miss Rosa!' 'I follow you, sir,' said Bazzard, 'and I pledge you!' 'And so do I!' said Edwin. 'Lord bless me,' cried Mr. Grewgious, breaking the blank silence which of course ensued: though why these pauses SHOULD come upon us when we have performed any small social rite, not directly inducive of self-examination or mental despondency, who can tell? 'I am a particularly Angular man, and yet I fancy (if I may use the word, not having a morsel of fancy), that I could draw a picture of a true lover's state of mind, to-night.' 'Let us follow you, sir,' said Bazzard, 'and have the picture.' 'Mr. Edwin will correct it where it's wrong,' resumed Mr. Grewgious, 'and will throw in a few touches from the life. I dare say it is wrong in many particulars, and wants many touches from the life, for I was born a Chip, and have neither soft sympathies nor soft experiences. Well! I hazard the guess that the true lover's mind is completely permeated by the beloved object of his affections. I hazard the guess that her dear name is precious to him, cannot be heard or repeated without emotion, and is preserved sacred. If he has any distinguishing appellation of fondness for her, it is reserved for her, and is not for common ears. A name that it would be a privilege to call her by, being alone with her own bright self, it would be a liberty, a coldness, an insensibility, almost a breach of good faith, to flaunt elsewhere.' It was wonderful to see Mr. Grewgious sitting bolt upright, with his hands on his knees, continuously chopping this discourse out of himself: much as a charity boy with a very good memory might get his catechism said: and evincing no correspondent emotion whatever, unless in a certain occasional little tingling perceptible at the end of his nose. 'My picture,' Mr. Grewgious proceeded, 'goes on to represent (under correction from you, Mr. Edwin), the true lover as ever impatient to be in the presence or vicinity of the beloved object of his affections; as caring very little for his case in any other society; and as constantly seeking that. If I was to say seeking that, as a bird seeks its nest, I should make an ass of myself, because that would trench upon what I understand to be poetry; and I am so far from trenching upon poetry at any time, that I never, to my knowledge, got within ten thousand miles of it. And I am besides totally unacquainted with the habits of birds, except the birds of Staple Inn, who seek their nests on ledges, and in gutter- pipes and chimneypots, not constructed for them by the beneficent hand of Nature. I beg, therefore, to be understood as foregoing the bird's-nest. But my picture does represent the true lover as having no existence separable from that of the beloved object of his affections, and as living at once a doubled life and a halved life. And if I do not clearly express what I mean by that, it is either for the reason that having no conversational powers, I cannot express what I mean, or that having no meaning, I do not mean what I fail to express. Which, to the best of my belief, is not the case.' Edwin had turned red and turned white, as certain points of this picture came into the light. He now sat looking at the fire, and bit his lip. 'The speculations of an Angular man,' resumed Mr. Grewgious, still sitting and speaking exactly as before, 'are probably erroneous on so globular a topic. But I figure to myself (subject, as before, to Mr. Edwin's correction), that there can be no coolness, no lassitude, no doubt, no indifference, no half fire and half smoke state of mind, in a real lover. Pray am I at all near the mark in my picture?' As abrupt in his conclusion as in his commencement and progress, he jerked this inquiry at Edwin, and stopped when one might have supposed him in the middle of his oration. 'I should say, sir,' stammered Edwin, 'as you refer the question to me--' 'Yes,' said Mr. Grewgious, 'I refer it to you, as an authority.' 'I should say, then, sir,' Edwin went on, embarrassed, 'that the picture you have drawn is generally correct; but I submit that perhaps you may be rather hard upon the unlucky lover.' 'Likely so,' assented Mr. Grewgious, 'likely so. I am a hard man in the grain.' 'He may not show,' said Edwin, 'all he feels; or he may not--' There he stopped so long, to find the rest of his sentence, that Mr. Grewgious rendered his difficulty a thousand times the greater by unexpectedly striking in with: 'No to be sure; he MAY not!' After that, they all sat silent; the silence of Mr. Bazzard being occasioned by slumber. 'His responsibility is very great, though,' said Mr. Grewgious at length, with his eyes on the fire. Edwin nodded assent, with HIS eyes on the fire. 'And let him be sure that he trifles with no one,' said Mr. Grewgious; 'neither with himself, nor with any other.' Edwin bit his lip again, and still sat looking at the fire. 'He must not make a plaything of a treasure. Woe betide him if he does! Let him take that well to heart,' said Mr. Grewgious. Though he said these things in short sentences, much as the supposititious charity boy just now referred to might have repeated a verse or two from the Book of Proverbs, there was something dreamy (for so literal a man) in the way in which he now shook his right forefinger at the live coals in the grate, and again fell silent. But not for long. As he sat upright and stiff in his chair, he suddenly rapped his knees, like the carved image of some queer Joss or other coming out of its reverie, and said: 'We must finish this bottle, Mr. Edwin. Let me help you. I'll help Bazzard too, though he IS asleep. He mightn't like it else.' He helped them both, and helped himself, and drained his glass, and stood it bottom upward on the table, as though he had just caught a bluebottle in it. 'And now, Mr. Edwin,' he proceeded, wiping his mouth and hands upon his handkerchief: 'to a little piece of business. You received from me, the other day, a certified copy of Miss Rosa's father's will. You knew its contents before, but you received it from me as a matter of business. I should have sent it to Mr. Jasper, but for Miss Rosa's wishing it to come straight to you, in preference. You received it?' 'Quite safely, sir.' 'You should have acknowledged its receipt,' said Mr. Grewgious; 'business being business all the world over. However, you did not.' 'I meant to have acknowledged it when I first came in this evening, sir.' 'Not a business-like acknowledgment,' returned Mr. Grewgious; 'however, let that pass. Now, in that document you have observed a few words of kindly allusion to its being left to me to discharge a little trust, confided to me in conversation, at such time as I in my discretion may think best.' 'Yes, sir.' 'Mr. Edwin, it came into my mind just now, when I was looking at the fire, that I could, in my discretion, acquit myself of that trust at no better time than the present. Favour me with your attention, half a minute.' He took a bunch of keys from his pocket, singled out by the candle- light the key he wanted, and then, with a candle in his hand, went to a bureau or escritoire, unlocked it, touched the spring of a little secret drawer, and took from it an ordinary ring-case made for a single ring. With this in his hand, he returned to his chair. As he held it up for the young man to see, his hand trembled. 'Mr. Edwin, this rose of diamonds and rubies delicately set in gold, was a ring belonging to Miss Rosa's mother. It was removed from her dead hand, in my presence, with such distracted grief as I hope it may never be my lot to contemplate again. Hard man as I am, I am not hard enough for that. See how bright these stones shine!' opening the case. 'And yet the eyes that were so much brighter, and that so often looked upon them with a light and a proud heart, have been ashes among ashes, and dust among dust, some years! If I had any imagination (which it is needless to say I have not), I might imagine that the lasting beauty of these stones was almost cruel.' He closed the case again as he spoke. 'This ring was given to the young lady who was drowned so early in her beautiful and happy career, by her husband, when they first plighted their faith to one another. It was he who removed it from her unconscious hand, and it was he who, when his death drew very near, placed it in mine. The trust in which I received it, was, that, you and Miss Rosa growing to manhood and womanhood, and your betrothal prospering and coming to maturity, I should give it to you to place upon her finger. Failing those desired results, it was to remain in my possession.' Some trouble was in the young man's face, and some indecision was in the action of his hand, as Mr. Grewgious, looking steadfastly at him, gave him the ring. 'Your placing it on her finger,' said Mr. Grewgious, 'will be the solemn seal upon your strict fidelity to the living and the dead. You are going to her, to make the last irrevocable preparations for your marriage. Take it with you.' The young man took the little case, and placed it in his breast. 'If anything should be amiss, if anything should be even slightly wrong, between you; if you should have any secret consciousness that you are committing yourself to this step for no higher reason than because you have long been accustomed to look forward to it; then,' said Mr. Grewgious, 'I charge you once more, by the living and by the dead, to bring that ring back to me!' Here Bazzard awoke himself by his own snoring; and, as is usual in such cases, sat apoplectically staring at vacancy, as defying vacancy to accuse him of having been asleep. 'Bazzard!' said Mr. Grewgious, harder than ever. 'I follow you, sir,' said Bazzard, 'and I have been following you.' 'In discharge of a trust, I have handed Mr. Edwin Drood a ring of diamonds and rubies. You see?' Edwin reproduced the little case, and opened it; and Bazzard looked into it. 'I follow you both, sir,' returned Bazzard, 'and I witness the transaction.' Evidently anxious to get away and be alone, Edwin Drood now resumed his outer clothing, muttering something about time and appointments. The fog was reported no clearer (by the flying waiter, who alighted from a speculative flight in the coffee interest), but he went out into it; and Bazzard, after his manner, 'followed' him. Mr. Grewgious, left alone, walked softly and slowly to and fro, for an hour and more. He was restless to-night, and seemed dispirited. 'I hope I have done right,' he said. 'The appeal to him seemed necessary. It was hard to lose the ring, and yet it must have gone from me very soon.' He closed the empty little drawer with a sigh, and shut and locked the escritoire, and came back to the solitary fireside. 'Her ring,' he went on. 'Will it come back to me? My mind hangs about her ring very uneasily to-night. But that is explainable. I have had it so long, and I have prized it so much! I wonder--' He was in a wondering mood as well as a restless; for, though he checked himself at that point, and took another walk, he resumed his wondering when he sat down again. 'I wonder (for the ten-thousandth time, and what a weak fool I, for what can it signify now!) whether he confided the charge of their orphan child to me, because he knew--Good God, how like her mother she has become!' 'I wonder whether he ever so much as suspected that some one doted on her, at a hopeless, speechless distance, when he struck in and won her. I wonder whether it ever crept into his mind who that unfortunate some one was!' 'I wonder whether I shall sleep to-night! At all events, I will shut out the world with the bedclothes, and try.' Mr. Grewgious crossed the staircase to his raw and foggy bedroom, and was soon ready for bed. Dimly catching sight of his face in the misty looking-glass, he held his candle to it for a moment. 'A likely some one, YOU, to come into anybody's thoughts in such an aspect!' he exclaimed. 'There! there! there! Get to bed, poor man, and cease to jabber!' With that, he extinguished his light, pulled up the bedclothes around him, and with another sigh shut out the world. And yet there are such unexplored romantic nooks in the unlikeliest men, that even old tinderous and touchwoody P. J. T. Possibly Jabbered Thus, at some odd times, in or about seventeen-forty-seven. CHAPTER XII--A NIGHT WITH DURDLES When Mr. Sapsea has nothing better to do, towards evening, and finds the contemplation of his own profundity becoming a little monotonous in spite of the vastness of the subject, he often takes an airing in the Cathedral Close and thereabout. He likes to pass the churchyard with a swelling air of proprietorship, and to encourage in his breast a sort of benignant-landlord feeling, in that he has been bountiful towards that meritorious tenant, Mrs. Sapsea, and has publicly given her a prize. He likes to see a stray face or two looking in through the railings, and perhaps reading his inscription. Should he meet a stranger coming from the churchyard with a quick step, he is morally convinced that the stranger is 'with a blush retiring,' as monumentally directed. Mr. Sapsea's importance has received enhancement, for he has become Mayor of Cloisterham. Without mayors, and many of them, it cannot be disputed that the whole framework of society--Mr. Sapsea is confident that he invented that forcible figure--would fall to pieces. Mayors have been knighted for 'going up' with addresses: explosive machines intrepidly discharging shot and shell into the English Grammar. Mr. Sapsea may 'go up' with an address. Rise, Sir Thomas Sapsea! Of such is the salt of the earth. Mr. Sapsea has improved the acquaintance of Mr. Jasper, since their first meeting to partake of port, epitaph, backgammon, beef, and salad. Mr. Sapsea has been received at the gatehouse with kindred hospitality; and on that occasion Mr. Jasper seated himself at the piano, and sang to him, tickling his ears--figuratively--long enough to present a considerable area for tickling. What Mr. Sapsea likes in that young man is, that he is always ready to profit by the wisdom of his elders, and that he is sound, sir, at the core. In proof of which, he sang to Mr. Sapsea that evening, no kickshaw ditties, favourites with national enemies, but gave him the genuine George the Third home-brewed; exhorting him (as 'my brave boys') to reduce to a smashed condition all other islands but this island, and all continents, peninsulas, isthmuses, promontories, and other geographical forms of land soever, besides sweeping the seas in all directions. In short, he rendered it pretty clear that Providence made a distinct mistake in originating so small a nation of hearts of oak, and so many other verminous peoples. Mr. Sapsea, walking slowly this moist evening near the churchyard with his hands behind him, on the look-out for a blushing and retiring stranger, turns a corner, and comes instead into the goodly presence of the Dean, conversing with the Verger and Mr. Jasper. Mr. Sapsea makes his obeisance, and is instantly stricken far more ecclesiastical than any Archbishop of York or Canterbury. 'You are evidently going to write a book about us, Mr. Jasper,' quoth the Dean; 'to write a book about us. Well! We are very ancient, and we ought to make a good book. We are not so richly endowed in possessions as in age; but perhaps you will put THAT in your book, among other things, and call attention to our wrongs.' Mr. Tope, as in duty bound, is greatly entertained by this. 'I really have no intention at all, sir,' replies Jasper, 'of turning author or archaeologist. It is but a whim of mine. And even for my whim, Mr. Sapsea here is more accountable than I am.' 'How so, Mr. Mayor?' says the Dean, with a nod of good-natured recognition of his Fetch. 'How is that, Mr. Mayor?' 'I am not aware,' Mr. Sapsea remarks, looking about him for information, 'to what the Very Reverend the Dean does me the honour of referring.' And then falls to studying his original in minute points of detail. 'Durdles,' Mr. Tope hints. 'Ay!' the Dean echoes; 'Durdles, Durdles!' 'The truth is, sir,' explains Jasper, 'that my curiosity in the man was first really stimulated by Mr. Sapsea. Mr. Sapsea's knowledge of mankind and power of drawing out whatever is recluse or odd around him, first led to my bestowing a second thought upon the man: though of course I had met him constantly about. You would not be surprised by this, Mr. Dean, if you had seen Mr. Sapsea deal with him in his own parlour, as I did.' 'O!' cries Sapsea, picking up the ball thrown to him with ineffable complacency and pomposity; 'yes, yes. The Very Reverend the Dean refers to that? Yes. I happened to bring Durdles and Mr. Jasper together. I regard Durdles as a Character.' 'A character, Mr. Sapsea, that with a few skilful touches you turn inside out,' says Jasper. 'Nay, not quite that,' returns the lumbering auctioneer. 'I may have a little influence over him, perhaps; and a little insight into his character, perhaps. The Very Reverend the Dean will please to bear in mind that I have seen the world.' Here Mr. Sapsea gets a little behind the Dean, to inspect his coat-buttons. 'Well!' says the Dean, looking about him to see what has become of his copyist: 'I hope, Mr. Mayor, you will use your study and knowledge of Durdles to the good purpose of exhorting him not to break our worthy and respected Choir-Master's neck; we cannot afford it; his head and voice are much too valuable to us.' Mr. Tope is again highly entertained, and, having fallen into respectful convulsions of laughter, subsides into a deferential murmur, importing that surely any gentleman would deem it a pleasure and an honour to have his neck broken, in return for such a compliment from such a source. 'I will take it upon myself, sir,' observes Sapsea loftily, 'to answer for Mr. Jasper's neck. I will tell Durdles to be careful of it. He will mind what _I_ say. How is it at present endangered?' he inquires, looking about him with magnificent patronage. 'Only by my making a moonlight expedition with Durdles among the tombs, vaults, towers, and ruins,' returns Jasper. 'You remember suggesting, when you brought us together, that, as a lover of the picturesque, it might be worth my while?' 'I remember!' replies the auctioneer. And the solemn idiot really believes that he does remember. 'Profiting by your hint,' pursues Jasper, 'I have had some day- rambles with the extraordinary old fellow, and we are to make a moonlight hole-and-corner exploration to-night.' 'And here he is,' says the Dean. Durdles with his dinner-bundle in his hand, is indeed beheld slouching towards them. Slouching nearer, and perceiving the Dean, he pulls off his hat, and is slouching away with it under his arm, when Mr. Sapsea stops him. 'Mind you take care of my friend,' is the injunction Mr. Sapsea lays upon him. 'What friend o' yourn is dead?' asks Durdles. 'No orders has come in for any friend o' yourn.' 'I mean my live friend there.' 'O! him?' says Durdles. 'He can take care of himself, can Mister Jarsper.' 'But do you take care of him too,' says Sapsea. Whom Durdles (there being command in his tone) surlily surveys from head to foot. 'With submission to his Reverence the Dean, if you'll mind what concerns you, Mr. Sapsea, Durdles he'll mind what concerns him.' 'You're out of temper,' says Mr. Sapsea, winking to the company to observe how smoothly he will manage him. 'My friend concerns me, and Mr. Jasper is my friend. And you are my friend.' 'Don't you get into a bad habit of boasting,' retorts Durdles, with a grave cautionary nod. 'It'll grow upon you.' 'You are out of temper,' says Sapsea again; reddening, but again sinking to the company. 'I own to it,' returns Durdles; 'I don't like liberties.' Mr. Sapsea winks a third wink to the company, as who should say: 'I think you will agree with me that I have settled HIS business;' and stalks out of the controversy. Durdles then gives the Dean a good evening, and adding, as he puts his hat on, 'You'll find me at home, Mister Jarsper, as agreed, when you want me; I'm a-going home to clean myself,' soon slouches out of sight. This going home to clean himself is one of the man's incomprehensible compromises with inexorable facts; he, and his hat, and his boots, and his clothes, never showing any trace of cleaning, but being uniformly in one condition of dust and grit. The lamplighter now dotting the quiet Close with specks of light, and running at a great rate up and down his little ladder with that object--his little ladder under the sacred shadow of whose inconvenience generations had grown up, and which all Cloisterham would have stood aghast at the idea of abolishing--the Dean withdraws to his dinner, Mr. Tope to his tea, and Mr. Jasper to his piano. There, with no light but that of the fire, he sits chanting choir-music in a low and beautiful voice, for two or three hours; in short, until it has been for some time dark, and the moon is about to rise. Then he closes his piano softly, softly changes his coat for a pea- jacket, with a goodly wicker-cased bottle in its largest pocket, and putting on a low-crowned, flap-brimmed hat, goes softly out. Why does he move so softly to-night? No outward reason is apparent for it. Can there be any sympathetic reason crouching darkly within him? Repairing to Durdles's unfinished house, or hole in the city wall, and seeing a light within it, he softly picks his course among the gravestones, monuments, and stony lumber of the yard, already touched here and there, sidewise, by the rising moon. The two journeymen have left their two great saws sticking in their blocks of stone; and two skeleton journeymen out of the Dance of Death might be grinning in the shadow of their sheltering sentry-boxes, about to slash away at cutting out the gravestones of the next two people destined to die in Cloisterham. Likely enough, the two think little of that now, being alive, and perhaps merry. Curious, to make a guess at the two;--or say one of the two! 'Ho! Durdles!' The light moves, and he appears with it at the door. He would seem to have been 'cleaning himself' with the aid of a bottle, jug, and tumbler; for no other cleansing instruments are visible in the bare brick room with rafters overhead and no plastered ceiling, into which he shows his visitor. 'Are you ready?' 'I am ready, Mister Jarsper. Let the old 'uns come out if they dare, when we go among their tombs. My spirit is ready for 'em.' 'Do you mean animal spirits, or ardent?' 'The one's the t'other,' answers Durdles, 'and I mean 'em both.' He takes a lantern from a hook, puts a match or two in his pocket wherewith to light it, should there be need; and they go out together, dinner-bundle and all. Surely an unaccountable sort of expedition! That Durdles himself, who is always prowling among old graves, and ruins, like a Ghoul-- that he should be stealing forth to climb, and dive, and wander without an object, is nothing extraordinary; but that the Choir- Master or any one else should hold it worth his while to be with him, and to study moonlight effects in such company is another affair. Surely an unaccountable sort of expedition, therefore! ''Ware that there mound by the yard-gate, Mister Jarsper.' 'I see it. What is it?' 'Lime.' Mr. Jasper stops, and waits for him to come up, for he lags behind. 'What you call quick-lime?' 'Ay!' says Durdles; 'quick enough to eat your boots. With a little handy stirring, quick enough to eat your bones.' They go on, presently passing the red windows of the Travellers' Twopenny, and emerging into the clear moonlight of the Monks' Vineyard. This crossed, they come to Minor Canon Corner: of which the greater part lies in shadow until the moon shall rise higher in the sky. The sound of a closing house-door strikes their ears, and two men come out. These are Mr. Crisparkle and Neville. Jasper, with a strange and sudden smile upon his face, lays the palm of his hand upon the breast of Durdles, stopping him where he stands. At that end of Minor Canon Corner the shadow is profound in the existing state of the light: at that end, too, there is a piece of old dwarf wall, breast high, the only remaining boundary of what was once a garden, but is now the thoroughfare. Jasper and Durdles would have turned this wall in another instant; but, stopping so short, stand behind it. 'Those two are only sauntering,' Jasper whispers; 'they will go out into the moonlight soon. Let us keep quiet here, or they will detain us, or want to join us, or what not.' Durdles nods assent, and falls to munching some fragments from his bundle. Jasper folds his arms upon the top of the wall, and, with his chin resting on them, watches. He takes no note whatever of the Minor Canon, but watches Neville, as though his eye were at the trigger of a loaded rifle, and he had covered him, and were going to fire. A sense of destructive power is so expressed in his face, that even Durdles pauses in his munching, and looks at him, with an unmunched something in his cheek. Meanwhile Mr. Crisparkle and Neville walk to and fro, quietly talking together. What they say, cannot be heard consecutively; but Mr. Jasper has already distinguished his own name more than once. 'This is the first day of the week,' Mr. Crisparkle can be distinctly heard to observe, as they turn back; 'and the last day of the week is Christmas Eve.' 'You may be certain of me, sir.' The echoes were favourable at those points, but as the two approach, the sound of their talking becomes confused again. The word 'confidence,' shattered by the echoes, but still capable of being pieced together, is uttered by Mr. Crisparkle. As they draw still nearer, this fragment of a reply is heard: 'Not deserved yet, but shall be, sir.' As they turn away again, Jasper again hears his own name, in connection with the words from Mr. Crisparkle: 'Remember that I said I answered for you confidently.' Then the sound of their talk becomes confused again; they halting for a little while, and some earnest action on the part of Neville succeeding. When they move once more, Mr. Crisparkle is seen to look up at the sky, and to point before him. They then slowly disappear; passing out into the moonlight at the opposite end of the Corner. It is not until they are gone, that Mr. Jasper moves. But then he turns to Durdles, and bursts into a fit of laughter. Durdles, who still has that suspended something in his cheek, and who sees nothing to laugh at, stares at him until Mr. Jasper lays his face down on his arms to have his laugh out. Then Durdles bolts the something, as if desperately resigning himself to indigestion. Among those secluded nooks there is very little stir or movement after dark. There is little enough in the high tide of the day, but there is next to none at night. Besides that the cheerfully frequented High Street lies nearly parallel to the spot (the old Cathedral rising between the two), and is the natural channel in which the Cloisterham traffic flows, a certain awful hush pervades the ancient pile, the cloisters, and the churchyard, after dark, which not many people care to encounter. Ask the first hundred citizens of Cloisterham, met at random in the streets at noon, if they believed in Ghosts, they would tell you no; but put them to choose at night between these eerie Precincts and the thoroughfare of shops, and you would find that ninety-nine declared for the longer round and the more frequented way. The cause of this is not to be found in any local superstition that attaches to the Precincts--albeit a mysterious lady, with a child in her arms and a rope dangling from her neck, has been seen flitting about there by sundry witnesses as intangible as herself--but it is to be sought in the innate shrinking of dust with the breath of life in it from dust out of which the breath of life has passed; also, in the widely diffused, and almost as widely unacknowledged, reflection: 'If the dead do, under any circumstances, become visible to the living, these are such likely surroundings for the purpose that I, the living, will get out of them as soon as I can.' Hence, when Mr. Jasper and Durdles pause to glance around them, before descending into the crypt by a small side door, of which the latter has a key, the whole expanse of moonlight in their view is utterly deserted. One might fancy that the tide of life was stemmed by Mr. Jasper's own gatehouse. The murmur of the tide is heard beyond; but no wave passes the archway, over which his lamp burns red behind his curtain, as if the building were a Lighthouse. They enter, locking themselves in, descend the rugged steps, and are down in the Crypt. The lantern is not wanted, for the moonlight strikes in at the groined windows, bare of glass, the broken frames for which cast patterns on the ground. The heavy pillars which support the roof engender masses of black shade, but between them there are lanes of light. Up and down these lanes they walk, Durdles discoursing of the 'old uns' he yet counts on disinterring, and slapping a wall, in which he considers 'a whole family on 'em' to be stoned and earthed up, just as if he were a familiar friend of the family. The taciturnity of Durdles is for the time overcome by Mr. Jasper's wicker bottle, which circulates freely;--in the sense, that is to say, that its contents enter freely into Mr. Durdles's circulation, while Mr. Jasper only rinses his mouth once, and casts forth the rinsing. They are to ascend the great Tower. On the steps by which they rise to the Cathedral, Durdles pauses for new store of breath. The steps are very dark, but out of the darkness they can see the lanes of light they have traversed. Durdles seats himself upon a step. Mr. Jasper seats himself upon another. The odour from the wicker bottle (which has somehow passed into Durdles's keeping) soon intimates that the cork has been taken out; but this is not ascertainable through the sense of sight, since neither can descry the other. And yet, in talking, they turn to one another, as though their faces could commune together. 'This is good stuff, Mister Jarsper!' 'It is very good stuff, I hope.--I bought it on purpose.' 'They don't show, you see, the old uns don't, Mister Jarsper!' 'It would be a more confused world than it is, if they could.' 'Well, it WOULD lead towards a mixing of things,' Durdles acquiesces: pausing on the remark, as if the idea of ghosts had not previously presented itself to him in a merely inconvenient light, domestically or chronologically. 'But do you think there may be Ghosts of other things, though not of men and women?' 'What things? Flower-beds and watering-pots? horses and harness?' 'No. Sounds.' 'What sounds?' 'Cries.' 'What cries do you mean? Chairs to mend?' 'No. I mean screeches. Now I'll tell you, Mr. Jarsper. Wait a bit till I put the bottle right.' Here the cork is evidently taken out again, and replaced again. 'There! NOW it's right! This time last year, only a few days later, I happened to have been doing what was correct by the season, in the way of giving it the welcome it had a right to expect, when them town-boys set on me at their worst. At length I gave 'em the slip, and turned in here. And here I fell asleep. And what woke me? The ghost of a cry. The ghost of one terrific shriek, which shriek was followed by the ghost of the howl of a dog: a long, dismal, woeful howl, such as a dog gives when a person's dead. That was MY last Christmas Eve.' 'What do you mean?' is the very abrupt, and, one might say, fierce retort. 'I mean that I made inquiries everywhere about, and, that no living ears but mine heard either that cry or that howl. So I say they was both ghosts; though why they came to me, I've never made out.' 'I thought you were another kind of man,' says Jasper, scornfully. 'So I thought myself,' answers Durdles with his usual composure; 'and yet I was picked out for it.' Jasper had risen suddenly, when he asked him what he meant, and he now says, 'Come; we shall freeze here; lead the way.' Durdles complies, not over-steadily; opens the door at the top of the steps with the key he has already used; and so emerges on the Cathedral level, in a passage at the side of the chancel. Here, the moonlight is so very bright again that the colours of the nearest stained-glass window are thrown upon their faces. The appearance of the unconscious Durdles, holding the door open for his companion to follow, as if from the grave, is ghastly enough, with a purple hand across his face, and a yellow splash upon his brow; but he bears the close scrutiny of his companion in an insensible way, although it is prolonged while the latter fumbles among his pockets for a key confided to him that will open an iron gate, so to enable them to pass to the staircase of the great tower. 'That and the bottle are enough for you to carry,' he says, giving it to Durdles; 'hand your bundle to me; I am younger and longer- winded than you.' Durdles hesitates for a moment between bundle and bottle; but gives the preference to the bottle as being by far the better company, and consigns the dry weight to his fellow- explorer. Then they go up the winding staircase of the great tower, toilsomely, turning and turning, and lowering their heads to avoid the stairs above, or the rough stone pivot around which they twist. Durdles has lighted his lantern, by drawing from the cold, hard wall a spark of that mysterious fire which lurks in everything, and, guided by this speck, they clamber up among the cobwebs and the dust. Their way lies through strange places. Twice or thrice they emerge into level, low-arched galleries, whence they can look down into the moon-lit nave; and where Durdles, waving his lantern, waves the dim angels' heads upon the corbels of the roof, seeming to watch their progress. Anon they turn into narrower and steeper staircases, and the night-air begins to blow upon them, and the chirp of some startled jackdaw or frightened rook precedes the heavy beating of wings in a confined space, and the beating down of dust and straws upon their heads. At last, leaving their light behind a stair--for it blows fresh up here--they look down on Cloisterham, fair to see in the moonlight: its ruined habitations and sanctuaries of the dead, at the tower's base: its moss- softened red-tiled roofs and red-brick houses of the living, clustered beyond: its river winding down from the mist on the horizon, as though that were its source, and already heaving with a restless knowledge of its approach towards the sea. Once again, an unaccountable expedition this! Jasper (always moving softly with no visible reason) contemplates the scene, and especially that stillest part of it which the Cathedral overshadows. But he contemplates Durdles quite as curiously, and Durdles is by times conscious of his watchful eyes. Only by times, because Durdles is growing drowsy. As aeronauts lighten the load they carry, when they wish to rise, similarly Durdles has lightened the wicker bottle in coming up. Snatches of sleep surprise him on his legs, and stop him in his talk. A mild fit of calenture seizes him, in which he deems that the ground so far below, is on a level with the tower, and would as lief walk off the tower into the air as not. Such is his state when they begin to come down. And as aeronauts make themselves heavier when they wish to descend, similarly Durdles charges himself with more liquid from the wicker bottle, that he may come down the better. The iron gate attained and locked--but not before Durdles has tumbled twice, and cut an eyebrow open once--they descend into the crypt again, with the intent of issuing forth as they entered. But, while returning among those lanes of light, Durdles becomes so very uncertain, both of foot and speech, that he half drops, half throws himself down, by one of the heavy pillars, scarcely less heavy than itself, and indistinctly appeals to his companion for forty winks of a second each. 'If you will have it so, or must have it so,' replies Jasper, 'I'll not leave you here. Take them, while I walk to and fro.' Durdles is asleep at once; and in his sleep he dreams a dream. It is not much of a dream, considering the vast extent of the domains of dreamland, and their wonderful productions; it is only remarkable for being unusually restless and unusually real. He dreams of lying there, asleep, and yet counting his companion's footsteps as he walks to and fro. He dreams that the footsteps die away into distance of time and of space, and that something touches him, and that something falls from his hand. Then something clinks and gropes about, and he dreams that he is alone for so long a time, that the lanes of light take new directions as the moon advances in her course. From succeeding unconsciousness he passes into a dream of slow uneasiness from cold; and painfully awakes to a perception of the lanes of light--really changed, much as he had dreamed--and Jasper walking among them, beating his hands and feet. 'Holloa!' Durdles cries out, unmeaningly alarmed. 'Awake at last?' says Jasper, coming up to him. 'Do you know that your forties have stretched into thousands?' 'No.' 'They have though.' 'What's the time?' 'Hark! The bells are going in the Tower!' They strike four quarters, and then the great bell strikes. 'Two!' cries Durdles, scrambling up; 'why didn't you try to wake me, Mister Jarsper?' 'I did. I might as well have tried to wake the dead--your own family of dead, up in the corner there.' 'Did you touch me?' 'Touch you! Yes. Shook you.' As Durdles recalls that touching something in his dream, he looks down on the pavement, and sees the key of the crypt door lying close to where he himself lay. 'I dropped you, did I?' he says, picking it up, and recalling that part of his dream. As he gathers himself up again into an upright position, or into a position as nearly upright as he ever maintains, he is again conscious of being watched by his companion. 'Well?' says Jasper, smiling, 'are you quite ready? Pray don't hurry.' 'Let me get my bundle right, Mister Jarsper, and I'm with you.' As he ties it afresh, he is once more conscious that he is very narrowly observed. 'What do you suspect me of, Mister Jarsper?' he asks, with drunken displeasure. 'Let them as has any suspicions of Durdles name 'em.' 'I've no suspicions of you, my good Mr. Durdles; but I have suspicions that my bottle was filled with something stiffer than either of us supposed. And I also have suspicions,' Jasper adds, taking it from the pavement and turning it bottom upwards, 'that it's empty.' Durdles condescends to laugh at this. Continuing to chuckle when his laugh is over, as though remonstrant with himself on his drinking powers, he rolls to the door and unlocks it. They both pass out, and Durdles relocks it, and pockets his key. 'A thousand thanks for a curious and interesting night,' says Jasper, giving him his hand; 'you can make your own way home?' 'I should think so!' answers Durdles. 'If you was to offer Durdles the affront to show him his way home, he wouldn't go home. Durdles wouldn't go home till morning; And THEN Durdles wouldn't go home, Durdles wouldn't.' This with the utmost defiance. 'Good-night, then.' 'Good-night, Mister Jarsper.' Each is turning his own way, when a sharp whistle rends the silence, and the jargon is yelped out: Widdy widdy wen! I--ket--ches--Im--out--ar--ter--ten. Widdy widdy wy! Then--E--don't --go--then--I--shy - Widdy Widdy Wake-cock warning!' Instantly afterwards, a rapid fire of stones rattles at the Cathedral wall, and the hideous small boy is beheld opposite, dancing in the moonlight. 'What! Is that baby-devil on the watch there!' cries Jasper in a fury: so quickly roused, and so violent, that he seems an older devil himself. 'I shall shed the blood of that impish wretch! I know I shall do it!' Regardless of the fire, though it hits him more than once, he rushes at Deputy, collars him, and tries to bring him across. But Deputy is not to be so easily brought across. With a diabolical insight into the strongest part of his position, he is no sooner taken by the throat than he curls up his legs, forces his assailant to hang him, as it were, and gurgles in his throat, and screws his body, and twists, as already undergoing the first agonies of strangulation. There is nothing for it but to drop him. He instantly gets himself together, backs over to Durdles, and cries to his assailant, gnashing the great gap in front of his mouth with rage and malice: 'I'll blind yer, s'elp me! I'll stone yer eyes out, s'elp me! If I don't have yer eyesight, bellows me!' At the same time dodging behind Durdles, and snarling at Jasper, now from this side of him, and now from that: prepared, if pounced upon, to dart away in all manner of curvilinear directions, and, if run down after all, to grovel in the dust, and cry: 'Now, hit me when I'm down! Do it!' 'Don't hurt the boy, Mister Jarsper,' urges Durdles, shielding him. 'Recollect yourself.' 'He followed us to-night, when we first came here!' 'Yer lie, I didn't!' replies Deputy, in his one form of polite contradiction. 'He has been prowling near us ever since!' 'Yer lie, I haven't,' returns Deputy. 'I'd only jist come out for my 'elth when I see you two a-coming out of the Kin-freederel. If I--ket--ches--Im--out--ar--ter--ten!' (with the usual rhythm and dance, though dodging behind Durdles), 'it ain't ANY fault, is it?' 'Take him home, then,' retorts Jasper, ferociously, though with a strong check upon himself, 'and let my eyes be rid of the sight of you!' Deputy, with another sharp whistle, at once expressing his relief, and his commencement of a milder stoning of Mr. Durdles, begins stoning that respectable gentleman home, as if he were a reluctant ox. Mr. Jasper goes to his gatehouse, brooding. And thus, as everything comes to an end, the unaccountable expedition comes to an end--for the time. CHAPTER XIII--BOTH AT THEIR BEST Miss Twinkleton's establishment was about to undergo a serene hush. The Christmas recess was at hand. What had once, and at no remote period, been called, even by the erudite Miss Twinkleton herself, 'the half;' but what was now called, as being more elegant, and more strictly collegiate, 'the term,' would expire to-morrow. A noticeable relaxation of discipline had for some few days pervaded the Nuns' House. Club suppers had occurred in the bedrooms, and a dressed tongue had been carved with a pair of scissors, and handed round with the curling tongs. Portions of marmalade had likewise been distributed on a service of plates constructed of curlpaper; and cowslip wine had been quaffed from the small squat measuring glass in which little Rickitts (a junior of weakly constitution) took her steel drops daily. The housemaids had been bribed with various fragments of riband, and sundry pairs of shoes more or less down at heel, to make no mention of crumbs in the beds; the airiest costumes had been worn on these festive occasions; and the daring Miss Ferdinand had even surprised the company with a sprightly solo on the comb-and-curlpaper, until suffocated in her own pillow by two flowing-haired executioners. Nor were these the only tokens of dispersal. Boxes appeared in the bedrooms (where they were capital at other times), and a surprising amount of packing took place, out of all proportion to the amount packed. Largess, in the form of odds and ends of cold cream and pomatum, and also of hairpins, was freely distributed among the attendants. On charges of inviolable secrecy, confidences were interchanged respecting golden youth of England expected to call, 'at home,' on the first opportunity. Miss Giggles (deficient in sentiment) did indeed profess that she, for her part, acknowledged such homage by making faces at the golden youth; but this young lady was outvoted by an immense majority. On the last night before a recess, it was always expressly made a point of honour that nobody should go to sleep, and that Ghosts should be encouraged by all possible means. This compact invariably broke down, and all the young ladies went to sleep very soon, and got up very early. The concluding ceremony came off at twelve o'clock on the day of departure; when Miss Twinkleton, supported by Mrs. Tisher, held a drawing-room in her own apartment (the globes already covered with brown Holland), where glasses of white-wine and plates of cut pound-cake were discovered on the table. Miss Twinkleton then said: Ladies, another revolving year had brought us round to that festive period at which the first feelings of our nature bounded in our--Miss Twinkleton was annually going to add 'bosoms,' but annually stopped on the brink of that expression, and substituted 'hearts.' Hearts; our hearts. Hem! Again a revolving year, ladies, had brought us to a pause in our studies--let us hope our greatly advanced studies--and, like the mariner in his bark, the warrior in his tent, the captive in his dungeon, and the traveller in his various conveyances, we yearned for home. Did we say, on such an occasion, in the opening words of Mr. Addison's impressive tragedy: 'The dawn is overcast, the morning lowers, And heavily in clouds brings on the day, The great, th' important day--?' Not so. From horizon to zenith all was couleur de rose, for all was redolent of our relations and friends. Might WE find THEM prospering as WE expected; might THEY find US prospering as THEY expected! Ladies, we would now, with our love to one another, wish one another good-bye, and happiness, until we met again. And when the time should come for our resumption of those pursuits which (here a general depression set in all round), pursuits which, pursuits which;--then let us ever remember what was said by the Spartan General, in words too trite for repetition, at the battle it were superfluous to specify. The handmaidens of the establishment, in their best caps, then handed the trays, and the young ladies sipped and crumbled, and the bespoken coaches began to choke the street. Then leave-taking was not long about; and Miss Twinkleton, in saluting each young lady's cheek, confided to her an exceedingly neat letter, addressed to her next friend at law, 'with Miss Twinkleton's best compliments' in the corner. This missive she handed with an air as if it had not the least connexion with the bill, but were something in the nature of a delicate and joyful surprise. So many times had Rosa seen such dispersals, and so very little did she know of any other Home, that she was contented to remain where she was, and was even better contented than ever before, having her latest friend with her. And yet her latest friendship had a blank place in it of which she could not fail to be sensible. Helena Landless, having been a party to her brother's revelation about Rosa, and having entered into that compact of silence with Mr. Crisparkle, shrank from any allusion to Edwin Drood's name. Why she so avoided it, was mysterious to Rosa, but she perfectly perceived the fact. But for the fact, she might have relieved her own little perplexed heart of some of its doubts and hesitations, by taking Helena into her confidence. As it was, she had no such vent: she could only ponder on her own difficulties, and wonder more and more why this avoidance of Edwin's name should last, now that she knew--for so much Helena had told her--that a good understanding was to be reestablished between the two young men, when Edwin came down. It would have made a pretty picture, so many pretty girls kissing Rosa in the cold porch of the Nuns' House, and that sunny little creature peeping out of it (unconscious of sly faces carved on spout and gable peeping at her), and waving farewells to the departing coaches, as if she represented the spirit of rosy youth abiding in the place to keep it bright and warm in its desertion. The hoarse High Street became musical with the cry, in various silvery voices, 'Good-bye, Rosebud darling!' and the effigy of Mr. Sapsea's father over the opposite doorway seemed to say to mankind: 'Gentlemen, favour me with your attention to this charming little last lot left behind, and bid with a spirit worthy of the occasion!' Then the staid street, so unwontedly sparkling, youthful, and fresh for a few rippling moments, ran dry, and Cloisterham was itself again. If Rosebud in her bower now waited Edwin Drood's coming with an uneasy heart, Edwin for his part was uneasy too. With far less force of purpose in his composition than the childish beauty, crowned by acclamation fairy queen of Miss Twinkleton's establishment, he had a conscience, and Mr. Grewgious had pricked it. That gentleman's steady convictions of what was right and what was wrong in such a case as his, were neither to be frowned aside nor laughed aside. They would not be moved. But for the dinner in Staple Inn, and but for the ring he carried in the breast pocket of his coat, he would have drifted into their wedding-day without another pause for real thought, loosely trusting that all would go well, left alone. But that serious putting him on his truth to the living and the dead had brought him to a check. He must either give the ring to Rosa, or he must take it back. Once put into this narrowed way of action, it was curious that he began to consider Rosa's claims upon him more unselfishly than he had ever considered them before, and began to be less sure of himself than he had ever been in all his easy-going days. 'I will be guided by what she says, and by how we get on,' was his decision, walking from the gatehouse to the Nuns' House. 'Whatever comes of it, I will bear his words in mind, and try to be true to the living and the dead.' Rosa was dressed for walking. She expected him. It was a bright, frosty day, and Miss Twinkleton had already graciously sanctioned fresh air. Thus they got out together before it became necessary for either Miss Twinkleton, or the deputy high-priest Mrs. Tisher, to lay even so much as one of those usual offerings on the shrine of Propriety. 'My dear Eddy,' said Rosa, when they had turned out of the High Street, and had got among the quiet walks in the neighbourhood of the Cathedral and the river: 'I want to say something very serious to you. I have been thinking about it for a long, long time.' 'I want to be serious with you too, Rosa dear. I mean to be serious and earnest.' 'Thank you, Eddy. And you will not think me unkind because I begin, will you? You will not think I speak for myself only, because I speak first? That would not be generous, would it? And I know you are generous!' He said, 'I hope I am not ungenerous to you, Rosa.' He called her Pussy no more. Never again. 'And there is no fear,' pursued Rosa, 'of our quarrelling, is there? Because, Eddy,' clasping her hand on his arm, 'we have so much reason to be very lenient to each other!' 'We will be, Rosa.' 'That's a dear good boy! Eddy, let us be courageous. Let us change to brother and sister from this day forth.' 'Never be husband and wife?' 'Never!' Neither spoke again for a little while. But after that pause he said, with some effort: 'Of course I know that this has been in both our minds, Rosa, and of course I am in honour bound to confess freely that it does not originate with you.' 'No, nor with you, dear,' she returned, with pathetic earnestness. 'That sprung up between us. You are not truly happy in our engagement; I am not truly happy in it. O, I am so sorry, so sorry!' And there she broke into tears. 'I am deeply sorry too, Rosa. Deeply sorry for you.' 'And I for you, poor boy! And I for you!' This pure young feeling, this gentle and forbearing feeling of each towards the other, brought with it its reward in a softening light that seemed to shine on their position. The relations between them did not look wilful, or capricious, or a failure, in such a light; they became elevated into something more self-denying, honourable, affectionate, and true. 'If we knew yesterday,' said Rosa, as she dried her eyes, 'and we did know yesterday, and on many, many yesterdays, that we were far from right together in those relations which were not of our own choosing, what better could we do to-day than change them? It is natural that we should be sorry, and you see how sorry we both are; but how much better to be sorry now than then!' 'When, Rosa?' 'When it would be too late. And then we should be angry, besides.' Another silence fell upon them. 'And you know,' said Rosa innocently, 'you couldn't like me then; and you can always like me now, for I shall not be a drag upon you, or a worry to you. And I can always like you now, and your sister will not tease or trifle with you. I often did when I was not your sister, and I beg your pardon for it.' 'Don't let us come to that, Rosa; or I shall want more pardoning than I like to think of.' 'No, indeed, Eddy; you are too hard, my generous boy, upon yourself. Let us sit down, brother, on these ruins, and let me tell you how it was with us. I think I know, for I have considered about it very much since you were here last time. You liked me, didn't you? You thought I was a nice little thing?' 'Everybody thinks that, Rosa.' 'Do they?' She knitted her brow musingly for a moment, and then flashed out with the bright little induction: 'Well, but say they do. Surely it was not enough that you should think of me only as other people did; now, was it?' The point was not to be got over. It was not enough. 'And that is just what I mean; that is just how it was with us,' said Rosa. 'You liked me very well, and you had grown used to me, and had grown used to the idea of our being married. You accepted the situation as an inevitable kind of thing, didn't you? It was to be, you thought, and why discuss or dispute it?' It was new and strange to him to have himself presented to himself so clearly, in a glass of her holding up. He had always patronised her, in his superiority to her share of woman's wit. Was that but another instance of something radically amiss in the terms on which they had been gliding towards a life-long bondage? 'All this that I say of you is true of me as well, Eddy. Unless it was, I might not be bold enough to say it. Only, the difference between us was, that by little and little there crept into my mind a habit of thinking about it, instead of dismissing it. My life is not so busy as yours, you see, and I have not so many things to think of. So I thought about it very much, and I cried about it very much too (though that was not your fault, poor boy); when all at once my guardian came down, to prepare for my leaving the Nuns' House. I tried to hint to him that I was not quite settled in my mind, but I hesitated and failed, and he didn't understand me. But he is a good, good man. And he put before me so kindly, and yet so strongly, how seriously we ought to consider, in our circumstances, that I resolved to speak to you the next moment we were alone and grave. And if I seemed to come to it easily just now, because I came to it all at once, don't think it was so really, Eddy, for O, it was very, very hard, and O, I am very, very sorry!' Her full heart broke into tears again. He put his arm about her waist, and they walked by the river-side together. 'Your guardian has spoken to me too, Rosa dear. I saw him before I left London.' His right hand was in his breast, seeking the ring; but he checked it, as he thought: 'If I am to take it back, why should I tell her of it?' 'And that made you more serious about it, didn't it, Eddy? And if I had not spoken to you, as I have, you would have spoken to me? I hope you can tell me so? I don't like it to be ALL my doing, though it IS so much better for us.' 'Yes, I should have spoken; I should have put everything before you; I came intending to do it. But I never could have spoken to you as you have spoken to me, Rosa.' 'Don't say you mean so coldly or unkindly, Eddy, please, if you can help it.' 'I mean so sensibly and delicately, so wisely and affectionately.' 'That's my dear brother!' She kissed his hand in a little rapture. 'The dear girls will be dreadfully disappointed,' added Rosa, laughing, with the dewdrops glistening in her bright eyes. 'They have looked forward to it so, poor pets!' 'Ah! but I fear it will be a worse disappointment to Jack,' said Edwin Drood, with a start. 'I never thought of Jack!' Her swift and intent look at him as he said the words could no more be recalled than a flash of lightning can. But it appeared as though she would have instantly recalled it, if she could; for she looked down, confused, and breathed quickly. 'You don't doubt its being a blow to Jack, Rosa?' She merely replied, and that evasively and hurriedly: Why should she? She had not thought about it. He seemed, to her, to have so little to do with it. 'My dear child! can you suppose that any one so wrapped up in another--Mrs. Tope's expression: not mine--as Jack is in me, could fail to be struck all of a heap by such a sudden and complete change in my life? I say sudden, because it will be sudden to HIM, you know.' She nodded twice or thrice, and her lips parted as if she would have assented. But she uttered no sound, and her breathing was no slower. 'How shall I tell Jack?' said Edwin, ruminating. If he had been less occupied with the thought, he must have seen her singular emotion. 'I never thought of Jack. It must be broken to him, before the town-crier knows it. I dine with the dear fellow to- morrow and next day--Christmas Eve and Christmas Day--but it would never do to spoil his feast-days. He always worries about me, and moddley-coddleys in the merest trifles. The news is sure to overset him. How on earth shall this be broken to Jack?' 'He must be told, I suppose?' said Rosa. 'My dear Rosa! who ought to be in our confidence, if not Jack?' 'My guardian promised to come down, if I should write and ask him. I am going to do so. Would you like to leave it to him?' 'A bright idea!' cried Edwin. 'The other trustee. Nothing more natural. He comes down, he goes to Jack, he relates what we have agreed upon, and he states our case better than we could. He has already spoken feelingly to you, he has already spoken feelingly to me, and he'll put the whole thing feelingly to Jack. That's it! I am not a coward, Rosa, but to tell you a secret, I am a little afraid of Jack.' 'No, no! you are not afraid of him!' cried Rosa, turning white, and clasping her hands. 'Why, sister Rosa, sister Rosa, what do you see from the turret?' said Edwin, rallying her. 'My dear girl!' 'You frightened me.' 'Most unintentionally, but I am as sorry as if I had meant to do it. Could you possibly suppose for a moment, from any loose way of speaking of mine, that I was literally afraid of the dear fond fellow? What I mean is, that he is subject to a kind of paroxysm, or fit--I saw him in it once--and I don't know but that so great a surprise, coming upon him direct from me whom he is so wrapped up in, might bring it on perhaps. Which--and this is the secret I was going to tell you--is another reason for your guardian's making the communication. He is so steady, precise, and exact, that he will talk Jack's thoughts into shape, in no time: whereas with me Jack is always impulsive and hurried, and, I may say, almost womanish.' Rosa seemed convinced. Perhaps from her own very different point of view of 'Jack,' she felt comforted and protected by the interposition of Mr. Grewgious between herself and him. And now, Edwin Drood's right hand closed again upon the ring in its little case, and again was checked by the consideration: 'It is certain, now, that I am to give it back to him; then why should I tell her of it?' That pretty sympathetic nature which could be so sorry for him in the blight of their childish hopes of happiness together, and could so quietly find itself alone in a new world to weave fresh wreaths of such flowers as it might prove to bear, the old world's flowers being withered, would be grieved by those sorrowful jewels; and to what purpose? Why should it be? They were but a sign of broken joys and baseless projects; in their very beauty they were (as the unlikeliest of men had said) almost a cruel satire on the loves, hopes, plans, of humanity, which are able to forecast nothing, and are so much brittle dust. Let them be. He would restore them to her guardian when he came down; he in his turn would restore them to the cabinet from which he had unwillingly taken them; and there, like old letters or old vows, or other records of old aspirations come to nothing, they would be disregarded, until, being valuable, they were sold into circulation again, to repeat their former round. Let them be. Let them lie unspoken of, in his breast. However distinctly or indistinctly he entertained these thoughts, he arrived at the conclusion, Let them be. Among the mighty store of wonderful chains that are for ever forging, day and night, in the vast iron-works of time and circumstance, there was one chain forged in the moment of that small conclusion, riveted to the foundations of heaven and earth, and gifted with invincible force to hold and drag. They walked on by the river. They began to speak of their separate plans. He would quicken his departure from England, and she would remain where she was, at least as long as Helena remained. The poor dear girls should have their disappointment broken to them gently, and, as the first preliminary, Miss Twinkleton should be confided in by Rosa, even in advance of the reappearance of Mr. Grewgious. It should be made clear in all quarters that she and Edwin were the best of friends. There had never been so serene an understanding between them since they were first affianced. And yet there was one reservation on each side; on hers, that she intended through her guardian to withdraw herself immediately from the tuition of her music-master; on his, that he did already entertain some wandering speculations whether it might ever come to pass that he would know more of Miss Landless. The bright, frosty day declined as they walked and spoke together. The sun dipped in the river far behind them, and the old city lay red before them, as their walk drew to a close. The moaning water cast its seaweed duskily at their feet, when they turned to leave its margin; and the rooks hovered above them with hoarse cries, darker splashes in the darkening air. 'I will prepare Jack for my flitting soon,' said Edwin, in a low voice, 'and I will but see your guardian when he comes, and then go before they speak together. It will be better done without my being by. Don't you think so?' 'Yes.' 'We know we have done right, Rosa?' 'Yes.' 'We know we are better so, even now?' 'And shall be far, far better so by-and-by.' Still there was that lingering tenderness in their hearts towards the old positions they were relinquishing, that they prolonged their parting. When they came among the elm-trees by the Cathedral, where they had last sat together, they stopped as by consent, and Rosa raised her face to his, as she had never raised it in the old days;--for they were old already. 'God bless you, dear! Good-bye!' 'God bless you, dear! Good-bye!' They kissed each other fervently. 'Now, please take me home, Eddy, and let me be by myself.' 'Don't look round, Rosa,' he cautioned her, as he drew her arm through his, and led her away. 'Didn't you see Jack?' 'No! Where?' 'Under the trees. He saw us, as we took leave of each other. Poor fellow! he little thinks we have parted. This will be a blow to him, I am much afraid!' She hurried on, without resting, and hurried on until they had passed under the gatehouse into the street; once there, she asked: 'Has he followed us? You can look without seeming to. Is he behind?' 'No. Yes, he is! He has just passed out under the gateway. The dear, sympathetic old fellow likes to keep us in sight. I am afraid he will be bitterly disappointed!' She pulled hurriedly at the handle of the hoarse old bell, and the gate soon opened. Before going in, she gave him one last, wide, wondering look, as if she would have asked him with imploring emphasis: 'O! don't you understand?' And out of that look he vanished from her view. CHAPTER XIV--WHEN SHALL THESE THREE MEET AGAIN? Christmas Eve in Cloisterham. A few strange faces in the streets; a few other faces, half strange and half familiar, once the faces of Cloisterham children, now the faces of men and women who come back from the outer world at long intervals to find the city wonderfully shrunken in size, as if it had not washed by any means well in the meanwhile. To these, the striking of the Cathedral clock, and the cawing of the rooks from the Cathedral tower, are like voices of their nursery time. To such as these, it has happened in their dying hours afar off, that they have imagined their chamber-floor to be strewn with the autumnal leaves fallen from the elm-trees in the Close: so have the rustling sounds and fresh scents of their earliest impressions revived when the circle of their lives was very nearly traced, and the beginning and the end were drawing close together. Seasonable tokens are about. Red berries shine here and there in the lattices of Minor Canon Corner; Mr. and Mrs. Tope are daintily sticking sprigs of holly into the carvings and sconces of the Cathedral stalls, as if they were sticking them into the coat- button-holes of the Dean and Chapter. Lavish profusion is in the shops: particularly in the articles of currants, raisins, spices, candied peel, and moist sugar. An unusual air of gallantry and dissipation is abroad; evinced in an immense bunch of mistletoe hanging in the greengrocer's shop doorway, and a poor little Twelfth Cake, culminating in the figure of a Harlequin--such a very poor little Twelfth Cake, that one would rather called it a Twenty- fourth Cake or a Forty-eighth Cake--to be raffled for at the pastrycook's, terms one shilling per member. Public amusements are not wanting. The Wax-Work which made so deep an impression on the reflective mind of the Emperor of China is to be seen by particular desire during Christmas Week only, on the premises of the bankrupt livery-stable-keeper up the lane; and a new grand comic Christmas pantomime is to be produced at the Theatre: the latter heralded by the portrait of Signor Jacksonini the clown, saying 'How do you do to-morrow?' quite as large as life, and almost as miserably. In short, Cloisterham is up and doing: though from this description the High School and Miss Twinkleton's are to be excluded. From the former establishment the scholars have gone home, every one of them in love with one of Miss Twinkleton's young ladies (who knows nothing about it); and only the handmaidens flutter occasionally in the windows of the latter. It is noticed, by the bye, that these damsels become, within the limits of decorum, more skittish when thus intrusted with the concrete representation of their sex, than when dividing the representation with Miss Twinkleton's young ladies. Three are to meet at the gatehouse to-night. How does each one of the three get through the day? Neville Landless, though absolved from his books for the time by Mr. Crisparkle--whose fresh nature is by no means insensible to the charms of a holiday--reads and writes in his quiet room, with a concentrated air, until it is two hours past noon. He then sets himself to clearing his table, to arranging his books, and to tearing up and burning his stray papers. He makes a clean sweep of all untidy accumulations, puts all his drawers in order, and leaves no note or scrap of paper undestroyed, save such memoranda as bear directly on his studies. This done, he turns to his wardrobe, selects a few articles of ordinary wear--among them, change of stout shoes and socks for walking--and packs these in a knapsack. This knapsack is new, and he bought it in the High Street yesterday. He also purchased, at the same time and at the same place, a heavy walking-stick; strong in the handle for the grip of the hand, and iron-shod. He tries this, swings it, poises it, and lays it by, with the knapsack, on a window-seat. By this time his arrangements are complete. He dresses for going out, and is in the act of going--indeed has left his room, and has met the Minor Canon on the staircase, coming out of his bedroom upon the same story--when he turns back again for his walking-stick, thinking he will carry it now. Mr. Crisparkle, who has paused on the staircase, sees it in his hand on his immediately reappearing, takes it from him, and asks him with a smile how he chooses a stick? 'Really I don't know that I understand the subject,' he answers. 'I chose it for its weight.' 'Much too heavy, Neville; MUCH too heavy.' 'To rest upon in a long walk, sir?' 'Rest upon?' repeats Mr. Crisparkle, throwing himself into pedestrian form. 'You don't rest upon it; you merely balance with it.' 'I shall know better, with practice, sir. I have not lived in a walking country, you know.' 'True,' says Mr. Crisparkle. 'Get into a little training, and we will have a few score miles together. I should leave you nowhere now. Do you come back before dinner?' 'I think not, as we dine early.' Mr. Crisparkle gives him a bright nod and a cheerful good-bye; expressing (not without intention) absolute confidence and ease Neville repairs to the Nuns' House, and requests that Miss Landless may be informed that her brother is there, by appointment. He waits at the gate, not even crossing the threshold; for he is on his parole not to put himself in Rosa's way. His sister is at least as mindful of the obligation they have taken on themselves as he can be, and loses not a moment in joining him. They meet affectionately, avoid lingering there, and walk towards the upper inland country. 'I am not going to tread upon forbidden ground, Helena,' says Neville, when they have walked some distance and are turning; 'you will understand in another moment that I cannot help referring to-- what shall I say?--my infatuation.' 'Had you not better avoid it, Neville? You know that I can hear nothing.' 'You can hear, my dear, what Mr. Crisparkle has heard, and heard with approval.' 'Yes; I can hear so much.' 'Well, it is this. I am not only unsettled and unhappy myself, but I am conscious of unsettling and interfering with other people. How do I know that, but for my unfortunate presence, you, and--and- -the rest of that former party, our engaging guardian excepted, might be dining cheerfully in Minor Canon Corner to-morrow? Indeed it probably would be so. I can see too well that I am not high in the old lady's opinion, and it is easy to understand what an irksome clog I must be upon the hospitalities of her orderly house- -especially at this time of year--when I must be kept asunder from this person, and there is such a reason for my not being brought into contact with that person, and an unfavourable reputation has preceded me with such another person; and so on. I have put this very gently to Mr. Crisparkle, for you know his self-denying ways; but still I have put it. What I have laid much greater stress upon at the same time is, that I am engaged in a miserable struggle with myself, and that a little change and absence may enable me to come through it the better. So, the weather being bright and hard, I am going on a walking expedition, and intend taking myself out of everybody's way (my own included, I hope) to-morrow morning.' 'When to come back?' 'In a fortnight.' 'And going quite alone?' 'I am much better without company, even if there were any one but you to bear me company, my dear Helena.' 'Mr. Crisparkle entirely agrees, you say?' 'Entirely. I am not sure but that at first he was inclined to think it rather a moody scheme, and one that might do a brooding mind harm. But we took a moonlight walk last Monday night, to talk it over at leisure, and I represented the case to him as it really is. I showed him that I do want to conquer myself, and that, this evening well got over, it is surely better that I should be away from here just now, than here. I could hardly help meeting certain people walking together here, and that could do no good, and is certainly not the way to forget. A fortnight hence, that chance will probably be over, for the time; and when it again arises for the last time, why, I can again go away. Farther, I really do feel hopeful of bracing exercise and wholesome fatigue. You know that Mr. Crisparkle allows such things their full weight in the preservation of his own sound mind in his own sound body, and that his just spirit is not likely to maintain one set of natural laws for himself and another for me. He yielded to my view of the matter, when convinced that I was honestly in earnest; and so, with his full consent, I start to-morrow morning. Early enough to be not only out of the streets, but out of hearing of the bells, when the good people go to church.' Helena thinks it over, and thinks well of it. Mr. Crisparkle doing so, she would do so; but she does originally, out of her own mind, think well of it, as a healthy project, denoting a sincere endeavour and an active attempt at self-correction. She is inclined to pity him, poor fellow, for going away solitary on the great Christmas festival; but she feels it much more to the purpose to encourage him. And she does encourage him. He will write to her? He will write to her every alternate day, and tell her all his adventures. Does he send clothes on in advance of him? 'My dear Helena, no. Travel like a pilgrim, with wallet and staff. My wallet--or my knapsack--is packed, and ready for strapping on; and here is my staff!' He hands it to her; she makes the same remark as Mr. Crisparkle, that it is very heavy; and gives it back to him, asking what wood it is? Iron-wood. Up to this point he has been extremely cheerful. Perhaps, the having to carry his case with her, and therefore to present it in its brightest aspect, has roused his spirits. Perhaps, the having done so with success, is followed by a revulsion. As the day closes in, and the city-lights begin to spring up before them, he grows depressed. 'I wish I were not going to this dinner, Helena.' 'Dear Neville, is it worth while to care much about it? Think how soon it will be over.' 'How soon it will be over!' he repeats gloomily. 'Yes. But I don't like it.' There may be a moment's awkwardness, she cheeringly represents to him, but it can only last a moment. He is quite sure of himself. 'I wish I felt as sure of everything else, as I feel of myself,' he answers her. 'How strangely you speak, dear! What do you mean?' 'Helena, I don't know. I only know that I don't like it. What a strange dead weight there is in the air!' She calls his attention to those copperous clouds beyond the river, and says that the wind is rising. He scarcely speaks again, until he takes leave of her, at the gate of the Nuns' House. She does not immediately enter, when they have parted, but remains looking after him along the street. Twice he passes the gatehouse, reluctant to enter. At length, the Cathedral clock chiming one quarter, with a rapid turn he hurries in. And so HE goes up the postern stair. Edwin Drood passes a solitary day. Something of deeper moment than he had thought, has gone out of his life; and in the silence of his own chamber he wept for it last night. Though the image of Miss Landless still hovers in the background of his mind, the pretty little affectionate creature, so much firmer and wiser than he had supposed, occupies its stronghold. It is with some misgiving of his own unworthiness that he thinks of her, and of what they might have been to one another, if he had been more in earnest some time ago; if he had set a higher value on her; if, instead of accepting his lot in life as an inheritance of course, he had studied the right way to its appreciation and enhancement. And still, for all this, and though there is a sharp heartache in all this, the vanity and caprice of youth sustain that handsome figure of Miss Landless in the background of his mind. That was a curious look of Rosa's when they parted at the gate. Did it mean that she saw below the surface of his thoughts, and down into their twilight depths? Scarcely that, for it was a look of astonished and keen inquiry. He decides that he cannot understand it, though it was remarkably expressive. As he only waits for Mr. Grewgious now, and will depart immediately after having seen him, he takes a sauntering leave of the ancient city and its neighbourhood. He recalls the time when Rosa and he walked here or there, mere children, full of the dignity of being engaged. Poor children! he thinks, with a pitying sadness. Finding that his watch has stopped, he turns into the jeweller's shop, to have it wound and set. The jeweller is knowing on the subject of a bracelet, which he begs leave to submit, in a general and quite aimless way. It would suit (he considers) a young bride, to perfection; especially if of a rather diminutive style of beauty. Finding the bracelet but coldly looked at, the jeweller invites attention to a tray of rings for gentlemen; here is a style of ring, now, he remarks--a very chaste signet--which gentlemen are much given to purchasing, when changing their condition. A ring of a very responsible appearance. With the date of their wedding-day engraved inside, several gentlemen have preferred it to any other kind of memento. The rings are as coldly viewed as the bracelet. Edwin tells the tempter that he wears no jewellery but his watch and chain, which were his father's; and his shirt-pin. 'That I was aware of,' is the jeweller's reply, 'for Mr. Jasper dropped in for a watch-glass the other day, and, in fact, I showed these articles to him, remarking that if he SHOULD wish to make a present to a gentleman relative, on any particular occasion--But he said with a smile that he had an inventory in his mind of all the jewellery his gentleman relative ever wore; namely, his watch and chain, and his shirt-pin.' Still (the jeweller considers) that might not apply to all times, though applying to the present time. 'Twenty minutes past two, Mr. Drood, I set your watch at. Let me recommend you not to let it run down, sir.' Edwin takes his watch, puts it on, and goes out, thinking: 'Dear old Jack! If I were to make an extra crease in my neckcloth, he would think it worth noticing!' He strolls about and about, to pass the time until the dinner-hour. It somehow happens that Cloisterham seems reproachful to him to- day; has fault to find with him, as if he had not used it well; but is far more pensive with him than angry. His wonted carelessness is replaced by a wistful looking at, and dwelling upon, all the old landmarks. He will soon be far away, and may never see them again, he thinks. Poor youth! Poor youth! As dusk draws on, he paces the Monks' Vineyard. He has walked to and fro, full half an hour by the Cathedral chimes, and it has closed in dark, before he becomes quite aware of a woman crouching on the ground near a wicket gate in a corner. The gate commands a cross bye-path, little used in the gloaming; and the figure must have been there all the time, though he has but gradually and lately made it out. He strikes into that path, and walks up to the wicket. By the light of a lamp near it, he sees that the woman is of a haggard appearance, and that her weazen chin is resting on her hands, and that her eyes are staring--with an unwinking, blind sort of steadfastness--before her. Always kindly, but moved to be unusually kind this evening, and having bestowed kind words on most of the children and aged people he has met, he at once bends down, and speaks to this woman. 'Are you ill?' 'No, deary,' she answers, without looking at him, and with no departure from her strange blind stare. 'Are you blind?' 'No, deary.' 'Are you lost, homeless, faint? What is the matter, that you stay here in the cold so long, without moving?' By slow and stiff efforts, she appears to contract her vision until it can rest upon him; and then a curious film passes over her, and she begins to shake. He straightens himself, recoils a step, and looks down at her in a dread amazement; for he seems to know her. 'Good Heaven!' he thinks, next moment. 'Like Jack that night!' As he looks down at her, she looks up at him, and whimpers: 'My lungs is weakly; my lungs is dreffle bad. Poor me, poor me, my cough is rattling dry!' and coughs in confirmation horribly. 'Where do you come from?' 'Come from London, deary.' (Her cough still rending her.) 'Where are you going to?' 'Back to London, deary. I came here, looking for a needle in a haystack, and I ain't found it. Look'ee, deary; give me three-and- sixpence, and don't you be afeard for me. I'll get back to London then, and trouble no one. I'm in a business.--Ah, me! It's slack, it's slack, and times is very bad!--but I can make a shift to live by it.' 'Do you eat opium?' 'Smokes it,' she replies with difficulty, still racked by her cough. 'Give me three-and-sixpence, and I'll lay it out well, and get back. If you don't give me three-and-sixpence, don't give me a brass farden. And if you do give me three-and-sixpence, deary, I'll tell you something.' He counts the money from his pocket, and puts it in her hand. She instantly clutches it tight, and rises to her feet with a croaking laugh of satisfaction. 'Bless ye! Hark'ee, dear genl'mn. What's your Chris'en name?' 'Edwin.' 'Edwin, Edwin, Edwin,' she repeats, trailing off into a drowsy repetition of the word; and then asks suddenly: 'Is the short of that name Eddy?' 'It is sometimes called so,' he replies, with the colour starting to his face. 'Don't sweethearts call it so?' she asks, pondering. 'How should I know?' 'Haven't you a sweetheart, upon your soul?' 'None.' She is moving away, with another 'Bless ye, and thank'ee, deary!' when he adds: 'You were to tell me something; you may as well do so.' 'So I was, so I was. Well, then. Whisper. You be thankful that your name ain't Ned.' He looks at her quite steadily, as he asks: 'Why?' 'Because it's a bad name to have just now.' 'How a bad name?' 'A threatened name. A dangerous name.' 'The proverb says that threatened men live long,' he tells her, lightly. 'Then Ned--so threatened is he, wherever he may be while I am a- talking to you, deary--should live to all eternity!' replies the woman. She has leaned forward to say it in his ear, with her forefinger shaking before his eyes, and now huddles herself together, and with another 'Bless ye, and thank'ee!' goes away in the direction of the Travellers' Lodging House. This is not an inspiriting close to a dull day. Alone, in a sequestered place, surrounded by vestiges of old time and decay, it rather has a tendency to call a shudder into being. He makes for the better-lighted streets, and resolves as he walks on to say nothing of this to-night, but to mention it to Jack (who alone calls him Ned), as an odd coincidence, to-morrow; of course only as a coincidence, and not as anything better worth remembering. Still, it holds to him, as many things much better worth remembering never did. He has another mile or so, to linger out before the dinner-hour; and, when he walks over the bridge and by the river, the woman's words are in the rising wind, in the angry sky, in the troubled water, in the flickering lights. There is some solemn echo of them even in the Cathedral chime, which strikes a sudden surprise to his heart as he turns in under the archway of the gatehouse. And so HE goes up the postern stair. John Jasper passes a more agreeable and cheerful day than either of his guests. Having no music-lessons to give in the holiday season, his time is his own, but for the Cathedral services. He is early among the shopkeepers, ordering little table luxuries that his nephew likes. His nephew will not be with him long, he tells his provision-dealers, and so must be petted and made much of. While out on his hospitable preparations, he looks in on Mr. Sapsea; and mentions that dear Ned, and that inflammable young spark of Mr. Crisparkle's, are to dine at the gatehouse to-day, and make up their difference. Mr. Sapsea is by no means friendly towards the inflammable young spark. He says that his complexion is 'Un- English.' And when Mr. Sapsea has once declared anything to be Un- English, he considers that thing everlastingly sunk in the bottomless pit. John Jasper is truly sorry to hear Mr. Sapsea speak thus, for he knows right well that Mr. Sapsea never speaks without a meaning, and that he has a subtle trick of being right. Mr. Sapsea (by a very remarkable coincidence) is of exactly that opinion. Mr. Jasper is in beautiful voice this day. In the pathetic supplication to have his heart inclined to keep this law, he quite astonishes his fellows by his melodious power. He has never sung difficult music with such skill and harmony, as in this day's Anthem. His nervous temperament is occasionally prone to take difficult music a little too quickly; to-day, his time is perfect. These results are probably attained through a grand composure of the spirits. The mere mechanism of his throat is a little tender, for he wears, both with his singing-robe and with his ordinary dress, a large black scarf of strong close-woven silk, slung loosely round his neck. But his composure is so noticeable, that Mr. Crisparkle speaks of it as they come out from Vespers. 'I must thank you, Jasper, for the pleasure with which I have heard you to-day. Beautiful! Delightful! You could not have so outdone yourself, I hope, without being wonderfully well.' 'I AM wonderfully well.' 'Nothing unequal,' says the Minor Canon, with a smooth motion of his hand: 'nothing unsteady, nothing forced, nothing avoided; all thoroughly done in a masterly manner, with perfect self-command.' 'Thank you. I hope so, if it is not too much to say.' 'One would think, Jasper, you had been trying a new medicine for that occasional indisposition of yours.' 'No, really? That's well observed; for I have.' 'Then stick to it, my good fellow,' says Mr. Crisparkle, clapping him on the shoulder with friendly encouragement, 'stick to it.' 'I will.' 'I congratulate you,' Mr. Crisparkle pursues, as they come out of the Cathedral, 'on all accounts.' 'Thank you again. I will walk round to the Corner with you, if you don't object; I have plenty of time before my company come; and I want to say a word to you, which I think you will not be displeased to hear.' 'What is it?' 'Well. We were speaking, the other evening, of my black humours.' Mr. Crisparkle's face falls, and he shakes his head deploringly. 'I said, you know, that I should make you an antidote to those black humours; and you said you hoped I would consign them to the flames.' 'And I still hope so, Jasper.' 'With the best reason in the world! I mean to burn this year's Diary at the year's end.' 'Because you--?' Mr. Crisparkle brightens greatly as he thus begins. 'You anticipate me. Because I feel that I have been out of sorts, gloomy, bilious, brain-oppressed, whatever it may be. You said I had been exaggerative. So I have.' Mr. Crisparkle's brightened face brightens still more. 'I couldn't see it then, because I WAS out of sorts; but I am in a healthier state now, and I acknowledge it with genuine pleasure. I made a great deal of a very little; that's the fact.' 'It does me good,' cries Mr. Crisparkle, 'to hear you say it!' 'A man leading a monotonous life,' Jasper proceeds, 'and getting his nerves, or his stomach, out of order, dwells upon an idea until it loses its proportions. That was my case with the idea in question. So I shall burn the evidence of my case, when the book is full, and begin the next volume with a clearer vision.' 'This is better,' says Mr. Crisparkle, stopping at the steps of his own door to shake hands, 'than I could have hoped.' 'Why, naturally,' returns Jasper. 'You had but little reason to hope that I should become more like yourself. You are always training yourself to be, mind and body, as clear as crystal, and you always are, and never change; whereas I am a muddy, solitary, moping weed. However, I have got over that mope. Shall I wait, while you ask if Mr. Neville has left for my place? If not, he and I may walk round together.' 'I think,' says Mr. Crisparkle, opening the entrance-door with his key, 'that he left some time ago; at least I know he left, and I think he has not come back. But I'll inquire. You won't come in?' 'My company wait,' said Jasper, with a smile. The Minor Canon disappears, and in a few moments returns. As he thought, Mr. Neville has not come back; indeed, as he remembers now, Mr. Neville said he would probably go straight to the gatehouse. 'Bad manners in a host!' says Jasper. 'My company will be there before me! What will you bet that I don't find my company embracing?' 'I will bet--or I would, if ever I did bet,' returns Mr. Crisparkle, 'that your company will have a gay entertainer this evening.' Jasper nods, and laughs good-night! He retraces his steps to the Cathedral door, and turns down past it to the gatehouse. He sings, in a low voice and with delicate expression, as he walks along. It still seems as if a false note were not within his power to-night, and as if nothing could hurry or retard him. Arriving thus under the arched entrance of his dwelling, he pauses for an instant in the shelter to pull off that great black scarf, and bang it in a loop upon his arm. For that brief time, his face is knitted and stern. But it immediately clears, as he resumes his singing, and his way. And so HE goes up the postern stair. The red light burns steadily all the evening in the lighthouse on the margin of the tide of busy life. Softened sounds and hum of traffic pass it and flow on irregularly into the lonely Precincts; but very little else goes by, save violent rushes of wind. It comes on to blow a boisterous gale. The Precincts are never particularly well lighted; but the strong blasts of wind blowing out many of the lamps (in some instances shattering the frames too, and bringing the glass rattling to the ground), they are unusually dark to-night. The darkness is augmented and confused, by flying dust from the earth, dry twigs from the trees, and great ragged fragments from the rooks' nests up in the tower. The trees themselves so toss and creak, as this tangible part of the darkness madly whirls about, that they seem in peril of being torn out of the earth: while ever and again a crack, and a rushing fall, denote that some large branch has yielded to the storm. Not such power of wind has blown for many a winter night. Chimneys topple in the streets, and people hold to posts and corners, and to one another, to keep themselves upon their feet. The violent rushes abate not, but increase in frequency and fury until at midnight, when the streets are empty, the storm goes thundering along them, rattling at all the latches, and tearing at all the shutters, as if warning the people to get up and fly with it, rather than have the roofs brought down upon their brains. Still, the red light burns steadily. Nothing is steady but the red light. All through the night the wind blows, and abates not. But early in the morning, when there is barely enough light in the east to dim the stars, it begins to lull. From that time, with occasional wild charges, like a wounded monster dying, it drops and sinks; and at full daylight it is dead. It is then seen that the hands of the Cathedral clock are torn off; that lead from the roof has been stripped away, rolled up, and blown into the Close; and that some stones have been displaced upon the summit of the great tower. Christmas morning though it be, it is necessary to send up workmen, to ascertain the extent of the damage done. These, led by Durdles, go aloft; while Mr. Tope and a crowd of early idlers gather down in Minor Canon Corner, shading their eyes and watching for their appearance up there. This cluster is suddenly broken and put aside by the hands of Mr. Jasper; all the gazing eyes are brought down to the earth by his loudly inquiring of Mr. Crisparkle, at an open window: 'Where is my nephew?' 'He has not been here. Is he not with you?' 'No. He went down to the river last night, with Mr. Neville, to look at the storm, and has not been back. Call Mr. Neville!' 'He left this morning, early.' 'Left this morning early? Let me in! let me in!' There is no more looking up at the tower, now. All the assembled eyes are turned on Mr. Jasper, white, half-dressed, panting, and clinging to the rail before the Minor Canon's house. CHAPTER XV--IMPEACHED Neville Landless had started so early and walked at so good a pace, that when the church-bells began to ring in Cloisterham for morning service, he was eight miles away. As he wanted his breakfast by that time, having set forth on a crust of bread, he stopped at the next roadside tavern to refresh. Visitors in want of breakfast--unless they were horses or cattle, for which class of guests there was preparation enough in the way of water-trough and hay--were so unusual at the sign of The Tilted Wagon, that it took a long time to get the wagon into the track of tea and toast and bacon. Neville in the interval, sitting in a sanded parlour, wondering in how long a time after he had gone, the sneezy fire of damp fagots would begin to make somebody else warm. Indeed, The Tilted Wagon, as a cool establishment on the top of a hill, where the ground before the door was puddled with damp hoofs and trodden straw; where a scolding landlady slapped a moist baby (with one red sock on and one wanting), in the bar; where the cheese was cast aground upon a shelf, in company with a mouldy tablecloth and a green-handled knife, in a sort of cast-iron canoe; where the pale-faced bread shed tears of crumb over its shipwreck in another canoe; where the family linen, half washed and half dried, led a public life of lying about; where everything to drink was drunk out of mugs, and everything else was suggestive of a rhyme to mugs; The Tilted Wagon, all these things considered, hardly kept its painted promise of providing good entertainment for Man and Beast. However, Man, in the present case, was not critical, but took what entertainment he could get, and went on again after a longer rest than he needed. He stopped at some quarter of a mile from the house, hesitating whether to pursue the road, or to follow a cart track between two high hedgerows, which led across the slope of a breezy heath, and evidently struck into the road again by-and-by. He decided in favour of this latter track, and pursued it with some toil; the rise being steep, and the way worn into deep ruts. He was labouring along, when he became aware of some other pedestrians behind him. As they were coming up at a faster pace than his, he stood aside, against one of the high banks, to let them pass. But their manner was very curious. Only four of them passed. Other four slackened speed, and loitered as intending to follow him when he should go on. The remainder of the party (half- a-dozen perhaps) turned, and went back at a great rate. He looked at the four behind him, and he looked at the four before him. They all returned his look. He resumed his way. The four in advance went on, constantly looking back; the four in the rear came closing up. When they all ranged out from the narrow track upon the open slope of the heath, and this order was maintained, let him diverge as he would to either side, there was no longer room to doubt that he was beset by these fellows. He stopped, as a last test; and they all stopped. 'Why do you attend upon me in this way?' he asked the whole body. 'Are you a pack of thieves?' 'Don't answer him,' said one of the number; he did not see which. 'Better be quiet.' 'Better be quiet?' repeated Neville. 'Who said so?' Nobody replied. 'It's good advice, whichever of you skulkers gave it,' he went on angrily. 'I will not submit to be penned in between four men there, and four men there. I wish to pass, and I mean to pass, those four in front.' They were all standing still; himself included. 'If eight men, or four men, or two men, set upon one,' he proceeded, growing more enraged, 'the one has no chance but to set his mark upon some of them. And, by the Lord, I'll do it, if I am interrupted any farther!' Shouldering his heavy stick, and quickening his pace, he shot on to pass the four ahead. The largest and strongest man of the number changed swiftly to the side on which he came up, and dexterously closed with him and went down with him; but not before the heavy stick had descended smartly. 'Let him be!' said this man in a suppressed voice, as they struggled together on the grass. 'Fair play! His is the build of a girl to mine, and he's got a weight strapped to his back besides. Let him alone. I'll manage him.' After a little rolling about, in a close scuffle which caused the faces of both to be besmeared with blood, the man took his knee from Neville's chest, and rose, saying: 'There! Now take him arm- in-arm, any two of you!' It was immediately done. 'As to our being a pack of thieves, Mr. Landless,' said the man, as he spat out some blood, and wiped more from his face; 'you know better than that at midday. We wouldn't have touched you if you hadn't forced us. We're going to take you round to the high road, anyhow, and you'll find help enough against thieves there, if you want it.--Wipe his face, somebody; see how it's a-trickling down him!' When his face was cleansed, Neville recognised in the speaker, Joe, driver of the Cloisterham omnibus, whom he had seen but once, and that on the day of his arrival. 'And what I recommend you for the present, is, don't talk, Mr. Landless. You'll find a friend waiting for you, at the high road-- gone ahead by the other way when we split into two parties--and you had much better say nothing till you come up with him. Bring that stick along, somebody else, and let's be moving!' Utterly bewildered, Neville stared around him and said not a word. Walking between his two conductors, who held his arms in theirs, he went on, as in a dream, until they came again into the high road, and into the midst of a little group of people. The men who had turned back were among the group; and its central figures were Mr. Jasper and Mr. Crisparkle. Neville's conductors took him up to the Minor Canon, and there released him, as an act of deference to that gentleman. 'What is all this, sir? What is the matter? I feel as if I had lost my senses!' cried Neville, the group closing in around him. 'Where is my nephew?' asked Mr. Jasper, wildly. 'Where is your nephew?' repeated Neville, 'Why do you ask me?' 'I ask you,' retorted Jasper, 'because you were the last person in his company, and he is not to be found.' 'Not to be found!' cried Neville, aghast. 'Stay, stay,' said Mr. Crisparkle. 'Permit me, Jasper. Mr. Neville, you are confounded; collect your thoughts; it is of great importance that you should collect your thoughts; attend to me.' 'I will try, sir, but I seem mad.' 'You left Mr. Jasper last night with Edwin Drood?' 'Yes.' 'At what hour?' 'Was it at twelve o'clock?' asked Neville, with his hand to his confused head, and appealing to Jasper. 'Quite right,' said Mr. Crisparkle; 'the hour Mr. Jasper has already named to me. You went down to the river together?' 'Undoubtedly. To see the action of the wind there.' 'What followed? How long did you stay there?' 'About ten minutes; I should say not more. We then walked together to your house, and he took leave of me at the door.' 'Did he say that he was going down to the river again?' 'No. He said that he was going straight back.' The bystanders looked at one another, and at Mr. Crisparkle. To whom Mr. Jasper, who had been intensely watching Neville, said, in a low, distinct, suspicious voice: 'What are those stains upon his dress?' All eyes were turned towards the blood upon his clothes. 'And here are the same stains upon this stick!' said Jasper, taking it from the hand of the man who held it. 'I know the stick to be his, and he carried it last night. What does this mean?' 'In the name of God, say what it means, Neville!' urged Mr. Crisparkle. 'That man and I,' said Neville, pointing out his late adversary, 'had a struggle for the stick just now, and you may see the same marks on him, sir. What was I to suppose, when I found myself molested by eight people? Could I dream of the true reason when they would give me none at all?' They admitted that they had thought it discreet to be silent, and that the struggle had taken place. And yet the very men who had seen it looked darkly at the smears which the bright cold air had already dried. 'We must return, Neville,' said Mr. Crisparkle; 'of course you will be glad to come back to clear yourself?' 'Of course, sir.' 'Mr. Landless will walk at my side,' the Minor Canon continued, looking around him. 'Come, Neville!' They set forth on the walk back; and the others, with one exception, straggled after them at various distances. Jasper walked on the other side of Neville, and never quitted that position. He was silent, while Mr. Crisparkle more than once repeated his former questions, and while Neville repeated his former answers; also, while they both hazarded some explanatory conjectures. He was obstinately silent, because Mr. Crisparkle's manner directly appealed to him to take some part in the discussion, and no appeal would move his fixed face. When they drew near to the city, and it was suggested by the Minor Canon that they might do well in calling on the Mayor at once, he assented with a stern nod; but he spake no word until they stood in Mr. Sapsea's parlour. Mr. Sapsea being informed by Mr. Crisparkle of the circumstances under which they desired to make a voluntary statement before him, Mr. Jasper broke silence by declaring that he placed his whole reliance, humanly speaking, on Mr. Sapsea's penetration. There was no conceivable reason why his nephew should have suddenly absconded, unless Mr. Sapsea could suggest one, and then he would defer. There was no intelligible likelihood of his having returned to the river, and been accidentally drowned in the dark, unless it should appear likely to Mr. Sapsea, and then again he would defer. He washed his hands as clean as he could of all horrible suspicions, unless it should appear to Mr. Sapsea that some such were inseparable from his last companion before his disappearance (not on good terms with previously), and then, once more, he would defer. His own state of mind, he being distracted with doubts, and labouring under dismal apprehensions, was not to be safely trusted; but Mr. Sapsea's was. Mr. Sapsea expressed his opinion that the case had a dark look; in short (and here his eyes rested full on Neville's countenance), an Un-English complexion. Having made this grand point, he wandered into a denser haze and maze of nonsense than even a mayor might have been expected to disport himself in, and came out of it with the brilliant discovery that to take the life of a fellow-creature was to take something that didn't belong to you. He wavered whether or no he should at once issue his warrant for the committal of Neville Landless to jail, under circumstances of grave suspicion; and he might have gone so far as to do it but for the indignant protest of the Minor Canon: who undertook for the young man's remaining in his own house, and being produced by his own hands, whenever demanded. Mr. Jasper then understood Mr. Sapsea to suggest that the river should be dragged, that its banks should be rigidly examined, that particulars of the disappearance should be sent to all outlying places and to London, and that placards and advertisements should be widely circulated imploring Edwin Drood, if for any unknown reason he had withdrawn himself from his uncle's home and society, to take pity on that loving kinsman's sore bereavement and distress, and somehow inform him that he was yet alive. Mr. Sapsea was perfectly understood, for this was exactly his meaning (though he had said nothing about it); and measures were taken towards all these ends immediately. It would be difficult to determine which was the more oppressed with horror and amazement: Neville Landless, or John Jasper. But that Jasper's position forced him to be active, while Neville's forced him to be passive, there would have been nothing to choose between them. Each was bowed down and broken. With the earliest light of the next morning, men were at work upon the river, and other men--most of whom volunteered for the service- -were examining the banks. All the livelong day the search went on; upon the river, with barge and pole, and drag and net; upon the muddy and rushy shore, with jack-boots, hatchet, spade, rope, dogs, and all imaginable appliances. Even at night, the river was specked with lanterns, and lurid with fires; far-off creeks, into which the tide washed as it changed, had their knots of watchers, listening to the lapping of the stream, and looking out for any burden it might bear; remote shingly causeways near the sea, and lonely points off which there was a race of water, had their unwonted flaring cressets and rough-coated figures when the next day dawned; but no trace of Edwin Drood revisited the light of the sun. All that day, again, the search went on. Now, in barge and boat; and now ashore among the osiers, or tramping amidst mud and stakes and jagged stones in low-lying places, where solitary watermarks and signals of strange shapes showed like spectres, John Jasper worked and toiled. But to no purpose; for still no trace of Edwin Drood revisited the light of the sun. Setting his watches for that night again, so that vigilant eyes should be kept on every change of tide, he went home exhausted. Unkempt and disordered, bedaubed with mud that had dried upon him, and with much of his clothing torn to rags, he had but just dropped into his easy-chair, when Mr. Grewgious stood before him. 'This is strange news,' said Mr. Grewgious. 'Strange and fearful news.' Jasper had merely lifted up his heavy eyes to say it, and now dropped them again as he drooped, worn out, over one side of his easy-chair. Mr. Grewgious smoothed his head and face, and stood looking at the fire. 'How is your ward?' asked Jasper, after a time, in a faint, fatigued voice. 'Poor little thing! You may imagine her condition.' 'Have you seen his sister?' inquired Jasper, as before. 'Whose?' The curtness of the counter-question, and the cool, slow manner in which, as he put it, Mr. Grewgious moved his eyes from the fire to his companion's face, might at any other time have been exasperating. In his depression and exhaustion, Jasper merely opened his eyes to say: 'The suspected young man's.' 'Do you suspect him?' asked Mr. Grewgious. 'I don't know what to think. I cannot make up my mind.' 'Nor I,' said Mr. Grewgious. 'But as you spoke of him as the suspected young man, I thought you HAD made up your mind.--I have just left Miss Landless.' 'What is her state?' 'Defiance of all suspicion, and unbounded faith in her brother.' 'Poor thing!' 'However,' pursued Mr. Grewgious, 'it is not of her that I came to speak. It is of my ward. I have a communication to make that will surprise you. At least, it has surprised me.' Jasper, with a groaning sigh, turned wearily in his chair. 'Shall I put it off till to-morrow?' said Mr. Grewgious. 'Mind, I warn you, that I think it will surprise you!' More attention and concentration came into John Jasper's eyes as they caught sight of Mr. Grewgious smoothing his head again, and again looking at the fire; but now, with a compressed and determined mouth. 'What is it?' demanded Jasper, becoming upright in his chair. 'To be sure,' said Mr. Grewgious, provokingly slowly and internally, as he kept his eyes on the fire: 'I might have known it sooner; she gave me the opening; but I am such an exceedingly Angular man, that it never occurred to me; I took all for granted.' 'What is it?' demanded Jasper once more. Mr. Grewgious, alternately opening and shutting the palms of his hands as he warmed them at the fire, and looking fixedly at him sideways, and never changing either his action or his look in all that followed, went on to reply. 'This young couple, the lost youth and Miss Rosa, my ward, though so long betrothed, and so long recognising their betrothal, and so near being married--' Mr. Grewgious saw a staring white face, and two quivering white lips, in the easy-chair, and saw two muddy hands gripping its sides. But for the hands, he might have thought he had never seen the face. '--This young couple came gradually to the discovery (made on both sides pretty equally, I think), that they would be happier and better, both in their present and their future lives, as affectionate friends, or say rather as brother and sister, than as husband and wife.' Mr. Grewgious saw a lead-coloured face in the easy-chair, and on its surface dreadful starting drops or bubbles, as if of steel. 'This young couple formed at length the healthy resolution of interchanging their discoveries, openly, sensibly, and tenderly. They met for that purpose. After some innocent and generous talk, they agreed to dissolve their existing, and their intended, relations, for ever and ever.' Mr. Grewgious saw a ghastly figure rise, open-mouthed, from the easy-chair, and lift its outspread hands towards its head. 'One of this young couple, and that one your nephew, fearful, however, that in the tenderness of your affection for him you would be bitterly disappointed by so wide a departure from his projected life, forbore to tell you the secret, for a few days, and left it to be disclosed by me, when I should come down to speak to you, and he would be gone. I speak to you, and he is gone.' Mr. Grewgious saw the ghastly figure throw back its head, clutch its hair with its hands, and turn with a writhing action from him. 'I have now said all I have to say: except that this young couple parted, firmly, though not without tears and sorrow, on the evening when you last saw them together.' Mr. Grewgious heard a terrible shriek, and saw no ghastly figure, sitting or standing; saw nothing but a heap of torn and miry clothes upon the floor. Not changing his action even then, he opened and shut the palms of his hands as he warmed them, and looked down at it. CHAPTER XVI--DEVOTED When John Jasper recovered from his fit or swoon, he found himself being tended by Mr. and Mrs. Tope, whom his visitor had summoned for the purpose. His visitor, wooden of aspect, sat stiffly in a chair, with his hands upon his knees, watching his recovery. 'There! You've come to nicely now, sir,' said the tearful Mrs. Tope; 'you were thoroughly worn out, and no wonder!' 'A man,' said Mr. Grewgious, with his usual air of repeating a lesson, 'cannot have his rest broken, and his mind cruelly tormented, and his body overtaxed by fatigue, without being thoroughly worn out.' 'I fear I have alarmed you?' Jasper apologised faintly, when he was helped into his easy-chair. 'Not at all, I thank you,' answered Mr. Grewgious. 'You are too considerate.' 'Not at all, I thank you,' answered Mr. Grewgious again. 'You must take some wine, sir,' said Mrs. Tope, 'and the jelly that I had ready for you, and that you wouldn't put your lips to at noon, though I warned you what would come of it, you know, and you not breakfasted; and you must have a wing of the roast fowl that has been put back twenty times if it's been put back once. It shall all be on table in five minutes, and this good gentleman belike will stop and see you take it.' This good gentleman replied with a snort, which might mean yes, or no, or anything or nothing, and which Mrs. Tope would have found highly mystifying, but that her attention was divided by the service of the table. 'You will take something with me?' said Jasper, as the cloth was laid. 'I couldn't get a morsel down my throat, I thank you,' answered Mr. Grewgious. Jasper both ate and drank almost voraciously. Combined with the hurry in his mode of doing it, was an evident indifference to the taste of what he took, suggesting that he ate and drank to fortify himself against any other failure of the spirits, far more than to gratify his palate. Mr. Grewgious in the meantime sat upright, with no expression in his face, and a hard kind of imperturbably polite protest all over him: as though he would have said, in reply to some invitation to discourse; 'I couldn't originate the faintest approach to an observation on any subject whatever, I thank you.' 'Do you know,' said Jasper, when he had pushed away his plate and glass, and had sat meditating for a few minutes: 'do you know that I find some crumbs of comfort in the communication with which you have so much amazed me?' 'DO you?' returned Mr. Grewgious, pretty plainly adding the unspoken clause: 'I don't, I thank you!' 'After recovering from the shock of a piece of news of my dear boy, so entirely unexpected, and so destructive of all the castles I had built for him; and after having had time to think of it; yes.' 'I shall be glad to pick up your crumbs,' said Mr. Grewgious, dryly. 'Is there not, or is there--if I deceive myself, tell me so, and shorten my pain--is there not, or is there, hope that, finding himself in this new position, and becoming sensitively alive to the awkward burden of explanation, in this quarter, and that, and the other, with which it would load him, he avoided the awkwardness, and took to flight?' 'Such a thing might be,' said Mr. Grewgious, pondering. 'Such a thing has been. I have read of cases in which people, rather than face a seven days' wonder, and have to account for themselves to the idle and impertinent, have taken themselves away, and been long unheard of.' 'I believe such things have happened,' said Mr. Grewgious, pondering still. 'When I had, and could have, no suspicion,' pursued Jasper, eagerly following the new track, 'that the dear lost boy had withheld anything from me--most of all, such a leading matter as this--what gleam of light was there for me in the whole black sky? When I supposed that his intended wife was here, and his marriage close at hand, how could I entertain the possibility of his voluntarily leaving this place, in a manner that would be so unaccountable, capricious, and cruel? But now that I know what you have told me, is there no little chink through which day pierces? Supposing him to have disappeared of his own act, is not his disappearance more accountable and less cruel? The fact of his having just parted from your ward, is in itself a sort of reason for his going away. It does not make his mysterious departure the less cruel to me, it is true; but it relieves it of cruelty to her.' Mr. Grewgious could not but assent to this. 'And even as to me,' continued Jasper, still pursuing the new track, with ardour, and, as he did so, brightening with hope: 'he knew that you were coming to me; he knew that you were intrusted to tell me what you have told me; if your doing so has awakened a new train of thought in my perplexed mind, it reasonably follows that, from the same premises, he might have foreseen the inferences that I should draw. Grant that he did foresee them; and even the cruelty to me--and who am I!--John Jasper, Music Master, vanishes!' - Once more, Mr. Grewgious could not but assent to this. 'I have had my distrusts, and terrible distrusts they have been,' said Jasper; 'but your disclosure, overpowering as it was at first- -showing me that my own dear boy had had a great disappointing reservation from me, who so fondly loved him, kindles hope within me. You do not extinguish it when I state it, but admit it to be a reasonable hope. I begin to believe it possible:' here he clasped his hands: 'that he may have disappeared from among us of his own accord, and that he may yet be alive and well.' Mr. Crisparkle came in at the moment. To whom Mr. Jasper repeated: 'I begin to believe it possible that he may have disappeared of his own accord, and may yet be alive and well.' Mr. Crisparkle taking a seat, and inquiring: 'Why so?' Mr. Jasper repeated the arguments he had just set forth. If they had been less plausible than they were, the good Minor Canon's mind would have been in a state of preparation to receive them, as exculpatory of his unfortunate pupil. But he, too, did really attach great importance to the lost young man's having been, so immediately before his disappearance, placed in a new and embarrassing relation towards every one acquainted with his projects and affairs; and the fact seemed to him to present the question in a new light. 'I stated to Mr. Sapsea, when we waited on him,' said Jasper: as he really had done: 'that there was no quarrel or difference between the two young men at their last meeting. We all know that their first meeting was unfortunately very far from amicable; but all went smoothly and quietly when they were last together at my house. My dear boy was not in his usual spirits; he was depressed- -I noticed that--and I am bound henceforth to dwell upon the circumstance the more, now that I know there was a special reason for his being depressed: a reason, moreover, which may possibly have induced him to absent himself.' 'I pray to Heaven it may turn out so!' exclaimed Mr. Crisparkle. '_I_ pray to Heaven it may turn out so!' repeated Jasper. 'You know--and Mr. Grewgious should now know likewise--that I took a great prepossession against Mr. Neville Landless, arising out of his furious conduct on that first occasion. You know that I came to you, extremely apprehensive, on my dear boy's behalf, of his mad violence. You know that I even entered in my Diary, and showed the entry to you, that I had dark forebodings against him. Mr. Grewgious ought to be possessed of the whole case. He shall not, through any suppression of mine, be informed of a part of it, and kept in ignorance of another part of it. I wish him to be good enough to understand that the communication he has made to me has hopefully influenced my mind, in spite of its having been, before this mysterious occurrence took place, profoundly impressed against young Landless.' This fairness troubled the Minor Canon much. He felt that he was not as open in his own dealing. He charged against himself reproachfully that he had suppressed, so far, the two points of a second strong outbreak of temper against Edwin Drood on the part of Neville, and of the passion of jealousy having, to his own certain knowledge, flamed up in Neville's breast against him. He was convinced of Neville's innocence of any part in the ugly disappearance; and yet so many little circumstances combined so wofully against him, that he dreaded to add two more to their cumulative weight. He was among the truest of men; but he had been balancing in his mind, much to its distress, whether his volunteering to tell these two fragments of truth, at this time, would not be tantamount to a piecing together of falsehood in the place of truth. However, here was a model before him. He hesitated no longer. Addressing Mr. Grewgious, as one placed in authority by the revelation he had brought to bear on the mystery (and surpassingly Angular Mr. Grewgious became when he found himself in that unexpected position), Mr. Crisparkle bore his testimony to Mr. Jasper's strict sense of justice, and, expressing his absolute confidence in the complete clearance of his pupil from the least taint of suspicion, sooner or later, avowed that his confidence in that young gentleman had been formed, in spite of his confidential knowledge that his temper was of the hottest and fiercest, and that it was directly incensed against Mr. Jasper's nephew, by the circumstance of his romantically supposing himself to be enamoured of the same young lady. The sanguine reaction manifest in Mr. Jasper was proof even against this unlooked-for declaration. It turned him paler; but he repeated that he would cling to the hope he had derived from Mr. Grewgious; and that if no trace of his dear boy were found, leading to the dreadful inference that he had been made away with, he would cherish unto the last stretch of possibility the idea, that he might have absconded of his own wild will. Now, it fell out that Mr. Crisparkle, going away from this conference still very uneasy in his mind, and very much troubled on behalf of the young man whom he held as a kind of prisoner in his own house, took a memorable night walk. He walked to Cloisterham Weir. He often did so, and consequently there was nothing remarkable in his footsteps tending that way. But the preoccupation of his mind so hindered him from planning any walk, or taking heed of the objects he passed, that his first consciousness of being near the Weir, was derived from the sound of the falling water close at hand. 'How did I come here!' was his first thought, as he stopped. 'Why did I come here!' was his second. Then, he stood intently listening to the water. A familiar passage in his reading, about airy tongues that syllable men's names, rose so unbidden to his ear, that he put it from him with his hand, as if it were tangible. It was starlight. The Weir was full two miles above the spot to which the young men had repaired to watch the storm. No search had been made up here, for the tide had been running strongly down, at that time of the night of Christmas Eve, and the likeliest places for the discovery of a body, if a fatal accident had happened under such circumstances, all lay--both when the tide ebbed, and when it flowed again--between that spot and the sea. The water came over the Weir, with its usual sound on a cold starlight night, and little could be seen of it; yet Mr. Crisparkle had a strange idea that something unusual hung about the place. He reasoned with himself: What was it? Where was it? Put it to the proof. Which sense did it address? No sense reported anything unusual there. He listened again, and his sense of hearing again checked the water coming over the Weir, with its usual sound on a cold starlight night. Knowing very well that the mystery with which his mind was occupied, might of itself give the place this haunted air, he strained those hawk's eyes of his for the correction of his sight. He got closer to the Weir, and peered at its well-known posts and timbers. Nothing in the least unusual was remotely shadowed forth. But he resolved that he would come back early in the morning. The Weir ran through his broken sleep, all night, and he was back again at sunrise. It was a bright frosty morning. The whole composition before him, when he stood where he had stood last night, was clearly discernible in its minutest details. He had surveyed it closely for some minutes, and was about to withdraw his eyes, when they were attracted keenly to one spot. He turned his back upon the Weir, and looked far away at the sky, and at the earth, and then looked again at that one spot. It caught his sight again immediately, and he concentrated his vision upon it. He could not lose it now, though it was but such a speck in the landscape. It fascinated his sight. His hands began plucking off his coat. For it struck him that at that spot--a corner of the Weir--something glistened, which did not move and come over with the glistening water-drops, but remained stationary. He assured himself of this, he threw off his clothes, he plunged into the icy water, and swam for the spot. Climbing the timbers, he took from them, caught among their interstices by its chain, a gold watch, bearing engraved upon its back E. D. He brought the watch to the bank, swam to the Weir again, climbed it, and dived off. He knew every hole and corner of all the depths, and dived and dived and dived, until he could bear the cold no more. His notion was, that he would find the body; he only found a shirt-pin sticking in some mud and ooze. With these discoveries he returned to Cloisterham, and, taking Neville Landless with him, went straight to the Mayor. Mr. Jasper was sent for, the watch and shirt-pin were identified, Neville was detained, and the wildest frenzy and fatuity of evil report rose against him. He was of that vindictive and violent nature, that but for his poor sister, who alone had influence over him, and out of whose sight he was never to be trusted, he would be in the daily commission of murder. Before coming to England he had caused to be whipped to death sundry 'Natives'--nomadic persons, encamping now in Asia, now in Africa, now in the West Indies, and now at the North Pole--vaguely supposed in Cloisterham to be always black, always of great virtue, always calling themselves Me, and everybody else Massa or Missie (according to sex), and always reading tracts of the obscurest meaning, in broken English, but always accurately understanding them in the purest mother tongue. He had nearly brought Mrs. Crisparkle's grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. (Those original expressions were Mr. Sapsea's.) He had repeatedly said he would have Mr. Crisparkle's life. He had repeatedly said he would have everybody's life, and become in effect the last man. He had been brought down to Cloisterham, from London, by an eminent Philanthropist, and why? Because that Philanthropist had expressly declared: 'I owe it to my fellow-creatures that he should be, in the words of BENTHAM, where he is the cause of the greatest danger to the smallest number.' These dropping shots from the blunderbusses of blunderheadedness might not have hit him in a vital place. But he had to stand against a trained and well-directed fire of arms of precision too. He had notoriously threatened the lost young man, and had, according to the showing of his own faithful friend and tutor who strove so hard for him, a cause of bitter animosity (created by himself, and stated by himself), against that ill-starred fellow. He had armed himself with an offensive weapon for the fatal night, and he had gone off early in the morning, after making preparations for departure. He had been found with traces of blood on him; truly, they might have been wholly caused as he represented, but they might not, also. On a search-warrant being issued for the examination of his room, clothes, and so forth, it was discovered that he had destroyed all his papers, and rearranged all his possessions, on the very afternoon of the disappearance. The watch found at the Weir was challenged by the jeweller as one he had wound and set for Edwin Drood, at twenty minutes past two on that same afternoon; and it had run down, before being cast into the water; and it was the jeweller's positive opinion that it had never been re-wound. This would justify the hypothesis that the watch was taken from him not long after he left Mr. Jasper's house at midnight, in company with the last person seen with him, and that it had been thrown away after being retained some hours. Why thrown away? If he had been murdered, and so artfully disfigured, or concealed, or both, as that the murderer hoped identification to be impossible, except from something that he wore, assuredly the murderer would seek to remove from the body the most lasting, the best known, and the most easily recognisable, things upon it. Those things would be the watch and shirt-pin. As to his opportunities of casting them into the river; if he were the object of these suspicions, they were easy. For, he had been seen by many persons, wandering about on that side of the city--indeed on all sides of it--in a miserable and seemingly half-distracted manner. As to the choice of the spot, obviously such criminating evidence had better take its chance of being found anywhere, rather than upon himself, or in his possession. Concerning the reconciliatory nature of the appointed meeting between the two young men, very little could be made of that in young Landless's favour; for it distinctly appeared that the meeting originated, not with him, but with Mr. Crisparkle, and that it had been urged on by Mr. Crisparkle; and who could say how unwillingly, or in what ill- conditioned mood, his enforced pupil had gone to it? The more his case was looked into, the weaker it became in every point. Even the broad suggestion that the lost young man had absconded, was rendered additionally improbable on the showing of the young lady from whom he had so lately parted; for; what did she say, with great earnestness and sorrow, when interrogated? That he had, expressly and enthusiastically, planned with her, that he would await the arrival of her guardian, Mr. Grewgious. And yet, be it observed, he disappeared before that gentleman appeared. On the suspicions thus urged and supported, Neville was detained, and re-detained, and the search was pressed on every hand, and Jasper laboured night and day. But nothing more was found. No discovery being made, which proved the lost man to be dead, it at length became necessary to release the person suspected of having made away with him. Neville was set at large. Then, a consequence ensued which Mr. Crisparkle had too well foreseen. Neville must leave the place, for the place shunned him and cast him out. Even had it not been so, the dear old china shepherdess would have worried herself to death with fears for her son, and with general trepidation occasioned by their having such an inmate. Even had that not been so, the authority to which the Minor Canon deferred officially, would have settled the point. 'Mr. Crisparkle,' quoth the Dean, 'human justice may err, but it must act according to its lights. The days of taking sanctuary are past. This young man must not take sanctuary with us.' 'You mean that he must leave my house, sir?' 'Mr. Crisparkle,' returned the prudent Dean, 'I claim no authority in your house. I merely confer with you, on the painful necessity you find yourself under, of depriving this young man of the great advantages of your counsel and instruction.' 'It is very lamentable, sir,' Mr. Crisparkle represented. 'Very much so,' the Dean assented. 'And if it be a necessity--' Mr. Crisparkle faltered. 'As you unfortunately find it to be,' returned the Dean. Mr. Crisparkle bowed submissively: 'It is hard to prejudge his case, sir, but I am sensible that--' 'Just so. Perfectly. As you say, Mr. Crisparkle,' interposed the Dean, nodding his head smoothly, 'there is nothing else to be done. No doubt, no doubt. There is no alternative, as your good sense has discovered.' 'I am entirely satisfied of his perfect innocence, sir, nevertheless.' 'We-e-ell!' said the Dean, in a more confidential tone, and slightly glancing around him, 'I would not say so, generally. Not generally. Enough of suspicion attaches to him to--no, I think I would not say so, generally.' Mr. Crisparkle bowed again. 'It does not become us, perhaps,' pursued the Dean, 'to be partisans. Not partisans. We clergy keep our hearts warm and our heads cool, and we hold a judicious middle course.' 'I hope you do not object, sir, to my having stated in public, emphatically, that he will reappear here, whenever any new suspicion may be awakened, or any new circumstance may come to light in this extraordinary matter?' 'Not at all,' returned the Dean. 'And yet, do you know, I don't think,' with a very nice and neat emphasis on those two words: 'I DON'T THINK I would state it emphatically. State it? Ye-e-es! But emphatically? No-o-o. I THINK not. In point of fact, Mr. Crisparkle, keeping our hearts warm and our heads cool, we clergy need do nothing emphatically.' So Minor Canon Row knew Neville Landless no more; and he went whithersoever he would, or could, with a blight upon his name and fame. It was not until then that John Jasper silently resumed his place in the choir. Haggard and red-eyed, his hopes plainly had deserted him, his sanguine mood was gone, and all his worst misgivings had come back. A day or two afterwards, while unrobing, he took his Diary from a pocket of his coat, turned the leaves, and with an impressive look, and without one spoken word, handed this entry to Mr. Crisparkle to read: 'My dear boy is murdered. The discovery of the watch and shirt-pin convinces me that he was murdered that night, and that his jewellery was taken from him to prevent identification by its means. All the delusive hopes I had founded on his separation from his betrothed wife, I give to the winds. They perish before this fatal discovery. I now swear, and record the oath on this page, That I nevermore will discuss this mystery with any human creature until I hold the clue to it in my hand. That I never will relax in my secrecy or in my search. That I will fasten the crime of the murder of my dear dead boy upon the murderer. And, That I devote myself to his destruction.' CHAPTER XVII--PHILANTHROPY, PROFESSIONAL AND UNPROFESSIONAL Full half a year had come and gone, and Mr. Crisparkle sat in a waiting-room in the London chief offices of the Haven of Philanthropy, until he could have audience of Mr. Honeythunder. In his college days of athletic exercises, Mr. Crisparkle had known professors of the Noble Art of fisticuffs, and had attended two or three of their gloved gatherings. He had now an opportunity of observing that as to the phrenological formation of the backs of their heads, the Professing Philanthropists were uncommonly like the Pugilists. In the development of all those organs which constitute, or attend, a propensity to 'pitch into' your fellow- creatures, the Philanthropists were remarkably favoured. There were several Professors passing in and out, with exactly the aggressive air upon them of being ready for a turn-up with any Novice who might happen to be on hand, that Mr. Crisparkle well remembered in the circles of the Fancy. Preparations were in progress for a moral little Mill somewhere on the rural circuit, and other Professors were backing this or that Heavy-Weight as good for such or such speech-making hits, so very much after the manner of the sporting publicans, that the intended Resolutions might have been Rounds. In an official manager of these displays much celebrated for his platform tactics, Mr. Crisparkle recognised (in a suit of black) the counterpart of a deceased benefactor of his species, an eminent public character, once known to fame as Frosty- faced Fogo, who in days of yore superintended the formation of the magic circle with the ropes and stakes. There were only three conditions of resemblance wanting between these Professors and those. Firstly, the Philanthropists were in very bad training: much too fleshy, and presenting, both in face and figure, a superabundance of what is known to Pugilistic Experts as Suet Pudding. Secondly, the Philanthropists had not the good temper of the Pugilists, and used worse language. Thirdly, their fighting code stood in great need of revision, as empowering them not only to bore their man to the ropes, but to bore him to the confines of distraction; also to hit him when he was down, hit him anywhere and anyhow, kick him, stamp upon him, gouge him, and maul him behind his back without mercy. In these last particulars the Professors of the Noble Art were much nobler than the Professors of Philanthropy. Mr. Crisparkle was so completely lost in musing on these similarities and dissimilarities, at the same time watching the crowd which came and went by, always, as it seemed, on errands of antagonistically snatching something from somebody, and never giving anything to anybody, that his name was called before he heard it. On his at length responding, he was shown by a miserably shabby and underpaid stipendiary Philanthropist (who could hardly have done worse if he had taken service with a declared enemy of the human race) to Mr. Honeythunder's room. 'Sir,' said Mr. Honeythunder, in his tremendous voice, like a schoolmaster issuing orders to a boy of whom he had a bad opinion, 'sit down.' Mr. Crisparkle seated himself. Mr. Honeythunder having signed the remaining few score of a few thousand circulars, calling upon a corresponding number of families without means to come forward, stump up instantly, and be Philanthropists, or go to the Devil, another shabby stipendiary Philanthropist (highly disinterested, if in earnest) gathered these into a basket and walked off with them. 'Now, Mr. Crisparkle,' said Mr. Honeythunder, turning his chair half round towards him when they were alone, and squaring his arms with his hands on his knees, and his brows knitted, as if he added, I am going to make short work of YOU: 'Now, Mr. Crisparkle, we entertain different views, you and I, sir, of the sanctity of human life.' 'Do we?' returned the Minor Canon. 'We do, sir?' 'Might I ask you,' said the Minor Canon: 'what are your views on that subject?' 'That human life is a thing to be held sacred, sir.' 'Might I ask you,' pursued the Minor Canon as before: 'what you suppose to be my views on that subject?' 'By George, sir!' returned the Philanthropist, squaring his arms still more, as he frowned on Mr. Crisparkle: 'they are best known to yourself.' 'Readily admitted. But you began by saying that we took different views, you know. Therefore (or you could not say so) you must have set up some views as mine. Pray, what views HAVE you set up as mine?' 'Here is a man--and a young man,' said Mr. Honeythunder, as if that made the matter infinitely worse, and he could have easily borne the loss of an old one, 'swept off the face of the earth by a deed of violence. What do you call that?' 'Murder,' said the Minor Canon. 'What do you call the doer of that deed, sir? 'A murderer,' said the Minor Canon. 'I am glad to hear you admit so much, sir,' retorted Mr. Honeythunder, in his most offensive manner; 'and I candidly tell you that I didn't expect it.' Here he lowered heavily at Mr. Crisparkle again. 'Be so good as to explain what you mean by those very unjustifiable expressions.' 'I don't sit here, sir,' returned the Philanthropist, raising his voice to a roar, 'to be browbeaten.' 'As the only other person present, no one can possibly know that better than I do,' returned the Minor Canon very quietly. 'But I interrupt your explanation.' 'Murder!' proceeded Mr. Honeythunder, in a kind of boisterous reverie, with his platform folding of his arms, and his platform nod of abhorrent reflection after each short sentiment of a word. 'Bloodshed! Abel! Cain! I hold no terms with Cain. I repudiate with a shudder the red hand when it is offered me.' Instead of instantly leaping into his chair and cheering himself hoarse, as the Brotherhood in public meeting assembled would infallibly have done on this cue, Mr. Crisparkle merely reversed the quiet crossing of his legs, and said mildly: 'Don't let me interrupt your explanation--when you begin it.' 'The Commandments say, no murder. NO murder, sir!' proceeded Mr. Honeythunder, platformally pausing as if he took Mr. Crisparkle to task for having distinctly asserted that they said: You may do a little murder, and then leave off. 'And they also say, you shall bear no false witness,' observed Mr. Crisparkle. 'Enough!' bellowed Mr. Honeythunder, with a solemnity and severity that would have brought the house down at a meeting, 'E-e-nough! My late wards being now of age, and I being released from a trust which I cannot contemplate without a thrill of horror, there are the accounts which you have undertaken to accept on their behalf, and there is a statement of the balance which you have undertaken to receive, and which you cannot receive too soon. And let me tell you, sir, I wish that, as a man and a Minor Canon, you were better employed,' with a nod. 'Better employed,' with another nod. 'Bet- ter em-ployed!' with another and the three nods added up. Mr. Crisparkle rose; a little heated in the face, but with perfect command of himself. 'Mr. Honeythunder,' he said, taking up the papers referred to: 'my being better or worse employed than I am at present is a matter of taste and opinion. You might think me better employed in enrolling myself a member of your Society.' 'Ay, indeed, sir!' retorted Mr. Honeythunder, shaking his head in a threatening manner. 'It would have been better for you if you had done that long ago!' 'I think otherwise.' 'Or,' said Mr. Honeythunder, shaking his head again, 'I might think one of your profession better employed in devoting himself to the discovery and punishment of guilt than in leaving that duty to be undertaken by a layman.' 'I may regard my profession from a point of view which teaches me that its first duty is towards those who are in necessity and tribulation, who are desolate and oppressed,' said Mr. Crisparkle. 'However, as I have quite clearly satisfied myself that it is no part of my profession to make professions, I say no more of that. But I owe it to Mr. Neville, and to Mr. Neville's sister (and in a much lower degree to myself), to say to you that I KNOW I was in the full possession and understanding of Mr. Neville's mind and heart at the time of this occurrence; and that, without in the least colouring or concealing what was to be deplored in him and required to be corrected, I feel certain that his tale is true. Feeling that certainty, I befriend him. As long as that certainty shall last, I will befriend him. And if any consideration could shake me in this resolve, I should be so ashamed of myself for my meanness, that no man's good opinion--no, nor no woman's--so gained, could compensate me for the loss of my own.' Good fellow! manly fellow! And he was so modest, too. There was no more self-assertion in the Minor Canon than in the schoolboy who had stood in the breezy playing-fields keeping a wicket. He was simply and staunchly true to his duty alike in the large case and in the small. So all true souls ever are. So every true soul ever was, ever is, and ever will be. There is nothing little to the really great in spirit. 'Then who do you make out did the deed?' asked Mr. Honeythunder, turning on him abruptly. 'Heaven forbid,' said Mr. Crisparkle, 'that in my desire to clear one man I should lightly criminate another! I accuse no one,' 'Tcha!' ejaculated Mr. Honeythunder with great disgust; for this was by no means the principle on which the Philanthropic Brotherhood usually proceeded. 'And, sir, you are not a disinterested witness, we must bear in mind.' 'How am I an interested one?' inquired Mr. Crisparkle, smiling innocently, at a loss to imagine. 'There was a certain stipend, sir, paid to you for your pupil, which may have warped your judgment a bit,' said Mr. Honeythunder, coarsely. 'Perhaps I expect to retain it still?' Mr. Crisparkle returned, enlightened; 'do you mean that too?' 'Well, sir,' returned the professional Philanthropist, getting up and thrusting his hands down into his trousers-pockets, 'I don't go about measuring people for caps. If people find I have any about me that fit 'em, they can put 'em on and wear 'em, if they like. That's their look out: not mine.' Mr. Crisparkle eyed him with a just indignation, and took him to task thus: 'Mr. Honeythunder, I hoped when I came in here that I might be under no necessity of commenting on the introduction of platform manners or platform manoeuvres among the decent forbearances of private life. But you have given me such a specimen of both, that I should be a fit subject for both if I remained silent respecting them. They are detestable.' 'They don't suit YOU, I dare say, sir.' 'They are,' repeated Mr. Crisparkle, without noticing the interruption, 'detestable. They violate equally the justice that should belong to Christians, and the restraints that should belong to gentlemen. You assume a great crime to have been committed by one whom I, acquainted with the attendant circumstances, and having numerous reasons on my side, devoutly believe to be innocent of it. Because I differ from you on that vital point, what is your platform resource? Instantly to turn upon me, charging that I have no sense of the enormity of the crime itself, but am its aider and abettor! So, another time--taking me as representing your opponent in other cases--you set up a platform credulity; a moved and seconded and carried-unanimously profession of faith in some ridiculous delusion or mischievous imposition. I decline to believe it, and you fall back upon your platform resource of proclaiming that I believe nothing; that because I will not bow down to a false God of your making, I deny the true God! Another time you make the platform discovery that War is a calamity, and you propose to abolish it by a string of twisted resolutions tossed into the air like the tail of a kite. I do not admit the discovery to be yours in the least, and I have not a grain of faith in your remedy. Again, your platform resource of representing me as revelling in the horrors of a battle-field like a fiend incarnate! Another time, in another of your undiscriminating platform rushes, you would punish the sober for the drunken. I claim consideration for the comfort, convenience, and refreshment of the sober; and you presently make platform proclamation that I have a depraved desire to turn Heaven's creatures into swine and wild beasts! In all such cases your movers, and your seconders, and your supporters --your regular Professors of all degrees, run amuck like so many mad Malays; habitually attributing the lowest and basest motives with the utmost recklessness (let me call your attention to a recent instance in yourself for which you should blush), and quoting figures which you know to be as wilfully onesided as a statement of any complicated account that should be all Creditor side and no Debtor, or all Debtor side and no Creditor. Therefore it is, Mr. Honeythunder, that I consider the platform a sufficiently bad example and a sufficiently bad school, even in public life; but hold that, carried into private life, it becomes an unendurable nuisance.' 'These are strong words, sir!' exclaimed the Philanthropist. 'I hope so,' said Mr. Crisparkle. 'Good morning.' He walked out of the Haven at a great rate, but soon fell into his regular brisk pace, and soon had a smile upon his face as he went along, wondering what the china shepherdess would have said if she had seen him pounding Mr. Honeythunder in the late little lively affair. For Mr. Crisparkle had just enough of harmless vanity to hope that he had hit hard, and to glow with the belief that he had trimmed the Philanthropic Jacket pretty handsomely. He took himself to Staple Inn, but not to P. J. T. and Mr. Grewgious. Full many a creaking stair he climbed before he reached some attic rooms in a corner, turned the latch of their unbolted door, and stood beside the table of Neville Landless. An air of retreat and solitude hung about the rooms and about their inhabitant. He was much worn, and so were they. Their sloping ceilings, cumbrous rusty locks and grates, and heavy wooden bins and beams, slowly mouldering withal, had a prisonous look, and he had the haggard face of a prisoner. Yet the sunlight shone in at the ugly garret-window, which had a penthouse to itself thrust out among the tiles; and on the cracked and smoke-blackened parapet beyond, some of the deluded sparrows of the place rheumatically hopped, like little feathered cripples who had left their crutches in their nests; and there was a play of living leaves at hand that changed the air, and made an imperfect sort of music in it that would have been melody in the country. The rooms were sparely furnished, but with good store of books. Everything expressed the abode of a poor student. That Mr. Crisparkle had been either chooser, lender, or donor of the books, or that he combined the three characters, might have been easily seen in the friendly beam of his eyes upon them as he entered. 'How goes it, Neville?' 'I am in good heart, Mr. Crisparkle, and working away.' 'I wish your eyes were not quite so large and not quite so bright,' said the Minor Canon, slowly releasing the hand he had taken in his. 'They brighten at the sight of you,' returned Neville. 'If you were to fall away from me, they would soon be dull enough.' 'Rally, rally!' urged the other, in a stimulating tone. 'Fight for it, Neville!' 'If I were dying, I feel as if a word from you would rally me; if my pulse had stopped, I feel as if your touch would make it beat again,' said Neville. 'But I HAVE rallied, and am doing famously.' Mr. Crisparkle turned him with his face a little more towards the light. 'I want to see a ruddier touch here, Neville,' he said, indicating his own healthy cheek by way of pattern. 'I want more sun to shine upon you.' Neville drooped suddenly, as he replied in a lowered voice: 'I am not hardy enough for that, yet. I may become so, but I cannot bear it yet. If you had gone through those Cloisterham streets as I did; if you had seen, as I did, those averted eyes, and the better sort of people silently giving me too much room to pass, that I might not touch them or come near them, you wouldn't think it quite unreasonable that I cannot go about in the daylight.' 'My poor fellow!' said the Minor Canon, in a tone so purely sympathetic that the young man caught his hand, 'I never said it was unreasonable; never thought so. But I should like you to do it.' 'And that would give me the strongest motive to do it. But I cannot yet. I cannot persuade myself that the eyes of even the stream of strangers I pass in this vast city look at me without suspicion. I feel marked and tainted, even when I go out--as I do only--at night. But the darkness covers me then, and I take courage from it.' Mr. Crisparkle laid a hand upon his shoulder, and stood looking down at him. 'If I could have changed my name,' said Neville, 'I would have done so. But as you wisely pointed out to me, I can't do that, for it would look like guilt. If I could have gone to some distant place, I might have found relief in that, but the thing is not to be thought of, for the same reason. Hiding and escaping would be the construction in either case. It seems a little hard to be so tied to a stake, and innocent; but I don't complain.' 'And you must expect no miracle to help you, Neville,' said Mr. Crisparkle, compassionately. 'No, sir, I know that. The ordinary fulness of time and circumstances is all I have to trust to.' 'It will right you at last, Neville.' 'So I believe, and I hope I may live to know it.' But perceiving that the despondent mood into which he was falling cast a shadow on the Minor Canon, and (it may be) feeling that the broad hand upon his shoulder was not then quite as steady as its own natural strength had rendered it when it first touched him just now, he brightened and said: 'Excellent circumstances for study, anyhow! and you know, Mr. Crisparkle, what need I have of study in all ways. Not to mention that you have advised me to study for the difficult profession of the law, specially, and that of course I am guiding myself by the advice of such a friend and helper. Such a good friend and helper!' He took the fortifying hand from his shoulder, and kissed it. Mr. Crisparkle beamed at the books, but not so brightly as when he had entered. 'I gather from your silence on the subject that my late guardian is adverse, Mr. Crisparkle?' The Minor Canon answered: 'Your late guardian is a--a most unreasonable person, and it signifies nothing to any reasonable person whether he is ADverse, PERverse, or the REverse.' 'Well for me that I have enough with economy to live upon,' sighed Neville, half wearily and half cheerily, 'while I wait to be learned, and wait to be righted! Else I might have proved the proverb, that while the grass grows, the steed starves!' He opened some books as he said it, and was soon immersed in their interleaved and annotated passages; while Mr. Crisparkle sat beside him, expounding, correcting, and advising. The Minor Canon's Cathedral duties made these visits of his difficult to accomplish, and only to be compassed at intervals of many weeks. But they were as serviceable as they were precious to Neville Landless. When they had got through such studies as they had in hand, they stood leaning on the window-sill, and looking down upon the patch of garden. 'Next week,' said Mr. Crisparkle, 'you will cease to be alone, and will have a devoted companion.' 'And yet,' returned Neville, 'this seems an uncongenial place to bring my sister to.' 'I don't think so,' said the Minor Canon. 'There is duty to be done here; and there are womanly feeling, sense, and courage wanted here.' 'I meant,' explained Neville, 'that the surroundings are so dull and unwomanly, and that Helena can have no suitable friend or society here.' 'You have only to remember,' said Mr. Crisparkle, 'that you are here yourself, and that she has to draw you into the sunlight.' They were silent for a little while, and then Mr. Crisparkle began anew. 'When we first spoke together, Neville, you told me that your sister had risen out of the disadvantages of your past lives as superior to you as the tower of Cloisterham Cathedral is higher than the chimneys of Minor Canon Corner. Do you remember that?' 'Right well!' 'I was inclined to think it at the time an enthusiastic flight. No matter what I think it now. What I would emphasise is, that under the head of Pride your sister is a great and opportune example to you.' 'Under ALL heads that are included in the composition of a fine character, she is.' 'Say so; but take this one. Your sister has learnt how to govern what is proud in her nature. She can dominate it even when it is wounded through her sympathy with you. No doubt she has suffered deeply in those same streets where you suffered deeply. No doubt her life is darkened by the cloud that darkens yours. But bending her pride into a grand composure that is not haughty or aggressive, but is a sustained confidence in you and in the truth, she has won her way through those streets until she passes along them as high in the general respect as any one who treads them. Every day and hour of her life since Edwin Drood's disappearance, she has faced malignity and folly--for you--as only a brave nature well directed can. So it will be with her to the end. Another and weaker kind of pride might sink broken-hearted, but never such a pride as hers: which knows no shrinking, and can get no mastery over her.' The pale cheek beside him flushed under the comparison, and the hint implied in it. 'I will do all I can to imitate her,' said Neville. 'Do so, and be a truly brave man, as she is a truly brave woman,' answered Mr. Crisparkle stoutly. 'It is growing dark. Will you go my way with me, when it is quite dark? Mind! it is not I who wait for darkness.' Neville replied, that he would accompany him directly. But Mr. Crisparkle said he had a moment's call to make on Mr. Grewgious as an act of courtesy, and would run across to that gentleman's chambers, and rejoin Neville on his own doorstep, if he would come down there to meet him. Mr. Grewgious, bolt upright as usual, sat taking his wine in the dusk at his open window; his wineglass and decanter on the round table at his elbow; himself and his legs on the window-seat; only one hinge in his whole body, like a bootjack. 'How do you do, reverend sir?' said Mr. Grewgious, with abundant offers of hospitality, which were as cordially declined as made. 'And how is your charge getting on over the way in the set that I had the pleasure of recommending to you as vacant and eligible?' Mr. Crisparkle replied suitably. 'I am glad you approve of them,' said Mr. Grewgious, 'because I entertain a sort of fancy for having him under my eye.' As Mr. Grewgious had to turn his eye up considerably before he could see the chambers, the phrase was to be taken figuratively and not literally. 'And how did you leave Mr. Jasper, reverend sir?' said Mr. Grewgious. Mr. Crisparkle had left him pretty well. 'And where did you leave Mr. Jasper, reverend sir?' Mr. Crisparkle had left him at Cloisterham. 'And when did you leave Mr. Jasper, reverend sir?' That morning. 'Umps!' said Mr. Grewgious. 'He didn't say he was coming, perhaps?' 'Coming where?' 'Anywhere, for instance?' said Mr. Grewgious. 'No.' 'Because here he is,' said Mr. Grewgious, who had asked all these questions, with his preoccupied glance directed out at window. 'And he don't look agreeable, does he?' Mr. Crisparkle was craning towards the window, when Mr. Grewgious added: 'If you will kindly step round here behind me, in the gloom of the room, and will cast your eye at the second-floor landing window in yonder house, I think you will hardly fail to see a slinking individual in whom I recognise our local friend.' 'You are right!' cried Mr. Crisparkle. 'Umps!' said Mr. Grewgious. Then he added, turning his face so abruptly that his head nearly came into collision with Mr. Crisparkle's: 'what should you say that our local friend was up to?' The last passage he had been shown in the Diary returned on Mr. Crisparkle's mind with the force of a strong recoil, and he asked Mr. Grewgious if he thought it possible that Neville was to be harassed by the keeping of a watch upon him? 'A watch?' repeated Mr. Grewgious musingly. 'Ay!' 'Which would not only of itself haunt and torture his life,' said Mr. Crisparkle warmly, 'but would expose him to the torment of a perpetually reviving suspicion, whatever he might do, or wherever he might go.' 'Ay!' said Mr. Grewgious musingly still. 'Do I see him waiting for you?' 'No doubt you do.' 'Then WOULD you have the goodness to excuse my getting up to see you out, and to go out to join him, and to go the way that you were going, and to take no notice of our local friend?' said Mr. Grewgious. 'I entertain a sort of fancy for having HIM under my eye to-night, do you know?' Mr. Crisparkle, with a significant need complied; and rejoining Neville, went away with him. They dined together, and parted at the yet unfinished and undeveloped railway station: Mr. Crisparkle to get home; Neville to walk the streets, cross the bridges, make a wide round of the city in the friendly darkness, and tire himself out. It was midnight when he returned from his solitary expedition and climbed his staircase. The night was hot, and the windows of the staircase were all wide open. Coming to the top, it gave him a passing chill of surprise (there being no rooms but his up there) to find a stranger sitting on the window-sill, more after the manner of a venturesome glazier than an amateur ordinarily careful of his neck; in fact, so much more outside the window than inside, as to suggest the thought that he must have come up by the water- spout instead of the stairs. The stranger said nothing until Neville put his key in his door; then, seeming to make sure of his identity from the action, he spoke: 'I beg your pardon,' he said, coming from the window with a frank and smiling air, and a prepossessing address; 'the beans.' Neville was quite at a loss. 'Runners,' said the visitor. 'Scarlet. Next door at the back.' 'O,' returned Neville. 'And the mignonette and wall-flower?' 'The same,' said the visitor. 'Pray walk in.' 'Thank you.' Neville lighted his candles, and the visitor sat down. A handsome gentleman, with a young face, but with an older figure in its robustness and its breadth of shoulder; say a man of eight-and- twenty, or at the utmost thirty; so extremely sunburnt that the contrast between his brown visage and the white forehead shaded out of doors by his hat, and the glimpses of white throat below the neckerchief, would have been almost ludicrous but for his broad temples, bright blue eyes, clustering brown hair, and laughing teeth. 'I have noticed,' said he; '--my name is Tartar.' Neville inclined his head. 'I have noticed (excuse me) that you shut yourself up a good deal, and that you seem to like my garden aloft here. If you would like a little more of it, I could throw out a few lines and stays between my windows and yours, which the runners would take to directly. And I have some boxes, both of mignonette and wall- flower, that I could shove on along the gutter (with a boathook I have by me) to your windows, and draw back again when they wanted watering or gardening, and shove on again when they were ship- shape; so that they would cause you no trouble. I couldn't take this liberty without asking your permission, so I venture to ask it. Tartar, corresponding set, next door.' 'You are very kind.' 'Not at all. I ought to apologise for looking in so late. But having noticed (excuse me) that you generally walk out at night, I thought I should inconvenience you least by awaiting your return. I am always afraid of inconveniencing busy men, being an idle man.' 'I should not have thought so, from your appearance.' 'No? I take it as a compliment. In fact, I was bred in the Royal Navy, and was First Lieutenant when I quitted it. But, an uncle disappointed in the service leaving me his property on condition that I left the Navy, I accepted the fortune, and resigned my commission.' 'Lately, I presume?' 'Well, I had had twelve or fifteen years of knocking about first. I came here some nine months before you; I had had one crop before you came. I chose this place, because, having served last in a little corvette, I knew I should feel more at home where I had a constant opportunity of knocking my head against the ceiling. Besides, it would never do for a man who had been aboard ship from his boyhood to turn luxurious all at once. Besides, again; having been accustomed to a very short allowance of land all my life, I thought I'd feel my way to the command of a landed estate, by beginning in boxes.' Whimsically as this was said, there was a touch of merry earnestness in it that made it doubly whimsical. 'However,' said the Lieutenant, 'I have talked quite enough about myself. It is not my way, I hope; it has merely been to present myself to you naturally. If you will allow me to take the liberty I have described, it will be a charity, for it will give me something more to do. And you are not to suppose that it will entail any interruption or intrusion on you, for that is far from my intention.' Neville replied that he was greatly obliged, and that he thankfully accepted the kind proposal. 'I am very glad to take your windows in tow,' said the Lieutenant. 'From what I have seen of you when I have been gardening at mine, and you have been looking on, I have thought you (excuse me) rather too studious and delicate. May I ask, is your health at all affected?' 'I have undergone some mental distress,' said Neville, confused, 'which has stood me in the stead of illness.' 'Pardon me,' said Mr. Tartar. With the greatest delicacy he shifted his ground to the windows again, and asked if he could look at one of them. On Neville's opening it, he immediately sprang out, as if he were going aloft with a whole watch in an emergency, and were setting a bright example. 'For Heaven's sake,' cried Neville, 'don't do that! Where are you going Mr. Tartar? You'll be dashed to pieces!' 'All well!' said the Lieutenant, coolly looking about him on the housetop. 'All taut and trim here. Those lines and stays shall be rigged before you turn out in the morning. May I take this short cut home, and say good-night?' 'Mr. Tartar!' urged Neville. 'Pray! It makes me giddy to see you!' But Mr. Tartar, with a wave of his hand and the deftness of a cat, had already dipped through his scuttle of scarlet runners without breaking a leaf, and 'gone below.' Mr. Grewgious, his bedroom window-blind held aside with his hand, happened at the moment to have Neville's chambers under his eye for the last time that night. Fortunately his eye was on the front of the house and not the back, or this remarkable appearance and disappearance might have broken his rest as a phenomenon. But Mr. Grewgious seeing nothing there, not even a light in the windows, his gaze wandered from the windows to the stars, as if he would have read in them something that was hidden from him. Many of us would, if we could; but none of us so much as know our letters in the stars yet--or seem likely to do it, in this state of existence- -and few languages can be read until their alphabets are mastered. CHAPTER XVIII--A SETTLER IN CLOISTERHAM At about this time a stranger appeared in Cloisterham; a white- haired personage, with black eyebrows. Being buttoned up in a tightish blue surtout, with a buff waistcoat and gray trousers, he had something of a military air, but he announced himself at the Crozier (the orthodox hotel, where he put up with a portmanteau) as an idle dog who lived upon his means; and he farther announced that he had a mind to take a lodging in the picturesque old city for a month or two, with a view of settling down there altogether. Both announcements were made in the coffee-room of the Crozier, to all whom it might or might not concern, by the stranger as he stood with his back to the empty fireplace, waiting for his fried sole, veal cutlet, and pint of sherry. And the waiter (business being chronically slack at the Crozier) represented all whom it might or might not concern, and absorbed the whole of the information. This gentleman's white head was unusually large, and his shock of white hair was unusually thick and ample. 'I suppose, waiter,' he said, shaking his shock of hair, as a Newfoundland dog might shake his before sitting down to dinner, 'that a fair lodging for a single buffer might be found in these parts, eh?' The waiter had no doubt of it. 'Something old,' said the gentleman. 'Take my hat down for a moment from that peg, will you? No, I don't want it; look into it. What do you see written there?' The waiter read: 'Datchery.' 'Now you know my name,' said the gentleman; 'Dick Datchery. Hang it up again. I was saying something old is what I should prefer, something odd and out of the way; something venerable, architectural, and inconvenient.' 'We have a good choice of inconvenient lodgings in the town, sir, I think,' replied the waiter, with modest confidence in its resources that way; 'indeed, I have no doubt that we could suit you that far, however particular you might be. But a architectural lodging!' That seemed to trouble the waiter's head, and he shook it. 'Anything Cathedraly, now,' Mr. Datchery suggested. 'Mr. Tope,' said the waiter, brightening, as he rubbed his chin with his hand, 'would be the likeliest party to inform in that line.' 'Who is Mr. Tope?' inquired Dick Datchery. The waiter explained that he was the Verger, and that Mrs. Tope had indeed once upon a time let lodgings herself or offered to let them; but that as nobody had ever taken them, Mrs. Tope's window- bill, long a Cloisterham Institution, had disappeared; probably had tumbled down one day, and never been put up again. 'I'll call on Mrs. Tope,' said Mr. Datchery, 'after dinner.' So when he had done his dinner, he was duly directed to the spot, and sallied out for it. But the Crozier being an hotel of a most retiring disposition, and the waiter's directions being fatally precise, he soon became bewildered, and went boggling about and about the Cathedral Tower, whenever he could catch a glimpse of it, with a general impression on his mind that Mrs. Tope's was somewhere very near it, and that, like the children in the game of hot boiled beans and very good butter, he was warm in his search when he saw the Tower, and cold when he didn't see it. He was getting very cold indeed when he came upon a fragment of burial-ground in which an unhappy sheep was grazing. Unhappy, because a hideous small boy was stoning it through the railings, and had already lamed it in one leg, and was much excited by the benevolent sportsmanlike purpose of breaking its other three legs, and bringing it down. ''It 'im agin!' cried the boy, as the poor creature leaped; 'and made a dint in his wool.' 'Let him be!' said Mr. Datchery. 'Don't you see you have lamed him?' 'Yer lie,' returned the sportsman. ''E went and lamed isself. I see 'im do it, and I giv' 'im a shy as a Widdy-warning to 'im not to go a-bruisin' 'is master's mutton any more.' 'Come here.' 'I won't; I'll come when yer can ketch me.' 'Stay there then, and show me which is Mr. Tope's.' 'Ow can I stay here and show you which is Topeseses, when Topeseses is t'other side the Kinfreederal, and over the crossings, and round ever so many comers? Stoo-pid! Ya-a-ah!' 'Show me where it is, and I'll give you something.' 'Come on, then.' This brisk dialogue concluded, the boy led the way, and by-and-by stopped at some distance from an arched passage, pointing. 'Lookie yonder. You see that there winder and door?' 'That's Tope's?' 'Yer lie; it ain't. That's Jarsper's.' 'Indeed?' said Mr. Datchery, with a second look of some interest. 'Yes, and I ain't a-goin' no nearer 'IM, I tell yer.' 'Why not?' ''Cos I ain't a-goin' to be lifted off my legs and 'ave my braces bust and be choked; not if I knows it, and not by 'Im. Wait till I set a jolly good flint a-flyin' at the back o' 'is jolly old 'ed some day! Now look t'other side the harch; not the side where Jarsper's door is; t'other side.' 'I see.' 'A little way in, o' that side, there's a low door, down two steps. That's Topeseses with 'is name on a hoval plate.' 'Good. See here,' said Mr. Datchery, producing a shilling. 'You owe me half of this.' 'Yer lie! I don't owe yer nothing; I never seen yer.' 'I tell you you owe me half of this, because I have no sixpence in my pocket. So the next time you meet me you shall do something else for me, to pay me.' 'All right, give us 'old.' 'What is your name, and where do you live?' 'Deputy. Travellers' Twopenny, 'cross the green.' The boy instantly darted off with the shilling, lest Mr. Datchery should repent, but stopped at a safe distance, on the happy chance of his being uneasy in his mind about it, to goad him with a demon dance expressive of its irrevocability. Mr. Datchery, taking off his hat to give that shock of white hair of his another shake, seemed quite resigned, and betook himself whither he had been directed. Mr. Tope's official dwelling, communicating by an upper stair with Mr. Jasper's (hence Mrs. Tope's attendance on that gentleman), was of very modest proportions, and partook of the character of a cool dungeon. Its ancient walls were massive, and its rooms rather seemed to have been dug out of them, than to have been designed beforehand with any reference to them. The main door opened at once on a chamber of no describable shape, with a groined roof, which in its turn opened on another chamber of no describable shape, with another groined roof: their windows small, and in the thickness of the walls. These two chambers, close as to their atmosphere, and swarthy as to their illumination by natural light, were the apartments which Mrs. Tope had so long offered to an unappreciative city. Mr. Datchery, however, was more appreciative. He found that if he sat with the main door open he would enjoy the passing society of all comers to and fro by the gateway, and would have light enough. He found that if Mr. and Mrs. Tope, living overhead, used for their own egress and ingress a little side stair that came plump into the Precincts by a door opening outward, to the surprise and inconvenience of a limited public of pedestrians in a narrow way, he would be alone, as in a separate residence. He found the rent moderate, and everything as quaintly inconvenient as he could desire. He agreed, therefore, to take the lodging then and there, and money down, possession to be had next evening, on condition that reference was permitted him to Mr. Jasper as occupying the gatehouse, of which on the other side of the gateway, the Verger's hole-in-the-wall was an appanage or subsidiary part. The poor dear gentleman was very solitary and very sad, Mrs. Tope said, but she had no doubt he would 'speak for her.' Perhaps Mr. Datchery had heard something of what had occurred there last winter? Mr. Datchery had as confused a knowledge of the event in question, on trying to recall it, as he well could have. He begged Mrs. Tope's pardon when she found it incumbent on her to correct him in every detail of his summary of the facts, but pleaded that he was merely a single buffer getting through life upon his means as idly as he could, and that so many people were so constantly making away with so many other people, as to render it difficult for a buffer of an easy temper to preserve the circumstances of the several cases unmixed in his mind. Mr. Jasper proving willing to speak for Mrs. Tope, Mr. Datchery, who had sent up his card, was invited to ascend the postern staircase. The Mayor was there, Mr. Tope said; but he was not to be regarded in the light of company, as he and Mr. Jasper were great friends. 'I beg pardon,' said Mr. Datchery, making a leg with his hat under his arm, as he addressed himself equally to both gentlemen; 'a selfish precaution on my part, and not personally interesting to anybody but myself. But as a buffer living on his means, and having an idea of doing it in this lovely place in peace and quiet, for remaining span of life, I beg to ask if the Tope family are quite respectable?' Mr. Jasper could answer for that without the slightest hesitation. 'That is enough, sir,' said Mr. Datchery. 'My friend the Mayor,' added Mr. Jasper, presenting Mr. Datchery with a courtly motion of his hand towards that potentate; 'whose recommendation is actually much more important to a stranger than that of an obscure person like myself, will testify in their behalf, I am sure.' 'The Worshipful the Mayor,' said Mr. Datchery, with a low bow, 'places me under an infinite obligation.' 'Very good people, sir, Mr. and Mrs. Tope,' said Mr. Sapsea, with condescension. 'Very good opinions. Very well behaved. Very respectful. Much approved by the Dean and Chapter.' 'The Worshipful the Mayor gives them a character,' said Mr. Datchery, 'of which they may indeed be proud. I would ask His Honour (if I might be permitted) whether there are not many objects of great interest in the city which is under his beneficent sway?' 'We are, sir,' returned Mr. Sapsea, 'an ancient city, and an ecclesiastical city. We are a constitutional city, as it becomes such a city to be, and we uphold and maintain our glorious privileges.' 'His Honour,' said Mr. Datchery, bowing, 'inspires me with a desire to know more of the city, and confirms me in my inclination to end my days in the city.' 'Retired from the Army, sir?' suggested Mr. Sapsea. 'His Honour the Mayor does me too much credit,' returned Mr. Datchery. 'Navy, sir?' suggested Mr. Sapsea. 'Again,' repeated Mr. Datchery, 'His Honour the Mayor does me too much credit.' 'Diplomacy is a fine profession,' said Mr. Sapsea, as a general remark. 'There, I confess, His Honour the Mayor is too many for me,' said Mr. Datchery, with an ingenious smile and bow; 'even a diplomatic bird must fall to such a gun.' Now this was very soothing. Here was a gentleman of a great, not to say a grand, address, accustomed to rank and dignity, really setting a fine example how to behave to a Mayor. There was something in that third-person style of being spoken to, that Mr. Sapsea found particularly recognisant of his merits and position. 'But I crave pardon,' said Mr. Datchery. 'His Honour the Mayor will bear with me, if for a moment I have been deluded into occupying his time, and have forgotten the humble claims upon my own, of my hotel, the Crozier.' 'Not at all, sir,' said Mr. Sapsea. 'I am returning home, and if you would like to take the exterior of our Cathedral in your way, I shall be glad to point it out.' 'His Honour the Mayor,' said Mr. Datchery, 'is more than kind and gracious.' As Mr. Datchery, when he had made his acknowledgments to Mr. Jasper, could not be induced to go out of the room before the Worshipful, the Worshipful led the way down-stairs; Mr. Datchery following with his hat under his arm, and his shock of white hair streaming in the evening breeze. 'Might I ask His Honour,' said Mr. Datchery, 'whether that gentleman we have just left is the gentleman of whom I have heard in the neighbourhood as being much afflicted by the loss of a nephew, and concentrating his life on avenging the loss?' 'That is the gentleman. John Jasper, sir.' 'Would His Honour allow me to inquire whether there are strong suspicions of any one?' 'More than suspicions, sir,' returned Mr. Sapsea; 'all but certainties.' 'Only think now!' cried Mr. Datchery. 'But proof, sir, proof must be built up stone by stone,' said the Mayor. 'As I say, the end crowns the work. It is not enough that justice should be morally certain; she must be immorally certain-- legally, that is.' 'His Honour,' said Mr. Datchery, 'reminds me of the nature of the law. Immoral. How true!' 'As I say, sir,' pompously went on the Mayor, 'the arm of the law is a strong arm, and a long arm. That is the may I put it. A strong arm and a long arm.' 'How forcible!--And yet, again, how true!' murmured Mr. Datchery. 'And without betraying, what I call the secrets of the prison- house,' said Mr. Sapsea; 'the secrets of the prison-house is the term I used on the bench.' 'And what other term than His Honour's would express it?' said Mr. Datchery. 'Without, I say, betraying them, I predict to you, knowing the iron will of the gentleman we have just left (I take the bold step of calling it iron, on account of its strength), that in this case the long arm will reach, and the strong arm will strike.--This is our Cathedral, sir. The best judges are pleased to admire it, and the best among our townsmen own to being a little vain of it.' All this time Mr. Datchery had walked with his hat under his arm, and his white hair streaming. He had an odd momentary appearance upon him of having forgotten his hat, when Mr. Sapsea now touched it; and he clapped his hand up to his head as if with some vague expectation of finding another hat upon it. 'Pray be covered, sir,' entreated Mr. Sapsea; magnificently plying: 'I shall not mind it, I assure you.' 'His Honour is very good, but I do it for coolness,' said Mr. Datchery. Then Mr. Datchery admired the Cathedral, and Mr. Sapsea pointed it out as if he himself had invented and built it: there were a few details indeed of which he did not approve, but those he glossed over, as if the workmen had made mistakes in his absence. The Cathedral disposed of, he led the way by the churchyard, and stopped to extol the beauty of the evening--by chance--in the immediate vicinity of Mrs. Sapsea's epitaph. 'And by the by,' said Mr. Sapsea, appearing to descend from an elevation to remember it all of a sudden; like Apollo shooting down from Olympus to pick up his forgotten lyre; 'THAT is one of our small lions. The partiality of our people has made it so, and strangers have been seen taking a copy of it now and then. I am not a judge of it myself, for it is a little work of my own. But it was troublesome to turn, sir; I may say, difficult to turn with elegance.' Mr. Datchery became so ecstatic over Mr. Sapsea's composition, that, in spite of his intention to end his days in Cloisterham, and therefore his probably having in reserve many opportunities of copying it, he would have transcribed it into his pocket-book on the spot, but for the slouching towards them of its material producer and perpetuator, Durdles, whom Mr. Sapsea hailed, not sorry to show him a bright example of behaviour to superiors. 'Ah, Durdles! This is the mason, sir; one of our Cloisterham worthies; everybody here knows Durdles. Mr. Datchery, Durdles a gentleman who is going to settle here.' 'I wouldn't do it if I was him,' growled Durdles. 'We're a heavy lot.' 'You surely don't speak for yourself, Mr. Durdles,' returned Mr. Datchery, 'any more than for His Honour.' 'Who's His Honour?' demanded Durdles. 'His Honour the Mayor.' 'I never was brought afore him,' said Durdles, with anything but the look of a loyal subject of the mayoralty, 'and it'll be time enough for me to Honour him when I am. Until which, and when, and where, "Mister Sapsea is his name, England is his nation, Cloisterham's his dwelling-place, Aukshneer's his occupation."' Here, Deputy (preceded by a flying oyster-shell) appeared upon the scene, and requested to have the sum of threepence instantly 'chucked' to him by Mr. Durdles, whom he had been vainly seeking up and down, as lawful wages overdue. While that gentleman, with his bundle under his arm, slowly found and counted out the money, Mr. Sapsea informed the new settler of Durdles's habits, pursuits, abode, and reputation. 'I suppose a curious stranger might come to see you, and your works, Mr. Durdles, at any odd time?' said Mr. Datchery upon that. 'Any gentleman is welcome to come and see me any evening if he brings liquor for two with him,' returned Durdles, with a penny between his teeth and certain halfpence in his hands; 'or if he likes to make it twice two, he'll be doubly welcome.' 'I shall come. Master Deputy, what do you owe me?' 'A job.' 'Mind you pay me honestly with the job of showing me Mr. Durdles's house when I want to go there.' Deputy, with a piercing broadside of whistle through the whole gap in his mouth, as a receipt in full for all arrears, vanished. The Worshipful and the Worshipper then passed on together until they parted, with many ceremonies, at the Worshipful's door; even then the Worshipper carried his hat under his arm, and gave his streaming white hair to the breeze. Said Mr. Datchery to himself that night, as he looked at his white hair in the gas-lighted looking-glass over the coffee-room chimneypiece at the Crozier, and shook it out: 'For a single buffer, of an easy temper, living idly on his means, I have had a rather busy afternoon!' CHAPTER XIX--SHADOW ON THE SUN-DIAL Again Miss Twinkleton has delivered her valedictory address, with the accompaniments of white-wine and pound-cake, and again the young ladies have departed to their several homes. Helena Landless has left the Nuns' House to attend her brother's fortunes, and pretty Rosa is alone. Cloisterham is so bright and sunny in these summer days, that the Cathedral and the monastery-ruin show as if their strong walls were transparent. A soft glow seems to shine from within them, rather than upon them from without, such is their mellowness as they look forth on the hot corn-fields and the smoking roads that distantly wind among them. The Cloisterham gardens blush with ripening fruit. Time was when travel-stained pilgrims rode in clattering parties through the city's welcome shades; time is when wayfarers, leading a gipsy life between haymaking time and harvest, and looking as if they were just made of the dust of the earth, so very dusty are they, lounge about on cool door-steps, trying to mend their unmendable shoes, or giving them to the city kennels as a hopeless job, and seeking others in the bundles that they carry, along with their yet unused sickles swathed in bands of straw. At all the more public pumps there is much cooling of bare feet, together with much bubbling and gurgling of drinking with hand to spout on the part of these Bedouins; the Cloisterham police meanwhile looking askant from their beats with suspicion, and manifest impatience that the intruders should depart from within the civic bounds, and once more fry themselves on the simmering high-roads. On the afternoon of such a day, when the last Cathedral service is done, and when that side of the High Street on which the Nuns' House stands is in grateful shade, save where its quaint old garden opens to the west between the boughs of trees, a servant informs Rosa, to her terror, that Mr. Jasper desires to see her. If he had chosen his time for finding her at a disadvantage, he could have done no better. Perhaps he has chosen it. Helena Landless is gone, Mrs. Tisher is absent on leave, Miss Twinkleton (in her amateur state of existence) has contributed herself and a veal pie to a picnic. 'O why, why, why, did you say I was at home!' cried Rosa, helplessly. The maid replies, that Mr. Jasper never asked the question. That he said he knew she was at home, and begged she might be told that he asked to see her. 'What shall I do! what shall I do!' thinks Rosa, clasping her hands. Possessed by a kind of desperation, she adds in the next breath, that she will come to Mr. Jasper in the garden. She shudders at the thought of being shut up with him in the house; but many of its windows command the garden, and she can be seen as well as heard there, and can shriek in the free air and run away. Such is the wild idea that flutters through her mind. She has never seen him since the fatal night, except when she was questioned before the Mayor, and then he was present in gloomy watchfulness, as representing his lost nephew and burning to avenge him. She hangs her garden-hat on her arm, and goes out. The moment she sees him from the porch, leaning on the sun-dial, the old horrible feeling of being compelled by him, asserts its hold upon her. She feels that she would even then go back, but that he draws her feet towards him. She cannot resist, and sits down, with her head bent, on the garden-seat beside the sun-dial. She cannot look up at him for abhorrence, but she has perceived that he is dressed in deep mourning. So is she. It was not so at first; but the lost has long been given up, and mourned for, as dead. He would begin by touching her hand. She feels the intention, and draws her hand back. His eyes are then fixed upon her, she knows, though her own see nothing but the grass. 'I have been waiting,' he begins, 'for some time, to be summoned back to my duty near you.' After several times forming her lips, which she knows he is closely watching, into the shape of some other hesitating reply, and then into none, she answers: 'Duty, sir?' 'The duty of teaching you, serving you as your faithful music- master.' 'I have left off that study.' 'Not left off, I think. Discontinued. I was told by your guardian that you discontinued it under the shock that we have all felt so acutely. When will you resume?' 'Never, sir.' 'Never? You could have done no more if you had loved my dear boy.' 'I did love him!' cried Rosa, with a flash of anger. 'Yes; but not quite--not quite in the right way, shall I say? Not in the intended and expected way. Much as my dear boy was, unhappily, too self-conscious and self-satisfied (I'll draw no parallel between him and you in that respect) to love as he should have loved, or as any one in his place would have loved--must have loved!' She sits in the same still attitude, but shrinking a little more. 'Then, to be told that you discontinued your study with me, was to be politely told that you abandoned it altogether?' he suggested. 'Yes,' says Rosa, with sudden spirit, 'The politeness was my guardian's, not mine. I told him that I was resolved to leave off, and that I was determined to stand by my resolution.' 'And you still are?' 'I still am, sir. And I beg not to be questioned any more about it. At all events, I will not answer any more; I have that in my power.' She is so conscious of his looking at her with a gloating admiration of the touch of anger on her, and the fire and animation it brings with it, that even as her spirit rises, it falls again, and she struggles with a sense of shame, affront, and fear, much as she did that night at the piano. 'I will not question you any more, since you object to it so much; I will confess--' 'I do not wish to hear you, sir,' cries Rosa, rising. This time he does touch her with his outstretched hand. In shrinking from it, she shrinks into her seat again. 'We must sometimes act in opposition to our wishes,' he tells her in a low voice. 'You must do so now, or do more harm to others than you can ever set right.' 'What harm?' 'Presently, presently. You question ME, you see, and surely that's not fair when you forbid me to question you. Nevertheless, I will answer the question presently. Dearest Rosa! Charming Rosa!' She starts up again. This time he does not touch her. But his face looks so wicked and menacing, as he stands leaning against the sun-dial-setting, as it were, his black mark upon the very face of day--that her flight is arrested by horror as she looks at him. 'I do not forget how many windows command a view of us,' he says, glancing towards them. 'I will not touch you again; I will come no nearer to you than I am. Sit down, and there will be no mighty wonder in your music-master's leaning idly against a pedestal and speaking with you, remembering all that has happened, and our shares in it. Sit down, my beloved.' She would have gone once more--was all but gone--and once more his face, darkly threatening what would follow if she went, has stopped her. Looking at him with the expression of the instant frozen on her face, she sits down on the seat again. 'Rosa, even when my dear boy was affianced to you, I loved you madly; even when I thought his happiness in having you for his wife was certain, I loved you madly; even when I strove to make him more ardently devoted to you, I loved you madly; even when he gave me the picture of your lovely face so carelessly traduced by him, which I feigned to hang always in my sight for his sake, but worshipped in torment for years, I loved you madly; in the distasteful work of the day, in the wakeful misery of the night, girded by sordid realities, or wandering through Paradises and Hells of visions into which I rushed, carrying your image in my arms, I loved you madly.' If anything could make his words more hideous to her than they are in themselves, it would be the contrast between the violence of his look and delivery, and the composure of his assumed attitude. 'I endured it all in silence. So long as you were his, or so long as I supposed you to be his, I hid my secret loyally. Did I not?' This lie, so gross, while the mere words in which it is told are so true, is more than Rosa can endure. She answers with kindling indignation: 'You were as false throughout, sir, as you are now. You were false to him, daily and hourly. You know that you made my life unhappy by your pursuit of me. You know that you made me afraid to open his generous eyes, and that you forced me, for his own trusting, good, good sake, to keep the truth from him, that you were a bad, bad man!' His preservation of his easy attitude rendering his working features and his convulsive hands absolutely diabolical, he returns, with a fierce extreme of admiration: 'How beautiful you are! You are more beautiful in anger than in repose. I don't ask you for your love; give me yourself and your hatred; give me yourself and that pretty rage; give me yourself and that enchanting scorn; it will be enough for me.' Impatient tears rise to the eyes of the trembling little beauty, and her face flames; but as she again rises to leave him in indignation, and seek protection within the house, he stretches out his hand towards the porch, as though he invited her to enter it. 'I told you, you rare charmer, you sweet witch, that you must stay and hear me, or do more harm than can ever be undone. You asked me what harm. Stay, and I will tell you. Go, and I will do it!' Again Rosa quails before his threatening face, though innocent of its meaning, and she remains. Her panting breathing comes and goes as if it would choke her; but with a repressive hand upon her bosom, she remains. 'I have made my confession that my love is mad. It is so mad, that had the ties between me and my dear lost boy been one silken thread less strong, I might have swept even him from your side, when you favoured him.' A film come over the eyes she raises for an instant, as though he had turned her faint. 'Even him,' he repeats. 'Yes, even him! Rosa, you see me and you hear me. Judge for yourself whether any other admirer shall love you and live, whose life is in my hand.' 'What do you mean, sir?' 'I mean to show you how mad my love is. It was hawked through the late inquiries by Mr. Crisparkle, that young Landless had confessed to him that he was a rival of my lost boy. That is an inexpiable offence in my eyes. The same Mr. Crisparkle knows under my hand that I have devoted myself to the murderer's discovery and destruction, be he whom he might, and that I determined to discuss the mystery with no one until I should hold the clue in which to entangle the murderer as in a net. I have since worked patiently to wind and wind it round him; and it is slowly winding as I speak.' 'Your belief, if you believe in the criminality of Mr. Landless, is not Mr. Crisparkle's belief, and he is a good man,' Rosa retorts. 'My belief is my own; and I reserve it, worshipped of my soul! Circumstances may accumulate so strongly EVEN AGAINST AN INNOCENT MAN, that directed, sharpened, and pointed, they may slay him. One wanting link discovered by perseverance against a guilty man, proves his guilt, however slight its evidence before, and he dies. Young Landless stands in deadly peril either way.' 'If you really suppose,' Rosa pleads with him, turning paler, 'that I favour Mr. Landless, or that Mr. Landless has ever in any way addressed himself to me, you are wrong.' He puts that from him with a slighting action of his hand and a curled lip. 'I was going to show you how madly I love you. More madly now than ever, for I am willing to renounce the second object that has arisen in my life to divide it with you; and henceforth to have no object in existence but you only. Miss Landless has become your bosom friend. You care for her peace of mind?' 'I love her dearly.' 'You care for her good name?' 'I have said, sir, I love her dearly.' 'I am unconsciously,' he observes with a smile, as he folds his hands upon the sun-dial and leans his chin upon them, so that his talk would seem from the windows (faces occasionally come and go there) to be of the airiest and playfullest--'I am unconsciously giving offence by questioning again. I will simply make statements, therefore, and not put questions. You do care for your bosom friend's good name, and you do care for her peace of mind. Then remove the shadow of the gallows from her, dear one!' 'You dare propose to me to--' 'Darling, I dare propose to you. Stop there. If it be bad to idolise you, I am the worst of men; if it be good, I am the best. My love for you is above all other love, and my truth to you is above all other truth. Let me have hope and favour, and I am a forsworn man for your sake.' Rosa puts her hands to her temples, and, pushing back her hair, looks wildly and abhorrently at him, as though she were trying to piece together what it is his deep purpose to present to her only in fragments. 'Reckon up nothing at this moment, angel, but the sacrifices that I lay at those dear feet, which I could fall down among the vilest ashes and kiss, and put upon my head as a poor savage might. There is my fidelity to my dear boy after death. Tread upon it!' With an action of his hands, as though he cast down something precious. 'There is the inexpiable offence against my adoration of you. Spurn it!' With a similar action. 'There are my labours in the cause of a just vengeance for six toiling months. Crush them!' With another repetition of the action. 'There is my past and my present wasted life. There is the desolation of my heart and my soul. There is my peace; there is my despair. Stamp them into the dust; so that you take me, were it even mortally hating me!' The frightful vehemence of the man, now reaching its full height, so additionally terrifies her as to break the spell that has held her to the spot. She swiftly moves towards the porch; but in an instant he is at her side, and speaking in her ear. 'Rosa, I am self-repressed again. I am walking calmly beside you to the house. I shall wait for some encouragement and hope. I shall not strike too soon. Give me a sign that you attend to me.' She slightly and constrainedly moves her hand. 'Not a word of this to any one, or it will bring down the blow, as certainly as night follows day. Another sign that you attend to me.' She moves her hand once more. 'I love you, love you, love you! If you were to cast me off now-- but you will not--you would never be rid of me. No one should come between us. I would pursue you to the death.' The handmaid coming out to open the gate for him, he quietly pulls off his hat as a parting salute, and goes away with no greater show of agitation than is visible in the effigy of Mr. Sapsea's father opposite. Rosa faints in going up-stairs, and is carefully carried to her room and laid down on her bed. A thunderstorm is coming on, the maids say, and the hot and stifling air has overset the pretty dear: no wonder; they have felt their own knees all of a tremble all day long. CHAPTER XX--A FLIGHT Rosa no sooner came to herself than the whole of the late interview was before her. It even seemed as if it had pursued her into her insensibility, and she had not had a moment's unconsciousness of it. What to do, she was at a frightened loss to know: the only one clear thought in her mind was, that she must fly from this terrible man. But where could she take refuge, and how could she go? She had never breathed her dread of him to any one but Helena. If she went to Helena, and told her what had passed, that very act might bring down the irreparable mischief that he threatened he had the power, and that she knew he had the will, to do. The more fearful he appeared to her excited memory and imagination, the more alarming her responsibility appeared; seeing that a slight mistake on her part, either in action or delay, might let his malevolence loose on Helena's brother. Rosa's mind throughout the last six months had been stormily confused. A half-formed, wholly unexpressed suspicion tossed in it, now heaving itself up, and now sinking into the deep; now gaining palpability, and now losing it. Jasper's self-absorption in his nephew when he was alive, and his unceasing pursuit of the inquiry how he came by his death, if he were dead, were themes so rife in the place, that no one appeared able to suspect the possibility of foul play at his hands. She had asked herself the question, 'Am I so wicked in my thoughts as to conceive a wickedness that others cannot imagine?' Then she had considered, Did the suspicion come of her previous recoiling from him before the fact? And if so, was not that a proof of its baselessness? Then she had reflected, 'What motive could he have, according to my accusation?' She was ashamed to answer in her mind, 'The motive of gaining ME!' And covered her face, as if the lightest shadow of the idea of founding murder on such an idle vanity were a crime almost as great. She ran over in her mind again, all that he had said by the sun- dial in the garden. He had persisted in treating the disappearance as murder, consistently with his whole public course since the finding of the watch and shirt-pin. If he were afraid of the crime being traced out, would he not rather encourage the idea of a voluntary disappearance? He had even declared that if the ties between him and his nephew had been less strong, he might have swept 'even him' away from her side. Was that like his having really done so? He had spoken of laying his six months' labours in the cause of a just vengeance at her feet. Would he have done that, with that violence of passion, if they were a pretence? Would he have ranged them with his desolate heart and soul, his wasted life, his peace and his despair? The very first sacrifice that he represented himself as making for her, was his fidelity to his dear boy after death. Surely these facts were strong against a fancy that scarcely dared to hint itself. And yet he was so terrible a man! In short, the poor girl (for what could she know of the criminal intellect, which its own professed students perpetually misread, because they persist in trying to reconcile it with the average intellect of average men, instead of identifying it as a horrible wonder apart) could get by no road to any other conclusion than that he WAS a terrible man, and must be fled from. She had been Helena's stay and comfort during the whole time. She had constantly assured her of her full belief in her brother's innocence, and of her sympathy with him in his misery. But she had never seen him since the disappearance, nor had Helena ever spoken one word of his avowal to Mr. Crisparkle in regard of Rosa, though as a part of the interest of the case it was well known far and wide. He was Helena's unfortunate brother, to her, and nothing more. The assurance she had given her odious suitor was strictly true, though it would have been better (she considered now) if she could have restrained herself from so giving it. Afraid of him as the bright and delicate little creature was, her spirit swelled at the thought of his knowing it from her own lips. But where was she to go? Anywhere beyond his reach, was no reply to the question. Somewhere must be thought of. She determined to go to her guardian, and to go immediately. The feeling she had imparted to Helena on the night of their first confidence, was so strong upon her--the feeling of not being safe from him, and of the solid walls of the old convent being powerless to keep out his ghostly following of her--that no reasoning of her own could calm her terrors. The fascination of repulsion had been upon her so long, and now culminated so darkly, that she felt as if he had power to bind her by a spell. Glancing out at window, even now, as she rose to dress, the sight of the sun-dial on which he had leaned when he declared himself, turned her cold, and made her shrink from it, as though he had invested it with some awful quality from his own nature. She wrote a hurried note to Miss Twinkleton, saying that she had sudden reason for wishing to see her guardian promptly, and had gone to him; also, entreating the good lady not to be uneasy, for all was well with her. She hurried a few quite useless articles into a very little bag, left the note in a conspicuous place, and went out, softly closing the gate after her. It was the first time she had ever been even in Cloisterham High Street alone. But knowing all its ways and windings very well, she hurried straight to the corner from which the omnibus departed. It was, at that very moment, going off. 'Stop and take me, if you please, Joe. I am obliged to go to London.' In less than another minute she was on her road to the railway, under Joe's protection. Joe waited on her when she got there, put her safely into the railway carriage, and handed in the very little bag after her, as though it were some enormous trunk, hundredweights heavy, which she must on no account endeavour to lift. 'Can you go round when you get back, and tell Miss Twinkleton that you saw me safely off, Joe 'It shall be done, Miss.' 'With my love, please, Joe.' 'Yes, Miss--and I wouldn't mind having it myself!' But Joe did not articulate the last clause; only thought it. Now that she was whirling away for London in real earnest, Rosa was at leisure to resume the thoughts which her personal hurry had checked. The indignant thought that his declaration of love soiled her; that she could only be cleansed from the stain of its impurity by appealing to the honest and true; supported her for a time against her fears, and confirmed her in her hasty resolution. But as the evening grew darker and darker, and the great city impended nearer and nearer, the doubts usual in such cases began to arise. Whether this was not a wild proceeding, after all; how Mr. Grewgious might regard it; whether she should find him at the journey's end; how she would act if he were absent; what might become of her, alone, in a place so strange and crowded; how if she had but waited and taken counsel first; whether, if she could now go back, she would not do it thankfully; a multitude of such uneasy speculations disturbed her, more and more as they accumulated. At length the train came into London over the housetops; and down below lay the gritty streets with their yet un-needed lamps a-glow, on a hot, light, summer night. 'Hiram Grewgious, Esquire, Staple Inn, London.' This was all Rosa knew of her destination; but it was enough to send her rattling away again in a cab, through deserts of gritty streets, where many people crowded at the corner of courts and byways to get some air, and where many other people walked with a miserably monotonous noise of shuffling of feet on hot paving-stones, and where all the people and all their surroundings were so gritty and so shabby! There was music playing here and there, but it did not enliven the case. No barrel-organ mended the matter, and no big drum beat dull care away. Like the chapel bells that were also going here and there, they only seemed to evoke echoes from brick surfaces, and dust from everything. As to the flat wind-instruments, they seemed to have cracked their hearts and souls in pining for the country. Her jingling conveyance stopped at last at a fast-closed gateway, which appeared to belong to somebody who had gone to bed very early, and was much afraid of housebreakers; Rosa, discharging her conveyance, timidly knocked at this gateway, and was let in, very little bag and all, by a watchman. 'Does Mr. Grewgious live here?' 'Mr. Grewgious lives there, Miss,' said the watchman, pointing further in. So Rosa went further in, and, when the clocks were striking ten, stood on P. J. T.'s doorsteps, wondering what P. J. T. had done with his street-door. Guided by the painted name of Mr. Grewgious, she went up-stairs and softly tapped and tapped several times. But no one answering, and Mr. Grewgious's door-handle yielding to her touch, she went in, and saw her guardian sitting on a window-seat at an open window, with a shaded lamp placed far from him on a table in a corner. Rosa drew nearer to him in the twilight of the room. He saw her, and he said, in an undertone: 'Good Heaven!' Rosa fell upon his neck, with tears, and then he said, returning her embrace: 'My child, my child! I thought you were your mother!--But what, what, what,' he added, soothingly, 'has happened? My dear, what has brought you here? Who has brought you here?' 'No one. I came alone.' 'Lord bless me!' ejaculated Mr. Grewgious. 'Came alone! Why didn't you write to me to come and fetch you?' 'I had no time. I took a sudden resolution. Poor, poor Eddy!' 'Ah, poor fellow, poor fellow!' 'His uncle has made love to me. I cannot bear it,' said Rosa, at once with a burst of tears, and a stamp of her little foot; 'I shudder with horror of him, and I have come to you to protect me and all of us from him, if you will?' 'I will,' cried Mr. Grewgious, with a sudden rush of amazing energy. 'Damn him! "Confound his politics! Frustrate his knavish tricks! On Thee his hopes to fix? Damn him again!"' After this most extraordinary outburst, Mr. Grewgious, quite beside himself, plunged about the room, to all appearance undecided whether he was in a fit of loyal enthusiasm, or combative denunciation. He stopped and said, wiping his face: 'I beg your pardon, my dear, but you will be glad to know I feel better. Tell me no more just now, or I might do it again. You must be refreshed and cheered. What did you take last? Was it breakfast, lunch, dinner, tea, or supper? And what will you take next? Shall it be breakfast, lunch, dinner, tea, or supper?' The respectful tenderness with which, on one knee before her, he helped her to remove her hat, and disentangle her pretty hair from it, was quite a chivalrous sight. Yet who, knowing him only on the surface, would have expected chivalry--and of the true sort, too; not the spurious--from Mr. Grewgious? 'Your rest too must be provided for,' he went on; 'and you shall have the prettiest chamber in Furnival's. Your toilet must be provided for, and you shall have everything that an unlimited head chambermaid--by which expression I mean a head chambermaid not limited as to outlay--can procure. Is that a bag?' he looked hard at it; sooth to say, it required hard looking at to be seen at all in a dimly lighted room: 'and is it your property, my dear?' 'Yes, sir. I brought it with me.' 'It is not an extensive bag,' said Mr. Grewgious, candidly, 'though admirably calculated to contain a day's provision for a canary- bird. Perhaps you brought a canary-bird?' Rosa smiled and shook her head. 'If you had, he should have been made welcome,' said Mr. Grewgious, 'and I think he would have been pleased to be hung upon a nail outside and pit himself against our Staple sparrows; whose execution must be admitted to be not quite equal to their intention. Which is the case with so many of us! You didn't say what meal, my dear. Have a nice jumble of all meals.' Rosa thanked him, but said she could only take a cup of tea. Mr. Grewgious, after several times running out, and in again, to mention such supplementary items as marmalade, eggs, watercresses, salted fish, and frizzled ham, ran across to Furnival's without his hat, to give his various directions. And soon afterwards they were realised in practice, and the board was spread. 'Lord bless my soul,' cried Mr. Grewgious, putting the lamp upon it, and taking his seat opposite Rosa; 'what a new sensation for a poor old Angular bachelor, to be sure!' Rosa's expressive little eyebrows asked him what he meant? 'The sensation of having a sweet young presence in the place, that whitewashes it, paints it, papers it, decorates it with gilding, and makes it Glorious!' said Mr. Grewgious. 'Ah me! Ah me!' As there was something mournful in his sigh, Rosa, in touching him with her tea-cup, ventured to touch him with her small hand too. 'Thank you, my dear,' said Mr. Grewgious. 'Ahem! Let's talk!' 'Do you always live here, sir?' asked Rosa. 'Yes, my dear.' 'And always alone?' 'Always alone; except that I have daily company in a gentleman by the name of Bazzard, my clerk.' 'HE doesn't live here?' 'No, he goes his way, after office hours. In fact, he is off duty here, altogether, just at present; and a firm down-stairs, with which I have business relations, lend me a substitute. But it would be extremely difficult to replace Mr. Bazzard.' 'He must be very fond of you,' said Rosa. 'He bears up against it with commendable fortitude if he is,' returned Mr. Grewgious, after considering the matter. 'But I doubt if he is. Not particularly so. You see, he is discontented, poor fellow.' 'Why isn't he contented?' was the natural inquiry. 'Misplaced,' said Mr. Grewgious, with great mystery. Rosa's eyebrows resumed their inquisitive and perplexed expression. 'So misplaced,' Mr. Grewgious went on, 'that I feel constantly apologetic towards him. And he feels (though he doesn't mention it) that I have reason to be.' Mr. Grewgious had by this time grown so very mysterious, that Rosa did not know how to go on. While she was thinking about it Mr. Grewgious suddenly jerked out of himself for the second time: 'Let's talk. We were speaking of Mr. Bazzard. It's a secret, and moreover it is Mr. Bazzard's secret; but the sweet presence at my table makes me so unusually expansive, that I feel I must impart it in inviolable confidence. What do you think Mr. Bazzard has done?' 'O dear!' cried Rosa, drawing her chair a little nearer, and her mind reverting to Jasper, 'nothing dreadful, I hope?' 'He has written a play,' said Mr. Grewgious, in a solemn whisper. 'A tragedy.' Rosa seemed much relieved. 'And nobody,' pursued Mr. Grewgious in the same tone, 'will hear, on any account whatever, of bringing it out.' Rosa looked reflective, and nodded her head slowly; as who should say, 'Such things are, and why are they!' 'Now, you know,' said Mr. Grewgious, '_I_ couldn't write a play.' 'Not a bad one, sir?' said Rosa, innocently, with her eyebrows again in action. 'No. If I was under sentence of decapitation, and was about to be instantly decapitated, and an express arrived with a pardon for the condemned convict Grewgious if he wrote a play, I should be under the necessity of resuming the block, and begging the executioner to proceed to extremities,--meaning,' said Mr. Grewgious, passing his hand under his chin, 'the singular number, and this extremity.' Rosa appeared to consider what she would do if the awkward supposititious case were hers. 'Consequently,' said Mr. Grewgious, 'Mr. Bazzard would have a sense of my inferiority to himself under any circumstances; but when I am his master, you know, the case is greatly aggravated.' Mr. Grewgious shook his head seriously, as if he felt the offence to be a little too much, though of his own committing. 'How came you to be his master, sir?' asked Rosa. 'A question that naturally follows,' said Mr. Grewgious. 'Let's talk. Mr. Bazzard's father, being a Norfolk farmer, would have furiously laid about him with a flail, a pitch-fork, and every agricultural implement available for assaulting purposes, on the slightest hint of his son's having written a play. So the son, bringing to me the father's rent (which I receive), imparted his secret, and pointed out that he was determined to pursue his genius, and that it would put him in peril of starvation, and that he was not formed for it.' 'For pursuing his genius, sir?' 'No, my dear,' said Mr. Grewgious, 'for starvation. It was impossible to deny the position, that Mr. Bazzard was not formed to be starved, and Mr. Bazzard then pointed out that it was desirable that I should stand between him and a fate so perfectly unsuited to his formation. In that way Mr. Bazzard became my clerk, and he feels it very much.' 'I am glad he is grateful,' said Rosa. 'I didn't quite mean that, my dear. I mean, that he feels the degradation. There are some other geniuses that Mr. Bazzard has become acquainted with, who have also written tragedies, which likewise nobody will on any account whatever hear of bringing out, and these choice spirits dedicate their plays to one another in a highly panegyrical manner. Mr. Bazzard has been the subject of one of these dedications. Now, you know, I never had a play dedicated to ME!' Rosa looked at him as if she would have liked him to be the recipient of a thousand dedications. 'Which again, naturally, rubs against the grain of Mr. Bazzard,' said Mr. Grewgious. 'He is very short with me sometimes, and then I feel that he is meditating, "This blockhead is my master! A fellow who couldn't write a tragedy on pain of death, and who will never have one dedicated to him with the most complimentary congratulations on the high position he has taken in the eyes of posterity!" Very trying, very trying. However, in giving him directions, I reflect beforehand: "Perhaps he may not like this," or "He might take it ill if I asked that;" and so we get on very well. Indeed, better than I could have expected.' 'Is the tragedy named, sir?' asked Rosa. 'Strictly between ourselves,' answered Mr. Grewgious, 'it has a dreadfully appropriate name. It is called The Thorn of Anxiety. But Mr. Bazzard hopes--and I hope--that it will come out at last.' It was not hard to divine that Mr. Grewgious had related the Bazzard history thus fully, at least quite as much for the recreation of his ward's mind from the subject that had driven her there, as for the gratification of his own tendency to be social and communicative. 'And now, my dear,' he said at this point, 'if you are not too tired to tell me more of what passed to-day--but only if you feel quite able--I should be glad to hear it. I may digest it the better, if I sleep on it to-night.' Rosa, composed now, gave him a faithful account of the interview. Mr. Grewgious often smoothed his head while it was in progress, and begged to be told a second time those parts which bore on Helena and Neville. When Rosa had finished, he sat grave, silent, and meditative for a while. 'Clearly narrated,' was his only remark at last, 'and, I hope, clearly put away here,' smoothing his head again. 'See, my dear,' taking her to the open window, 'where they live! The dark windows over yonder.' 'I may go to Helena to-morrow?' asked Rosa. 'I should like to sleep on that question to-night,' he answered doubtfully. 'But let me take you to your own rest, for you must need it.' With that Mr. Grewgious helped her to get her hat on again, and hung upon his arm the very little bag that was of no earthly use, and led her by the hand (with a certain stately awkwardness, as if he were going to walk a minuet) across Holborn, and into Furnival's Inn. At the hotel door, he confided her to the Unlimited head chambermaid, and said that while she went up to see her room, he would remain below, in case she should wish it exchanged for another, or should find that there was anything she wanted. Rosa's room was airy, clean, comfortable, almost gay. The Unlimited had laid in everything omitted from the very little bag (that is to say, everything she could possibly need), and Rosa tripped down the great many stairs again, to thank her guardian for his thoughtful and affectionate care of her. 'Not at all, my dear,' said Mr. Grewgious, infinitely gratified; 'it is I who thank you for your charming confidence and for your charming company. Your breakfast will be provided for you in a neat, compact, and graceful little sitting-room (appropriate to your figure), and I will come to you at ten o'clock in the morning. I hope you don't feel very strange indeed, in this strange place.' 'O no, I feel so safe!' 'Yes, you may be sure that the stairs are fire-proof,' said Mr. Grewgious, 'and that any outbreak of the devouring element would be perceived and suppressed by the watchmen.' 'I did not mean that,' Rosa replied. 'I mean, I feel so safe from him.' 'There is a stout gate of iron bars to keep him out,' said Mr. Grewgious, smiling; 'and Furnival's is fire-proof, and specially watched and lighted, and _I_ live over the way!' In the stoutness of his knight-errantry, he seemed to think the last-named protection all sufficient. In the same spirit he said to the gate- porter as he went out, 'If some one staying in the hotel should wish to send across the road to me in the night, a crown will be ready for the messenger.' In the same spirit, he walked up and down outside the iron gate for the best part of an hour, with some solicitude; occasionally looking in between the bars, as if he had laid a dove in a high roost in a cage of lions, and had it on his mind that she might tumble out. CHAPTER XXI--A RECOGNITION Nothing occurred in the night to flutter the tired dove; and the dove arose refreshed. With Mr. Grewgious, when the clock struck ten in the morning, came Mr. Crisparkle, who had come at one plunge out of the river at Cloisterham. 'Miss Twinkleton was so uneasy, Miss Rosa,' he explained to her, 'and came round to Ma and me with your note, in such a state of wonder, that, to quiet her, I volunteered on this service by the very first train to be caught in the morning. I wished at the time that you had come to me; but now I think it best that you did AS you did, and came to your guardian.' 'I did think of you,' Rosa told him; 'but Minor Canon Corner was so near him--' 'I understand. It was quite natural.' 'I have told Mr. Crisparkle,' said Mr. Grewgious, 'all that you told me last night, my dear. Of course I should have written it to him immediately; but his coming was most opportune. And it was particularly kind of him to come, for he had but just gone.' 'Have you settled,' asked Rosa, appealing to them both, 'what is to be done for Helena and her brother?' 'Why really,' said Mr. Crisparkle, 'I am in great perplexity. If even Mr. Grewgious, whose head is much longer than mine, and who is a whole night's cogitation in advance of me, is undecided, what must I be!' The Unlimited here put her head in at the door--after having rapped, and been authorised to present herself--announcing that a gentleman wished for a word with another gentleman named Crisparkle, if any such gentleman were there. If no such gentleman were there, he begged pardon for being mistaken. 'Such a gentleman is here,' said Mr. Crisparkle, 'but is engaged just now.' 'Is it a dark gentleman?' interposed Rosa, retreating on her guardian. 'No, Miss, more of a brown gentleman.' 'You are sure not with black hair?' asked Rosa, taking courage. 'Quite sure of that, Miss. Brown hair and blue eyes.' 'Perhaps,' hinted Mr. Grewgious, with habitual caution, 'it might be well to see him, reverend sir, if you don't object. When one is in a difficulty or at a loss, one never knows in what direction a way out may chance to open. It is a business principle of mine, in such a case, not to close up any direction, but to keep an eye on every direction that may present itself. I could relate an anecdote in point, but that it would be premature.' 'If Miss Rosa will allow me, then? Let the gentleman come in,' said Mr. Crisparkle. The gentleman came in; apologised, with a frank but modest grace, for not finding Mr. Crisparkle alone; turned to Mr. Crisparkle, and smilingly asked the unexpected question: 'Who am I?' 'You are the gentleman I saw smoking under the trees in Staple Inn, a few minutes ago.' 'True. There I saw you. Who else am I?' Mr. Crisparkle concentrated his attention on a handsome face, much sunburnt; and the ghost of some departed boy seemed to rise, gradually and dimly, in the room. The gentleman saw a struggling recollection lighten up the Minor Canon's features, and smiling again, said: 'What will you have for breakfast this morning? You are out of jam.' 'Wait a moment!' cried Mr. Crisparkle, raising his right hand. 'Give me another instant! Tartar!' The two shook hands with the greatest heartiness, and then went the wonderful length--for Englishmen--of laying their hands each on the other's shoulders, and looking joyfully each into the other's face. 'My old fag!' said Mr. Crisparkle. 'My old master!' said Mr. Tartar. 'You saved me from drowning!' said Mr. Crisparkle. 'After which you took to swimming, you know!' said Mr. Tartar. 'God bless my soul!' said Mr. Crisparkle. 'Amen!' said Mr. Tartar. And then they fell to shaking hands most heartily again. 'Imagine,' exclaimed Mr. Crisparkle, with glistening eyes: 'Miss Rosa Bud and Mr. Grewgious, imagine Mr. Tartar, when he was the smallest of juniors, diving for me, catching me, a big heavy senior, by the hair of the head, and striking out for the shore with me like a water-giant!' 'Imagine my not letting him sink, as I was his fag!' said Mr. Tartar. 'But the truth being that he was my best protector and friend, and did me more good than all the masters put together, an irrational impulse seized me to pick him up, or go down with him.' 'Hem! Permit me, sir, to have the honour,' said Mr. Grewgious, advancing with extended hand, 'for an honour I truly esteem it. I am proud to make your acquaintance. I hope you didn't take cold. I hope you were not inconvenienced by swallowing too much water. How have you been since?' It was by no means apparent that Mr. Grewgious knew what he said, though it was very apparent that he meant to say something highly friendly and appreciative. If Heaven, Rosa thought, had but sent such courage and skill to her poor mother's aid! And he to have been so slight and young then! 'I don't wish to be complimented upon it, I thank you; but I think I have an idea,' Mr. Grewgious announced, after taking a jog-trot or two across the room, so unexpected and unaccountable that they all stared at him, doubtful whether he was choking or had the cramp--'I THINK I have an idea. I believe I have had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Tartar's name as tenant of the top set in the house next the top set in the corner?' 'Yes, sir,' returned Mr. Tartar. 'You are right so far.' 'I am right so far,' said Mr. Grewgious. 'Tick that off;' which he did, with his right thumb on his left. 'Might you happen to know the name of your neighbour in the top set on the other side of the party-wall?' coming very close to Mr. Tartar, to lose nothing of his face, in his shortness of sight. 'Landless.' 'Tick that off,' said Mr. Grewgious, taking another trot, and then coming back. 'No personal knowledge, I suppose, sir?' 'Slight, but some.' 'Tick that off,' said Mr. Grewgious, taking another trot, and again coming back. 'Nature of knowledge, Mr. Tartar?' 'I thought he seemed to be a young fellow in a poor way, and I asked his leave--only within a day or so--to share my flowers up there with him; that is to say, to extend my flower-garden to his windows.' 'Would you have the kindness to take seats?' said Mr. Grewgious. 'I HAVE an idea!' They complied; Mr. Tartar none the less readily, for being all abroad; and Mr. Grewgious, seated in the centre, with his hands upon his knees, thus stated his idea, with his usual manner of having got the statement by heart. 'I cannot as yet make up my mind whether it is prudent to hold open communication under present circumstances, and on the part of the fair member of the present company, with Mr. Neville or Miss Helena. I have reason to know that a local friend of ours (on whom I beg to bestow a passing but a hearty malediction, with the kind permission of my reverend friend) sneaks to and fro, and dodges up and down. When not doing so himself, he may have some informant skulking about, in the person of a watchman, porter, or such-like hanger-on of Staple. On the other hand, Miss Rosa very naturally wishes to see her friend Miss Helena, and it would seem important that at least Miss Helena (if not her brother too, through her) should privately know from Miss Rosa's lips what has occurred, and what has been threatened. Am I agreed with generally in the views I take?' 'I entirely coincide with them,' said Mr. Crisparkle, who had been very attentive. 'As I have no doubt I should,' added Mr. Tartar, smiling, 'if I understood them.' 'Fair and softly, sir,' said Mr. Grewgious; 'we shall fully confide in you directly, if you will favour us with your permission. Now, if our local friend should have any informant on the spot, it is tolerably clear that such informant can only be set to watch the chambers in the occupation of Mr. Neville. He reporting, to our local friend, who comes and goes there, our local friend would supply for himself, from his own previous knowledge, the identity of the parties. Nobody can be set to watch all Staple, or to concern himself with comers and goers to other sets of chambers: unless, indeed, mine.' 'I begin to understand to what you tend,' said Mr. Crisparkle, 'and highly approve of your caution.' 'I needn't repeat that I know nothing yet of the why and wherefore,' said Mr. Tartar; 'but I also understand to what you tend, so let me say at once that my chambers are freely at your disposal.' 'There!' cried Mr. Grewgious, smoothing his head triumphantly, 'now we have all got the idea. You have it, my dear?' 'I think I have,' said Rosa, blushing a little as Mr. Tartar looked quickly towards her. 'You see, you go over to Staple with Mr. Crisparkle and Mr. Tartar,' said Mr. Grewgious; 'I going in and out, and out and in alone, in my usual way; you go up with those gentlemen to Mr. Tartar's rooms; you look into Mr. Tartar's flower-garden; you wait for Miss Helena's appearance there, or you signify to Miss Helena that you are close by; and you communicate with her freely, and no spy can be the wiser.' 'I am very much afraid I shall be--' 'Be what, my dear?' asked Mr. Grewgious, as she hesitated. 'Not frightened?' 'No, not that,' said Rosa, shyly; 'in Mr. Tartar's way. We seem to be appropriating Mr. Tartar's residence so very coolly.' 'I protest to you,' returned that gentleman, 'that I shall think the better of it for evermore, if your voice sounds in it only once.' Rosa, not quite knowing what to say about that, cast down her eyes, and turning to Mr. Grewgious, dutifully asked if she should put her hat on? Mr. Grewgious being of opinion that she could not do better, she withdrew for the purpose. Mr. Crisparkle took the opportunity of giving Mr. Tartar a summary of the distresses of Neville and his sister; the opportunity was quite long enough, as the hat happened to require a little extra fitting on. Mr. Tartar gave his arm to Rosa, and Mr. Crisparkle walked, detached, in front. 'Poor, poor Eddy!' thought Rosa, as they went along. Mr. Tartar waved his right hand as he bent his head down over Rosa, talking in an animated way. 'It was not so powerful or so sun-browned when it saved Mr. Crisparkle,' thought Rosa, glancing at it; 'but it must have been very steady and determined even then.' Mr. Tartar told her he had been a sailor, roving everywhere for years and years. 'When are you going to sea again?' asked Rosa. 'Never!' Rosa wondered what the girls would say if they could see her crossing the wide street on the sailor's arm. And she fancied that the passers-by must think her very little and very helpless, contrasted with the strong figure that could have caught her up and carried her out of any danger, miles and miles without resting. She was thinking further, that his far-seeing blue eyes looked as if they had been used to watch danger afar off, and to watch it without flinching, drawing nearer and nearer: when, happening to raise her own eyes, she found that he seemed to be thinking something about THEM. This a little confused Rosebud, and may account for her never afterwards quite knowing how she ascended (with his help) to his garden in the air, and seemed to get into a marvellous country that came into sudden bloom like the country on the summit of the magic bean-stalk. May it flourish for ever! CHAPTER XXII--A GRITTY STATE OF THINGS COMES ON Mr. Tartar's chambers were the neatest, the cleanest, and the best- ordered chambers ever seen under the sun, moon, and stars. The floors were scrubbed to that extent, that you might have supposed the London blacks emancipated for ever, and gone out of the land for good. Every inch of brass-work in Mr. Tartar's possession was polished and burnished, till it shone like a brazen mirror. No speck, nor spot, nor spatter soiled the purity of any of Mr. Tartar's household gods, large, small, or middle-sized. His sitting-room was like the admiral's cabin, his bath-room was like a dairy, his sleeping-chamber, fitted all about with lockers and drawers, was like a seedsman's shop; and his nicely-balanced cot just stirred in the midst, as if it breathed. Everything belonging to Mr. Tartar had quarters of its own assigned to it: his maps and charts had their quarters; his books had theirs; his brushes had theirs; his boots had theirs; his clothes had theirs; his case- bottles had theirs; his telescopes and other instruments had theirs. Everything was readily accessible. Shelf, bracket, locker, hook, and drawer were equally within reach, and were equally contrived with a view to avoiding waste of room, and providing some snug inches of stowage for something that would have exactly fitted nowhere else. His gleaming little service of plate was so arranged upon his sideboard as that a slack salt-spoon would have instantly betrayed itself; his toilet implements were so arranged upon his dressing-table as that a toothpick of slovenly deportment could have been reported at a glance. So with the curiosities he had brought home from various voyages. Stuffed, dried, repolished, or otherwise preserved, according to their kind; birds, fishes, reptiles, arms, articles of dress, shells, seaweeds, grasses, or memorials of coral reef; each was displayed in its especial place, and each could have been displayed in no better place. Paint and varnish seemed to be kept somewhere out of sight, in constant readiness to obliterate stray finger-marks wherever any might become perceptible in Mr. Tartar's chambers. No man-of-war was ever kept more spick and span from careless touch. On this bright summer day, a neat awning was rigged over Mr. Tartar's flower-garden as only a sailor can rig it, and there was a sea- going air upon the whole effect, so delightfully complete, that the flower-garden might have appertained to stern-windows afloat, and the whole concern might have bowled away gallantly with all on board, if Mr. Tartar had only clapped to his lips the speaking- trumpet that was slung in a corner, and given hoarse orders to heave the anchor up, look alive there, men, and get all sail upon her! Mr. Tartar doing the honours of this gallant craft was of a piece with the rest. When a man rides an amiable hobby that shies at nothing and kicks nobody, it is only agreeable to find him riding it with a humorous sense of the droll side of the creature. When the man is a cordial and an earnest man by nature, and withal is perfectly fresh and genuine, it may be doubted whether he is ever seen to greater advantage than at such a time. So Rosa would have naturally thought (even if she hadn't been conducted over the ship with all the homage due to the First Lady of the Admiralty, or First Fairy of the Sea), that it was charming to see and hear Mr. Tartar half laughing at, and half rejoicing in, his various contrivances. So Rosa would have naturally thought, anyhow, that the sunburnt sailor showed to great advantage when, the inspection finished, he delicately withdrew out of his admiral's cabin, beseeching her to consider herself its Queen, and waving her free of his flower-garden with the hand that had had Mr. Crisparkle's life in it. 'Helena! Helena Landless! Are you there?' 'Who speaks to me? Not Rosa?' Then a second handsome face appearing. 'Yes, my darling!' 'Why, how did you come here, dearest?' 'I--I don't quite know,' said Rosa with a blush; 'unless I am dreaming!' Why with a blush? For their two faces were alone with the other flowers. Are blushes among the fruits of the country of the magic bean-stalk? '_I_ am not dreaming,' said Helena, smiling. 'I should take more for granted if I were. How do we come together--or so near together--so very unexpectedly?' Unexpectedly indeed, among the dingy gables and chimney-pots of P. J. T.'s connection, and the flowers that had sprung from the salt sea. But Rosa, waking, told in a hurry how they came to be together, and all the why and wherefore of that matter. 'And Mr. Crisparkle is here,' said Rosa, in rapid conclusion; 'and, could you believe it? long ago he saved his life!' 'I could believe any such thing of Mr. Crisparkle,' returned Helena, with a mantling face. (More blushes in the bean-stalk country!) 'Yes, but it wasn't Crisparkle,' said Rosa, quickly putting in the correction. 'I don't understand, love.' 'It was very nice of Mr. Crisparkle to be saved,' said Rosa, 'and he couldn't have shown his high opinion of Mr. Tartar more expressively. But it was Mr. Tartar who saved him.' Helena's dark eyes looked very earnestly at the bright face among the leaves, and she asked, in a slower and more thoughtful tone: 'Is Mr. Tartar with you now, dear?' 'No; because he has given up his rooms to me--to us, I mean. It is such a beautiful place!' 'Is it?' 'It is like the inside of the most exquisite ship that ever sailed. It is like--it is like--' 'Like a dream?' suggested Helena. Rosa answered with a little nod, and smelled the flowers. Helena resumed, after a short pause of silence, during which she seemed (or it was Rosa's fancy) to compassionate somebody: 'My poor Neville is reading in his own room, the sun being so very bright on this side just now. I think he had better not know that you are so near.' 'O, I think so too!' cried Rosa very readily. 'I suppose,' pursued Helena, doubtfully, 'that he must know by-and- by all you have told me; but I am not sure. Ask Mr. Crisparkle's advice, my darling. Ask him whether I may tell Neville as much or as little of what you have told me as I think best.' Rosa subsided into her state-cabin, and propounded the question. The Minor Canon was for the free exercise of Helena's judgment. 'I thank him very much,' said Helena, when Rosa emerged again with her report. 'Ask him whether it would be best to wait until any more maligning and pursuing of Neville on the part of this wretch shall disclose itself, or to try to anticipate it: I mean, so far as to find out whether any such goes on darkly about us?' The Minor Canon found this point so difficult to give a confident opinion on, that, after two or three attempts and failures, he suggested a reference to Mr. Grewgious. Helena acquiescing, he betook himself (with a most unsuccessful assumption of lounging indifference) across the quadrangle to P. J. T.'s, and stated it. Mr. Grewgious held decidedly to the general principle, that if you could steal a march upon a brigand or a wild beast, you had better do it; and he also held decidedly to the special case, that John Jasper was a brigand and a wild beast in combination. Thus advised, Mr. Crisparkle came back again and reported to Rosa, who in her turn reported to Helena. She now steadily pursuing her train of thought at her window, considered thereupon. 'We may count on Mr. Tartar's readiness to help us, Rosa?' she inquired. O yes! Rosa shyly thought so. O yes, Rosa shyly believed she could almost answer for it. But should she ask Mr. Crisparkle? 'I think your authority on the point as good as his, my dear,' said Helena, sedately, 'and you needn't disappear again for that.' Odd of Helena! 'You see, Neville,' Helena pursued after more reflection, 'knows no one else here: he has not so much as exchanged a word with any one else here. If Mr. Tartar would call to see him openly and often; if he would spare a minute for the purpose, frequently; if he would even do so, almost daily; something might come of it.' 'Something might come of it, dear?' repeated Rosa, surveying her friend's beauty with a highly perplexed face. 'Something might?' 'If Neville's movements are really watched, and if the purpose really is to isolate him from all friends and acquaintance and wear his daily life out grain by grain (which would seem to be the threat to you), does it not appear likely,' said Helena, 'that his enemy would in some way communicate with Mr. Tartar to warn him off from Neville? In which case, we might not only know the fact, but might know from Mr. Tartar what the terms of the communication were.' 'I see!' cried Rosa. And immediately darted into her state-cabin again. Presently her pretty face reappeared, with a greatly heightened colour, and she said that she had told Mr. Crisparkle, and that Mr. Crisparkle had fetched in Mr. Tartar, and that Mr. Tartar--'who is waiting now, in case you want him,' added Rosa, with a half look back, and in not a little confusion between the inside of the state-cabin and out--had declared his readiness to act as she had suggested, and to enter on his task that very day. 'I thank him from my heart,' said Helena. 'Pray tell him so.' Again not a little confused between the Flower-garden and the Cabin, Rosa dipped in with her message, and dipped out again with more assurances from Mr. Tartar, and stood wavering in a divided state between Helena and him, which proved that confusion is not always necessarily awkward, but may sometimes present a very pleasant appearance. 'And now, darling,' said Helena, 'we will be mindful of the caution that has restricted us to this interview for the present, and will part. I hear Neville moving too. Are you going back?' 'To Miss Twinkleton's?' asked Rosa. 'Yes.' 'O, I could never go there any more. I couldn't indeed, after that dreadful interview!' said Rosa. 'Then where ARE you going, pretty one?' 'Now I come to think of it, I don't know,' said Rosa. 'I have settled nothing at all yet, but my guardian will take care of me. Don't be uneasy, dear. I shall be sure to be somewhere.' (It did seem likely.) 'And I shall hear of my Rosebud from Mr. Tartar?' inquired Helena. 'Yes, I suppose so; from--' Rosa looked back again in a flutter, instead of supplying the name. 'But tell me one thing before we part, dearest Helena. Tell me--that you are sure, sure, sure, I couldn't help it.' 'Help it, love?' 'Help making him malicious and revengeful. I couldn't hold any terms with him, could I?' 'You know how I love you, darling,' answered Helena, with indignation; 'but I would sooner see you dead at his wicked feet.' 'That's a great comfort to me! And you will tell your poor brother so, won't you? And you will give him my remembrance and my sympathy? And you will ask him not to hate me?' With a mournful shake of the head, as if that would be quite a superfluous entreaty, Helena lovingly kissed her two hands to her friend, and her friend's two hands were kissed to her; and then she saw a third hand (a brown one) appear among the flowers and leaves, and help her friend out of sight. The refection that Mr. Tartar produced in the Admiral's Cabin by merely touching the spring knob of a locker and the handle of a drawer, was a dazzling enchanted repast. Wonderful macaroons, glittering liqueurs, magically-preserved tropical spices, and jellies of celestial tropical fruits, displayed themselves profusely at an instant's notice. But Mr. Tartar could not make time stand still; and time, with his hard-hearted fleetness, strode on so fast, that Rosa was obliged to come down from the bean-stalk country to earth and her guardian's chambers. 'And now, my dear,' said Mr. Grewgious, 'what is to be done next? To put the same thought in another form; what is to be done with you?' Rosa could only look apologetically sensible of being very much in her own way and in everybody else's. Some passing idea of living, fireproof, up a good many stairs in Furnival's Inn for the rest of her life, was the only thing in the nature of a plan that occurred to her. 'It has come into my thoughts,' said Mr. Grewgious, 'that as the respected lady, Miss Twinkleton, occasionally repairs to London in the recess, with the view of extending her connection, and being available for interviews with metropolitan parents, if any-- whether, until we have time in which to turn ourselves round, we might invite Miss Twinkleton to come and stay with you for a month?' 'Stay where, sir?' 'Whether,' explained Mr. Grewgious, 'we might take a furnished lodging in town for a month, and invite Miss Twinkleton to assume the charge of you in it for that period?' 'And afterwards?' hinted Rosa. 'And afterwards,' said Mr. Grewgious, 'we should be no worse off than we are now.' 'I think that might smooth the way,' assented Rosa. 'Then let us,' said Mr. Grewgious, rising, 'go and look for a furnished lodging. Nothing could be more acceptable to me than the sweet presence of last evening, for all the remaining evenings of my existence; but these are not fit surroundings for a young lady. Let us set out in quest of adventures, and look for a furnished lodging. In the meantime, Mr. Crisparkle here, about to return home immediately, will no doubt kindly see Miss Twinkleton, and invite that lady to co-operate in our plan.' Mr. Crisparkle, willingly accepting the commission, took his departure; Mr. Grewgious and his ward set forth on their expedition. As Mr. Grewgious's idea of looking at a furnished lodging was to get on the opposite side of the street to a house with a suitable bill in the window, and stare at it; and then work his way tortuously to the back of the house, and stare at that; and then not go in, but make similar trials of another house, with the same result; their progress was but slow. At length he bethought himself of a widowed cousin, divers times removed, of Mr. Bazzard's, who had once solicited his influence in the lodger world, and who lived in Southampton Street, Bloomsbury Square. This lady's name, stated in uncompromising capitals of considerable size on a brass door-plate, and yet not lucidly as to sex or condition, was BILLICKIN. Personal faintness, and an overpowering personal candour, were the distinguishing features of Mrs. Billickin's organisation. She came languishing out of her own exclusive back parlour, with the air of having been expressly brought-to for the purpose, from an accumulation of several swoons. 'I hope I see you well, sir,' said Mrs. Billickin, recognising her visitor with a bend. 'Thank you, quite well. And you, ma'am?' returned Mr. Grewgious. 'I am as well,' said Mrs. Billickin, becoming aspirational with excess of faintness, 'as I hever ham.' 'My ward and an elderly lady,' said Mr. Grewgious, 'wish to find a genteel lodging for a month or so. Have you any apartments available, ma'am?' 'Mr. Grewgious,' returned Mrs. Billickin, 'I will not deceive you; far from it. I HAVE apartments available.' This with the air of adding: 'Convey me to the stake, if you will; but while I live, I will be candid.' 'And now, what apartments, ma'am?' asked Mr. Grewgious, cosily. To tame a certain severity apparent on the part of Mrs. Billickin. 'There is this sitting-room--which, call it what you will, it is the front parlour, Miss,' said Mrs. Billickin, impressing Rosa into the conversation: 'the back parlour being what I cling to and never part with; and there is two bedrooms at the top of the 'ouse with gas laid on. I do not tell you that your bedroom floors is firm, for firm they are not. The gas-fitter himself allowed, that to make a firm job, he must go right under your jistes, and it were not worth the outlay as a yearly tenant so to do. The piping is carried above your jistes, and it is best that it should be made known to you.' Mr. Grewgious and Rosa exchanged looks of some dismay, though they had not the least idea what latent horrors this carriage of the piping might involve. Mrs. Billickin put her hand to her heart, as having eased it of a load. 'Well! The roof is all right, no doubt,' said Mr. Grewgious, plucking up a little. 'Mr. Grewgious,' returned Mrs. Billickin, 'if I was to tell you, sir, that to have nothink above you is to have a floor above you, I should put a deception upon you which I will not do. No, sir. Your slates WILL rattle loose at that elewation in windy weather, do your utmost, best or worst! I defy you, sir, be you what you may, to keep your slates tight, try how you can.' Here Mrs. Billickin, having been warm with Mr. Grewgious, cooled a little, not to abuse the moral power she held over him. 'Consequent,' proceeded Mrs. Billickin, more mildly, but still firmly in her incorruptible candour: 'consequent it would be worse than of no use for me to trapse and travel up to the top of the 'ouse with you, and for you to say, "Mrs. Billickin, what stain do I notice in the ceiling, for a stain I do consider it?" and for me to answer, "I do not understand you, sir." No, sir, I will not be so underhand. I DO understand you before you pint it out. It is the wet, sir. It do come in, and it do not come in. You may lay dry there half your lifetime; but the time will come, and it is best that you should know it, when a dripping sop would be no name for you.' Mr. Grewgious looked much disgraced by being prefigured in this pickle. 'Have you any other apartments, ma'am?' he asked. 'Mr. Grewgious,' returned Mrs. Billickin, with much solemnity, 'I have. You ask me have I, and my open and my honest answer air, I have. The first and second floors is wacant, and sweet rooms.' 'Come, come! There's nothing against THEM,' said Mr. Grewgious, comforting himself. 'Mr. Grewgious,' replied Mrs. Billickin, 'pardon me, there is the stairs. Unless your mind is prepared for the stairs, it will lead to inevitable disappointment. You cannot, Miss,' said Mrs. Billickin, addressing Rosa reproachfully, 'place a first floor, and far less a second, on the level footing 'of a parlour. No, you cannot do it, Miss, it is beyond your power, and wherefore try?' Mrs. Billickin put it very feelingly, as if Rosa had shown a headstrong determination to hold the untenable position. 'Can we see these rooms, ma'am?' inquired her guardian. 'Mr. Grewgious,' returned Mrs. Billickin, 'you can. I will not disguise it from you, sir; you can.' Mrs. Billickin then sent into her back parlour for her shawl (it being a state fiction, dating from immemorial antiquity, that she could never go anywhere without being wrapped up), and having been enrolled by her attendant, led the way. She made various genteel pauses on the stairs for breath, and clutched at her heart in the drawing-room as if it had very nearly got loose, and she had caught it in the act of taking wing. 'And the second floor?' said Mr. Grewgious, on finding the first satisfactory. 'Mr. Grewgious,' replied Mrs. Billickin, turning upon him with ceremony, as if the time had now come when a distinct understanding on a difficult point must be arrived at, and a solemn confidence established, 'the second floor is over this.' 'Can we see that too, ma'am?' 'Yes, sir,' returned Mrs. Billickin, 'it is open as the day.' That also proving satisfactory, Mr. Grewgious retired into a window with Rosa for a few words of consultation, and then asking for pen and ink, sketched out a line or two of agreement. In the meantime Mrs. Billickin took a seat, and delivered a kind of Index to, or Abstract of, the general question. 'Five-and-forty shillings per week by the month certain at the time of year,' said Mrs. Billickin, 'is only reasonable to both parties. It is not Bond Street nor yet St. James's Palace; but it is not pretended that it is. Neither is it attempted to be denied--for why should it?--that the Arching leads to a mews. Mewses must exist. Respecting attendance; two is kep', at liberal wages. Words HAS arisen as to tradesmen, but dirty shoes on fresh hearth- stoning was attributable, and no wish for a commission on your orders. Coals is either BY the fire, or PER the scuttle.' She emphasised the prepositions as marking a subtle but immense difference. 'Dogs is not viewed with favour. Besides litter, they gets stole, and sharing suspicions is apt to creep in, and unpleasantness takes place.' By this time Mr. Grewgious had his agreement-lines, and his earnest-money, ready. 'I have signed it for the ladies, ma'am,' he said, 'and you'll have the goodness to sign it for yourself, Christian and Surname, there, if you please.' 'Mr. Grewgious,' said Mrs. Billickin in a new burst of candour, 'no, sir! You must excuse the Christian name.' Mr. Grewgious stared at her. 'The door-plate is used as a protection,' said Mrs. Billickin, 'and acts as such, and go from it I will not.' Mr. Grewgious stared at Rosa. 'No, Mr. Grewgious, you must excuse me. So long as this 'ouse is known indefinite as Billickin's, and so long as it is a doubt with the riff-raff where Billickin may be hidin', near the street-door or down the airy, and what his weight and size, so long I feel safe. But commit myself to a solitary female statement, no, Miss! Nor would you for a moment wish,' said Mrs. Billickin, with a strong sense of injury, 'to take that advantage of your sex, if you were not brought to it by inconsiderate example.' Rosa reddening as if she had made some most disgraceful attempt to overreach the good lady, besought Mr. Grewgious to rest content with any signature. And accordingly, in a baronial way, the sign- manual BILLICKIN got appended to the document. Details were then settled for taking possession on the next day but one, when Miss Twinkleton might be reasonably expected; and Rosa went back to Furnival's Inn on her guardian's arm. Behold Mr. Tartar walking up and down Furnival's Inn, checking himself when he saw them coming, and advancing towards them! 'It occurred to me,' hinted Mr. Tartar, 'that we might go up the river, the weather being so delicious and the tide serving. I have a boat of my own at the Temple Stairs.' 'I have not been up the river for this many a day,' said Mr. Grewgious, tempted. 'I was never up the river,' added Rosa. Within half an hour they were setting this matter right by going up the river. The tide was running with them, the afternoon was charming. Mr. Tartar's boat was perfect. Mr. Tartar and Lobley (Mr. Tartar's man) pulled a pair of oars. Mr. Tartar had a yacht, it seemed, lying somewhere down by Greenhithe; and Mr. Tartar's man had charge of this yacht, and was detached upon his present service. He was a jolly-favoured man, with tawny hair and whiskers, and a big red face. He was the dead image of the sun in old woodcuts, his hair and whiskers answering for rays all around him. Resplendent in the bow of the boat, he was a shining sight, with a man-of-war's man's shirt on--or off, according to opinion-- and his arms and breast tattooed all sorts of patterns. Lobley seemed to take it easily, and so did Mr. Tartar; yet their oars bent as they pulled, and the boat bounded under them. Mr. Tartar talked as if he were doing nothing, to Rosa who was really doing nothing, and to Mr. Grewgious who was doing this much that he steered all wrong; but what did that matter, when a turn of Mr. Tartar's skilful wrist, or a mere grin of Mr. Lobley's over the bow, put all to rights! The tide bore them on in the gayest and most sparkling manner, until they stopped to dine in some ever- lastingly-green garden, needing no matter-of-fact identification here; and then the tide obligingly turned--being devoted to that party alone for that day; and as they floated idly among some osier-beds, Rosa tried what she could do in the rowing way, and came off splendidly, being much assisted; and Mr. Grewgious tried what he could do, and came off on his back, doubled up with an oar under his chin, being not assisted at all. Then there was an interval of rest under boughs (such rest!) what time Mr. Lobley mopped, and, arranging cushions, stretchers, and the like, danced the tight-rope the whole length of the boat like a man to whom shoes were a superstition and stockings slavery; and then came the sweet return among delicious odours of limes in bloom, and musical ripplings; and, all too soon, the great black city cast its shadow on the waters, and its dark bridges spanned them as death spans life, and the everlastingly-green garden seemed to be left for everlasting, unregainable and far away. 'Cannot people get through life without gritty stages, I wonder?' Rosa thought next day, when the town was very gritty again, and everything had a strange and an uncomfortable appearance of seeming to wait for something that wouldn't come. NO. She began to think, that, now the Cloisterham school-days had glided past and gone, the gritty stages would begin to set in at intervals and make themselves wearily known! Yet what did Rosa expect? Did she expect Miss Twinkleton? Miss Twinkleton duly came. Forth from her back parlour issued the Billickin to receive Miss Twinkleton, and War was in the Billickin's eye from that fell moment. Miss Twinkleton brought a quantity of luggage with her, having all Rosa's as well as her own. The Billickin took it ill that Miss Twinkleton's mind, being sorely disturbed by this luggage, failed to take in her personal identity with that clearness of perception which was due to its demands. Stateliness mounted her gloomy throne upon the Billickin's brow in consequence. And when Miss Twinkleton, in agitation taking stock of her trunks and packages, of which she had seventeen, particularly counted in the Billickin herself as number eleven, the B. found it necessary to repudiate. 'Things cannot too soon be put upon the footing,' said she, with a candour so demonstrative as to be almost obtrusive, 'that the person of the 'ouse is not a box nor yet a bundle, nor a carpet- bag. No, I am 'ily obleeged to you, Miss Twinkleton, nor yet a beggar.' This last disclaimer had reference to Miss Twinkleton's distractedly pressing two-and-sixpence on her, instead of the cabman. Thus cast off, Miss Twinkleton wildly inquired, 'which gentleman' was to be paid? There being two gentlemen in that position (Miss Twinkleton having arrived with two cabs), each gentleman on being paid held forth his two-and-sixpence on the flat of his open hand, and, with a speechless stare and a dropped jaw, displayed his wrong to heaven and earth. Terrified by this alarming spectacle, Miss Twinkleton placed another shilling in each hand; at the same time appealing to the law in flurried accents, and recounting her luggage this time with the two gentlemen in, who caused the total to come out complicated. Meanwhile the two gentlemen, each looking very hard at the last shilling grumblingly, as if it might become eighteen-pence if he kept his eyes on it, descended the doorsteps, ascended their carriages, and drove away, leaving Miss Twinkleton on a bonnet-box in tears. The Billickin beheld this manifestation of weakness without sympathy, and gave directions for 'a young man to be got in' to wrestle with the luggage. When that gladiator had disappeared from the arena, peace ensued, and the new lodgers dined. But the Billickin had somehow come to the knowledge that Miss Twinkleton kept a school. The leap from that knowledge to the inference that Miss Twinkleton set herself to teach HER something, was easy. 'But you don't do it,' soliloquised the Billickin; 'I am not your pupil, whatever she,' meaning Rosa, 'may be, poor thing!' Miss Twinkleton, on the other hand, having changed her dress and recovered her spirits, was animated by a bland desire to improve the occasion in all ways, and to be as serene a model as possible. In a happy compromise between her two states of existence, she had already become, with her workbasket before her, the equably vivacious companion with a slight judicious flavouring of information, when the Billickin announced herself. 'I will not hide from you, ladies,' said the B., enveloped in the shawl of state, 'for it is not my character to hide neither my motives nor my actions, that I take the liberty to look in upon you to express a 'ope that your dinner was to your liking. Though not Professed but Plain, still her wages should be a sufficient object to her to stimilate to soar above mere roast and biled.' 'We dined very well indeed,' said Rosa, 'thank you.' 'Accustomed,' said Miss Twinkleton with a gracious air, which to the jealous ears of the Billickin seemed to add 'my good woman'-- 'accustomed to a liberal and nutritious, yet plain and salutary diet, we have found no reason to bemoan our absence from the ancient city, and the methodical household, in which the quiet routine of our lot has been hitherto cast.' 'I did think it well to mention to my cook,' observed the Billickin with a gush of candour, 'which I 'ope you will agree with, Miss Twinkleton, was a right precaution, that the young lady being used to what we should consider here but poor diet, had better be brought forward by degrees. For, a rush from scanty feeding to generous feeding, and from what you may call messing to what you may call method, do require a power of constitution which is not often found in youth, particular when undermined by boarding- school!' It will be seen that the Billickin now openly pitted herself against Miss Twinkleton, as one whom she had fully ascertained to be her natural enemy. 'Your remarks,' returned Miss Twinkleton, from a remote moral eminence, 'are well meant, I have no doubt; but you will permit me to observe that they develop a mistaken view of the subject, which can only be imputed to your extreme want of accurate information.' 'My informiation,' retorted the Billickin, throwing in an extra syllable for the sake of emphasis at once polite and powerful--'my informiation, Miss Twinkleton, were my own experience, which I believe is usually considered to be good guidance. But whether so or not, I was put in youth to a very genteel boarding-school, the mistress being no less a lady than yourself, of about your own age or it may be some years younger, and a poorness of blood flowed from the table which has run through my life.' 'Very likely,' said Miss Twinkleton, still from her distant eminence; 'and very much to be deplored.--Rosa, my dear, how are you getting on with your work?' 'Miss Twinkleton,' resumed the Billickin, in a courtly manner, 'before retiring on the 'int, as a lady should, I wish to ask of yourself, as a lady, whether I am to consider that my words is doubted?' 'I am not aware on what ground you cherish such a supposition,' began Miss Twinkleton, when the Billickin neatly stopped her. 'Do not, if you please, put suppositions betwixt my lips where none such have been imparted by myself. Your flow of words is great, Miss Twinkleton, and no doubt is expected from you by your pupils, and no doubt is considered worth the money. NO doubt, I am sure. But not paying for flows of words, and not asking to be favoured with them here, I wish to repeat my question.' 'If you refer to the poverty of your circulation,' began Miss Twinkleton, when again the Billickin neatly stopped her. 'I have used no such expressions.' 'If you refer, then, to the poorness of your blood--' 'Brought upon me,' stipulated the Billickin, expressly, 'at a boarding-school--' 'Then,' resumed Miss Twinkleton, 'all I can say is, that I am bound to believe, on your asseveration, that it is very poor indeed. I cannot forbear adding, that if that unfortunate circumstance influences your conversation, it is much to be lamented, and it is eminently desirable that your blood were richer.--Rosa, my dear, how are you getting on with your work?' 'Hem! Before retiring, Miss,' proclaimed the Billickin to Rosa, loftily cancelling Miss Twinkleton, 'I should wish it to be understood between yourself and me that my transactions in future is with you alone. I know no elderly lady here, Miss, none older than yourself.' 'A highly desirable arrangement, Rosa my dear,' observed Miss Twinkleton. 'It is not, Miss,' said the Billickin, with a sarcastic smile, 'that I possess the Mill I have heard of, in which old single ladies could be ground up young (what a gift it would be to some of us), but that I limit myself to you totally.' 'When I have any desire to communicate a request to the person of the house, Rosa my dear,' observed Miss Twinkleton with majestic cheerfulness, 'I will make it known to you, and you will kindly undertake, I am sure, that it is conveyed to the proper quarter.' 'Good-evening, Miss,' said the Billickin, at once affectionately and distantly. 'Being alone in my eyes, I wish you good-evening with best wishes, and do not find myself drove, I am truly 'appy to say, into expressing my contempt for an indiwidual, unfortunately for yourself, belonging to you.' The Billickin gracefully withdrew with this parting speech, and from that time Rosa occupied the restless position of shuttlecock between these two battledores. Nothing could be done without a smart match being played out. Thus, on the daily-arising question of dinner, Miss Twinkleton would say, the three being present together: 'Perhaps, my love, you will consult with the person of the house, whether she can procure us a lamb's fry; or, failing that, a roast fowl.' On which the Billickin would retort (Rosa not having spoken a word), 'If you was better accustomed to butcher's meat, Miss, you would not entertain the idea of a lamb's fry. Firstly, because lambs has long been sheep, and secondly, because there is such things as killing-days, and there is not. As to roast fowls, Miss, why you must be quite surfeited with roast fowls, letting alone your buying, when you market for yourself, the agedest of poultry with the scaliest of legs, quite as if you was accustomed to picking 'em out for cheapness. Try a little inwention, Miss. Use yourself to 'ousekeeping a bit. Come now, think of somethink else.' To this encouragement, offered with the indulgent toleration of a wise and liberal expert, Miss Twinkleton would rejoin, reddening: 'Or, my dear, you might propose to the person of the house a duck.' 'Well, Miss!' the Billickin would exclaim (still no word being spoken by Rosa), 'you do surprise me when you speak of ducks! Not to mention that they're getting out of season and very dear, it really strikes to my heart to see you have a duck; for the breast, which is the only delicate cuts in a duck, always goes in a direction which I cannot imagine where, and your own plate comes down so miserably skin-and-bony! Try again, Miss. Think more of yourself, and less of others. A dish of sweetbreads now, or a bit of mutton. Something at which you can get your equal chance.' Occasionally the game would wax very brisk indeed, and would be kept up with a smartness rendering such an encounter as this quite tame. But the Billickin almost invariably made by far the higher score; and would come in with side hits of the most unexpected and extraordinary description, when she seemed without a chance. All this did not improve the gritty state of things in London, or the air that London had acquired in Rosa's eyes of waiting for something that never came. Tired of working, and conversing with Miss Twinkleton, she suggested working and reading: to which Miss Twinkleton readily assented, as an admirable reader, of tried powers. But Rosa soon made the discovery that Miss Twinkleton didn't read fairly. She cut the love-scenes, interpolated passages in praise of female celibacy, and was guilty of other glaring pious frauds. As an instance in point, take the glowing passage: 'Ever dearest and best adored,--said Edward, clasping the dear head to his breast, and drawing the silken hair through his caressing fingers, from which he suffered it to fall like golden rain,--ever dearest and best adored, let us fly from the unsympathetic world and the sterile coldness of the stony-hearted, to the rich warm Paradise of Trust and Love.' Miss Twinkleton's fraudulent version tamely ran thus: 'Ever engaged to me with the consent of our parents on both sides, and the approbation of the silver-haired rector of the district,--said Edward, respectfully raising to his lips the taper fingers so skilful in embroidery, tambour, crochet, and other truly feminine arts,--let me call on thy papa ere to- morrow's dawn has sunk into the west, and propose a suburban establishment, lowly it may be, but within our means, where he will be always welcome as an evening guest, and where every arrangement shall invest economy, and constant interchange of scholastic acquirements with the attributes of the ministering angel to domestic bliss.' As the days crept on and nothing happened, the neighbours began to say that the pretty girl at Billickin's, who looked so wistfully and so much out of the gritty windows of the drawing-room, seemed to be losing her spirits. The pretty girl might have lost them but for the accident of lighting on some books of voyages and sea- adventure. As a compensation against their romance, Miss Twinkleton, reading aloud, made the most of all the latitudes and longitudes, bearings, winds, currents, offsets, and other statistics (which she felt to be none the less improving because they expressed nothing whatever to her); while Rosa, listening intently, made the most of what was nearest to her heart. So they both did better than before. CHAPTER XXIII--THE DAWN AGAIN Although Mr. Crisparkle and John Jasper met daily under the Cathedral roof, nothing at any time passed between them having reference to Edwin Drood, after the time, more than half a year gone by, when Jasper mutely showed the Minor Canon the conclusion and the resolution entered in his Diary. It is not likely that they ever met, though so often, without the thoughts of each reverting to the subject. It is not likely that they ever met, though so often, without a sensation on the part of each that the other was a perplexing secret to him. Jasper as the denouncer and pursuer of Neville Landless, and Mr. Crisparkle as his consistent advocate and protector, must at least have stood sufficiently in opposition to have speculated with keen interest on the steadiness and next direction of the other's designs. But neither ever broached the theme. False pretence not being in the Minor Canon's nature, he doubtless displayed openly that he would at any time have revived the subject, and even desired to discuss it. The determined reticence of Jasper, however, was not to be so approached. Impassive, moody, solitary, resolute, so concentrated on one idea, and on its attendant fixed purpose, that he would share it with no fellow- creature, he lived apart from human life. Constantly exercising an Art which brought him into mechanical harmony with others, and which could not have been pursued unless he and they had been in the nicest mechanical relations and unison, it is curious to consider that the spirit of the man was in moral accordance or interchange with nothing around him. This indeed he had confided to his lost nephew, before the occasion for his present inflexibility arose. That he must know of Rosa's abrupt departure, and that he must divine its cause, was not to be doubted. Did he suppose that he had terrified her into silence? or did he suppose that she had imparted to any one--to Mr. Crisparkle himself, for instance--the particulars of his last interview with her? Mr. Crisparkle could not determine this in his mind. He could not but admit, however, as a just man, that it was not, of itself, a crime to fall in love with Rosa, any more than it was a crime to offer to set love above revenge. The dreadful suspicion of Jasper, which Rosa was so shocked to have received into her imagination, appeared to have no harbour in Mr. Crisparkle's. If it ever haunted Helena's thoughts or Neville's, neither gave it one spoken word of utterance. Mr. Grewgious took no pains to conceal his implacable dislike of Jasper, yet he never referred it, however distantly, to such a source. But he was a reticent as well as an eccentric man; and he made no mention of a certain evening when he warmed his hands at the gatehouse fire, and looked steadily down upon a certain heap of torn and miry clothes upon the floor. Drowsy Cloisterham, whenever it awoke to a passing reconsideration of a story above six months old and dismissed by the bench of magistrates, was pretty equally divided in opinion whether John Jasper's beloved nephew had been killed by his treacherously passionate rival, or in an open struggle; or had, for his own purposes, spirited himself away. It then lifted up its head, to notice that the bereaved Jasper was still ever devoted to discovery and revenge; and then dozed off again. This was the condition of matters, all round, at the period to which the present history has now attained. The Cathedral doors have closed for the night; and the Choir- master, on a short leave of absence for two or three services, sets his face towards London. He travels thither by the means by which Rosa travelled, and arrives, as Rosa arrived, on a hot, dusty evening. His travelling baggage is easily carried in his hand, and he repairs with it on foot, to a hybrid hotel in a little square behind Aldersgate Street, near the General Post Office. It is hotel, boarding-house, or lodging-house, at its visitor's option. It announces itself, in the new Railway Advertisers, as a novel enterprise, timidly beginning to spring up. It bashfully, almost apologetically, gives the traveller to understand that it does not expect him, on the good old constitutional hotel plan, to order a pint of sweet blacking for his drinking, and throw it away; but insinuates that he may have his boots blacked instead of his stomach, and maybe also have bed, breakfast, attendance, and a porter up all night, for a certain fixed charge. From these and similar premises, many true Britons in the lowest spirits deduce that the times are levelling times, except in the article of high roads, of which there will shortly be not one in England. He eats without appetite, and soon goes forth again. Eastward and still eastward through the stale streets he takes his way, until he reaches his destination: a miserable court, specially miserable among many such. He ascends a broken staircase, opens a door, looks into a dark stifling room, and says: 'Are you alone here?' 'Alone, deary; worse luck for me, and better for you,' replies a croaking voice. 'Come in, come in, whoever you be: I can't see you till I light a match, yet I seem to know the sound of your speaking. I'm acquainted with you, ain't I?' 'Light your match, and try.' 'So I will, deary, so I will; but my hand that shakes, as I can't lay it on a match all in a moment. And I cough so, that, put my matches where I may, I never find 'em there. They jump and start, as I cough and cough, like live things. Are you off a voyage, deary?' 'No.' 'Not seafaring?' 'No.' 'Well, there's land customers, and there's water customers. I'm a mother to both. Different from Jack Chinaman t'other side the court. He ain't a father to neither. It ain't in him. And he ain't got the true secret of mixing, though he charges as much as me that has, and more if he can get it. Here's a match, and now where's the candle? If my cough takes me, I shall cough out twenty matches afore I gets a light.' But she finds the candle, and lights it, before the cough comes on. It seizes her in the moment of success, and she sits down rocking herself to and fro, and gasping at intervals: 'O, my lungs is awful bad! my lungs is wore away to cabbage-nets!' until the fit is over. During its continuance she has had no power of sight, or any other power not absorbed in the struggle; but as it leaves her, she begins to strain her eyes, and as soon as she is able to articulate, she cries, staring: 'Why, it's you!' 'Are you so surprised to see me?' 'I thought I never should have seen you again, deary. I thought you was dead, and gone to Heaven.' 'Why?' 'I didn't suppose you could have kept away, alive, so long, from the poor old soul with the real receipt for mixing it. And you are in mourning too! Why didn't you come and have a pipe or two of comfort? Did they leave you money, perhaps, and so you didn't want comfort?' 'No.' 'Who was they as died, deary?' 'A relative.' 'Died of what, lovey?' 'Probably, Death.' 'We are short to-night!' cries the woman, with a propitiatory laugh. 'Short and snappish we are! But we're out of sorts for want of a smoke. We've got the all-overs, haven't us, deary? But this is the place to cure 'em in; this is the place where the all- overs is smoked off.' 'You may make ready, then,' replies the visitor, 'as soon as you like.' He divests himself of his shoes, loosens his cravat, and lies across the foot of the squalid bed, with his head resting on his left hand. 'Now you begin to look like yourself,' says the woman approvingly. 'Now I begin to know my old customer indeed! Been trying to mix for yourself this long time, poppet?' 'I have been taking it now and then in my own way.' 'Never take it your own way. It ain't good for trade, and it ain't good for you. Where's my ink-bottle, and where's my thimble, and where's my little spoon? He's going to take it in a artful form now, my deary dear!' Entering on her process, and beginning to bubble and blow at the faint spark enclosed in the hollow of her hands, she speaks from time to time, in a tone of snuffling satisfaction, without leaving off. When he speaks, he does so without looking at her, and as if his thoughts were already roaming away by anticipation. 'I've got a pretty many smokes ready for you, first and last, haven't I, chuckey?' 'A good many.' 'When you first come, you was quite new to it; warn't ye?' 'Yes, I was easily disposed of, then.' 'But you got on in the world, and was able by-and-by to take your pipe with the best of 'em, warn't ye?' 'Ah; and the worst.' 'It's just ready for you. What a sweet singer you was when you first come! Used to drop your head, and sing yourself off like a bird! It's ready for you now, deary.' He takes it from her with great care, and puts the mouthpiece to his lips. She seats herself beside him, ready to refill the pipe. After inhaling a few whiffs in silence, he doubtingly accosts her with: 'Is it as potent as it used to be?' 'What do you speak of, deary?' 'What should I speak of, but what I have in my mouth?' 'It's just the same. Always the identical same.' 'It doesn't taste so. And it's slower.' 'You've got more used to it, you see.' 'That may be the cause, certainly. Look here.' He stops, becomes dreamy, and seems to forget that he has invited her attention. She bends over him, and speaks in his ear. 'I'm attending to you. Says you just now, Look here. Says I now, I'm attending to ye. We was talking just before of your being used to it.' 'I know all that. I was only thinking. Look here. Suppose you had something in your mind; something you were going to do.' 'Yes, deary; something I was going to do?' 'But had not quite determined to do.' 'Yes, deary.' 'Might or might not do, you understand.' 'Yes.' With the point of a needle she stirs the contents of the bowl. 'Should you do it in your fancy, when you were lying here doing this?' She nods her head. 'Over and over again.' 'Just like me! I did it over and over again. I have done it hundreds of thousands of times in this room.' 'It's to be hoped it was pleasant to do, deary.' 'It WAS pleasant to do!' He says this with a savage air, and a spring or start at her. Quite unmoved she retouches and replenishes the contents of the bowl with her little spatula. Seeing her intent upon the occupation, he sinks into his former attitude. 'It was a journey, a difficult and dangerous journey. That was the subject in my mind. A hazardous and perilous journey, over abysses where a slip would be destruction. Look down, look down! You see what lies at the bottom there?' He has darted forward to say it, and to point at the ground, as though at some imaginary object far beneath. The woman looks at him, as his spasmodic face approaches close to hers, and not at his pointing. She seems to know what the influence of her perfect quietude would be; if so, she has not miscalculated it, for he subsides again. 'Well; I have told you I did it here hundreds of thousands of times. What do I say? I did it millions and billions of times. I did it so often, and through such vast expanses of time, that when it was really done, it seemed not worth the doing, it was done so soon.' 'That's the journey you have been away upon,' she quietly remarks. He glares at her as he smokes; and then, his eyes becoming filmy, answers: 'That's the journey.' Silence ensues. His eyes are sometimes closed and sometimes open. The woman sits beside him, very attentive to the pipe, which is all the while at his lips. 'I'll warrant,' she observes, when he has been looking fixedly at her for some consecutive moments, with a singular appearance in his eyes of seeming to see her a long way off, instead of so near him: 'I'll warrant you made the journey in a many ways, when you made it so often?' 'No, always in one way.' 'Always in the same way?' 'Ay.' 'In the way in which it was really made at last?' 'Ay.' 'And always took the same pleasure in harping on it?' 'Ay.' For the time he appears unequal to any other reply than this lazy monosyllabic assent. Probably to assure herself that it is not the assent of a mere automaton, she reverses the form of her next sentence. 'Did you never get tired of it, deary, and try to call up something else for a change?' He struggles into a sitting posture, and retorts upon her: 'What do you mean? What did I want? What did I come for?' She gently lays him back again, and before returning him the instrument he has dropped, revives the fire in it with her own breath; then says to him, coaxingly: 'Sure, sure, sure! Yes, yes, yes! Now I go along with you. You was too quick for me. I see now. You come o' purpose to take the journey. Why, I might have known it, through its standing by you so.' He answers first with a laugh, and then with a passionate setting of his teeth: 'Yes, I came on purpose. When I could not bear my life, I came to get the relief, and I got it. It WAS one! It WAS one!' This repetition with extraordinary vehemence, and the snarl of a wolf. She observes him very cautiously, as though mentally feeling her way to her next remark. It is: 'There was a fellow-traveller, deary.' 'Ha, ha, ha!' He breaks into a ringing laugh, or rather yell. 'To think,' he cries, 'how often fellow-traveller, and yet not know it! To think how many times he went the journey, and never saw the road!' The woman kneels upon the floor, with her arms crossed on the coverlet of the bed, close by him, and her chin upon them. In this crouching attitude she watches him. The pipe is falling from his mouth. She puts it back, and laying her hand upon his chest, moves him slightly from side to side. Upon that he speaks, as if she had spoken. 'Yes! I always made the journey first, before the changes of colours and the great landscapes and glittering processions began. They couldn't begin till it was off my mind. I had no room till then for anything else.' Once more he lapses into silence. Once more she lays her hand upon his chest, and moves him slightly to and fro, as a cat might stimulate a half-slain mouse. Once more he speaks, as if she had spoken. 'What? I told you so. When it comes to be real at last, it is so short that it seems unreal for the first time. Hark!' 'Yes, deary. I'm listening.' 'Time and place are both at hand.' He is on his feet, speaking in a whisper, and as if in the dark. 'Time, place, and fellow-traveller,' she suggests, adopting his tone, and holding him softly by the arm. 'How could the time be at hand unless the fellow-traveller was? Hush! The journey's made. It's over.' 'So soon?' 'That's what I said to you. So soon. Wait a little. This is a vision. I shall sleep it off. It has been too short and easy. I must have a better vision than this; this is the poorest of all. No struggle, no consciousness of peril, no entreaty--and yet I never saw THAT before.' With a start. 'Saw what, deary?' 'Look at it! Look what a poor, mean, miserable thing it is! THAT must be real. It's over.' He has accompanied this incoherence with some wild unmeaning gestures; but they trail off into the progressive inaction of stupor, and he lies a log upon the bed. The woman, however, is still inquisitive. With a repetition of her cat-like action she slightly stirs his body again, and listens; stirs again, and listens; whispers to it, and listens. Finding it past all rousing for the time, she slowly gets upon her feet, with an air of disappointment, and flicks the face with the back of her hand in turning from it. But she goes no further away from it than the chair upon the hearth. She sits in it, with an elbow on one of its arms, and her chin upon her hand, intent upon him. 'I heard ye say once,' she croaks under her breath, 'I heard ye say once, when I was lying where you're lying, and you were making your speculations upon me, "Unintelligible!" I heard you say so, of two more than me. But don't ye be too sure always; don't be ye too sure, beauty!' Unwinking, cat-like, and intent, she presently adds: 'Not so potent as it once was? Ah! Perhaps not at first. You may be more right there. Practice makes perfect. I may have learned the secret how to make ye talk, deary.' He talks no more, whether or no. Twitching in an ugly way from time to time, both as to his face and limbs, he lies heavy and silent. The wretched candle burns down; the woman takes its expiring end between her fingers, lights another at it, crams the guttering frying morsel deep into the candlestick, and rams it home with the new candle, as if she were loading some ill-savoured and unseemly weapon of witchcraft; the new candle in its turn burns down; and still he lies insensible. At length what remains of the last candle is blown out, and daylight looks into the room. It has not looked very long, when he sits up, chilled and shaking, slowly recovers consciousness of where he is, and makes himself ready to depart. The woman receives what he pays her with a grateful, 'Bless ye, bless ye, deary!' and seems, tired out, to begin making herself ready for sleep as he leaves the room. But seeming may be false or true. It is false in this case; for, the moment the stairs have ceased to creak under his tread, she glides after him, muttering emphatically: 'I'll not miss ye twice!' There is no egress from the court but by its entrance. With a weird peep from the doorway, she watches for his looking back. He does not look back before disappearing, with a wavering step. She follows him, peeps from the court, sees him still faltering on without looking back, and holds him in view. He repairs to the back of Aldersgate Street, where a door immediately opens to his knocking. She crouches in another doorway, watching that one, and easily comprehending that he puts up temporarily at that house. Her patience is unexhausted by hours. For sustenance she can, and does, buy bread within a hundred yards, and milk as it is carried past her. He comes forth again at noon, having changed his dress, but carrying nothing in his hand, and having nothing carried for him. He is not going back into the country, therefore, just yet. She follows him a little way, hesitates, instantaneously turns confidently, and goes straight into the house he has quitted. 'Is the gentleman from Cloisterham indoors? 'Just gone out.' 'Unlucky. When does the gentleman return to Cloisterham?' 'At six this evening.' 'Bless ye and thank ye. May the Lord prosper a business where a civil question, even from a poor soul, is so civilly answered!' 'I'll not miss ye twice!' repeats the poor soul in the street, and not so civilly. 'I lost ye last, where that omnibus you got into nigh your journey's end plied betwixt the station and the place. I wasn't so much as certain that you even went right on to the place. Now I know ye did. My gentleman from Cloisterham, I'll be there before ye, and bide your coming. I've swore my oath that I'll not miss ye twice!' Accordingly, that same evening the poor soul stands in Cloisterham High Street, looking at the many quaint gables of the Nuns' House, and getting through the time as she best can until nine o'clock; at which hour she has reason to suppose that the arriving omnibus passengers may have some interest for her. The friendly darkness, at that hour, renders it easy for her to ascertain whether this be so or not; and it is so, for the passenger not to be missed twice arrives among the rest. 'Now let me see what becomes of you. Go on!' An observation addressed to the air, and yet it might be addressed to the passenger, so compliantly does he go on along the High Street until he comes to an arched gateway, at which he unexpectedly vanishes. The poor soul quickens her pace; is swift, and close upon him entering under the gateway; but only sees a postern staircase on one side of it, and on the other side an ancient vaulted room, in which a large-headed, gray-haired gentleman is writing, under the odd circumstances of sitting open to the thoroughfare and eyeing all who pass, as if he were toll- taker of the gateway: though the way is free. 'Halloa!' he cries in a low voice, seeing her brought to a stand- still: 'who are you looking for?' 'There was a gentleman passed in here this minute, sir.' 'Of course there was. What do you want with him?' 'Where do he live, deary?' 'Live? Up that staircase.' 'Bless ye! Whisper. What's his name, deary?' 'Surname Jasper, Christian name John. Mr. John Jasper.' 'Has he a calling, good gentleman?' 'Calling? Yes. Sings in the choir.' 'In the spire?' 'Choir.' 'What's that?' Mr. Datchery rises from his papers, and comes to his doorstep. 'Do you know what a cathedral is?' he asks, jocosely. The woman nods. 'What is it?' She looks puzzled, casting about in her mind to find a definition, when it occurs to her that it is easier to point out the substantial object itself, massive against the dark-blue sky and the early stars. 'That's the answer. Go in there at seven to-morrow morning, and you may see Mr. John Jasper, and hear him too.' 'Thank ye! Thank ye!' The burst of triumph in which she thanks him does not escape the notice of the single buffer of an easy temper living idly on his means. He glances at her; clasps his hands behind him, as the wont of such buffers is; and lounges along the echoing Precincts at her side. 'Or,' he suggests, with a backward hitch of his head, 'you can go up at once to Mr. Jasper's rooms there.' The woman eyes him with a cunning smile, and shakes her head. 'O! you don't want to speak to him?' She repeats her dumb reply, and forms with her lips a soundless 'No.' 'You can admire him at a distance three times a day, whenever you like. It's a long way to come for that, though.' The woman looks up quickly. If Mr. Datchery thinks she is to be so induced to declare where she comes from, he is of a much easier temper than she is. But she acquits him of such an artful thought, as he lounges along, like the chartered bore of the city, with his uncovered gray hair blowing about, and his purposeless hands rattling the loose money in the pockets of his trousers. The chink of the money has an attraction for her greedy ears. 'Wouldn't you help me to pay for my traveller's lodging, dear gentleman, and to pay my way along? I am a poor soul, I am indeed, and troubled with a grievous cough.' 'You know the travellers' lodging, I perceive, and are making directly for it,' is Mr. Datchery's bland comment, still rattling his loose money. 'Been here often, my good woman?' 'Once in all my life.' 'Ay, ay?' They have arrived at the entrance to the Monks' Vineyard. An appropriate remembrance, presenting an exemplary model for imitation, is revived in the woman's mind by the sight of the place. She stops at the gate, and says energetically: 'By this token, though you mayn't believe it, That a young gentleman gave me three-and-sixpence as I was coughing my breath away on this very grass. I asked him for three-and-sixpence, and he gave it me.' 'Wasn't it a little cool to name your sum?' hints Mr. Datchery, still rattling. 'Isn't it customary to leave the amount open? Mightn't it have had the appearance, to the young gentleman--only the appearance--that he was rather dictated to?' 'Look'ee here, deary,' she replies, in a confidential and persuasive tone, 'I wanted the money to lay it out on a medicine as does me good, and as I deal in. I told the young gentleman so, and he gave it me, and I laid it out honest to the last brass farden. I want to lay out the same sum in the same way now; and if you'll give it me, I'll lay it out honest to the last brass farden again, upon my soul!' 'What's the medicine?' 'I'll be honest with you beforehand, as well as after. It's opium.' Mr. Datchery, with a sudden change of countenance, gives her a sudden look. 'It's opium, deary. Neither more nor less. And it's like a human creetur so far, that you always hear what can be said against it, but seldom what can be said in its praise.' Mr. Datchery begins very slowly to count out the sum demanded of him. Greedily watching his hands, she continues to hold forth on the great example set him. 'It was last Christmas Eve, just arter dark, the once that I was here afore, when the young gentleman gave me the three-and-six.' Mr. Datchery stops in his counting, finds he has counted wrong, shakes his money together, and begins again. 'And the young gentleman's name,' she adds, 'was Edwin.' Mr. Datchery drops some money, stoops to pick it up, and reddens with the exertion as he asks: 'How do you know the young gentleman's name?' 'I asked him for it, and he told it me. I only asked him the two questions, what was his Chris'en name, and whether he'd a sweetheart? And he answered, Edwin, and he hadn't.' Mr. Datchery pauses with the selected coins in his hand, rather as if he were falling into a brown study of their value, and couldn't bear to part with them. The woman looks at him distrustfully, and with her anger brewing for the event of his thinking better of the gift; but he bestows it on her as if he were abstracting his mind from the sacrifice, and with many servile thanks she goes her way. John Jasper's lamp is kindled, and his lighthouse is shining when Mr. Datchery returns alone towards it. As mariners on a dangerous voyage, approaching an iron-bound coast, may look along the beams of the warning light to the haven lying beyond it that may never be reached, so Mr. Datchery's wistful gaze is directed to this beacon, and beyond. His object in now revisiting his lodging is merely to put on the hat which seems so superfluous an article in his wardrobe. It is half-past ten by the Cathedral clock when he walks out into the Precincts again; he lingers and looks about him, as though, the enchanted hour when Mr. Durdles may be stoned home having struck, he had some expectation of seeing the Imp who is appointed to the mission of stoning him. In effect, that Power of Evil is abroad. Having nothing living to stone at the moment, he is discovered by Mr. Datchery in the unholy office of stoning the dead, through the railings of the churchyard. The Imp finds this a relishing and piquing pursuit; firstly, because their resting-place is announced to be sacred; and secondly, because the tall headstones are sufficiently like themselves, on their beat in the dark, to justify the delicious fancy that they are hurt when hit. Mr. Datchery hails with him: 'Halloa, Winks!' He acknowledges the hail with: 'Halloa, Dick!' Their acquaintance seemingly having been established on a familiar footing. 'But, I say,' he remonstrates, 'don't yer go a-making my name public. I never means to plead to no name, mind yer. When they says to me in the Lock-up, a-going to put me down in the book, "What's your name?" I says to them, "Find out." Likewise when they says, "What's your religion?" I says, "Find out."' Which, it may be observed in passing, it would be immensely difficult for the State, however statistical, to do. 'Asides which,' adds the boy, 'there ain't no family of Winkses.' 'I think there must be.' 'Yer lie, there ain't. The travellers give me the name on account of my getting no settled sleep and being knocked up all night; whereby I gets one eye roused open afore I've shut the other. That's what Winks means. Deputy's the nighest name to indict me by: but yer wouldn't catch me pleading to that, neither.' 'Deputy be it always, then. We two are good friends; eh, Deputy?' 'Jolly good.' 'I forgave you the debt you owed me when we first became acquainted, and many of my sixpences have come your way since; eh, Deputy?' 'Ah! And what's more, yer ain't no friend o' Jarsper's. What did he go a-histing me off my legs for?' 'What indeed! But never mind him now. A shilling of mine is going your way to-night, Deputy. You have just taken in a lodger I have been speaking to; an infirm woman with a cough.' 'Puffer,' assents Deputy, with a shrewd leer of recognition, and smoking an imaginary pipe, with his head very much on one side and his eyes very much out of their places: 'Hopeum Puffer.' 'What is her name?' ''Er Royal Highness the Princess Puffer.' 'She has some other name than that; where does she live?' 'Up in London. Among the Jacks.' 'The sailors?' 'I said so; Jacks; and Chayner men: and hother Knifers.' 'I should like to know, through you, exactly where she lives.' 'All right. Give us 'old.' A shilling passes; and, in that spirit of confidence which should pervade all business transactions between principals of honour, this piece of business is considered done. 'But here's a lark!' cries Deputy. 'Where did yer think 'Er Royal Highness is a-goin' to to-morrow morning? Blest if she ain't a- goin' to the KIN-FREE-DER-EL!' He greatly prolongs the word in his ecstasy, and smites his leg, and doubles himself up in a fit of shrill laughter. 'How do you know that, Deputy?' 'Cos she told me so just now. She said she must be hup and hout o' purpose. She ses, "Deputy, I must 'ave a early wash, and make myself as swell as I can, for I'm a-goin' to take a turn at the KIN-FREE-DER-EL!"' He separates the syllables with his former zest, and, not finding his sense of the ludicrous sufficiently relieved by stamping about on the pavement, breaks into a slow and stately dance, perhaps supposed to be performed by the Dean. Mr. Datchery receives the communication with a well-satisfied though pondering face, and breaks up the conference. Returning to his quaint lodging, and sitting long over the supper of bread-and- cheese and salad and ale which Mrs. Tope has left prepared for him, he still sits when his supper is finished. At length he rises, throws open the door of a corner cupboard, and refers to a few uncouth chalked strokes on its inner side. 'I like,' says Mr. Datchery, 'the old tavern way of keeping scores. Illegible except to the scorer. The scorer not committed, the scored debited with what is against him. Hum; ha! A very small score this; a very poor score!' He sighs over the contemplation of its poverty, takes a bit of chalk from one of the cupboard shelves, and pauses with it in his hand, uncertain what addition to make to the account. 'I think a moderate stroke,' he concludes, 'is all I am justified in scoring up;' so, suits the action to the word, closes the cupboard, and goes to bed. A brilliant morning shines on the old city. Its antiquities and ruins are surpassingly beautiful, with a lusty ivy gleaming in the sun, and the rich trees waving in the balmy air. Changes of glorious light from moving boughs, songs of birds, scents from gardens, woods, and fields--or, rather, from the one great garden of the whole cultivated island in its yielding time--penetrate into the Cathedral, subdue its earthy odour, and preach the Resurrection and the Life. The cold stone tombs of centuries ago grow warm; and flecks of brightness dart into the sternest marble corners of the building, fluttering there like wings. Comes Mr. Tope with his large keys, and yawningly unlocks and sets open. Come Mrs. Tope and attendant sweeping sprites. Come, in due time, organist and bellows-boy, peeping down from the red curtains in the loft, fearlessly flapping dust from books up at that remote elevation, and whisking it from stops and pedals. Come sundry rooks, from various quarters of the sky, back to the great tower; who may be presumed to enjoy vibration, and to know that bell and organ are going to give it them. Come a very small and straggling congregation indeed: chiefly from Minor Canon Corner and the Precincts. Come Mr. Crisparkle, fresh and bright; and his ministering brethren, not quite so fresh and bright. Come the Choir in a hurry (always in a hurry, and struggling into their nightgowns at the last moment, like children shirking bed), and comes John Jasper leading their line. Last of all comes Mr. Datchery into a stall, one of a choice empty collection very much at his service, and glancing about him for Her Royal Highness the Princess Puffer. The service is pretty well advanced before Mr. Datchery can discern Her Royal Highness. But by that time he has made her out, in the shade. She is behind a pillar, carefully withdrawn from the Choir- master's view, but regards him with the closest attention. All unconscious of her presence, he chants and sings. She grins when he is most musically fervid, and--yes, Mr. Datchery sees her do it!--shakes her fist at him behind the pillar's friendly shelter. Mr. Datchery looks again, to convince himself. Yes, again! As ugly and withered as one of the fantastic carvings on the under brackets of the stall seats, as malignant as the Evil One, as hard as the big brass eagle holding the sacred books upon his wings (and, according to the sculptor's representation of his ferocious attributes, not at all converted by them), she hugs herself in her lean arms, and then shakes both fists at the leader of the Choir. And at that moment, outside the grated door of the Choir, having eluded the vigilance of Mr. Tope by shifty resources in which he is an adept, Deputy peeps, sharp-eyed, through the bars, and stares astounded from the threatener to the threatened. The service comes to an end, and the servitors disperse to breakfast. Mr. Datchery accosts his last new acquaintance outside, when the Choir (as much in a hurry to get their bedgowns off, as they were but now to get them on) have scuffled away. 'Well, mistress. Good morning. You have seen him?' 'I'VE seen him, deary; I'VE seen him!' 'And you know him?' 'Know him! Better far than all the Reverend Parsons put together know him.' Mrs. Tope's care has spread a very neat, clean breakfast ready for her lodger. Before sitting down to it, he opens his corner- cupboard door; takes his bit of chalk from its shelf; adds one thick line to the score, extending from the top of the cupboard door to the bottom; and then falls to with an appetite. Publication Date: June 17th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.dickens

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-chris-harris-grimshaw-amp-mortimer-the-case-book/

Chris Harris Grimshaw & Mortimer: The Case Book The Case Of: The Mysterious Wound Wesley Mortimer woke. The morning shone through parted curtains, blinding him in his dazed state. Shielding his eyes, he rose, and wobbled slightly, steadying himself with his free hand on the bedpost, before getting dressed slowly with all the grace of...well, he didn't know, it wasn't his job to come up with similes. Outside, the sound of wheels echoed, clattering over cobblestones with a slight err to the usual pattern. Moving away from the house , he thought, remembering the missing cobblestone down the street. Stumbling through the brown-walled kitchen, Wesley pulled a chair from under the kitchen table, before slowly sinking onto, yawning as he did so. Rubbing his eyes, blurred vision cleared and something slowly came into view. His brow furrowed. He blinked. And then he stood slowly up, hands shaking as he backed away from the table. “Grimshaw?” His companions face appeared behind him, shortly followed by the rest of his body. “Ah, good morning!” “No, Grimshaw...This is is not a good morning. Why,” Wesley sighed, exasperated, “is there a corpse on the kitchen table?” “Oh, the same reason for the skin in the kettle.” Grimshaw pointed at said kettle, which whistled away on top of the stove. “Tea?” “No thanks.” “Shame.” Grimshaw almost pouted. “Have you seen the magnifying glass?” Wesley looked at the kettle, and quickly voiced a burning question. “Why?” “You remember Henry Herman?” Grimshaw tossed a slice of bread aside, delighted to find his magnifying glass lying beneath. “Yes, missing chap.” Wesley cocked his head, leaning forward to watch Grimshaw pour most of the contents of the kettle onto a small china plate, and the rest into a cup, which he stirred with the magnifying glass's handle. “What are you doing?” Wiping the magnifying glass dry, Grimshaw observed the small bubbling square of boiled skin he'd poured onto the plate. “Well, it appears that Stangerson's boys have proved moderately adept for once. You probably heard them leave.” “Yes.” Wesley took a deep breath. “But why is his corpse on our kitchen table?” Grimshaw waved his hand dismissively at Wesley. “No room on the floor. Anyway, it's on a cloth, it's fine.” He took a sip from his cup, pausing briefly. “Mr Herman's skin certainly gave this tea an extra flavour.” He took another sip, placing the cup gently down next to the stove. “Hand me a knife.” Wesley grabbed a knife from the next chair, and swapped it with Grimshaw's magnifying glass, taking care to hold it by the lens and not the still-dripping handle. “Thanks.” Grimshaw muttered, before slamming the knife down onto the square of skin, cleaving it in two and cracking the cheap china. “What are you doing now?” Wesley moaned; he hadn't intended it to be whiny, but there was only so much he could take. “This man,” Grimshaw explained, “was found floating in the Thames earlier. Obviously he died – hand me the magnifying glass – recently, as his skin is not much paler than I imagine his usual complexion to be.” “So, why do you have it? Him, I mean.” Wesley placed the magnifying glass back into Grimshaw's outstretched hand, taking the knife from him. “Because of the – thanks – nature of the wound.” Grimshaw observed the skin with the glass again, pointing at the wound. Wesley bent to look at the wound closely. “Well, it's a stab wound, but the skin is...blackened? Burnt, maybe?” “Hence the skin in the kettle.” “Wouldn't that just boil the skin?” “Well, yes.” Grimshaw nodded enthusiastically. There was a brief pause. “Am I missing something?” Wesley wanted to shout at his companion, to release the tense knot in his stomach, let the annoyance out. “Yes, you are. You forget also, that I wanted tea. And boiling was close enough.” He looked coyly at Wesley. “Killing two birds with one stone.” Wesley looked confused. “Is that expression around in the 1920s?” “Yes, it's been around since Hobbe used it in 1656.” “Oh, wow.” Wesley nodded appreciatively. “I thought it was a post-World War Two thing.” “Don't be stupid. There'll never be a second world war.” Grimshaw tutted as only an Englishman could. “Why do I put up with you, Grimshaw?” “Because I pay your rent, Mortimer.” Grimshaw reprimanded as he walked out of kitchen, sliding into polished shoes and grabbing his hat and cane. Wesley followed him like a sheep after an insufferable dog. “Where are you going?” “Scotland Yard.” Grimshaw said, opening the door and strolling out into the street. Above the door, a brass plaque read: “Lewis Grimshaw Private Detective Kate Mortimer nee Grimshaw In Loving Memory” “Right.” Wesley stuffed himself into shoes, slamming the door behind him before he could lose sight of his companion. “Indeed.” Grimshaw raised his hand. “Cabbie!” * The cab stopped outside Scotland Yard, just like a cab should have. Whenever he got in a cab, Wesley couldn't help but think of Jefferson Hope. He'd never dare voice that though, just in case nobody got the reference. “Thank you, kind sir!” Grimshaw called to the cab driver as he handed him a tip and walked away, Wesley following. “Kind sir?” Wesley hissed at Grimshaw. “Must you be so patronising?” From the look Grimshaw gave him, Wesley almost expected a flat-out “yes”. Instead, Grimshaw remarked, “Any man who is prepared to endure vast amounts of hardship to aid others must be a kind of gentleman.” “By that logic, I'm a kind sir...” Wesley muttered. “Aren't we all?” Grimshaw asked. Wesley did not answer, for it was rhetorical. Grimshaw strolled into the building; doors were no barrier, or else his presence caused them to shuffle to the side out of discontent. Policemen turned to stare, and the tapping of typewriters paused in his wake. “Stangerson!” Grimshaw called as he approached the grey-haired Chief Constable, whose desk was littered with paperwork in complete ignorance of in-trays. Stangerson turned to face him and rolled his eyes. “Grimshaw.... Lovely to see you twice in one day!” “Indeed.” Grimshaw seemed oblivious to sarcasm, Wesley had noted; an egotistical mind generally was. “A great day this is for you, to be graced by presence, as well as having the case of Henry Herman practically solved.” Wesley swivelled to face Grimshaw, and he could feel lines of confusion etched onto his face. “Really?” Stangerson seemed enthusiastic now. “Who did it?” Grimshaw shrugged. “We don't know.” “Do you have any leads?” Wesley could hear the annoyance in Stangerson's voice. “Not-” Wesley began, before Grimshaw cut him off. “Of course,” Grimshaw beamed, “the murderer is careless, shown by the disposal of the body; floating in the Thames? Not smart. He must then live near the Thames, as he wouldn't want to travel far from home in this winter's cold and pouring rain. Judging by the time he's been missing, Henry must have been kept somewhere out of sight, suggesting an attic or basement. Also, the surname “Herman” is German, so we could assume that the murderer lost either friend or family during the war, and wanted some sort of revenge.” “That really doesn't narrow it down.” Wesley tried to say it gently; he knew how worked up Grimshaw could get. “Also, note the wound. A very large incision; not made by a standard knife, no. I can assume that the murderer is a professional who uses knives in his business.” Grimshaw folded his arms, as if the case was over. “You assume, do you?” Stangerson asked carefully. “Guessing is not the same as evidence.” “Assumptions from evidence are not merely guesswork.” Grimshaw abruptly turned away, and walked out of the building, Wesley staring after him. Stangerson looked at Wesley, who shrugged. “You know what he's like.” “I know.” Stangerson sighed, “I'll look into what he said, and send a courier around later.” “Thank you.” Wesley turned and ran after Grimshaw, who was strolling down the street. “Wait!” Grimshaw paused and turned. “Ah, Wesley. You caught up.” “You left me behind!” Nameless faces turned to him for all but a second. “I never asked you to come with, you just followed.” Wesley spluttered, before realising that Grimshaw was right. “Fine....” “What did Stangerson say to you?” Grimshaw asked. “He said he'll look into what you said.” They began to walk again. “Where are we going?” “To where the body was found.” “But Stangerson said-” “The police are too slow.” Wesley tried to keep up with his much-taller companion's larger strides, and soon found himself short of breath. Everytime... “Are we walking there?” “Yes.” Grimshaw answered flatly, “Problem?” “Can we not get a cab again? I've got plenty of change here.” Grimshaw sighed. “Wesley, you know in films, where people ask “why didn't they just get the bus” or something foolish like that?” Wesley nodded hesitantly. “Well, the answer is usually something to do with better film-making or story-telling.” Grimshaw explained. “And while this is neither – in fact, the 1920s don't even have films with that content – it operates on the premise that we don't want to do the same thing twice.” “Alright, whatever, let's go.” Wesley was sick of Grimshaw's crap. * The Thames rippled in the morning breeze. Grimshaw's cane was pointing at a specific point. “That,” he proclaimed, “is where the body was found.” “How do you know?” Wesley asked, in awe of his partner's deduction. “Stangerson showed me on a map earlier.” “Oh...” “Anyway, we're looking for a butcher.” Grimshaw's voice held a level of certainty about it. “How can you be of sure of that?” Wesley regarded him with suspicion, expecting another trick. “Heat and knives! Of course it's a butcher. The stench of death and the sounds of customers would easily hide Henry's cries for help, or any stench from his body. Most butchers have a basement for storing stock, and Henry was likely thrown in there. Obviously, in the month he's been missing, he would have been fed, so a place where food originates from would be a perfect source.” Grimshaw grinned. “There is one, not far from here, we'll start there. The investigations begin!” He tucked his cane under his so he could rub his hands together. Wesley shook his head. “What if you're wrong, Lewis?” Grimshaw's face twisted in confusion. “You never call me Lewis.” “What if you're wrong?” Wesley asked, louder this time. “Well...” Grimshaw paused, looking lost just for a moment. “Well, then we go back to see if Stangerson's courier has visited.” He nodded to himself. “Yes. Come on!” * The British flag hung over a window of the butcher's, with the other displaying a selection of meat, none of which Wesley was able to identify. “I've got a good feeling about this one!” Grimshaw smiled. “You said that about the last three.” Wesley huffed. “This time is different!” “You said that about the last two...” Grimshaw shot Wesley a scathing look, before entering the store, a bell ringing as the door opened. He looked around, taking in every detail: A fire and stove behind the counter, as well as a knife rack; murder weapon there? Probably. Floor is chipped in multiple places: general wearing of feet eroding the ground, or signs of a struggle. Proprietor is bald and clean shaven, so no hair will fall on either meat...or corpse. “You need a hand?” The butcher asked. Grimshaw walked towards him as Wesley entered the store. After nodding at Wesley, Grimshaw smiled, and said “Ah, Guten Tag!”. Wesley winced at the barely-passable German accent while Grimshaw watched the butcher's reaction. Eyes widened. Lips tightened. Eyes squinted back again, and body language became closed, shifting back and crossing his arms. Gotcha! “My friend, Henry Herman. You seen?” The butcher's eyes darted unconsciously to the knife rack, before saying with a shake in his voice, “Never heard of him.” “Are you sure?” Grimshaw asked, accent returning to usual now. “Because he's been stabbed recently, and you glanced at your knife rack at the mere mention of his name?” For no more than a second, the butcher's eyes darted left and right, before he reached for a knife. Wesley darted forwards, and Grimshaw lashed out with his cane, hitting the butcher around the head. With a cry the butcher fell, with another blow winding him and knocking him to the floor. Grimshaw stepped over him, noting his name. “Sir butcher, you are under arrest for the murder of Henry Herman.” Grimshaw smiled. “Anything to say Wesley?” “Nothing much.” Wesley shook his head. There was silence. “Grimshaw?” “Yes?” Grimshaw kept the end of his cane on the butcher's face, ready to lash out if he tried to escape. “Do you think we'll ever be as famous as Holmes and Watson?” “We could do with the cash, couldn't we?” Grimshaw nodded, considering it. Wesley agreed, despite it being rhetorical. “But do you?” “No.” Grimshaw shook his head. “They've got a much better author.” The Case Of: The Burnt Man Wesley Mortimer woke, just as he did everyday. He stretched as usual, groaned as usual and smelled the smoke in the air as usual. “Wait a minute...” He muttered, before stretching his arms up. He threw on a dressing gown, his brown one today; the black one was elsewhere, he wasn't sure where. He was certain it just disappeared overnight, but that was unlikely as his room's door was locked, and his window closed, and remained unbroken. He'd probably just put it in the wrong cupboard. Having no real urgency in his day, he checked his wardrobe, finding no trace of it. He shrugged, before leaving the room and heading to the kitchen. “Morning!” Grimshaw called to him. “How you doing?” Mortimer scrunched his face up in disapproval. “That's a bit 1990s, isn't it?” “Don't you mean 1890s?” Grimshaw asked, opening a drawer and rooting around in it. “No, I mean the 1990s.” Mortimer called over the noise of assorted...well, he didn't know what was in that drawer, that was Grimshaw's drawer. “Just seems a bit off for some 1920s fiction.” “Are we fiction? I forget.” Grimshaw wasn't paying attention, Mortimer could tell. So he ignored it and looked around. “Wait a minute...” Grimshaw looked abruptly up and stopped rooting around in the drawer. “What?” “Something's not right this morning, and I'm not sure what.” He sat down at the table and watched Grimshaw closely as he went back to the drawer and withdrew something from it, throwing it on the bonfire. “Wait a minute...” “Is this about the bonfire?” Grimshaw asked, waving an arm at the burning pile of stuff. There was a sigh. “Why,” Mortimer asked, “Is there a bonfire in the kitchen?” Grimshaw looked at it, waving his arm at it again. “You don't like?” There was a sigh. “The body on the table last week was one thing,” he paused, not for dramatic effect like anyone reading this may think, but simply to yawn, “but this is just ridiculous! Not to mention dangerous, what if it burns the house down?” Grimshaw seemed shocked, his face had gone all weird. “It's next to the sink, it's fine.” “So, if it gets out of control, you're just gonna pour water on it until it dies?” Mortimer rubbed his forehead, which was beginning to ache; he couldn't take this every freaking week. “Pretty much, yes. Problem?” “What if the sink catches fire?” Mortimer asked, genuinely a bit curious about his friend's plan. “Oh, the sinks full of water. And you can't set water on fire unless there's some fracking nearby, and then its only because the water becomes mixed with methane.” Grimshaw answered quickly and rather dismissively, even waving his hand as if to dispel Mortimer. “What's fracking?” “I think it's a word people use instead of saying...” Grimshaw looked around quickly, before leaning in and lowering voice, “Instead of saying fuck .” Mortimer was taken aback “Why does intercourse cause methane in the water? How, I mean.” “I dunno, they must be doing it wrong. Or I meant that way of getting oil out from underground. Not quite sure really, but none of that appears to be happening around here.” “The intercourse or the other thing?” “Probably both; it's the 1920s, no-one has sex and, even if they did, we are bloody English, and will not speak of it!” Grimshaw sounded strangely patriotic. “Oh, fair enough then.” There was silence. “Why is it there though?” Mortimer asked. “Don't you like it?” Grimshaw sounded hurt. “Please say it's not just there because you like fire.” There was a sigh. “It is pretty though.” Grimshaw observed. “But there is a practical reason for it; a man was burnt alive a couple of days ago, and I was observing the effects that fire has on clothing to see roughly how long he was burning for.” “Why time it?” “Oh, just to see if the suspect's alibi works out. Apparently, he was visiting his grandma around the time police found him, but the timing of him arriving there seems to be in question. So I'm burning some old clothes to both clear some room around the house and see how long it takes. Currently, the suspect seems to be in the clear.” He picked up a sleeve and threw it on the fire, taking note of the time. Mortimer narrowed his eyes and stood up. “What was that?” “Hmmm?” Grimshaw questioned without words, a universal way of asking someone to repeat themselves. Mortimer walked slowly over to Grimshaw. “What. Did. You. Put. In. The. Fire.” “Oh, just the last piece of that brown dressing gown you hate..” Grimshaw beamed at him. “Hope that's okay.” Mortimer looked at the brown sleeve of his dressing gown. “I'm wearing the brown one, you clod!” Grimshaw looked him up and down, and blinked in surprise. “So you are. Well, that must have been one, I suppose.” “Are you fracking colourblind?” Mortimer grabbed the sleeve out of the fire and patted it down. “No, but I figured that you'd be wearing the black one at night, and they all the same in the dark!” “Wearing it at night...? Why would I wear it in bed?” Mortimer threw the useless sleeve back on the bonfire, which whooshed. “Did you sneak into my room when I was sleeping?” Grimshaw shrugged. “I assume so, it was night-time.” “Why didn't you just ask for it?” “I thought you'd say no.” “Then why,” Mortimer seethed, “did you just not burn something of yours?” Grimshaw gave Mortimer a strange look, as if confused. “Because I like all of my stuff. You do not like some of your stuff. Ergo, we burn your clothes, not mine.” Biting back a vicious retort, Wesley sighed. He knew he couldn't win this argument. “So, you're seeing how long clothes burn for until they reach the state they were on the body of the burnt man in order to test if the suspect's alibi holds up? Am I right?” Grimshaw beamed and clapped his hands together. “Exactly right!” Wesley looked at the wood on the bonfire, opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Problem?” Grimshaw's voice was strangely curt. “Well, if you're burning with different materials, then your results won't be accurate.” Wesley waved his hands as if to address the ridiculousness of the situation, but the action only resulted in adding to it. Grimshaw sighed. “Oh Wesley, you think I am some sort of fool? The suspect burned the victim using a broken-up chair from the victim's home, and doused them in pure ethanol, before setting the pile on fire.” “How do you know?” Grimshaw lit up; he loved showing off. “Well, I ran my finger along the burnt out remains, and took a taste: definitely burnt whiskey, I'd know that taste anywhere.” Wesley's face twisted in disgust and intrigue. “Why?” “Because the plot demands me to.” Grimshaw nodded to himself. “So, I took another chair from the victim's house, added some whiskey and,” he pointed to the still-crackling bonfire, “voilà!” Wesley nodded. “I suppose that's fair. I assume we're taking these observations to Scotland Yard?” “You assume correctly.” Grimshaw picked up a mug, dipped it in the water in the sink and poured it over the fire, which hissed. “Now get changed and ready.” Grimshaw repeated the action. “Yup.” Wesley said, voice monotonous as he stared at the blackened, now wet, patch of carpet. Grimshaw waved him away. “Well? Get on with it.” Wesley tore his eyes away from the patch and trudged back to his bedroom, investigating the lock on the door as he did so; no signs of wherever Grimshaw tampered with it. He tutted and closed the door. * “So, do you have any other leads?” Stangerson asked. “We've got one guy,” Stangerson showed Grimshaw a photograph of a middle-aged man, “who's under suspicion, but that's all right now.” “Not at the moment, no.” Grimshaw looked sideways at Wesley, who looked confused. “Another look around the crime scene would be appreciated.” Stangerson sighed, before nodding quickly. “Yes yes.” He muttered, sounding troubled. “I'll get one of the boys to take you there.” Grimshaw bowed his head. “Thank you.” Stangerson turned to leave them, before looking back and nodding once. Grimshaw acknowledged this with a smile, before turning to Wesley. “What's wrong?” “What happened?” Wesley looked around slowly, as if he was dreaming, or in some sort of trance. “I went to my room...and then I'm here.” His head snapped up to look Grimshaw in the eyes. “Did you drug me again?” “What?” Grimshaw looked genuinely flustered. “No!” “Then what happened?” Wesley asked. “You got dressed, we came here, gave Stangerson the evidence and now we're about to go to the crime scene.” Grimshaw said slowly and clearly, annunciating everything clearly, before bending down to whisper in Wesley's ear. “The author used a transition so he didn't have to write all that stuff. Bit lazy really, you'd think he'd document everything in our lives.” Wesley thought about it for a minute, before nodding. “That is lazy.” “It is.” * Stangerson's “boy”, a young detective by the name of Joe, led them to the crime scene: a small terraced house in east London, cordoned off by a thin strip of tape, which proclaimed “POLICE DO NOT ENTER”. Joe led Grimshaw and Mortimer to the tape, lifted it for them and watched them duck awkwardly beneath it; Joe was only a short lad. Grimshaw reached for the door, which opened with the lightest touch. He turned to Joe. “Did you not close the door?” The patronising tone had crept back into Grimshaw's voice, and Wesley winced as he turned to see Joe's reaction. “I'm certain we did, sir.” Joe's voice had a slight Irish twang to it which Wesley hadn't expected. “Hmmm...” Grimshaw inspected the door closely, whipping his magnifying glass from his pocket. The lock was lined with scratches, and the door-frame was damaged; someone had forced their way in. “Did the murderer get in through the front door?” “No sir, the back. And we boarded that up.” Joe responded, his voice getting quieter as he realised what Grimshaw was implying. He unclipped his truncheon from his belt and readjusted his helmet. “Then someone else has been in here...” Grimshaw trailed off, beckoning at Wesley to follow. “Come. But be careful; they could still be here.” “Do you think it was the murderer?” Wesley whispered to Grimshaw, not wanting to panic the young detective. “Coming back to clear up?” “Quite possibly.” Grimshaw edged forwards slowly, noting the cobwebs in the corners and the mould on the wall; the victim did not live a good life. “Just be ready.” Grimshaw pushed a door and opened and entered the...living room, he assumed. He put a hand out to stop Joe and Wesley going any further, protecting them from the worst of the sight. “My god...” He muttered, looking around. Both the beige wallpaper and carpet were stained with splatters of red, puddles forming on the floor. Grimshaw gulped hard to force the vomit back as slowly entered the room, still holding his hand back to protect the others. Subconsciously, he knew they would be able to see the man hanging from the ceiling in the centre of the room, but at least their view was impaired. They couldn't see his face, which, where not covered in bruises, was stained with streaks of blood, still wet as they ran from six spiky letters carved in his forehead: KILLER. In addition to the words carved into his forehead and being hanged, the victim's wrist's were slit open, still dripping into two puddles beneath each limp arm. Wesley pushed Grimshaw's hand down and stood next to him in silence as Joe ran outside and a grotesque retching sound followed. “What the frack...” Wesley slowly walked over to the body. “Don't touch it!” Grimshaw realised that he was more forceful than he needed to be. “Evidence could be lost.” Grimshaw stared at the corpse's face; a middle-aged man, beaten almost beyond recognition. Almost. Wesley caught Grimshaw looking. “You alright, Lewis?” Grimshaw nodded. “Yeah...it's not like it's real, anyway.” Wesley cocked his head in vague agreement. “But this man...he was Stangerson's second suspect, the one in the photograph he showed me.” Wesley looked at the corpse in disgust; maybe he deserved this. “You think we've got a vigilante running around?” Grimshaw nodded. “That, or just another killer. Either way,” He gestured around the room as Joe re-entered, “I think we're out of our depth here. Scotland Yard should take it further now.” Joe nodded, and left again, presumably to fetch help. “For us, Wesley,” Grimshaw said solemnly, bowing his head, “this case is closed.”   Text: Chris Harris All rights reserved. Publication Date: February 13th 2016 https://www.bookrix.com/-chrissieh

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-kimba-sue-the-killer-at-the-library/

Kimba sue The Killer At The Library The Killer At The Library Sat at her desk, Angelina Norton was studying a file for an old murder case, for her next book. The book was based on the story of Gregory Pollicatius, a Polish Jew, electrocuted for a double murder in 1960, all evidence was circumstantial as no bodies were found, the only evidence against him, was a time sheet stamped a few minutes before the library closed. Pollicatius pleaded his innocence until the final minutes before the switch was pulled, and he was electrocuted. Being Polish and in Detroit in the 60s, meant too many bad feelings, so it was no surprise when the jury took only a few minutes to find him guilty. Jobs were scarce, and itinerant labor cheap, Americans walked the streets desperately trying to get work, anything to feed their families, while these foreigners would work for a pittance, no union to protect them they banded together. Pollicatius, had always wanted to better himself, electrician by trade, which he was doing some re-wiring, which is why he was in the library that fated night. All these facts went against him at the trial. "We will be closing in about 10 minutes Angelina." Patty Cross, head librarian said, as she went on her final round, checking the aisles. "Thanks, Patty won’t be long now." Angelina replied. Going through the old files it was obvious this was just another way of getting back at those foreigners Angelina thought. Looking around Angelina noticed that the lights had gone out. "Damn," she thought, "Patty must have forgotten about me." Angelina got her cell phone out to contact her friend at the front desk. The new phone was dead though. "Damn, all these girders and joists are blocking my signal, guess it has to be done the hard way then." Angelina set off, heading in the direction of where she thought the front door was, as she walked, she thought she heard footsteps behind her. "Patty, is that you?" she called out. No answer came back, walking slowly and listening she made her way down the darkened aisles. All the time she could hear the steps. "OK, Patty, this is not a joke any more, I am getting really scared now. Where are you?” All she could hear was the breathing. "Angelina, where are you, I can hear you, but can’t find you in the dark?” "What a relief to hear your voice, Patty, why didn’t you answer, when I called you just then?” "I didn’t hear you." "Did you turn the lights out?" "No, I was on the balcony, when the lights went out and have been trying to get to the stairs, to get down to you." "So, you have NOT been following me for the last 5 minutes." "No." "Well who is following me then?” "The only other person was that Pole, but I am sure I saw him leave, just before the lights went out." "There is someone here, they have followed me since the lights went out, every time I stopped, they did." "I can promise you Angelina, it is not me, I have just got here and never heard you call." The two friends started to walk towards the door, then stopped as Patty put her hand on Angelinas’ shoulder and said: "Whoever it is, is about 20 feet to our right and has cut us off from the front door." "Does your phone work, as mine cut out on me ? If we can get a call out, maybe somebody can come and turn the power on for us." "No, mine is dead, yet only a few minutes ago it was fully charged." "That is odd, maybe if we went to the balcony, and pointed them out of the window, we can get a signal." "It’s worth a try." Slowly walking down the aisles, the ladies made their way to the stairs, every step they took the could feel the tensions of being followed by this stranger. Moving up the stairs, Patty saw a shadowy figure ahead and above them on the 2nd floor landing. "Look up there, Angelina." She said pointing to the history section, where a figure could clearly be seen moving, obviously a man by the size. "Mr.Pollicatius, is that you ?" Patty called out. No answer was her reply. "Why didn’t he answer Patty ?" "He might not be able to understand us, being Polish." "He can understand all right, Angelina, I have heard them talking, when they think we can’t hear them." "Let’s see if we can get a signal and call for help from this window, Patty, it should have a clear range as this is Drove park and we have a clear view." Looking out of the window, Angelina was shocked at what she saw. "Patty, come here and tell me I am not seeing what I think I am." As Patty walked across to her friend, she looked out at the road, to see a dense mist, through the mists she began to see the road opposite. "It can’t be." "But it is, look at the signs on the shops." "That is the old Harper shop, it was knocked down in ‘65’ and look at the guys, all got crew cuts, this mist has taken us back to the early 60s then." "Certainly explains a lot, the dead cell phones, the coldness in here and the lights going out suddenly." Outside in the cold dawn of the Detroit day, the heard the newsboy announce to the people walking by: "Pollicatius to go to trial for double murder !" "It can’t be, Patty, can it !" "The signs are all here, Angelina, the fashions, the haircuts, building on main street, our phones not working." "We will have to go check the archives to find out, what time we are in, Patty." "I can tell you now, as I was just looking him up on the web,before the power went out. If he is going to trial, the date is April 13th, 1962. Four days later he was charged with the murder of 2 ladies, although no bodies were found, and he pleaded innocence until his death." "Without the bodies, how could he get charged though." "Patty in those days, Polish, working electrician in the building a few minutes before the lights went out, he was as good as dead, when he went to trial." "What about the bodies though ?" "With a lot of new buildings going up, it was assumed, they got buried under the foundations, back then the Poles had a great bonding, all being disliked, and would help each other out." As the ladies walked around the library, trying to find a door, and heading to the archives to see what news there was after the trial, of anything turning up. They heard a door behind them close suddenly and a thick Polish voice, slurred by drink say: "Pollicatius is here" "What can we do, Patty ?" asked Angelina. “Run now and find somewhere we can hide. It probably be best if we did not hide together maybe we can make it out of here alive.” Patty whispered back. Angelina looked at her as if she were crazy, however before she could say something Patty took off running, which left her no choice other then to run. She could not see Patty any longer. She could hear someone running behind her and she was not going to stop and find out who it was. She started to dip right and left moving through the book cases. She thought she was safe and she was going to make it out of this dark, cold, and dank library. Patty ran to the other side of the library, she was tripping and running into things but she kept running. She was not going to stop until she found a way out of this. She saw the shadows to the staircase to the balcony and she moved towards it as fast as her feet could carry her. She did not know where Angelina had went; she did hope she was okay and either had him the run until she could get out of here or she was hiding and he could not find her. Chills ran down Pattys arms and back feeling like something bad was about to happen. She mentally kicked herself, of course something bad was about to happen. She was going to die and she was not ready to die. She was not married and she wanted to be married with kids then die in her bed when she was old. All that was a pipe dream now. She knew this was the night she was going to die and there was nothing she could do to save herself or Angelina. She felt her face was wet from the freshly shed tears that were rolling down her cheeks. She could not help but to cry what else could she do, there was no way out of here, and she was stuck in here with a murderer. She started to think how he was going to kill them when she heard Angelina scream from below. Patty started shaking uncontrollably and coward in the corner near the window. This looked like a night someone would die, looking at all this fog anyone would be able to get away with what they wanted. Patty did not know how much more of the screaming she could take. There was no one about on the streets nor in the library so no one would hear her scream but Patty and she could not do anything to help her friend. She covered her ears with her hands and started rocking back and forth, saying her last thoughts of peace. She knew she was next, which made her cry harder. Why would anyone want to hurt Angelina or me? Just as fast as the screaming started it stopped as fast. She knew the man named Pollicatius had raped her friend before he killed her. She could hear her begging him, “No! Please don’t do this. No!” It made Patty sick to her stomach she knew whatever Angelina had just went through she was going to meet the same fate. She could feel him coming closer to her, the shivers that ran down her body told her how close she was to death. She hugged herself and closed her eyes right before he grabbed her right ankle and pulled out of the corner to him. She started to scream and kick at him but there was no use in trying to get away from him; she knew that but she was not going to lay here and wait to die, she would at least fight die trying to fight her way out. “Please stop. Why are you doing this to us? We did nothing to you, we will not tell that you did this or was even here tonight. Please just let us go.” She begged. He laughed and continued to drag her towards the stairs. He was taking her back down the stairs, what the hell, was going on? She was kicking him with all the strength she had and it did not phase him. He looked over his shoulder and said, “Do not worry this will be over soon. We are going to have a little fun before you die.” He said. He dragged her down the stairs by her ankle letting her head hit every stair on the way down, besides when she tried to lift her head up enough so she would not hit every stair. She was already feeling dizzy and she did not want to pass out and not know what was coming to her. Not that it would be any better if she was awake she thought to herself. He dragged her over to her friends lifeless body. She knew she was dead before they reached her. Patty let a scream that would for sure wake the dead. She had never seen a dead body before and this one was her good friend, why did they have to be in the library tonight of all nights? She could not help the questions that were flying around in her head. She kept chanting “This cant be happening.” She did not want to die here in this lonely dark library where no one knew where she was. She was just going out for a second but she just had to go to the library tonight to look up everything she needed to know so she could write her book. What she did not know was this was going to be a night just like the one that faithful night to the two woman. This cannot be copycat, then again that would be this man is a ghost and I should be able to get away from him in that case. I knew I was going crazy now, I had been kicking and screaming the whole way down the stairs and being dragged over to where Angelina was lying in a pool of her own blood. Why would someone want to kill just for fun? “Shut up, bitch I am tired of hearing you chant. I want it quite or I will keep you alive longer, which means more pain for you.” He growled. Patty shut up imeditally and just laid there letting her eyes search around her as far as she could see. Mr. Pollicatius was walking back and forth as if he were searching for something, that is when I heard a noise. Someone else was in here with us oh thank god I was going to be saved. I could not have been more wrong. He had let in a man that looked like he lived in mud and you could smell him before he got a foot near you. Patty started to gag and close her eyes when she felt someone wrap their hand in her hair and yank up hard enough to make her come up off the floor. She yelled out and was smacked across the face. Mr.pollicatius was standing over her with his hand wrapped around her hair, which meant he was in complete control. He looked down to her saying, “You will watch what happens because this will be happening to you as well.” He informed her. What could he want me to see before I die. He was going to rape and his friend was going to rape I did not need to watch them does these vial things to me. Then I saw the man come all the way into the room kneel down beside’s Angelina and sniffed her dead body. I did not know what to think of this but I started to yell at the man, “GET THE HELL AWAY FROM HER!” the man looked up and and bent his head back down so he could sniff over her entire body. I was going to be sick who wanted to smell blood? Blood had a weird mettalic smell to it and he was acting as if he was getting off from the smell. He was doing just that I watched when he pulled his pants down and started rubbing himself. Pattys eyes got round and as big as silver dollars. She could not believe what she was seeing. The dirt bumb of a man was going to get himself off from her dead friend before she open her mouth to yell at him again he grabbed a hold of Angelina’s leg and pushe her skirt up. Patty was speechless this was not happening. This was a bad dream and she was going to wake up any minute now full of sweat. Publication Date: March 2nd 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-kimmyj79

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-alice-f-green-artist-meets-con/

Alice F. Green Artist meets Con Text: Alice Fae Green Images: Book Rix Editing: Alice Fae Green Translation: Alice Fae Green All rights reserved. Publication Date: November 9th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-queena.

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-alexandre-dumas-pere-vaninka/

Alexandre Dumas père Vaninka Celebrated Crimes VANINKA About the end of the reign of the Emperor Paul I--that is to say, towards the middle of the first year of the nineteenth century--just as four o'clock in the afternoon was sounding from the church of St. Peter and St. Paul, whose gilded vane overlooks the ramparts of the fortress, a crowd, composed of all sorts and conditions of people, began to gather in front of a house which belonged to General Count Tchermayloff, formerly military governor of a fair-sized town in the government of Pultava. The first spectators had been attracted by the preparations which they saw had been made in the middle of the courtyard for administering torture with the knout. One of the general's serfs, he who acted as barber, was to be the victim. Although this kind of punishment was a common enough sight in St. Petersburg, it nevertheless attracted all passers-by when it was publicly administered. This was the occurrence which had caused a crowd, as just mentioned, before General Tchermayloff's house. The spectators, even had they been in a hurry, would have had no cause to complain of being kept waiting, for at half-past four a young man of about five-and-twenty, in the handsome uniform of an aide-de-camp, his breast covered with decorations, appeared on the steps at the farther end of the court-yard in front of the house. These steps faced the large gateway, and led to the general's apartments. Arrived on the steps, the young aide-de-camp stopped a moment and fixed his eyes on a window, the closely drawn curtains of which did not allow him the least chance of satisfying his curiosity, whatever may have been its cause. Seeing that it was useless and that he was only wasting time in gazing in that direction, he made a sign to a bearded man who was standing near a door which led to the servants' quarters. The door was immediately opened, and the culprit was seen advancing in the middle of a body of serfs and followed by the executioner. The serfs were forced to attend the spectacle, that it might serve as an example to them. The culprit was the general's barber, as we have said, and the executioner was merely the coachman, who, being used to the handling of a whip, was raised or degraded, which you will, to the office of executioner every time punishment with the knout was ordered. This duty did not deprive him of either the esteem or even the friendship of his comrades, for they well knew that it was his arm alone that punished them and that his heart was not in his work. As Ivan's arm as well as the rest of his body was the property of the general, and the latter could do as he pleased with it, no one was astonished that it should be used for this purpose. More than that, correction administered by Ivan was nearly always gentler than that meted out by another; for it often happened that Ivan, who was a good-natured fellow, juggled away one or two strokes of the knout in a dozen, or if he were forced by those assisting at the punishment to keep a strict calculation, he manoeuvred so that the tip of the lash struck the deal plank on which the culprit was lying, thus taking much of the sting out of the stroke. Accordingly, when it was Ivan's turn to be stretched upon the fatal plank and to receive the correction he was in the habit of administering, on his own account, those who momentarily played his part as executioner adopted the same expedients, remembering only the strokes spared and not the strokes received. This exchange of mutual benefits, therefore, was productive of an excellent understanding between Ivan and his comrades, which was never so firmly knit as at the moment when a fresh execution was about to take place. It is true that the first hour after the punishment was generally so full of suffering that the knouted was sometimes unjust to the knouter, but this feeling seldom out-lasted the evening, and it was rare when it held out after the first glass of spirits that the operator drank to the health of his patient. The serf upon whom Ivan was about to exercise his dexterity was a man of five or six-and-thirty, red of hair and beard, a little above average height. His Greek origin might be traced in his countenance, which even in its expression of terror had preserved its habitual characteristics of craft and cunning. When he arrived at the spot where the punishment was to take place, the culprit stopped and looked up at the window which had already claimed the young aide-de-camp's attention; it still remained shut. With a glance round the throng which obstructed the entrance leading to the street, he ended by gazing, with a horror-stricken shudder upon the plank on which he was to be stretched. The shudder did not escape his friend Ivan, who, approaching to remove the striped shirt that covered his shoulders, took the opportunity to whisper under his breath-- "Come, Gregory, take courage!" "You remember your promise?" replied the culprit, with an indefinable expression of entreaty. "Not for the first lashes, Gregory; do not count on that, for during the first strokes the aide-de-camp will be watching; but among the later ones be assured I will find means of cheating him of some of them." "Beyond everything you will take care of the tip of the lash?" "I will do my best, Gregory, I will do my best. Do you not know that I will?" "Alas! yes," replied Gregory. "Now, then!" said the aide-de-camp. "We are ready, noble sir," replied Ivan. "Wait, wait one moment, your high origin," cried poor Gregory, addressing the young captain as though he had been a colonel, "Vache Vousso Korodie," in order to flatter him. "I believe that the lady Vaninka's window is about to open!" The young captain glanced eagerly towards the spot which had already several times claimed his attention, but not a fold of the silken curtains, which could be seen through the panes of the window, had moved. "You are mistaken, you rascal," said the aide-de-camp, unwillingly removing his eyes from the window, as though he also had hoped to see it open, "you are mistaken; and besides, what has your noble mistress to do with all this?" "Pardon, your excellency," continued Gregory, gratifying the aide-de-camp with yet higher rank,--"pardon, but it is through her orders I am about to suffer. Perhaps she might have pity upon a wretched servant!" "Enough, enough; let us proceed," said the captain in an odd voice, as though he regretted as well as the culprit that Vaninka had not shown mercy. "Immediately, immediately, noble sir," said Ivan; then turning to Gregory, he continued, "Come, comrade; the time has come." Gregory sighed heavily, threw a last look up at the window, and seeing that everything remained the same there, he mustered up resolution enough to lie down on the fatal plank. At the same time two other serfs, chosen by Ivan for assistants, took him by the arms and attached his wrists to two stakes, one at either side of him, so that it appeared as though he were stretched on a cross. Then they clamped his neck into an iron collar, and seeing that all was in readiness and that no sign favourable to the culprit had been made from the still closely shut window, the young aide-de-camp beckoned with his hand, saying, "Now, then, begin!" "Patience, my lord, patience," said Ivan, still delaying the whipping, in the hope that some sign might yet be made from the inexorable window. "I have a knot in my knout, and if I leave it Gregory will have good right to complain." The instrument with which the executioner was busying himself, and which is perhaps unknown to our readers, was a species of whip, with a handle about two feet long. A plaited leather thong, about four feet long and two inches broad, was attached to this handle, this thong terminating in an iron or copper ring, and to this another band of leather was fastened, two feet long, and at the beginning about one and a half inches thick: this gradually became thinner, till it ended in a point. The thong was steeped in milk and then dried in the sun, and on account of this method of preparation its edge became as keen and cutting as a knife; further, the thong was generally changed at every sixth stroke, because contact with blood softened it. However unwillingly and clumsily Ivan set about untying the knot, it had to come undone at last. Besides, the bystanders were beginning to grumble, and their muttering disturbed the reverie into which the young aide-de-camp had fallen. He raised his head, which had been sunk on his breast, and cast a last look towards the window; then with a peremptory sign; and in a voice which admitted of no delay, he ordered the execution to proceed. Nothing could put it off any longer: Ivan was obliged to obey, and he did not attempt to find any new pretext for delay. He drew back two paces, and with a spring he returned to his place, and standing on tiptoe, he whirled the knout above his head, and then letting it suddenly fall, he struck Gregory with such dexterity that the lash wrapped itself thrice round his victim's body, encircling him like a serpent, but the tip of the thong struck the plank upon which Gregory was lying. Nevertheless, in spite of this precaution, Gregory uttered a loud shriek, and Ivan counted "One." At the shriek, the young aide-de-camp again turned towards the window; but it was still shut, and mechanically his eyes went back to the culprit, and he repeated the word "One." The knout had traced three blue furrows on Gregory's shoulders. Ivan took another spring, and with the same skill as before he again enveloped the culprit's body with the hissing thong, ever taking care that the tip of it should not touch him. Gregory uttered another shriek, and Ivan counted "Two." The blood now began to colour the skin. At the third stroke several drops of blood appeared; at the fourth the blood spurted out; at the fifth some drops spattered the young officer's face; he drew back, and wiped them away with his handkerchief. Ivan profited by his distraction, and counted seven instead of six: the captain took no notice. At the ninth stroke Ivan stopped to change the lash, and in the hope that a second fraud might pass off as luckily as the first, he counted eleven instead of ten. At that moment a window opposite to Vaninka's opened, and a man about forty-five or fifty in general's uniform appeared. He called out in a careless tone, "Enough, that will do," and closed the window again. Immediately on this apparition the young aide-de-camp had turned towards his general, saluting, and during the few seconds that the general was present he remained motionless. When the window had been shut again, he repeated the general's words, so that the raised whip fell without touching the culprit. "Thank his excellency, Gregory," said Ivan, rolling the knout's lash round his hand, "for having spared you two strokes;" and he added, bending down to liberate Gregory's hand, "these two with the two I was able to miss out make a total of eight strokes instead of twelve. Come, now, you others, untie his other hand." But poor Gregory was in no state to thank anybody; nearly swooning with pain, he could scarcely stand. Two moujiks took him by the arms and led him towards the serfs' quarters, followed by Ivan. Having reached the door, however, Gregory stopped, turned his head, and seeing the aide-de-camp gazing pitifully at him, "Oh sir," he cried, "please thank his excellency the general for me. As for the lady Vaninka," he added in a low tone, "I will certainly thank her myself." "What are you muttering between your teeth?" cried the young officer, with an angry movement; for he thought he had detected a threatening tone in Gregory's voice. "Nothing, sir, nothing," said Ivan. "The poor fellow is merely thanking you, Mr. Foedor, for the trouble you have taken in being present at his punishment, and he says that he has been much honoured, that is all." "That is right," said the young man, suspecting that Ivan had somewhat altered the original remarks, but evidently not wishing to be better informed. "If Gregory wishes to spare me this trouble another time, let him drink less vodka; or else, if he must get drunk, let him at least remember to be more respectful." Ivan bowed low and followed his comrades, Foedor entered the house again, and the crowd dispersed, much dissatisfied that Ivan's trickery and the general's generosity had deprived them of four strokes of the knout--exactly a third of the punishment. Now that we have introduced our readers to some of the characters in this history, we must make them better acquainted with those who have made their appearance, and must introduce those who are still behind the curtain. General Count Tchermayloff, as we have said, after having been governor of one of the most important towns in the environs of Pultava, had been recalled to St. Petersburg by the Emperor Paul, who honoured him with his particular friendship. The general was a widower, with one daughter, who had inherited her mother's fortune, beauty, and pride. Vaninka's mother claimed descent from one of the chieftains of the Tartar race, who had invaded Russia, under the leadership of D'Gengis, in the thirteenth century. Vaninka's naturally haughty disposition had been fostered by the education she had received. His wife being dead, and not having time to look after his daughter's education himself, General Tchermayloff had procured an English governess for her. This lady, instead of suppressing her pupil's scornful propensities, had encouraged them, by filling her head with those aristocratic ideas which have made the English aristocracy the proudest in the world. Amongst the different studies to which Vaninka devoted herself, there was one in which she was specially interested, and that one was, if one may so call it, the science of her own rank. She knew exactly the relative degree of nobility and power of all the Russian noble families--those that were a grade above her own, and those of whom she took precedence. She could give each person the title which belonged to their respective rank, no easy thing to do in Russia, and she had the greatest contempt for all those who were below the rank of excellency. As for serfs and slaves, for her they did not exist: they were mere bearded animals, far below her horse or her dog in the sentiments which they inspired in her; and she would not for one instant have weighed the life of a serf against either of those interesting animals. Like all the women of distinction in her nation, Vaninka was a good musician, and spoke French, Italian, German, and English equally well. Her features had developed in harmony with her character. Vaninka was beautiful, but her beauty was perhaps a little too decided. Her large black eyes, straight nose, and lips curling scornfully at the corners, impressed those who saw her for the first time somewhat unpleasantly. This impression soon wore off with her superiors and equals, to whom she became merely an ordinary charming woman, whilst to subalterns and such like she remained haughty and inaccessible as a goddess. At seventeen Vaninka's education was finished, and her governess who had suffered in health through the severe climate of St. Petersburg, requested permission to leave. This desire was granted with the ostentatious recognition of which the Russian nobility are the last representatives in Europe. Thus Vaninka was left alone, with nothing but her father's blind adoration to direct her. She was his only daughter, as we have mentioned, and he thought her absolutely perfect. Things were in this state in the-general's house when he received a letter, written on the deathbed of one of the friends of his youth. Count Romayloff had been exiled to his estates, as a result of some quarrel with Potemkin, and his career had been spoilt. Not being able to recover his forfeited position, he had settled down about four hundred leagues from St. Petersburg; broken-hearted, distressed probably less on account of his own exile and misfortune than of the prospects of his only son, Foedor. The count feeling that he was leaving this son alone and friendless in the world, commended the young man, in the name of their early friendship, to the general, hoping that, owing to his being a favourite with Paul I, he would be able to procure a lieutenancy in a regiment for him. The general immediately replied to the count that his son should find a second father in himself; but when this comforting message arrived, Romayloff was no more, and Foedor himself received the letter and carried it back with him to the general, when he went to tell him of his loss and to claim the promised protection. So great was the general's despatch, that Paul I, at his request, granted the young man a sub-lieutenancy in the Semonowskoi regiment, so that Foedor entered on his duties the very next day after his arrival in St. Petersburg. Although the young man had only passed through the general's house on his way to the barracks, which were situated in the Litenoi quarter, he had remained there long enough for him to have seen Vaninka, and she had produced a great impression upon him. Foedor had arrived with his heart full of primitive and noble feelings; his gratitude to his protector, who had opened a career for him, was profound, and extended to all his family. These feelings caused him perhaps to have an exaggerated idea of the beauty of the young girl who was presented to him as a sister, and who, in spite of this title, received him with the frigidity and hauteur of a queen. Nevertheless, her appearance, in spite of her cool and freezing manner, had left a lasting impression upon the young man's heart, and his arrival in St. Petersburg had been marked by feelings till then never experienced before in his life. As for Vaninka, she had hardly noticed Foedor; for what was a young sub-lieutenant, without fortune or prospects, to her? What she dreamed of was some princely alliance, that would make her one of the most powerful ladies in Russia, and unless he could realise some dream of the Arabian Nights, Foedor could not offer her such a future. Some time after this first interview, Foedor came to take leave of the general. His regiment was to form part of a contingent that Field-Marshal Souvarow was taking to Italy, and Foedor was about to die, or show himself worthy of the noble patron who had helped him to a career. This time, whether on account of the elegant uniform that heightened Foedor's natural good looks, or because his imminent departure, glowing with hope and enthusiasm, lent a romantic interest to the young man, Vaninka was astonished at the marvellous change in him, and deigned, at her father's request, to give him her hand when he left. This was more than Foedor had dared to hope. He dropped upon his knee, as though in the presence of a queen, and took Vaninka's between his own trembling hands, scarcely daring to touch it with his lips. Light though the kiss had been, Vaninka started as though she had been burnt; she felt a thrill run through her, and she blushed violently. She withdrew her hand so quickly, that Foedor, fearing this adieu, respectful though it was, had offended her, remained on his knees, and clasping his hands, raised his eyes with such an expression of fear in them, that Vaninka, forgetting her hauteur, reassured him with a smile. Foedor rose, his heart filled with inexplicable joy, and without being able to say what had caused this feeling, he only knew that it had made him absolutely happy, so that, although he was just about to leave Vaninka, he had never felt greater happiness in his life. The young man left dreaming golden dreams; for his future, be it gloomy or bright, was to be envied. If it ended in a soldier's grave, he believed he had seen in Vaninka's eyes that she would mourn him; if his future was glorious, glory would bring him back to St. Petersburg in triumph, and glory is a queen, who works miracles for her favourites. The army to which the young officer belonged crossed Germany, descended into Italy by the Tyrolese mountains, and entered Verona on the 14th of April 1799. Souvarow immediately joined forces with General Melas, and took command of the two armies. General Chasteler next day suggested that they should reconnoitre. Souvarow, gazing at him with astonishment, replied, "I know of no other way of reconnoitring the enemy than by marching upon him and giving him battle." As a matter of fact Souvarow was accustomed to this expeditious sort of strategy: through it he had defeated the Turks at Folkschany and Ismailoff; and he had defeated the Poles, after a few days' campaign, and had taken Prague in less than four hours. Catherine, out of gratitude, had sent her victorious general a wreath of oak-leaves, intertwined with precious stones, and worth six hundred thousand roubles, a heavy gold field-marshal's baton encrusted with diamonds; and had created him a field-marshal, with the right of choosing a regiment that should bear his name from that time forward. Besides, when he returned to Russia, she gave him leave of absence, that he might take a holiday at a beautiful estate she had given him, together with the eight thousand serfs who lived upon it. What a splendid example for Foedor! Souvarow, the son of a humble Russian officer, had been educated at the ordinary cadets' training college, and had left it as a sub-lieutenant like himself. Why should there not be two Souvarows in the same century? Souvarow arrived in Italy preceded by an immense reputation; religious, strenuous, unwearied, impassible, loving with the simplicity of a Tartar and fighting with the fury of a Cossack, he was just the man required to continue General Melas's successes over the soldiers of the Republic, discouraged as they had been by the weak vacillations of Scherer. The Austro-Russian army of one hundred thousand men was opposed by only twenty-nine or thirty thousand French. Souvarow began as usual with a thundering blow. On 20th April he appeared before Brescia, which made a vain attempt at resistance; after a cannonade of about half an hour's duration, the Preschiera gate was forced, and the Korsakow division, of which Foedor's regiment formed the vanguard, charged into the town, pursuing the garrison, which only consisted of twelve hundred men, and obliged them to take refuge in the citadel. Pressed with an impetuosity the French were not accustomed to find in their enemies, and seeing that the scaling ladders were already in position against the ramparts, the captain Boucret wished to come to terms; but his position was too precarious for him to obtain any conditions from his savage conquerors, and he and his soldiers were made prisoners of war. Souvarow was experienced enough to know how best to profit by victory; hardly master of Brescia, the rapid occupation of which had discouraged our army anew, he ordered General Kray to vigorously press on the siege of Preschiera. General Kray therefore established his headquarters at Valeggio, a place situated at an equal distance between Preschiera and Mantua, and he extended from the Po to the lake of Garda, on the banks of the Mencio, thus investing the two cities at the same time. Meanwhile the commander-in-chief had advanced, accompanied by the larger part of his forces, and had crossed the Oglio in two columns: he launched one column, under General Rosenberg, towards Bergamo, and the other, with General Melas in charge, towards the Serio, whilst a body of seven or eight thousand men, commanded by General Kaim and General Hohenzollern, were directed towards Placentia and Cremona, thus occupying the whole of the left bank of the Po, in such a manner that the Austro-Russian army advanced deploying eighty thousand men along a front of forty-five miles. In view of the forces which were advancing, and which were three times as large as his own, Scherer beat a retreat all along the line. He destroyed the bridges over the Adda, as he did not consider that he was strong enough to hold them, and, having removed his headquarters to Milan, he awaited there the reply to a despatch which he had sent to the Directory, in which, tacitly acknowledging his incapacity, he tendered his resignation. As the arrival of his successor was delayed, and as Souvarow continued to advance, Scherer, more and more terrified by the responsibility which rested upon him, relinquished his command into the hands of his most able lieutenant. The general chosen by him was Moreau, who was again about to fight those Russians in whose ranks he was destined to die at last. Moreau's unexpected nomination was proclaimed amidst the acclamation of the soldiers. He had been called the French Fabius, on account of his magnificent campaign on the Rhine. He passed his whole army in review, saluted by the successive acclamations of its different divisions, which cried, "Long live Moreau! Long live the saviour of the army of Italy!" But however great this enthusiasm, it did not blind Moreau to the terrible position in which he found himself. At the risk of being out-flanked, it was necessary for him to present a parallel line to that of the Russian army, so that, in order to face his enemy, he was obliged to extend his line from Lake Lecco to Pizzighitone--that is to say, a distance of fifty miles. It is true that he might have retired towards Piedmont and concentrated his troops at Alexandria, to await there the reinforcements the Directory had promised to send him. But if he had done this, he would have compromised the safety of the army at Naples, and have abandoned it, isolated as it was, to the mercy of the enemy. He therefore resolved to defend the passage of the Adda as long as possible, in order to give the division under Dessolles, which was to be despatched to him by Massena, time to join forces with him and to defend his left, whilst Gauthier, who had received orders to evacuate Tuscany and to hasten with forced marches to his aid, should have time to arrive and protect his right. Moreau himself took the centre, and personally defended the fortified bridge of Cassano; this bridge was protected by the Ritorto Canal, and he also defended it with a great deal of artillery and an entrenched vanguard. Besides, Moreau, always as prudent as brave, took every precaution to secure a retreat, in case of disaster, towards the Apennines and the coast of Genoa. Hardly were his dispositions completed before the indefatigable Souvarow entered Triveglio. At the same time as the Russian commander-in-chief arrived at this last town, Moreau heard of the surrender of Bergamo and its castle, and on 23rd April he saw the heads of the columns of the allied army. The same day the Russian general divided his troops into three strong columns, corresponding to the three principal points in the French line, each column numerically more than double the strength of those to whom they were opposed. The right column, led by General Wukassowich, advanced towards Lake Lecco, where General Serrurier awaited it. The left column, under the command of Melas, took up its position in front of the Cassano entrenchments; and the Austrian division, under Generals Zopf and Ott, which formed the centre, concentrated at Canonia, ready at a given moment to seize Vaprio. The Russian and Austrian troops bivouacked within cannon-shot of the French outposts. That evening, Foedor, who with his regiment formed part of Chasteler's division, wrote to General Tchermayloff: "We are at last opposite the French, and a great battle must take place to-morrow morning; tomorrow evening I shall be a lieutenant or a corpse." Next morning, 26th April, cannon resounded at break of day from the extremities of the lines; on our left Prince Bagration's grenadiers attacked us, on our right General Seckendorff, who had been detached from the camp of Triveglio, was marching on Crema. These two attacks met with very different success. Bagration's grenadiers were repulsed with terrible loss, whilst Seckendorff, on the contrary, drove the French out of Crema, and pushed forward towards the bridge of Lodi. Foedor's predictions were falsified: his portion of the army did nothing the whole day; his regiment remained motionless, waiting for orders that did not come. Souvarow's arrangements were not yet quite complete, the night was needed for him to finish them. During the night, Moreau, having heard of Seckendorff's success on his extreme right, sent an order to Serrurier commanding him to leave at Lecco, which was an easy post to defend, the 18th light brigade and a detachment of dragoons only, and to draw back with the rest of his troops towards the centre. Serrurier received this order about two o'clock in the morning, and executed it immediately. On their side the Russians had lost no time, profiting by the darkness of the night. General Wukassowich had repaired the bridge at Brevio, which had been destroyed by the French, whilst General Chasteler had built another bridge two miles below the castle of Trezzo. These two bridges had been, the one repaired and the other built, without the French outposts having the slightest suspicion of what was taking place. Surprised at two o'clock in the morning by two Austrian divisions, which, concealed by the village of San Gervasio, had reached the right bank of the Adda without their being discovered, the soldiers defending the castle of Trezzo abandoned it and beat a retreat. The Austrians pursued them as far as Pozzo, but there the French suddenly halted and faced about, for General Serrurier was at Pozzo, with the troops he had brought from Lecco. He heard the cannonade behind him, immediately halted, and, obeying the first law of warfare, he marched towards the noise and smoke. It was therefore through him that the garrison of Trezzo rallied and resumed the offensive. Serrurier sent an aide-de-Camp to Moreau to inform him of the manoeuvre he had thought proper to execute. The battle between the French and Austrian troops raged with incredible fury. Bonaparte's veterans, during their first Italian campaigns, had adopted a custom which they could not renounce: it was to fight His Imperial Majesty's subjects wherever they found them. Nevertheless, so great was the numerical superiority of the allies, that our troops had begun to retreat, when loud shouts from the rearguard announced that reinforcements had arrived. It was General Grenier, sent by Moreau, who arrived with his division at the moment when his presence was most necessary. One part of the new division reinforced the centre column, doubling its size; another part was extended upon the left to envelop the enemy. The drums beat afresh down the whole line, and our grenadiers began again to reconquer this battle field already twice lost and won. But at this moment the Austrians were reinforced by the Marquis de Chasteler and his division, so that the numerical superiority was again with the enemy. Grenier drew back his wing to strengthen the centre, and Serrurier, preparing for retreat in case of disaster, fell back on Pozzo, where he awaited the enemy. It was here that the battle raged most fiercely: thrice the village of Pozzo was taken and re-taken, until at last, attacked for the fourth time by a force double their own in numbers, the French were obliged to evacuate it. In this last attack an Austrian colonel was mortally wounded, but, on the other hand, General Beker, who commanded the French rearguard, refused to retreat with his soldiers, and maintained his ground with a few men, who were slain as they stood; he was at length obliged to give up his sword to a young Russian officer of the Semenofskoi regiment, who, handing over his prisoner to his own soldiers, returned immediately to the combat. The two French generals had fixed on the village of Vaprio as a rallying-place, but at the moment when our troops were thrown into disorder through the evacuation of Pozzo, the Austrian cavalry charged heavily, and Serrurier, finding himself separated from his colleague, was obliged to retire with two thousand five hundred men to Verderio, whilst Grenier, having reached the appointed place, Vaprio, halted to face the enemy afresh. During this time a terrible fight was taking place in the centre. Melas with eighteen to twenty thousand men had attacked the fortified posts at the head of the bridge of Cassano and the Ritorto Canal. About seven o'clock in the morning, when Moreau had weakened himself by despatching Grenier and his division, Melas, leading three battalions of Austrian grenadiers, had attacked the fortifications, and for two hours there was terrible carnage; thrice repulsed, and leaving more than fifteen hundred men at the base of the fortifications, the Austrians had thrice returned to the attack, each time being reinforced by fresh troops, always led on and encouraged by Melas, who had to avenge his former defeats. At length, having been attacked for the fourth time, forced from their entrenchments, and contesting the ground inch by inch, the French took shelter behind their second fortifications, which defended the entrance to the bridge itself: here they were commanded by Moreau in person. There, for two more hours, a hand-to-hand struggle took place, whilst the terrible artillery belched forth death almost muzzle to muzzle. At last the Austrians, rallying for a last time, advanced at the point of the bayonet, and; lacking either ladders or fascines, piled the bodies of their dead comrades against the fortifications, and succeeded in scaling the breastworks. There was not a moment to be lost. Moreau ordered a retreat, and whilst the French were recrossing the Adda, he protected their passage in person with a single battalion of grenadiers, of whom at the end of half an hour not more than a hundred and twenty men remained; three of his aides-de-camp were killed at his side. This retreat was accomplished without disorder, and then Moreau himself retired, still fighting the enemy, who set foot on the bridge as soon as he reached the other bank. The Austrians immediately rushed forward to capture him, when suddenly a terrible noise was heard rising above the roar of the artillery; the second arch of the bridge was blown into the air, carrying with it all those who were standing on the fatal spot. The armies recoiled, and into the empty space between them fell like rain a debris of stones and human beings. But at this moment, when Moreau had succeeded in putting a momentary obstacle between himself and Melas, General Grenier's division arrived in disorder, after having been forced to evacuate Vaprio, pursued by the Austro-Russians under Zopf, Ott, and Chasteler. Moreau ordered a change of front, and faced this new enemy, who fell upon him when he least expected them; he succeeded in rallying Grenier's troops and in re-establishing the battle. But whilst his back was turned Melas repaired the bridge and crossed the river; thus Moreau found himself attacked frontally, in the rear, and on his two flanks, by forces three times larger than his own. It was then that all the officers who surrounded him begged him to retreat, for on the preservation of his person depended the preservation of Italy for France. Moreau refused for some time, for he knew the awful consequences of the battle he had just lost, and he did not wish to survive it, although it had been impossible for him to win it. At last a chosen band surrounded him, and, forming a square, drew back, whilst the rest of the army sacrificed themselves to cover his retreat; for Moreau's genius was looked upon as the sole hope that remained to them. The battle lasted nearly three hours longer, during which the rearguard of the army performed prodigies of valour. At length Melas, seeing that the enemy had escaped him, and believing that his troops, tired by the stubborn fight, needed rest, gave orders that the fighting should cease. He halted on the left bank of the Adda, encamping his army in the villages of Imago, Gorgonzola, and Cassano, and remained master of the battlefield, upon which we had left two thousand five hundred dead, one hundred pieces of cannon, and twenty howitzers. That night Souvarow invited General Becker to supper with him, and asked him by whom he had been taken prisoner. Becker replied that it was a young officer belonging to the regiment which had first entered Pozzo. Souvarow immediately inquired what regiment this was, and discovered that it was the Semenofskoi; he then ordered that inquiries should be made to ascertain the young officer's name. Shortly afterwards Sub-Lieutenant Foedor Romayloff was announced. He presented General Becker's sword to Souvarow, who invited him to remain and to have supper with his prisoner. Next day Foedor wrote to his protector: "I have kept my word. I am a lieutenant, and Field-Marshal Souvarow has requested his Majesty Paul I to bestow upon me the order of Saint Vladimir." On 28th of April, Souvarow entered Milan, which Moreau had just abandoned in order to retreat beyond Tesino. The following proclamation was by his order posted on all the walls of the capital; it admirably paints the spirit of the Muscovite: "The victorious army of the Apostolical and Roman Emperor is here; it has fought solely for the restoration of the Holy Faith,--the clergy, nobility, and ancient government of Italy. People, join us for God and the Faith, for we have arrived with an army at Milan and Placentia to assist you!" The dearly bought victories of Trebia and Novi succeeded that of Cassano, and left Souvarow so much weakened that he was unable to profit by them. Besides, just when the Russian general was about to resume his march, a new plan of campaign arrived, sent by the Aulic Council at Vienna. The Allied Powers had decided upon the invasion of France, and had fixed the route each general must follow in order to accomplish this new project. It way decided that Souvarow should invade France by Switzerland, and that the arch-duke should yield him his positions and descend on the Lower Rhine. The troops with which Souvarow was to operate against Massena from this time were the thirty thousand Russians he had with him, thirty thousand others detached from the reserve army commanded by Count Tolstoy in Galicia, who were to be led to join him in Switzerland by General Korsakoff, about thirty thousand Austrians under General Hotze, and lastly, five or six thousand French emigrants under the Prince de Conde in all, an army of ninety or ninety-five thousand men. The Austrians were to oppose Moreau and Macdonald. Foedor had been wounded when entering Novi, but Souvarow had rewarded him with a second cross, and the rank of captain hastened his convalescence, so that the young officer, more happy than proud of the new rank he had received, was in a condition to follow the army, when on 13th September it moved towards Salvedra and entered the valley of Tesino. So far all had gone well, and as long as they remained in the rich and beautiful Italian plains, Suovarow had nothing but praise for the courage and devotion of his soldiers. But when to the fertile fields of Lombardy, watered by its beautiful river, succeeded the rough ways of the Levantine, and when the lofty summits of the St. Gothard, covered with the eternal snows, rose before them, their enthusiasm was quenched, their energy disappeared, and melancholy forebodings filled the hearts of these savage children of the North. Unexpected grumblings ran through the ranks; then suddenly the vanguard stopped, and declared that it would go no farther. In vain Foedor, who commanded a company, begged and entreated his own men to set an example by continuing the march: they threw down their arms, and lay down beside them. Just as they had given this proof of insubordination, fresh murmurs, sounding like an approaching storm, rose from the rear of the army: they were caused by the sight of Souvarow, who was riding from the rear to the vanguard, and who arrived at the front accompanied by this terrible proof of mutiny and insubordination. When he reached the head of the column, the murmurings had developed into imprecations. Then Souvarow addressed his soldiers with that savage eloquence to which he owed the miracles he had effected with them, but cries of "Retreat! Retreat!" drowned his voice. Then he chose out the most mutinous, and had them thrashed until they were overcome by this shameful punishment: But the thrashings had no more influence than the exhortation, and the shouts continued. Souvarow saw that all was lost if he did not employ some powerful and unexpected means of regaining the mutineers. He advanced towards Foedor. "Captain," said he, "leave these fools here, take eight non-commissioned officers and dig a grave." Foedor, astonished, gazed at his general as though demanding an explanation of this strange order. "Obey orders," said Souvarow. Foedor obeyed, and the eight men set to work; and ten minutes later the grave was dug, greatly to the astonishment of the whole army, which had gathered in a semicircle on the rising slopes of the two hills which bordered the road, standing as if on the steps of a huge amphitheatre. Souvarow dismounted from his horse, broke his sword in two and threw it into the grave, detached his epaulets one by one and threw them after his sword, dragged off the decorations which covered his breast and cast these after the sword and epaulets, and then, stripping himself naked, he lay down in the grave himself, crying in a loud voice-- "Cover me with earth! Leave your general here. You are no longer my children, and I am no longer your father; nothing remains to me but death." At these strange words, which were uttered in so powerful a voice that they were heard by the whole army, the Russian grenadiers threw themselves weeping into the grave, and, raising their general, asked pardon of him, entreating him to lead them again against the enemy. "At last," cried Souvarow, "I recognise my children again. To the enemy!" Not cries but yells of joy greeted his words. Souvarav dressed himself again, and whilst he was dressing the leaders of the mutiny crept in the dust to kiss his feet. Then, when his epaulets were replaced on his shoulders, and when his decorations again shone on his breast, he remounted his horse, followed by the army, the soldiers swearing with one voice that they would all die rather than abandon their father. The same day Souvarow attacked Aerolo; but his luck had turned: the conqueror of Cassano, Trebia, and Novi had left his good-fortune behind in the plains of Italy. For twelve hours six hundred French opposed three thousand Russian grenadiers beneath the walls of the town, and so successfully that night fell without Souvarow being able to defeat them. Next day he marched the whole of his troops against this handful of brave men, but the sky clouded over and the wind blew a bitter rain into the faces of the Russians; the French profited by this circumstance to beat a retreat, evacuating the valley of Ursern, crossing the Reuss, and taking up their position on the heights of the Furka and Grimsel. One portion of the Russian army's design had been achieved, they were masters of the St. Gothard. It is true that as soon as they marched farther on, the French would retake it and cut off their retreat; but what did this matter to Souvarow? Did he not always march forward? He marched on, then, without worrying about that which was behind him, reached Andermatt, cleared Trou d'Ury, and found Lecourbe guarding the defile of the Devil's Bridge with fifteen hundred men. There the struggle began again; for three days fifteen hundred Frenchmen kept thirty thousand Russians at bay. Souvarow raged like a lion trapped in a snare, for he could not understand this change of fortune. At last, on the fourth day, he heard that General Korsakoff, who had preceded him and who was to rejoin him later, had been beaten by Molitor, and that Massena had recaptured Zurich and occupied the canton of Glaris. Souvarow now gave up the attempt to proceed up the valley of the Reuss, and wrote to Korsakoff and Jallachieh, "I hasten to retrieve your losses; stand firm as ramparts: you shall answer to me with your heads for every step in retreat that you take." The aide-de-camp was also charged to communicate to the Russian and Austrian generals a verbal plan of battle. Generals Linsken and Jallachieh were to attack the French troops separately and then to join the forces in the valley of Glaris, into which Souvarow himself was to descend by the Klon-Thal, thus hemming Molitor in between two walls of iron. Souvarow was so sure that this plan would be successful, that when he arrived on the borders of the lake of Klon-Thal, he sent a bearer with a flag of truce, summoning Molitor to surrender, seeing that he was surrounded on every side. Molitor replied, to the field-marshal that his proposed meeting with his generals had failed, as he had beaten them one after the other, and driven them back into the Grisons, and that moreover, in retaliation, as Massena was advancing by Muotta, it was he, Souvarow, who was between two fires, and therefore he called upon him to lay down his arms instead. On hearing this strange reply, Souvarow thought that he must be dreaming, but soon recovering himself and realising the danger of his position in the defiles, he threw himself on General Molitor, who received him at the point of the bayonet, and then closing up the pass with twelve hundred men, the French succeeded in holding fifteen to eighteen thousand Russians in check for eight hours. At length night came, and Molitor evacuated the Klon Thal, and retired towards the Linth, to defend the bridges of Noefels and Mollis. The old field-marshal rushed like a torrent over Glaris and Miltodi; there he learnt that Molitor had told him the truth, and that Jallachieh and Linsken had been beaten and dispersed, that Massena was advancing on Schwitz, and that General Rosenberg, who had been given the defence of the bridge of Muotta, had been forced to retreat, so that he found himself in the position in which he had hoped to place Molitor. No time was to be lost in retreating. Souvarow hurried through the passes of Engi, Schwauden, and Elm. His flight was so hurried that he was obliged to abandon his wounded and part of his artillery. Immediately the French rushed in pursuit among the precipices and clouds. One saw whole armies passing over places where chamois-hunters took off their shoes and walked barefoot, holding on by their hands to prevent themselves from falling. Three nations had come from three different parts to a meeting-place in the home of the eagles, as if to allow those nearest God to judge the justice of their cause. There were times when the frozen mountains changed into volcanoes, when cascades now filled with blood fell into the valleys, and avalanches of human beings rolled down the deepest precipices. Death reaped such a harvest there where human life had never been before, that the vultures, becoming fastidious through the abundance, picked out only the eyes of the corpses to carry to their young--at least so says the tradition of the peasants of these mountains. Souvarow was able to rally his troops at length in the neighbourhood of Lindau. He recalled Korsakoff, who still occupied Bregenz; but all his troops together did not number more than thirty thousand men-all that remained of the eighty thousand whom Paul had furnished as his contingent in the coalition. In fifteen days Massena had defeated three separate armies, each numerically stronger than his own. Souvarow, furious at having been defeated by these same Republicans whom he had sworn to exterminate, blamed the Austrians for his defeat, and declared that he awaited orders from his emperor, to whom he had made known the treachery of the allies, before attempting anything further with the coalition. Paul's answer was that he should immediately return to Russia with his soldiers, arriving at St. Petersburg as soon as possible, where a triumphal entry awaited them. The same ukase declared that Souvarow should be quartered in the imperial palace for the rest of his life, and lastly that a monument should be raised to him in one of the public places of St. Petersburg. Foedor was thus about to see Vaninka once more. Throughout the campaign, where there was a chance of danger, whether in the plains of Italy, in the defiles of Tesino, or on the glaciers of Mount Pragal, he was the first to throw himself into it, and his name had frequently been mentioned as worthy of distinction. Souvarow was too brave himself to be prodigal of honours where they were not merited. Foedor was returning, as he had promised, worthy of his noble protector's friendship, and who knows, perhaps worthy of Vaninka's love. Field-Marshal Souvarow had made a friend of him, and none could know to what this friendship might not lead; for Paul honoured Souvarow like one of the ancient heroes. But no one could rely upon Paul, for his character was made up of extreme impulses. Without having done anything to offend his master, and without knowing the cause of his disgrace, Souvarow, on arriving at Riga, received a private letter which informed him, in the emperor's name, that, having tolerated an infraction of the laws of discipline among his soldiers, the emperor deprived him of all the honours with which he had been invested, and also forbade him to appear before him. Such tidings fell like a thunderbolt upon the old warrior, already embittered by his reverses: he was heart-broken that such storm-clouds should tarnish the end of his glorious day. In consequence of this order, he assembled all his officers in the market-place of Riga, and took leave of them sorrowfully, like a father taking leave of his family. Having embraced the generals and colonels, and having shaken hands with the others, he said good-bye to them once more, and left them free to continue their march to their destination. Souvarow took a sledge, and, travelling night and day, arrived incognito in the capital, which he was to have entered in triumph, and was driven to a distant suburb, to the house of one of his nieces, where he died of a broken heart fifteen days afterwards. On his own account, Foedor travelled almost as rapidly as his general, and entered St. Petersburg without having sent any letter to announce his arrival. As he had no parent in the capital, and as his entire existence was concentrated in one person, he drove direct to the general's house, which was situated in the Prospect of Niewski, at an angle of the Catherine Canal. Having arrived there, he sprang out of his carriage, entered the courtyard, and bounded up the steps. He opened the ante-chamber door, and precipitated himself into the midst of the servants and subordinate household officers. They cried out with surprise upon seeing him: he asked them where the general was; they replied by pointing to the door of the dining-room; he was in there, breakfasting with his daughter. Then, through a strange reaction, Foedor felt his knees failing him, and he was obliged to lean against a wall to prevent himself from falling. At this moment, when he was about to see Vaninka again, this soul of his soul, for whom alone he had done so much, he dreaded lest he should not find her the same as when he had left her. Suddenly the dining-room door opened, and Vaninka appeared. Seeing the young man, she uttered a cry, and, turning to the general, said, "Father, it is Foedor;" and the expression of her voice left no doubt of the sentiment which inspired it. "Foedor!" cried the general, springing forward and holding out his arms. Foedor did not know whether to throw himself at the feet of Vaninka or into the arms of her father. He felt that his first recognition ought to be devoted to respect and gratitude, and threw himself into the general's arms. Had he acted otherwise, it would have been an avowal of his love, and he had no right to avow this love till he knew that it was reciprocated. Foedor then turned, and as at parting, sank on his knee before Vaninka; but a moment had sufficed for the haughty girl to banish the feeling she had shown. The blush which had suffused her cheek had disappeared, and she had become again cold and haughty like an alabaster statue-a masterpiece of pride begun by nature and finished by education. Foedor kissed her hand; it was trembling but cold he felt his heart sink, and thought he was about to die. "Why, Vaninka," said the general--"why are you so cool to a friend who has caused us so much anxiety and yet so much pleasure? Come, Fordor, kiss my daughter." Foedor rose entreatingly, but waited motionless, that another permission might confirm that of the general. "Did you not hear my father?" said Vaninka, smiling, but nevertheless possessing sufficient self-control to prevent the emotion she was feeling from appearing in her voice. Foedor stooped to kiss Vaninka, and as he held her hands it seemed to him that she lightly pressed his own with a nervous, involuntary movement. A feeble cry of joy nearly escaped him, when, suddenly looking at Vaninka, he was astonished at her pallor: her lips were as white as death. The general made Foedor sit down at the table: Vaninka took her place again, and as by chance she was seated with her back to the light, the general noticed nothing. Breakfast passed in relating and listening to an account of this strange campaign which began under the burning sun of Italy and ended in the glaciers of Switzerland. As there are no journals in St. Petersburg which publish anything other than that which is permitted by the emperor, Souvarow's successes were spread abroad, but his reverses were ignored. Foedor described the former with modesty and the latter with frankness. One can imagine, the immense interest the general took in Foedor's story. His two captain's epaulets and the decorations on his breast proved that the young man had modestly suppressed his own part in the story he had told. But the general, too courageous to fear that he might share in Souvarow's disgrace, had already visited the dying field-marshal, and had heard from him an account of his young protege's bravery. Therefore, when Foedor had finished his story, it was the general's turn to enumerate all the fine things Foedor had done in a campaign of less than a year. Having finished this enumeration, he added that he intended next day to ask the emperor's permission to take the young captain for his aide-de-camp. Foedor hearing this wished to throw himself at the general's feet, but he received him again in his arms, and to show Foedor how certain he was that he would be successful in his request, he fixed the rooms that the young man was to occupy in the house at once. The next day the general returned from the palace of St. Michel with the pleasant news that his request had been granted. Foedor was overwhelmed with joy: from this time he was to form part of the general's family. Living under the same roof as Vaninka, seeing her constantly, meeting her frequently in the rooms, seeing her pass like an apparition at the end of a corridor, finding himself twice a day at the same table with her, all this was more than Foedor had ever dared hope, and he thought for a time that he had attained complete happiness. For her part, Vaninka, although she was so proud, at the bottom of her heart took a keen interest in Foedor. He had left her with the certainty that he loved her, and during his absence her woman's pride had been gratified by the glory he had acquired, in the hope of bridging the distance which separated them. So that, when she saw him return with this distance between them lessened, she felt by the beating of her heart that gratified pride was changing into a more tender sentiment, and that for her part she loved Foedor as much as it was possible for her to love anyone. She had nevertheless concealed these feelings under an appearance of haughty indifference, for Vaninka was made so: she intended to let Foedor know some day that she loved him, but until the time came when it pleased her to reveal it, she did not wish the young man to discover her love. Things went on in this way for several months, and the circumstances which had at first appeared to Foedor as the height of happiness soon became awful torture. To love and to feel his heart ever on the point of avowing its love, to be from morning till night in the company of the beloved one, to meet her hand at the table, to touch her dress in a narrow corridor, to feel her leaning on his arm when they entered a salon or left a ballroom, always to have ceaselessly to control every word, look, or movement which might betray his feelings, no human power could endure such a struggle. Vaninka saw that Foedor could not keep his secret much longer, and determined to anticipate the avowal which she saw every moment on the point of escaping his heart. One day when they were alone, and she saw the hopeless efforts the young man was making to hide his feelings from her, she went straight up to him, and, looking at him fixedly, said: "You love me!" "Forgive me, forgive me," cried the young man, clasping his hands. "Why should you ask me to forgive you, Foedor? Is not your love genuine?" "Yes, yes, genuine but hopeless." "Why hopeless? Does not my father love you as a son?" said Vaninka. "Oh, what do you mean?" cried Foedor. "Do you mean that if your father will bestow your hand upon me, that you will then consent--?" "Are you not both noble in heart and by birth, Foedor? You are not wealthy, it is true, but then I am rich enough for both." "Then I am not indifferent to you?" "I at least prefer you to anyone else I have met." "Vaninka!" The young girl drew herself away proudly. "Forgive me!" said Foedor. "What am I doing? You have but to order: I have no wish apart from you. I dread lest I shall offend you. Tell me what to do, and I will obey." "The first thing you must do, Foedor, is to ask my father's consent." "So you will allow me to take this step?" "Yes, but on one condition." "What is it? Tell me." "My father, whatever his answer, must never know that I have consented to your making this application to him; no one must know that you are following my instructions; the world must remain ignorant of the confession I have just made to you; and, lastly, you must not ask me, whatever happens, to help you in any other way than with my good wishes." "Whatever you please. I will do everything you wish me to do. Do you not grant me a thousand times more than I dared hope, and if your father refuses me, do I not know myself that you are sharing my grief?" cried Foedor. "Yes; but that will not happen, I hope," said Vaninka, holding out her hand to the young officer, who kissed it passionately. "Now be hopeful and take courage;" and Vaninka retired, leaving the young man a hundred times more agitated and moved than she was herself, woman though she was. The same day Foedor asked for an interview with the general. The general received his aide-de-camp as usual with a genial and smiling countenance, but with the first words Foedor uttered his face darkened. However, when he heard the young man's description of the love, so true, constant, and passionate, that he felt for Vaninka, and when he heard that this passion had been the motive power of those glorious deeds he had praised so often, he held out his hand to Foedor, almost as moved as the young soldier. And then the general told him, that while he had been away, and ignorant of his love for Vaninka, in whom he had observed no trace of its being reciprocated, he had, at the emperor's desire, promised her hand to the son of a privy councillor. The only stipulation that the general had made was, that he should not be separated from his daughter until she had attained the age of eighteen. Vaninka had only five months more to spend under her father's roof. Nothing more could be said: in Russia the emperor's wish is an order, and from the moment that it is expressed, no subject would oppose it, even in thought. However, the refusal had imprinted such despair on the young man's face, that the general, touched by his silent and resigned sorrow, held out his arms to him. Foedor flung himself into them with loud sobs. Then the general questioned him about his daughter, and Foedor answered, as he had promised, that Vaninka was ignorant of everything, and that the proposal came from him alone, without her knowledge. This assurance calmed the general: he had feared that he was making two people wretched. At dinner-time Vaninka came downstairs and found her father alone. Foedor had not enough courage to be present at the meal and to meet her again, just when he had lost all hope: he had taken a sleigh, and driven out to the outskirts of the city. During the whole time dinner lasted Vaninka and the general hardly exchanged a word, but although this silence was so expressive, Vaninka controlled her face with her usual power, and the general alone appeared sad and dejected. That evening, just when Vaninka was going downstairs, tea was brought to her room, with the message that the general was fatigued and had retired. Vaninka asked some questions about the nature of his indisposition, and finding that it was not serious, she told the servant who had brought her the message to ask her father to send for her if he wanted anything. The general sent to say that he thanked her, but he only required quiet and rest. Vaninka announced that she would retire also, and the servant withdrew. Hardly had he left the room when Vaninka ordered Annouschka, her foster-sister, who acted as her maid, to be on the watch for Foedor's return, and to let her know as soon as he came in. At eleven o'clock the gate of the mansion opened: Foedor got out of his sleigh, and immediately went up to his room. He threw himself upon a sofa, overwhelmed by his thoughts. About midnight he heard someone tapping at the door: much astonished, he got up and opened it. It was Annouschka, who came with a message from her mistress, that Vaninka wished to see him immediately. Although he was astonished at this message, which he was far from expecting, Foedor obeyed. He found Vaninka seated, dressed in a white robe, and as she was paler than usual he stopped at the door, for it seemed to him that he was gazing at a marble statue. "Come in," said Vaninka calmly. Foedor approached, drawn by her voice like steel to a magnet. Annouschka shut the door behind him. "Well, and what did my father say?" said Vaninka. Foedor told her all that had happened. The young girl listened to his story with an unmoved countenance, but her lips, the only part of her face which seemed to have any colour, became as white as the dressing-gown she was wearing. Foedor, on the contrary, was consumed by a fever, and appeared nearly out of his senses. "Now, what do you intend to do?" said Vaninka in the same cold tone in which she had asked the other questions. "You ask me what I intend to do, Vaninka? What do you wish me to do? What can I do, but flee from St. Petersburg, and seek death in the first corner of Russia where war may break out, in order not to repay my patron's kindness by some infamous baseness?" "You are a fool," said Vaninka, with a mixed smile of triumph and contempt; for from that moment she felt her superiority over Foedor, and saw that she would rule him like a queen for the rest of her life. "Then order me--am I not your slave?" cried the young soldier. "You must stay here," said Vaninka. "Stay here?" "Yes; only women and children will thus confess themselves beaten at the first blow: a man, if he be worthy of the name, fights." "Fight!--against whom?--against your father? Never!" "Who suggested that you should contend against my father? It is against events that you must strive; for the generality of men do not govern events, but are carried away by them. Appear to my father as though you were fighting against your love, and he will think that you have mastered yourself. As I am supposed to be ignorant of your proposal, I shall not be suspected. I will demand two years' more freedom, and I shall obtain them. Who knows what may happen in the course of two years? The emperor may die, my betrothed may die, my father--may God protect him!--my father himself may die--!" "But if they force you to marry?" "Force me!" interrupted Vaninka, and a deep flush rose to her cheek and immediately disappeared again. "And who will force me to do anything? Father? He loves me too well. The emperor? He has enough worries in his own family, without introducing them into another's. Besides, there is always a last resource when every other expedient fails: the Neva only flows a few paces from here, and its waters are deep." Foedor uttered a cry, for in the young girl's knit brows and tightly compressed lips there was so much resolution that he understood that they might break this child but that they would not bend her. But Foedor's heart was too much in harmony with the plan Vaninka had proposed; his objections once removed, he did not seek fresh ones. Besides, had he had the courage to do so; Vaninka's promise to make up in secret to him for the dissimulation she was obliged to practise in public would have conquered his last scruples. Vaninka, whose determined character had been accentuated by her education, had an unbounded influence over all who came in contact with her; even the general, without knowing why, obeyed her. Foedor submitted like a child to everything she wished, and the young girl's love was increased by the wishes she opposed and by a feeling of gratified pride. It was some days after this nocturnal decision that the knouting had taken place at which our readers have assisted. It was for some slight fault, and Gregory had been the victim; Vaninka having complained to her father about him. Foedor, who as aide-de-camp had been obliged to preside over Gregory's punishment, had paid no more attention to the threats the serf had uttered on retiring. Ivan, the coachman, who after having been executioner had become surgeon, had applied compresses of salt and water to heal up the scarred shoulders of his victim. Gregory had remained three days in the infirmary, and during this time he had turned over in his mind every possible means of vengeance. Then at the end of three days, being healed, he had returned to his duty, and soon everyone except he had forgotten the punishment. If Gregory had been a real Russian, he would soon have forgotten it all; for this punishment is too familiar to the rough Muscovite for him to remember it long and with rancour. Gregory, as we have said, had Greek blood in his veins; he dissembled and remembered. Although Gregory was a serf, his duties had little by little brought him into greater familiarity with the general than any of the other servants. Besides, in every country in the world barbers have great licence with those they shave; this is perhaps due to the fact that a man is instinctively more gracious to another who for ten minutes every day holds his life in his hands. Gregory rejoiced in the immunity of his profession, and it nearly always happened that the barber's daily operation on the general's chin passed in conversation, of which he bore the chief part. One day the general had to attend a review: he sent for Gregory before daybreak, and as the barber was passing the razor as gently as possible over his master's cheek, the conversation fell, or more likely was led, on Foedor. The barber praised him highly, and this naturally caused his master to ask him, remembering the correction the young aide-decamp had superintended, if he could not find some fault in this model of perfection that might counterbalance so many good qualities. Gregory replied that with the exception of pride he thought Foedor irreproachable. "Pride?" asked the astonished general. "That is a failing from which I should have thought him most free." "Perhaps I should have said ambition," replied Gregory. "Ambition!" said the general. "It does not seem to me that he has given much proof of ambition in entering my service; for after his achievements in the last campaign he might easily have aspired to the honour of a place in the emperor's household." "Oh yes, he is ambitious," said Gregory, smiling. "One man's ambition is for high position, another's an illustrious alliance: the former will owe everything to himself, the latter will make a stepping-stone of his wife, then they raise their eyes higher than they should." "What do you mean to suggest?" said the general, beginning to see what Gregory was aiming at. "I mean, your excellency," replied Gregory, "there are many men who, owing to the kindness shown them by others, forget their position and aspire to a more exalted one; having already been placed so high, their heads are turned." "Gregory," cried the general, "believe me, you are getting into a scrape; for you are making an accusation, and if I take any notice of it, you will have to prove your words." "By St. Basilius, general, it is no scrape when you have truth on your side; for I have said nothing I am not ready to prove." "Then," said the general, "you persist in declaring that Foedor loves my daughter?" "Ah! I have not said that: it is your excellency. I have not named the lady Vaninka," said Gregory, with the duplicity of his nation. "But you meant it, did you not? Come, contrary to your custom, reply frankly." "It is true, your excellency; it is what I meant." "And, according to you, my daughter reciprocates the passion, no doubt?" "I fear so, your excellency." "And what makes you think this, say?" "First, Mr. Foedor never misses a chance of speaking to the lady Vaninka." "He is in the same house with her, would you have him avoid her?" "When the lady Vaninka returns late, and when perchance Mr. Foedor has not accompanied you, whatever the hour Mr. Foedor is there, ready, to help her out of the carriage." "Foedor attends me, it is his duty," said the general, beginning to believe that the serf's suspicions were founded on slight grounds. "He waits for me," he, continued, "because when I return, at any hour of the day or night, I may have orders to give him." "Not a day passes without Mr. Foedor going into my lady Vaninka's room, although such a favour is not usually granted to a young man in a house like that of your excellency." "Usually it is I who send him to her," said the general. "Yes, in the daytime," replied Gregory, "but at night?" "At night!" cried the general, rising to his feet, and turning so pale that, after a moment, he was forced to lean for support on a table. "Yes, at night, your excellency," answered Gregory quietly; "and since, as you say, I have begun to mix myself up in a bad business, I must go on with it; besides, even if there were to result from it another punishment for me, even more terrible than that I have already endured, I should not allow so good, a master to be deceived any longer." "Be very careful about what you are going to say, slave; for I know the men of your nation. Take care, if the accusation you are making by way of revenge is not supported by visible, palpable, and positive proofs, you shall be punished as an infamous slanderer." "To that I agree," said Gregory. "Do you affirm that you have seen Foedor enter my daughter's chamber at night?" "I do not say that I have seen him enter it, your excellency. I say that I have seen him come out." "When was that?" "A quarter of an hour ago, when I was on my way to your excellency." "You lie!" said the general, raising his fist. "This is not our agreement, your excellency," said the slave, drawing back. "I am only to be punished if I fail to give proofs." "But what are your proofs?" "I have told you." "And do you expect me to believe your word alone?" "No; but I expect you to believe your own eyes." "How?" "The first time that Mr. Foedor is in my lady Vaninka's room after midnight, I shall come to find your excellency, and then you can judge for yourself if I lie; but up to the present, your excellency, all the conditions of the service I wish to render you are to my disadvantage." "In what way?" "Well, if I fail to give proofs, I am to be treated as an infamous slanderer; but if I give them, what advantage shall I gain?" "A thousand roubles and your freedom." "That is a bargain, then, your excellency," replied Gregory quietly, replacing the razors on the general's toilet-table, "and I hope that before a week has passed you will be more just to me than you are now." With these words the slave left the room, leaving the general convinced by his confidence that some dreadful misfortune threatened him. From this time onward, as might be expected, the general weighed every word and noticed every gesture which passed between Vaninka and Foedor in his presence; but he saw nothing to confirm his suspicions on the part of the aide-de-camp or of his daughter; on the contrary, Vaninka seemed colder and more reserved than ever. A week passed in this way. About two o'clock in the morning of the ninth day, someone knocked at the general's door. It was Gregory. "If your excellency will go into your daughter's room," said Gregory, "you will find Mr. Foedor there." The general turned pale, dressed himself without uttering a word, and followed the slave to the door of Vaninka's room. Having arrived there, with a motion of his hand he dismissed the informer, who, instead of retiring in obedience to this mute command, hid himself in the corner of the corridor. When the general believed himself to be alone, he knocked once; but all was silent. This silence, however, proved nothing; for Vaninka might be asleep. He knocked a second time, and the young girl, in a perfectly calm voice, asked, "Who is there?" "It is I," said the general, in a voice trembling with emotion. "Annouschka!" said the girl to her foster-sister, who slept in the adjoining room, "open the door to my father. Forgive me, father," she continued; "but Annouschka is dressing, and will be with you in a moment." The general waited patiently, for he could discover no trace of emotion in his daughter's voice, and he hoped that Gregory had been mistaken. In a few moments the door opened, and the general went in, and cast a long look around him; there was no one in this first apartment. Vaninka was in bed, paler perhaps than usual, but quite calm, with the loving smile on her lips with which she always welcomed her father. "To what fortunate circumstance," asked the young girl in her softest tones, "do I owe the pleasure of seeing you at so late an hour?" "I wished to speak to you about a very important matter," said the general, "and however late it was, I thought you would forgive me for disturbing you." "My father will always be welcome in his daughter's room, at whatever hour of the day or night he presents himself there." The general cast another searching look round, and was convinced that it was impossible for a man to be concealed in the first room--but the second still remained. "I am listening," said Vaninka, after a moment of silence. "Yes, but we are not alone," replied the general, "and it is important that no other ears should hear what I have to say to you." "Annauschka, as you know, is my foster-sister," said Vaninka. "That makes no difference," said the general, going candle in hand into the next room, which was somewhat smaller than his daughter's. "Annouschka," said he, "watch in the corridor and see that no one overhears us." As he spoke these words, the general threw the same scrutinizing glance all round the room, but with the exception of the young girl there was no one there. Annouschka obeyed, and the general followed her out, and, looking eagerly round for the last time, re-entered his daughter's room, and seated himself on the foot of her bed. Annouschka, at a sign from her mistress, left her alone with her father. The general held out his hand to Vaninka, and she took it without hesitation. "My child," said the general, "I have to speak to you about a very important matter." "What is it, father?" said Vaninka. "You will soon be eighteen," continued the general, "and that is the age at which the daughters of the Russian nobility usually marry." The general paused for a moment to watch the effect of these words upon Vaninka, but her hand rested motionless in his. "For the last year your hand has been engaged by me," continued the general. "May I know to whom?" asked Vaninka coldly. "To the son of the Councillor-in-Ordinary," replied the general. "What is your opinion of him?" "He is a worthy and noble young man, I am told, but I can have formed no opinion except from hearsay. Has he not been in garrison at Moscow for the last three months?" "Yes," said the general, "but in three months' time he should return." Vaninka remained silent. "Have you nothing to say in reply?" asked the general. "Nothing, father; but I have a favour to ask of you." "What is it?" "I do not wish to marry until I am twenty years old." "Why not?" "I have taken a vow to that effect." "But if circumstances demanded the breaking of this vow, and made the celebration of this marriage imperatively necessary?" "What circumstances?" asked Vaninka. "Foedor loves you," said the general, looking steadily at Vaninka. "I know that," said Vaninka, with as little emotion as if the question did not concern her. "You know that!" cried the general. "Yes; he has told me so." "When?" "Yesterday." "And you replied--?" "That he must leave here at once." "And he consented?" "Yes, father." "When does he go?" "He has gone." "How can that be?" said the general: "he only left me at ten o'clock." "And he left me at midnight," said Vaninka. "Ah!" said the general, drawing a deep breath of relief, "you are a noble girl, Vaninka, and I grant you what you ask-two years more. But remember it is the emperor who has decided upon this marriage." "My father will do me the justice to believe that I am too submissive a daughter to be a rebellious subject." "Excellent, Vaninka, excellent," said the general. "So, then, poor Foedor has told you all?" "Yes," said Vaninka. "You knew that he addressed himself to me first?" "I knew it." "Then it was from him that you heard that your hand was engaged?" "It was from him." "And he consented to leave you? He is a good and noble young man, who shall always be under my protection wherever he goes. Oh, if my word had not been given, I love him so much that, supposing you did not dislike him, I should have given him your hand." "And you cannot recall your promise?" asked Vaninka. "Impossible," said the general. "Well, then, I submit to my father's will," said Vaninka. "That is spoken like my daughter," said the general, embracing her. "Farewell, Vaninka; I do not ask if you love him. You have both done your duty, and I have nothing more to exact." With these words, he rose and left the room. Annouschka was in the corridor; the general signed to her that she might go in again, and went on his way. At the door of his room he found Gregory waiting for him. "Well, your excellency?" he asked. "Well," said the general, "you are both right and wrong. Foedor loves my daughter, but my daughter does not love him. He went into my daughter's room at eleven o'clock, but at midnight he left her for ever. No matter, come to me tomorrow, and you shall have your thousand roubles and your liberty." Gregory went off, dumb with astonishment. Meanwhile, Annouschka had re-entered her mistress's room, as she had been ordered, and closed the door carefully behind her. Vaninka immediately sprang out of bed and went to the door, listening to the retreating footsteps of the general. When they had ceased to be heard, she rushed into Annouschka's room, and both began to pull aside a bundle of linen, thrown down, as if by accident, into the embrasure of a window. Under the linen was a large chest with a spring lock. Annouschka pressed a button, Vaninka raised the lid. The two women uttered a loud cry: the chest was now a coffin; the young officer, stifled for want of air, lay dead within. For a long time the two women hoped it was only a swoon. Annouschka sprinkled his face with water; Vaninka put salts to his nose. All was in vain. During the long conversation which the general had had with his daughter, and which had lasted more than half an hour, Foedor, unable to get out of the chest, as the lid was closed by a spring, had died for want of air. The position of the two girls shut up with a corpse was frightful. Annouschka saw Siberia close at hand; Vaninka, to do her justice, thought of nothing but Foedor. Both were in despair. However, as the despair of the maid was more selfish than that of her mistress, it was Annouschka who first thought of a plan of escaping from the situation in which they were placed. "My lady," she cried suddenly, "we are saved." Vaninka raised her head and looked at her attendant with her eyes bathed in tears. "Saved?" said she, "saved? We are, perhaps, but Foedor!" "Listen now," said Annouschka: "your position is terrible, I grant that, and your grief is great; but your grief could be greater and your position more terrible still. If the general knew this." "What difference would it make to me?" said Vaninka. "I shall weep for him before the whole world." "Yes, but you will be dishonoured before the whole world! To-morrow your slaves, and the day after all St. Petersburg, will know that a man died of suffocation while concealed in your chamber. Reflect, my lady: your honour is the honour of your father, the honour of your family." "You are right," said Vaninka, shaking her head, as if to disperse the gloomy thoughts that burdened her brain,--"you are right, but what must we do?" "Does my lady know my brother Ivan?" "Yes." "We must tell him all." "Of what are you thinking?" cried Vaninka. "To confide in a man? A man, do I say? A serf! a slave!" "The lower the position of the serf and slave, the safer will our secret be, since he will have everything to gain by keeping faith with us." "Your brother is a drunkard," said Vaninka, with mingled fear and disgust. "That is true," said Annouschka; "but where will you find a slave who is not? My brother gets drunk less than most, and is therefore more to be trusted than the others. Besides, in the position in which we are we must risk something." "You are right," said Vaninka, recovering her usual resolution, which always grew in the presence of danger. "Go and seek your brother." "We can do nothing this morning," said Annouschka, drawing back the window curtains. "Look, the dawn is breaking." "But what can we do with the body of this unhappy man?" cried Vaninka. "It must remain hidden where it is all day, and this evening, while you are at the Court entertainment, my brother shall remove it." "True," murmured Vaninka in a strange tone, "I must go to Court this evening; to stay away would arouse suspicion. Oh, my God! my God!" "Help me, my lady," said Annouschka; "I am not strong enough alone." Vaninka turned deadly pale, but, spurred on by the danger, she went resolutely up to the body of her lover; then, lifting it by the shoulders, while her maid raised it by the legs, she laid it once more in the chest. Then Annouschka shut down the lid, locked the chest, and put the key into her breast. Then both threw back the linen which had hidden it from the eyes of the general. Day dawned, as might be expected, ere sleep visited the eyes of Vaninka. She went down, however, at the breakfast hour; for she did not wish to arouse the slightest suspicion in her father's mind. Only it might have been thought from her pallor that she had risen from the grave, but the general attributed this to the nocturnal disturbance of which he had been the cause. Luck had served Vaninka wonderfully in prompting her to say that Foedor had already gone; for not only did the general feel no surprise when he did not appear, but his very absence was a proof of his daughter's innocence. The general gave a pretext for his aide-de-camp's absence by saying that he had sent him on a mission. As for Vaninka, she remained out of her room till it was time to dress. A week before, she had been at the Court entertainment with Foedor. Vaninka might have excused herself from accompanying her father by feigning some slight indisposition, but two considerations made her fear to act thus: the first was the fear of making the general anxious, and perhaps of making him remain at home himself, which would make the removal of the corpse more difficult; the second was the fear of meeting Ivan and having to blush before a slave. She preferred, therefore, to make a superhuman effort to control herself; and, going up again into her room, accompanied by her faithful Annouschka, she began to dress with as much care as if her heart were full of joy. When this cruel business was finished, she ordered Annouschka to shut the door; for she wished to see Foedor once more, and to bid a last farewell to him who had been her lover. Annouschka obeyed; and Vaninka, with flowers in her hair and her breast covered with jewels, glided like a phantom into her servant's room. Annouschka again opened the chest, and Vaninka, without shedding a tear, without breathing a sigh, with the profound and death-like calm of despair, leant down towards Foedor and took off a plain ring which the young man had on his finger, placed it on her own, between two magnificent rings, then kissing him on the brow, she said, "Goodbye, my betrothed." At this moment she heard steps approaching. It was a groom of the chambers coming from the general to ask if she were ready. Annouschka let the lid of the chest fall, and Vaninka going herself to open the door, followed the messenger, who walked before her, lighting the way. Such was her trust in her foster-sister that she left her to accomplish the dark and terrible task with which she had burdened herself. A minute later, Annouschka saw the carriage containing the general and his daughter leave by the main gate of the hotel. She let half an hour go by, and then went down to look for Ivan. She found him drinking with Gregory, with whom the general had kept his word, and who had received the same day one thousand roubles and his liberty. Fortunately, the revellers were only beginning their rejoicings, and Ivan in consequence was sober enough for his sister to entrust her secret to him without hesitation. Ivan followed Annouschka into the chamber of her mistress. There she reminded him of all that Vaninka, haughty but generous, had allowed his sister to do for him. The few glasses of brandy Ivan had already swallowed had predisposed him to gratitude (the drunkenness of the Russian is essentially tender). Ivan protested his devotion so warmly that Annouschka hesitated no longer, and, raising the lid of the chest, showed him the corpse of Foedor. At this terrible sight Ivan remained an instant motionless, but he soon began to calculate how much money and how many benefits the possession of such a secret would bring him. He swore by the most solemn oaths never to betray his mistress, and offered, as Annouschka had hoped, to dispose of the body of the unfortunate aide-decamp. The thing was easily done. Instead of returning to drink with Gregory and his comrades, Ivan went to prepare a sledge, filled it with straw, and hid at the bottom an iron crowbar. He brought this to the outside gate, and assuring himself he was not being spied upon, he raised the body of the dead man in his arms, hid it under the straw, and sat down above it. He had the gate of the hotel opened, followed Niewski Street as far as the Zunamenie Church, passed through the shops in the Rejestwenskoi district, drove the sledge out on to the frozen Neva, and halted in the middle of the river, in front of the deserted church of Ste. Madeleine. There, protected by the solitude and darkness, hidden behind the black mass of his sledge, he began to break the ice, which was fifteen inches thick, with his pick. When he had made a large enough hole, he searched the body of Foedor, took all the money he had about him, and slipped the body head foremost through the opening he had made. He then made his way back to the hotel, while the imprisoned current of the Neva bore away the corpse towards the Gulf of Finland. An hour after, a new crust of ice had formed, and not even a trace of the opening made by Ivan remained. At midnight Vaninka returned with her father. A hidden fever had been consuming her all the evening: never had she looked so lovely, and she had been overwhelmed by the homage of the most distinguished nobles and courtiers. When she returned, she found Annouschka in the vestibule waiting to take her cloak. As she gave it to her, Vaninka sent her one of those questioning glances that seem to express so much. "It is done," said the girl in a low voice. Vaninka breathed a sigh of relief, as if a mountain had been removed from her breast. Great as was her self-control, she could no longer bear her father's presence, and excused herself from remaining to supper with him, on the plea of the fatigues of the evening. Vaninka was no sooner in her room, with the door once closed, than she tore the flowers from her hair, the necklace from her throat, cut with scissors the corsets which suffocated her, and then, throwing herself on her bed, she gave way to her grief. Annouschka thanked God for this outburst; her mistress's calmness had frightened her more than her despair. The first crisis over, Vaninka was able to pray. She spent an hour on her knees, then, yielding to the entreaties of her faithful attendant, went to bed. Annouschka sat down at the foot of the bed. Neither slept, but when day came the tears which Vaninka had shed had calmed her. Annouschka was instructed to reward her brother. Too large a sum given to a slave at once might have aroused suspicion, therefore Annouschka contented herself with telling Ivan that when he had need of money he had only to ask her for it. Gregory, profiting by his liberty and wishing to make use of his thousand roubles, bought a little tavern on the outskirts of the town, where, thanks to his address and to the acquaintances he had among the servants in the great households of St. Petersburg, he began to develop an excellent business, so that in a short time the Red House (which was the name and colour of Gregory's establishment) had a great reputation. Another man took over his duties about the person of the general, and but for Foedor's absence everything returned to its usual routine in the house of Count Tchermayloff. Two months went by in this way, without anybody having the least suspicion of what had happened, when one morning before the usual breakfast-hour the general begged his daughter to come down to his room. Vaninka trembled with fear, for since that fatal night everything terrified her. She obeyed her father, and collecting all her strength, made her way to his chamber, The count was alone, but at the first glance Vaninka saw she had nothing to fear from this interview: the general was waiting for her with that paternal smile which was the usual expression of his countenance when in his daughter's presence. She approached, therefore, with her usual calmness, and, stooping down towards the general, gave him her forehead to kiss. He motioned to her to sit down, and gave her an open letter. Vaninka looked at him for a moment in surprise, then turned her eyes to the letter. It contained the news of the death of the man to whom her hand had been promised: he had been killed in a duel. The general watched the effect of the letter on his daughter's face, and great as was Vaninka's self-control, so many different thoughts, such bitter regret, such poignant remorse assailed her when she learnt that she was now free again, that she could not entirely conceal her emotion. The general noticed it, and attributed it to the love which he had for a long time suspected his daughter felt for the young aide-de-camp. "Well," he said, smiling, "I see it is all for the best." "How is that, father?" asked Vaninka. "Doubtless," said the general. "Did not Foedor leave because he loved you?" "Yes," murmured the young girl. "Well, now he may return," said the general. Vaninka remained silent, her eyes fixed, her lips trembling. "Return!" she said, after a moment's silence. "Yes, certainly return. We shall be most unfortunate," continued the general, smiling, "if we cannot find someone in the house who knows where he is. Come, Vaninka, tell me the place of his exile, and I will undertake the rest." "Nobody knows where Foedor is," murmured Vaninka in a hollow voice; "nobody but God, nobody!" "What!" said the general, "he has sent you no news since the day he left?" Vaninka shook her head in denial. She was so heart-broken that she could not speak. The general in his turn became gloomy. "Do you fear some misfortune, then?" said he. "I fear that I shall never be happy again on earth," cried Vaninka, giving way under the pressure of her grief; then she continued at once, "Let me retire, father; I am ashamed of what I have said." The general, who saw nothing in this exclamation beyond regret for having allowed the confession of her love to escape her, kissed his daughter on the brow and allowed her to retire. He hoped that, in spite of the mournful way in which Vaninka had spoken of Foedor, that it would be possible to find him. The same day he went to the emperor and told him of the love of Foedor for his daughter, and requested, since death had freed her from her first engagement, that he might dispose of her hand. The emperor consented, and the general then solicited a further favour. Paul was in one of his kindly moods, and showed himself disposed to grant it. The general told him that Foedor had disappeared for two months; that everyone, even his daughter, was ignorant of his whereabouts, and begged him to have inquiries made. The emperor immediately sent for the chief of police, and gave him the necessary orders. Six weeks went by without any result. Vaninka, since the day when the letter came, was sadder and more melancholy than ever. Vainly from time to time the general tried to make her more hopeful. Vaninka only shook her head and withdrew. The general ceased to speak, of Foedor. But it was not the same among the household. The young aide-de-camp had been popular with the servants, and, with the exception of Gregory, there was not a soul who wished him harm, so that, when it became known that he had not been sent on a mission, but had disappeared, the matter became the constant subject of conversation in the antechamber, the kitchen, and the stables. There was another place where people busied themselves about it a great deal--this was the Red House. From the day when he heard of Foedor's mysterious departure Gregory had his suspicions. He was sure that he had seen Foedor enter Vaninka's room, and unless he had gone out while he was going to seek the general, he did not understand why the latter had not found him in his daughter's room. Another thing occupied his mind, which it seemed to him might perhaps have some connection with this event--the amount of money Ivan had been spending since that time, a very extraordinary amount for a slave. This slave, however, was the brother of Vaninka's cherished foster-sister, so that, without being sure, Gregory already suspected the source from whence this money came. Another thing confirmed him in his suspicions, which was that Ivan, who had not only remained his most faithful friend, but had become one of his best customers, never spoke of Foedor, held his tongue if he were mentioned in his presence, and to all questions, however pressing they were, made but one answer: "Let us speak of something else." In the meantime the Feast of Kings arrived. This is a great day in St. Petersburg, for it is also the day for blessing the waters. As Vaninka had been present at the ceremony, and was fatigued after standing for two hours on the Neva, the general did not go out that evening, and gave Ivan leave to do so. Ivan profited by the permission to go to the Red House. There was a numerous company there, and Ivan was welcomed; for it was known that he generally came with full pockets. This time he did not belie his reputation, and had scarcely arrived before he made the sorok-kopecks ring, to the great envy of his companions. At this warning sound Gregory hastened up with all possible deference, a bottle of brandy in each hand; for he knew that when Ivan summoned him he gained in two ways, as innkeeper and as boon companion. Ivan did not disappoint these hopes, and Gregory was invited to share in the entertainment. The conversation turned on slavery, and some of the unhappy men, who had only four days in the year of respite from their eternal labour, talked loudly of the happiness Gregory had enjoyed since he had obtained his freedom. "Bah!" said Ivan, on whom the brandy had begun to take effect, "there are some slaves who are freer than their masters." "What do you mean?" said Gregory, pouring him out another glass of brandy. "I meant to say happier," said Ivan quickly. "It is difficult to prove that," said Gregory doubtingly. "Why difficult? Our masters, the moment they are born, are put into the hands of two or three pedants, one French, another German, and a third English, and whether they like them or not, they must be content with their society till they are seventeen, and whether they wish to or not, must learn three barbarous languages, at the expense of our noble Russian tongue, which they have sometimes completely forgotten by the time the others are acquired. Again, if one of them wishes for some career, he must become a soldier: if he is a sublieutenant, he is the slave of the lieutenant; if he is a lieutenant, he is the slave of the captain, and the captain of the major, and so on up to the emperor, who is nobody's slave, but who one fine day is surprised at the table, while walking, or in his bed, and is poisoned, stabbed, or strangled. If he chooses a civil career, it is much the same. He marries a wife, and does not love her; children come to him he knows not how, whom he has to provide for; he must struggle incessantly to provide for his family if he is poor, and if he is rich to prevent himself being robbed by his steward and cheated by his tenants. Is this life? While we, gentlemen, we are born, and that is the only pain we cost our mothers--all the rest is the master's concern. He provides for us, he chooses our calling, always easy enough to learn if we are not quite idiots. Are we ill? His doctor attends us gratis; it is a loss to him if we die. Are we well? We have our four certain meals a day, and a good stove to sleep near at night. Do we fall in love? There is never any hindrance to our marriage, if the woman loves us; the master himself asks us to hasten our marriage, for he wishes us to have as many children as possible. And when the children are born, he does for them in their turn all he has done for us. Can you find me many great lords as happy as their slaves?" "All this is true," said Gregory, pouring him out another glass of brandy; "but, after all, you are not free." "Free to do what?" asked Ivan. "Free to go where you will and when you will." "I am as free as the air," replied Ivan. "Nonsense!" said Gregory. "Free as air, I tell you; for I have good masters, and above all a good mistress," continued Ivan, with a significant smile, "and I have only to ask and it is done." "What! if after having got drunk here to-day, you asked to come back to-morrow to get drunk again?" said Gregory, who in his challenge to Ivan did not forget his own interests,--"if you asked that?" "I should come back again," said Ivan. "To-morrow?" said Gregory. "To-morrow, the day after, every day if I liked...." "The fact is, Ivan is our young lady's favourite," said another of the count's slaves who was present, profiting by his comrade Ivan's liberality. "It is all the same," said Gregory; "for supposing such permission were given you, money would soon run short." "Never!" said Ivan, swallowing another glass of brandy, "never will Ivan want for money as long as there is a kopeck in my lady's purse." "I did not find her so liberal," said Gregory bitterly. "Oh, you forget, my friend; you know well she does not reckon with her friends: remember the strokes of the knout." "I have no wish to speak about that," said Gregory. "I know that she is generous with blows, but her money is another thing. I have never seen the colour of that." "Well, would you like to see the colour of mine?" said Ivan, getting more and more drunk. "See here, here are kopecks, sorok-kopecks, blue notes worth five roubles, red notes worth twenty five roubles, and to-morrow, if you like, I will show you white notes worth fifty roubles. A health to my lady Vaninka!" And Ivan held out his glass again, and Gregory filled it to the brim. "But does money," said Gregory, pressing Ivan more and more,--"does money make up for scorn?" "Scorn!" said Ivan,--"scorn! Who scorns me? Do you, because you are free? Fine freedom! I would rather be a well-fed slave than a free man dying of hunger." "I mean the scorn of our masters," replied Gregory. "The scorn of our masters! Ask Alexis, ask Daniel there, if my lady scorns me." "The fact is," said the two slaves in reply, who both belonged to the general's household, "Ivan must certainly have a charm; for everyone talks to him as if to a master." "Because he is Annouschka's brother," said Gregory, "and Annouschka is my lady's foster-sister." "That may be so," said the two slaves. "For that reason or for some other," said Ivan; "but, in short, that is the case." "Yes; but if your sister should die?" said Gregory. "Ah!" "If my sister should die, that would be a pity, for she is a good girl. I drink to her health! But if she should die, that would make no difference. I am respected for myself; they respect me because they fear me." "Fear my lord Ivan!" said Gregory, with a loud laugh. "It follows, then, that if my lord Ivan were tired of receiving orders, and gave them in his turn, my lord Ivan would be obeyed." "Perhaps," said Ivan. "He said 'perhaps,' repeated Gregory," laughing louder than ever,--"he said 'perhaps.' Did you hear him?" "Yes," said the slaves, who had drunk so much that they could only answer in monosyllables. "Well, I no longer say 'perhaps,' I now say 'for certain.'" "Oh, I should like to see that," said Gregory; "I would give something to see that." "Well, send away these fellows, who are getting drunk like pigs, and for nothing, you will find." "For nothing?" said Gregory. "You are jesting. Do you think I should give them drink for nothing?" "Well, we shall see. How much would be their score, for your atrocious brandy, if they drank from now till midnight, when you are obliged to shut up your tavern?" "Not less than twenty roubles." "Here are thirty; turn there out, and let us remain by ourselves." "Friends," said Gregory, taking out his watch as if to look at the time, "it is just upon midnight; you know the governor's orders, so you must go." The men, habituated like all Russians to passive obedience, went without a murmur, and Gregory found himself alone with Ivan and the two other slaves of the general. "Well, here we are alone," said Gregory. "What do you mean to do?" "Well, what would you say," replied Ivan, "if in spite of the late hour and the cold, and in spite of the fact that we are only slaves, my lady were to leave her father's house and come to drink our healths?" "I would say that you ought to take advantage of it," said Gregory, shrugging his shoulders, "and tell her to bring at the same time a bottle of brandy. There is probably better brandy in the general's cellar than in mine." "There is better," said Ivan, as if he was perfectly sure of it, "and my lady shall bring you a bottle of it." "You are mad!" said Gregory. "He is mad!" repeated the other two slaves mechanically. "Oh, I am mad?" said Ivan. "Well, will you take a wager?" "What will you wager?" "Two hundred roubles against a year of free drinking in your inn." "Done!" said Gregory. "Are your comrades included?" said the two moujiks. "They are included," said Ivan, "and in consideration of them we will reduce the time to six months. Is that agreed?" "It is agreed," said Gregory. The two who were making the wager shook hands, and the agreement was perfected. Then, with an air of confidence, assumed to confound the witnesses of this strange scene, Ivan wrapped himself in the fur coat which, like a cautious man, he had spread on the stove, and went out. At the end of half an hour he reappeared. "Well!" cried Gregory and the two slaves together. "She is following," said Ivan. The three tipplers looked at one another in amazement, but Ivan quietly returned to his place in the middle of them, poured out a new bumper, and raising his glass, cried-- "To my lady's health! It is the least we can do when she is kind enough to come and join us on so cold a night, when the snow is falling fast." "Annouschka," said a voice outside, "knock at this door and ask Gregory if he has not some of our servants with him." Gregory and the two other slaves looked at one another, stupefied: they had recognised Vaninka's voice. As for Ivan, he flung himself back in his chair, balancing himself with marvellous impertinence. Annouschka opened the door, and they could see, as Ivan had said, that the snow was falling heavily. "Yes, madam," said the girl; "my brother is there, with Daniel and Alexis." Vaninka entered. "My friends," said she, with a strange smile, "I am told that you were drinking my health, and I have come to bring you something to drink it again. Here is a bottle of old French brandy which I have chosen for you from my father's cellar. Hold out your glasses." Gregory and the slaves obeyed with the slowness and hesitation of astonishment, while Ivan held out his glass with the utmost effrontery. Vaninka filled them to the brim herself, and then, as they hesitated to drink, "Come, drink to my health, friends," said she. "Hurrah!" cried the drinkers, reassured by the kind and familiar tone of their noble visitor, as they emptied their glasses at a draught. Vaninka at once poured them out another glass; then putting the bottle on the table, "Empty the bottle, my friends," said she, "and do not trouble about me. Annouschka and I, with the permission 2668 of the master of the house, will sit near the stove till the storm is over." Gregory tried to rise and place stools near the stove, but whether he was quite drunk or whether some narcotic had been mixed with the brandy, he fell back on his seat, trying to stammer out an excuse. "It is all right," said Vaninka: "do not disturb yourselves; drink, my friends, drink." The revellers profited by this permission, and each emptied the glass before him. Scarcely had Gregory emptied his before he fell forward on the table. "Good!" said Vaninka to her maid in a low voice: "the opium is taking effect." "What do you mean to do?" said Annouschka. "You will soon see," was the answer. The two moujiks followed the example of the master of the house, and fell down side by side on the ground. Ivan was left struggling against sleep, and trying to sing a drinking song; but soon his tongue refused to obey him, his eyes closed in spite of him, and seeking the tune that escaped him, and muttering words he was unable to pronounce, he fell fast asleep near his companions. Immediately Vaninka rose, fixed them with flashing eyes, and called them by name one after another. There was no response. Then she clapped her hands and cried joyfully, "The moment has come!" Going to the back of the room, she brought thence an armful of straw, placed it in a corner of the room, and did the same in the other corners. She then took a flaming brand from the stove and set fire in succession to the four corners of the room. "What are you doing?" said Annouschka, wild with terror, trying to stop her. "I am going to bury our secret in the ashes of this house," answered Vaninka. "But my brother, my poor brother!" said the girl. "Your brother is a wretch who has betrayed me, and we are lost if we do not destroy him." "Oh, my brother, my poor brother!" "You can die with him if you like," said Vaninka, accompanying the proposal with a smile which showed she would not have been sorry if Annouschka had carried sisterly affection to that length. "But look at the fire, madam--the fire!" "Let us go, then," said Vaninka; and, dragging out the heart-broken girl, she locked the door behind her and threw the key far away into the snow. "In the name of Heaven," said Annouschka, "let us go home quickly: I cannot gaze upon this awful sight!" "No, let us stay here!" said Vaninka, holding her back with a grasp of almost masculine strength. "Let us stay until the house falls in on them, so that we may be certain that not one of them escapes." "Oh, my God!" cried Annouschka, falling on her knees, "have mercy upon my poor brother, for death will hurry him unprepared into Thy presence." "Yes, yes, pray; that is right," said Vaninka. "I wish to destroy their bodies, not their souls." Vaninka stood motionless, her arms crossed, brilliantly lit up by the flames, while her attendant prayed. The fire did not last long: the house was wooden, with the crevices filled with oakum, like all those of Russian peasants, so that the flames, creeping out at the four corners, soon made great headway, and, fanned by the wind, spread rapidly to all parts of the building. Vaninka followed the progress of the fire with blazing eyes, fearing to see some half-burnt spectral shape rush out of the flames. At last the roof fell in, and Vaninka, relieved of all fear, then at last made her way to the general's house, into which the two women entered without being seen, thanks to the permission Annouschka had to go out at any hour of the day or night. The next morning the sole topic of conversation in St. Petersburg was the fire at the Red House. Four half-consumed corpses were dug out from beneath the ruins, and as three of the general's slaves were missing, he had no doubt that the unrecognisable bodies were those of Ivan, Daniel, and Alexis: as for the fourth, it was certainly that of Gregory. The cause of the fire remained a secret from everyone: the house was solitary, and the snowstorm so violent that nobody had met the two women on the deserted road. Vaninka was sure of her maid. Her secret then had perished with Ivan. But now remorse took the place of fear: the young girl who was so pitiless and inflexible in the execution of the deed quailed at its remembrance. It seemed to her that by revealing the secret of her crime to a priest, she would be relieved of her terrible burden. She therefore sought a confessor renowned for his lofty charity, and, under the seal of confession, told him all. The priest was horrified by the story. Divine mercy is boundless, but human forgiveness has its limits. He refused Vaninka the absolution she asked. This refusal was terrible: it would banish Vaninka from the Holy Table; this banishment would be noticed, and could not fail to be attributed to some unheard-of and secret crime. Vaninka fell at the feet of the priest, and in the name of her father, who would be disgraced by her shame, begged him to mitigate the rigour of this sentence. The confessor reflected deeply, then thought he had found a way to obviate such consequences. It was that Vaninka should approach the Holy Table with the other young girls; the priest would stop before her as before all the others, but only say to her, "Pray and weep;" the congregation, deceived by this, would think that she had received the Sacrament like her companions. This was all that Vaninka could obtain. This confession took place about seven o'clock in the evening, and the solitude of the church, added to the darkness of night, had given it a still more awful character. The confessor returned home, pale and trembling. His wife Elizabeth was waiting for him alone. She had just put her little daughter Arina, who was eight years old, to bed in an adjoining room. When she saw her husband, she uttered a cry of terror, so changed and haggard was his appearance. The confessor tried to reassure her, but his trembling voice only increased her alarm. She asked the cause of his agitation; the confessor refused to tell her. Elizabeth had heard the evening before that her mother was ill; she thought that her husband had received some bad news. The day was Monday, which is considered an unlucky day among the Russians, and, going out that day, Elizabeth had met a man in mourning; these omens were too numerous and too strong not to portend misfortune. Elizabeth burst into tears, and cried out, "My mother is dead!" The priest in vain tried to reassure her by telling her that his agitation was not due to that. The poor woman, dominated by one idea, made no response to his protestations but this everlasting cry, "My mother is dead!" Then, to bring her to reason, the confessor told her that his emotion was due to the avowal of a crime which he had just heard in the confessional. But Elizabeth shook her head: it was a trick, she said, to hide from her the sorrow which had fallen upon her. Her agony, instead of calming, became more violent; her tears ceased to flow, and were followed by hysterics. The priest then made her swear to keep the secret, and the sanctity of the confession was betrayed. Little Arina had awakened at Elizabeth's cries, and being disturbed and at the same time curious as to what her parents were doing, she got up, went to listen at the door, and heard all. The day for the Communion came; the church of St. Simeon was crowded. Vaninka came to kneel at the railing of the choir. Behind her was her father and his aides-de-camp, and behind them their servants. Arina was also in the church with her mother. The inquisitive child wished to see Vaninka, whose name she had heard pronounced that terrible night, when her father had failed in the first and most sacred of the duties imposed on a priest. While her mother was praying, she left her chair and glided among the worshippers, nearly as far as the railing. But when she had arrived there, she was stopped by the group of the general's servants. But Arina had not come so far to be, stopped so easily: she tried to push between them, but they opposed her; she persisted, and one of them pushed her roughly back. The child fell, struck her head against a seat, and got up bleeding and crying, "You are very proud for a slave. Is it because you belong to the great lady who burnt the Red House?" These words, uttered in a loud voice, in the midst of the silence which preceded, the sacred ceremony, were heard by everyone. They were answered by a shriek. Vaninka had fainted. The next day the general, at the feet of Paul, recounted to him, as his sovereign and judge, the whole terrible story, which Vaninka, crushed by her long struggle, had at last revealed to him, at night, after the scene in the church. The emperor remained for a moment in thought at the end of this strange confession; then, getting up from the chair where he had been sitting while the miserable father told his story, he went to a bureau, and wrote on a sheet of paper the following sentence: "The priest having violated what should have been inviolable, the secrets of the confessional, is exiled to Siberia and deprived of his priestly office. His wife will follow him: she is to be blamed for not having respected his character as a minister of the altar. The little girl will not leave her parents. "Annouschka, the attendant, will also go to Siberia for not having made known to her master his daughter's conduct. "I preserve all my esteem for the general, and I mourn with him for the deadly blow which has struck him. "As for Vaninka, I know of no punishment which can be inflicted upon her. I only see in her the daughter of a brave soldier, whose whole life has been devoted to the service of his country. Besides, the extraordinary way in which the crime was discovered, seems to place the culprit beyond the limits of my severity. I leave her punishment in her own hands. If I understand her character, if any feeling of dignity remains to her, her heart and her remorse will show her the path she ought to follow." Paul handed the paper open to the general, ordering him to take it to Count Pahlen, the governor of St. Petersburg. On the following day the emperor's orders were carried out. Vaninka went into a convent, where towards the end of the same year she died of shame and grief. The general found the death he sought on the field of Austerlitz. Publication Date: June 1st 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.dumas

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J.M. Burlock The Burning of Books A Tragic Loss of Creativity The Burning of Books                                                     The Burning of Books                     In reading the book “Fahrenheit 451,” by the renowned author “Ray Bradbury”; I wondered if things would ever get that way?   Would the government actually ban all books from being in houses?   Would it become against the law to own any?   Would it be against the law to read what is written in all the various books we are privileged to own.     There have been many books written, some good- and some not worth the paper it was printed on. And maybe they do deserve burning, but we don't do that. People are allowed to write what they want. It is up to us to choose what we want to read, or even possess. People used to have immense libraries, where they would have books by all kinds of authors. And they would read as a pastime or for entertainment.               Before I delve into the times throughout the history of books having been burned. I would like to tell you a little about the author, Ray Bradbury, and what possessed him to write this book. He was born Ray Douglas Bradbury, August 20, 1920, in Waukegan, Illinois. From his youth on, he was always a reader and writer. In 1932, when the carnival came to town, the entertainer, Mr. Electrico, touched Ray with an electrified sword which made his hair stand on end, and shouted, “Live forever!” He attributed his lifelong daily writing habit, to the day this entertainer touched him.              He spent most of his time as a youth, in the Carnegie Library in Waukegan. While in there he would spend his time reading and writing. His family moved from Waukegan to Tucson, Arizona in the years 1926-1927 and 1932-33, so his father could find work. Always returning to Waukegan, then eventually moving to Los Angeles in 1934, at the age of thirteen. And in 1938, he graduated from Los Angeles High School. He never went to college after graduating high school, but chose to educate himself at the local library when his family lived in Los Angeles.           He wrote many stories during this time, even launching his own fanzine in 1939, called “Futuria Fantasia,” writing most of its four issues. His first actual writing where he received a payment for was a pulp magazine- “Super Science Stories” in 1941, which earned him $15.00! He has come along way from those early days, and has become a wonderful writer.           When he went to write the book “ Fahrenheit 451”, it was based on reality. He wrote this fantastic story in the year 1953, which was based on the premise that books were illegal, and if you owned or had been caught reading one, the firemen would come and burn your house down. In 1966, a movie was made with François Truffaut as the director. Another movie is slated to be filmed in the summer of 2008, with Frank Darabont as the director. The actor slated to play the part of Guy Montag, has not been cast yet, but would be announced. It will be most interesting to see a remake of this outstanding book.         Not only because this book is good, but is very factual. As the burning of books has gone on for centuries. The first documented case is when the Emperor Qin Sin Huan during the 3rd century burned the Chinese Philosophy books. Books of various types ranging from religious, early Braille, Anti-Communist, Jorge Amado's novels, comic books, and even in some cities Harry Potter books were burned.             What spurned Ray Bradbury to write this story about book burning, was when he saw a picture of Hitler ordering the burning books by the Nazi youth groups. In May 10,1933 in Berlin, Germany this group burned around 20,000 books from the Institut Für Sexualwissenschaft and the Humbolt University. Some of the works belonged to: Heinrich Hune, Thomas Mann, Karl Marx, Erich Maria Remarque, and H. G. Wells. Any works by Jewish authors were considered un-German. Erich Kastner wrote a gripping account of witnessing the burning of his own books, but was published only after the fall of Nazism! Many of the books at that time were considered Jewish, anti-Nazi, or “ degenerate.”          In 1948, they publicly burned 2,000 comic books in Binghamton, New York. This was done by the watch of priests, teachers, and parents, but it was the children that did the actual burning.        Most recent book burnings have been this year. Several churches in Alamogordo, New Mexico; Charleston, South Carolina; and Cedar Rapid, Iowa took to burning some of the renowned Harry Potter books.      The other book burning was in May 27, 2007, when the proprietors, Tom Wayne and W.E. Leatham took to burning part of the inventory of their used books store, Prospero's Books. These gentlemen did this to protest society's indifference to the printed word. Although they failed to obtain a permit from the Kansas City Fire Department, which interrupted the protest.      There are many reasons for doing the act of burning books. Some books were written that included book burning. There have been movies made that included this act, the most recent being in 2004-” The Day after Tomorrow.” This was where a group of people burned books to avoid freezing to death, much to the horror of the librarian and another person.      Ray Bradbury, the writer of “Fahrenheit 451,” said that reading about the Nazi book burning spurned him to write this story. He was also quoted saying “ It follows then that when Hitler burned a book I felt it as keenly, please forgive me, as his killing a human, for in the long sum of history they are one in the same flesh.”     So this has ultimately been a part of our history. Down through the ages books have been burned. Will this be the end of book burning? Will someone be moved for one reason or another to burn books?     Or will our own government one day step in and claim certain books are illegal. Going into peoples homes and confiscating them and publicly burning them. This is something every one of us should think about. For it is our creativity that could be eventually in jeopardy.     I am glad that I took the time to read this wonderful book again, in which it spurned me to do some research. Not just on the author, but on the book he was compelled to write. I encourage anyone who hasn't read this book yet to do so, you will not be disappointed. Also just as an afterthought, please treasure those books in your library, and if you find that you have too many share them. There are some people out there that wish they had the ability to read, but for some reason perhaps blindness or going blind they cannot read.   This is a comment from the man himself! (Curteously taken from Wikipedia) *“You don’t have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them” Ray Douglas Bradbury Ray Douglas Bradbury was an American fantasy, science fiction, horror and mystery fiction writer. Wikipedia Text: Jennifer Burlock Images: Google images All rights reserved. Publication Date: January 12th 2016 https://www.bookrix.com/-queenjen56

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Erin Clerity Death Before Dishonor: Retribution Everyone I know and love! Part 1: Enemy Publication Date: August 16th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-deadened.hopes

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Jermey Michael Henley Island (The Island) Chapter One If hell were honestly a place, Jonathan was there now. He knew it when he stepped off the boat onto the deserted island. Out of only four winners in Marengo County, he wins the cruise. He doesn't even like cruises. Fourteen months out of the Navy, and he finds himself on a ship, again. He had entered a contest on his favorite radio station, hassled into by his best friend Jeff, unknowingly, the outcome would be a cruise to the Bahamas. Dear God, he was a retired Master chief Petty Officer, for Christ' sake. Even worse, he hadn't been near the sea since the day he retired. Try to tell that to captain of the cruise ship, who wanted an “all exclusive” meeting with Jonathan. Shit. Jonathan was afraid he may have been in trouble, since when the ship obviously hit an invisible rock, and suffered hull damage, he didn't run to the aid of the people. Now, stranded on some island in the middle of the Atlantic, that evidently no one has ever heard of. Knowing that Jonathan had top class navigational skills, he felt G.I all over again. It didn't feel as bad as he made it seem. He actually enjoyed it a little. Just a little. ~ Once he finally came to terms with himself, Jonathan moved to the bow of the ship, where now, the Captain and a few other men were standing. A young Marine with his wife, who had been on leave and took a vacation, walked hastily towards Jonathan. “Harridan sir, Private, U.S Marines, heard you were a Leatherneck yourself. Thought I’d meet with you to figure out a game plan. I'm at your disposal.” He seemed a little uncomfortable talking with Jonathan at all. Sensing the tension, Jonathan looked at the wife, and said, “Marine, stay with your wife. If I need a strong back, I'll call on you”. “Yes, Sir. There are a few Army boys over there, and a National Guardsmen, believe he's a radio tech, or a Signal Op. Not sure if that helps, but thought you should know.” he said, with a grin. Jonathan just wanted to know why they weren't telling the Captain of the ship. He bet his pride wouldn't be to forthcoming after he heard about all of this bullshit. Moving hastily, Jonathan found the Captain puffing foul smelling Tobacco, from what looked like a 19th century pipe. Jonathan quickly got to the point. “Looks like the life boats need to be readied, has this action taken place, or do I need to get it into gear?” The captain, whom Jonathan now knew as Bwond`ear, from the nameplate on his jacket pocket, looked at him with dismay. “I should warn you sir, they are exceedingly ponderous and abominably astronomical in size. A man who should find himself consenting to mickle with such things, should know this. “I know about life rafts Captain, thirty years at sea does that to you. I just want to help, that's all.” he said with enthusiasm. “Well”, the captain said, “If you would really like to assist, please help get the people in order. We will make land in the life boats and afterwords, we will try to repair the ship. Is this in your area of expertise also?” Jonathan knew this was not the work where he would shine. “I worked as a sauceboat mechanic for a while, but nothing like this. I intend to find someone who does know a bit about this situation. Maybe one of the Army guys over there can help me with this. ~ It took an hour to ready the life boats, and the ship had taken on a lot of water. Jonathan knew they needed to get off of this boat. The best thing about the situation at hand, was that, this was a private cruise of only two-hundred people. Jonathan found a loudspeaker and started giving instructions. Astonishingly, people actually listened to him. “Alright, all the women and children first, then the men. If I find any trouble with this, you can be last. Thank you so much. Single file lines please!” Jonathan shouted over the clarion of people. He wanted everyone to be safe. Minutes after he took use of the loudspeaker, almost everyone was off the vessel. He was proud of himself. Almost. He would be riding with the three army guys and the Captain. Everyone was talking about what surprises the island may hold, Jonathan was wondering what happened to the captain going down with the ship routine. What a coward, Jonathan thought. Making it to the beach of the island was a hassle. Everyone was splashing around, not knowing what was in this water. Could've been anything, the Atlantic was very unexpected sometimes. Kids mostly were just happy to be out of harms way, right now. Mothers and Fathers were trying to use there smart phones to figure out where they were at. But, Jonathan knew. He wasn't sure he should disclose this information at this time. Just keep everyone out of the woods, Jonathan thought. He didn't want to tell them anything, but he knew it would probably be beneficial, because they would all be able to do their part. It was too much for the Women, but the men would become angry with not knowing. Nevertheless, it was only a matter of time, before everyone realized the truth. This "deserted" island, was not as deserted as they believed. Chapter Two As everyone stepped from the life-boats, Jonathan began to realize that there were more children on the Cruise ship than he had anticipated. Most were old enough to fend for themselves. Jonathan guessed they were between Eleven and Fourteen. There were a handful of younger children. He would make sure he kept an eye on these. Everyone was paying close attention to there surroundings. Jonathan noticed the anguish on the faces of the parents. He could tell who didn't have kids. Jonathan began to group everyone up. “Okay, We will need volunteers to forage for food and for shelter. You can break up into groups of seven. Every group should equally take part with watching the children.” A tall, lanky man in the back, stood up and cleared his throat, “Well, mister, I'm not sure who makes you boss, but I was a Boy and Eagle Scout for 20 years. I think I can handle some shelter and making some weapons-”, the man stopped and looked at all the children,”I meant I could make some tools, to hunt with.” Jonathan looked at him in amusement. “Okay Mr. Boy scout-”, The man shot a glare at Jonathan. “My name is Jake, Jake Long. You? What exactly makes you the King of this small island?” Jonathan's face turned red with anger and anguish. “Name's Jonathan. And how about your entire lifetime, I spent in the Navy AND Marines. Is that good enough?” “Good enough for me Sir”- said one of the Army guys standing near the ocean. “Okay”, Jonathan began, “I believe the best vegetation and stuff will be closer to the water. Captain, go with these 6 here and find some food.” Jonathan said this as he pointed to one of the Army boys, and his girlfriend, and some friends they had invited. Jonathan saw that his name tag said “Gilcrest”. “Sargeant Gilcrest is it?” Jonathan said reluctantly. “Yes, sir. I'll make it my duty and responsibility to bring enough back for everyone.” he said excitedly. “Sounds good to me. Head to the east. Seems the tide is safer over there. “Alright next group, I don't care who, just go find as many palm branches and strong pieces of wood, and begin building some shelter. I'll stay here with everyone else building a fire pit and some other things. But, above everything, stay safe people. And again, extra attention on the chi-”. Before Jonathan could finish his sentence they heard an explosion that seemed to come from the middle of the island. Everyone was in dismay as they looked to Jonathan for answers. “What was that derisory noise?”,the captain said while walking from spilling his bowels on a small tree. Jonathan, with a smirk on his face, replied, “Well, Cap, there's only one way to find out.” ~ After leaving one of the other military guys to start the fire and things, Jonathan trekked to the edge of the forest, which sat in the middle of the island. He wasn't sure what to expect, exactly. He thought about the last time he had seen this island. His commanding officer, in the spring of 1985 had said it was “Full of demons, and if anyone ever found themselves deserted on it, they should go ahead and expect the absolute worse” . He spoke like a man with experience, which really made Jonathan happy about going in alone. He honestly thought he was losing his fucking mind. He couldn't believe he was honestly being curious. He heard one of his most influential heroes choke up when he talked of the island. This may end up being a “curiousity killed the cat” situation. Jonathan looked through the brush of the palm and pine trees. Pine trees were a good sign, meaning there was fresh water somewhere close. Jonathan didn't realize until now, how galactic the island really was. It was absolutely gargantuan in size. He walked through the forest with reluctance, not really knowing what kinds of animals to expect. He stumbled uopn a few dig spots. He knelt down to get a closer look at them. Realizing animals didn't make them, Jonathan jumped up and hid behind a tree. Grabbing his Bowie knife, he sarted his mechanical breathing taught by the Navy Seals. He didn't know who was on the island, but obviously, they weren't aware that anyone else was here. Jonathan was a very accomplished Marine and Navy Seal, but he wasn't stupid. He would leave the Captain with everyone later, so he could take those army boys with him. They would clear this island if that what it took for safety. All of a sudden Jonathan felt very cold and shaky. He looked down and realized there was an odd shaped dart, jolting from his side. He began to crawl towards the beach, and then, everything went black. Text: Henley Publishing.Co All rights reserved. Publication Date: January 5th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-jhenley1991

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-by-daniella-willey-the-black-butterfly/

By Daniella Willey The Black Butterfly The Ghostly Girl There came to be a girl in the middle of the forest. Black hair, black nails, black heart. She lived alone in the wooden one roomed cottage. The cottage itself was blood red that made it seem as though it was haunted, there was over grown ivy all over it making it seem invisible among the other trees in the woods. There was only one thing that made it like a home and that was a white rose. Yes a simple white rose. The windows were pitched black no electricity meant that there was no lights, no heating ,there was only a candle in the middle of the room. In the corner there was a black sleeping bag and a book called White Crow by Marcus Sedwick a small marker was left in it where she had stopped reading. On the front of the book was a picture of a famly mom, dad, and two girls one was older and the other was in nappies. All looked happy exept one. The older girl she looked irritated even angery at somthing or someone in the distence. either way the pictue did not belong there, in fact it had nothing to do with the book. In the middle of the room sat the girl she had curly hair which looked like it was recently been washed, her skin was pale like she was Ghostly; she wore a lace purple dress with thrills all on the hem. Her legs were hunched together her hands was placed tightly around her legs trying to conceal the heat. She sat there as still as a scarecrow in deep thought, she was day dreaming about the time she was last with her family on a day out, as she remembered that it was her parents anniversary and all the family was coming to celebrate their 21st. “Oh darling let me finish that for you can go upstairs and get ready.” dad said excitedly going over to his wife and kissing her tenderly and putting his hand around her hips. “Ok ok I am going make sure Katie is put in the pram with her nappies and cleaning things” “Don’t worry about that I will get Jezzal to do that when she comes down” “I love you” dad says gleefully “I love you too” mom repeats happily Mom ran upstairs and called Jezzal "Could you come and help me a second” "Yes mom” Jezzal replied Jezzal came in to her mother’s bedroom in a Green floral dress and heals Her mom was in her underwear with clothes all over the floor. “So what do you want help with?” Her mom turned around. "Oh dear you look so grown up” “Thank you” Jezzal said in an embarrassed voice. “Could you help me with my dress” mom said in a proud voice “Course I can” Jezzal said cheerfully Jezzal went to the wardrobe and got her mother’s dress that was hanging on the wardrobe door and took the hanger off the dress and went over to her mother and was ready to help her mom put the dress on. Her mom turned around and Jezzal went on her tiptoes to help her mom with the dress. Once it was over her mom head the rest of the dress dropped to the floor. “Thanks love that is great, do you want to borrow my earrings?” “Yes please” Her mom went over to the dressing table and got a pair of green dangly earrings and then walked over to her daughter and put the earing in her ears and then kissed her on the cheek tenderly. “Love could you go and help your farther in the kitchen with your sister please” “Sure do you want Katie’s bib and bottle in there too?” “Yea those are to go in the pram too, I will be down in a couple of minute.” Jezzal went down stairs to help her dad ………. The girl came out of her day dream and felt really hungry so decided to order a pizza. The boy Dear diary, I thought my life could not get any better. But it has. I have a girlfriend she is Beautiful and her name is Isabella Jazaloby she has long lushes curly hair her eyes are deep blue pools which you can see her emotion brought out ,her skin is as soft as silk . My baba said that I should make a honest woman out of her I just laughed the thing is I only asked her out to the whale festival because she said that she did not have anyone to go with, so I offered, because her mama said she did not like her to go on her own since there have been a number of murders in the area and woman have been targeted, some say that these woman where tied up and tortured and I would hate that to happen to Isabella epically since her papa is part of the government. I would never forgive myself. So I am going to protect her from any harm. Heart Brake 6 months on Dear Diary, Why did he have to do this to me I loved her I thought she would be my Juliet and we would be together for ever. After the Festival I took her back to her house ,nothing was more perfect I asked if she wanted to be my Girlfriend and she said yes, my first girlfriend and now she is gone, I’ve gone we can’t have a long distance relationship how am I to live over the other side of the planet when the woman I love is not with me. I hate, it hate it, hate it. Even tthrough papa said to make a honest womain outb of her he wants me to leave this is unfair. Papa said I was to go England to learn the trade over there and that I was now old enough to support my family, and I should stop living in a fantasy world where I can only dream of being with the woman I love. I should make a name for myself. I don’t know what true love is . I only wish I could change his mind the thing is I have to go because he has spent all of his life savings on this trip for me he has contacted a man who says he has work for me I really don’t want to leave Isabella she has been there for me since the start,and she is my one true love How am I supposed to tell her my sweet heart. I Love her. I have to brake the bad new to her soon because i am leaving in a week. How am I supposed to tell her. I Love her........................... The White rose The girl got up and went to the front door she opened it slowly and on the door step sat the white rose that her mother had given her during the anniversary dinner. It was a small white rose with delicate petals that would have taken a fine artist to draw it so beautifully. Jazzal had put it in her hair, she noticed that it went perfectly with her dress and it complimented her handbag and dress almost matched it perfectly. She felt like a princess. She had various comments to how she looked and she liked being the centre of attention it felt good She had mingled with distant family members. Then her mom came over to her. “Darling could you take Katie upstairs because she is ready for her nap” mom said cheerfully The party had gone to the house because the weather had got too cold to stay outside Jezzal’s dad had put the fire on in the living room, and had boiled the kettle and was in the living room with his wife’s sister chatting about the old days and how he asked his wife out. Jazzal took her sister out of the pram and up the stairs to her bedroom she undressed her sister and put her nightie on her then she put her in the bed softly with a blanket spread over her then she kissed her on the cheek then went out of the room and closed the door softly,but keeping it at a jar so she would not get scared when she woke up. Jazzal went past her mom and dad room when she got to the stairs she thought she head a laugh she thought it was her parents changing in to some other outfits but as she soon realised that the was wrong. She came to the kitchen and she saw her mom helping her nan with the cutting of the chocolate cake. She suddenly thought who the hell was with her dad if it was not her mom, she went into the living room and saw everyone was their except her Ant Clair, she went back in to the kitchen and spoke to her mom “Mom?” “Yes dear “ “Do you know were Ant Clair is “ “Yea she is up stairs getting changed why are you interested?” “Oh I thought I heard laughter in there I thought it was you and dad”. "Dont be silly your farther is in the dinning room with the other guessed" " Are you sure?" " Couse I am your farther loves us all you know. that includes you too." "doute that" Jazzal says to herself Teds wonderful Pizza The girl was hungery and had not eaten in a while in fact it had been 2 months and 24 days since she had a proper meal she felt really hungery and wanted to eat beause she thought that was the normal thing to do since everything in her life had been abnormal. she thought of a number that she had seen on her wonder around the city of a pizza delivery company "Teds wonderful pizza" any pizza for a £5.00, she thought that would be fine for her to eat for dinner so she went and got her money from her sleeping bag she had £500 that her mother had given her. she took her mobile phone out of the sleeping bag,and saw she had 2 messages fron 2 weeks ago which read: "Jezzal where are you, you said that you would ring when you were coming home I know I dont say it often but I love you I hope You realise that and I'm deeply sorry that you found out in that way please come home Dad" The second mesage read "Zezzal call me its importent we talk as a famly I love you mom xx" A tear fell down Jezzals eye slowly she quickly called the number of the pizza company "Hello Teds wonderful Pizza have any pizza you like"strangly the voice on the other siide was not happy in fact he sounded distracted even irritated, but Zezzle was not going to let them annoy her. "Hello could I order a cheesy tamato pizza please" "yea sure what topping" he sounded angery " cheese and tamato please" Zezzle said confused "what" the man on the other side of the phone said "chees and......." "No not you ....... look you need to walk out before i serously loose it ............." the phonne hung up Zezzle was angery that they had hung up on her so she decided to ring back and complain she dilled the number again "Hello Teds wonderful Pizza have any pizza you like" "Hi I just ordered a pizza and you hung up on me before I had finished" "Hang on" the voice said fustrated Jezzal waited for 15 minutes then she was about to hang up when the call was taken again This time it was a womain as dull as the manas the man she had been waiting for "Hello Teds wonderful Pizza have any pizza you like" the woman sounded aggressive sort of like she was bisy doing other things that were more importent." Jezzel got angery. "Hello I ordered a pizza from this comaney around 40 minutes ago and no one has taken my address to deliver my pizza now can you do that or not?!" "Oh chicken and tamato." "No cheese and tamato." "Sorry we did not have an order for cheese just chicken" Zezzle could hear a faint voice in the background. "Tony who's pizza are you eating?" "Pizza" she recordnized the voice it was the man who took the call twice before" "Oh shoot" she then could hear laughter from other people. "You stupid fool you are eating her pizza" "No I'm not" "yes you are look what is in there and tell me that not her pizza go on look" There was movment on the other side of the phone. "Shoot" the man was furious "Look is she still on the line" "Proberly very angery" "Hello are still there miss" "Yes I am " Jezzlel said with grited teeth " Sorry about this look what I will do is I will get you a pizza that you wanted and throw in some chips and drink is that ok for you" "Yes thank You" "Now that, is sorted can I take your address please" "One Black Forrest Inn you will see it as you turn in to New Bridge park" "Once again I am so sorry for the inconvenience" The thing is she was sorry to because someone had to pay like her dad had too play for what he had done ....... el último adiós Jason Dear diary, Today I leave for England it seems like time has gone so quicky since my farther told me I was to go. I broke the news to my lover she took it hard as expected we cried in each others arms Publication Date: December 15th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-willey

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-montana-schmidt-molly-039-s-mystery/

Montana Schmidt Molly's Mystery Her life will never be the same. I dedicate this book to my sister: Dakota ,my brother: James, and my mom: Stephanie ~Chapter One~Normal Life I have never felt so..... Well, happy in my life actually i have never felt happy unless i am with my father. We just sort of connect. My mom treats me like a slave. I have never had any real friends except Noah. Well, we dont hang out at school because that wouldn't be cool for him. Text: t Images: y Editing: y Translation: t All rights reserved. Publication Date: June 21st 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-sandra93

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-ron-feasel-moral-dilemma/

Ron Feasel MORAL DILEMMA MORAL DILEMMA By REID JACKSON PROLOGUE Jack had taken a job as an associate detective with a reputable detective agency in San Francisco. After his injuries while on a secret mission for the Navy he quit and took his disability pension. He wouldn’t be content with a desk job. During one of his assignments he became involved in a MORAL DILEMMA. This is that story. CH. 1 THE UNHOLY PRIEST He stalked the lady for two weeks. He was meticulous and methodical; and she was married without children. She resembled his whoring mother who had shamed and emasculated him. The world would be rid of such vermin. It would be the fourth victim in the cleansing. Today would be the climax of his psychotic thoughts. She was structured and her activity was predictable. Her husband would be absent tonight; he was in a business meeting in Phoenix. The house was compromised with a bug he installed in their living room. The killer gathered information to fulfill the plan and his quest. He took the time and patience to do his victim. He had placed the bug in the house earlier; gathering his needed information. It was dusk and he was ready. It was a quiet estate situated on five lovely acres in San Francisco; the house was magnificently built in the colonial style with rock facade and landscaping accentuating the peaceful tranquility. The evening was perfect as he drove up the driveway to fulfill his destiny. The excitement was building as the distance to the house was diminishing. He was dressed as a priest because the mission was blessed. He rang the door bell. “Yes.” The intercom spoke. “Is this Mrs. Templer?” “Yes, how may I help you?” The intercom seemed impatient. “Mrs. Clarisse Bergman sent me to visit you.” “Oh, Clarisse sent you, certainly come in.” The door answered with a joyful buzz. The deceitful predator entered. He stood before Mrs. Templar looking saintly with his gentle smile and crisp uniform of a priest. She smiled back not realizing she had just let a monster into her home. The name Clarisse was extracted from the bug and expedited his entrance. “Clarisse asked that I visit you.” “For what reason?” Robin had no idea why Clarisse sent a priest. “She wanted you to have a gift.” “That dear girl, what gift would she give me?” “Heaven or hell!” Robin froze at the remark and felt a deadly chill surge through her body. A sensation that felt like a dark covering enveloped her. Something is terribly wrong here and I feel the evil. I need to do something, but what? She knew she had to escape. “Can I get you something to drink?” He grinned, his eyes signaling her last moments. Robin sprang for the door but then two hands gripped her neck jerking her backwards while closing her air passageway. She kicked and squirmed but it was useless as her life drained from his deadly grip. I’m going to die, oh God, help me, I’m not alone, what is this feeling that now holds me? I see a glow that is soft and warm, that comforts me. I must go to that warmth that fills my heart. I see a vague figure standing with open arms, he’s majestic with love surrounding me, caressing me. Who is this creature waiting for me? Could it be? She had a pleasant smile; her face seemed to glow as he stared. He cut off her wedding finger then left a message on her forehead in virulent red lipstick. WHORING BITCH!  The killer left the house as a car was coming in the driveway; a man exited the car and approached the priest. “Hello father.” “Good evening.” “Is Mrs. Hardesty home?” “Yes, can I be of help?” The man was looking into his soul as if he knew that he had just killed. “Would you give her this?” He was carrying a small portable cooler. He withdrew a .22 Ruger six shot and aimed it at the killer priest. “You’ve performed your last rites” The fake priest jerked at the sight of the pistol. “Wha---“`Pop` The bullet left a telltale hole in the middle of the forehead. The startled priest fell; he had strangled his last victim.  Detective Sampson was talking with the CSI investigator. “This is weird.” “No shit.” The CSI investigator agreed. “The Unholy Priest committing his fourth killing then being shot as he was leaving.”The police were actively hunting for The Unholy Priest and the community had been alerted. “Damnest thing I’ve ever seen.” Detective Sampson was stymied at the double killing as he ran his hand through his curly black locks. “This killer had to know when, where, and the exact time of the serial killers attack on Mrs. Templar.” “It looks that way” Replied the CSI investigator. “Whoever shot the Unholy Priest knew him and shot him in the driveway. He must have known that Mrs. Hardesty had already been strangled. He shot him as he was leaving. It has the look of a vigilante killing. I’m going to run a check of serial killers on our database and find out if this mo has been used before.” The scene was thoroughly cataloged and the bodies removed. Detective Sampson ran a check on all serial killers and found two other serial killers had been killed with an ice bullet. His theory was pointing to a vigilante killer. These other killings took place in Los Angeles and Tucson. Someone is killing serial killers CH. 2 FAST JACK He was moving along smoothly as the wheels clicked over the separations in the sidewalk- tic-tic-tic. Jack was a striking figure in his wheelchair. A fit specimen in a Wheelchair with a short crew cut dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt with odd stainless steel caps just below his knees adding to his total look of curiosity. His lower legs had been shot off. And the caps caught the attention of passerby’s. His upper body was muscular with his arms betraying his strength. He had a square jaw and was an attractive man topped with pure blonde hair. Judging from his arm length he would be six feet two and weigh two hundred and twenty pounds if he still had all of his legs. The smell of trash wafted casually stinging his olfactory senses. The shadows seized the deserted street in darker contrast to the moonlit night. The two gang members had been watching Jack for a few minutes from the dark alley smoking their noxious weed, their exhaled smoke drifting out into the moon light. They noticed he was dressed as if he might have a bit of cash. Both were dressed in ganger type outfits and had the usual tattoos denoting their gang affiliation. They wore oversized colorful pro football jackets with baggy jeans hanging low on their buttocks. Tattoos’ were on their hands and necks. This was going to be easy, they thought, as they walked up to Jack. They crossed the street passing a car without tires sitting on the pavement, stripped of anything that made it a car. The wheels looked naked without the tires with the rims sitting on the pavement. “Hey man, you get around in dat wheelchair man.” Jack didn’t respond but just kept tic-tic-tic. “Hey man, I’s yakin at ya.” “Fuck off, punks.” Snapped Jack” The two gangers looked at each other and grinned. “Hey bro we need some cash.” Jack stopped his wheelchair and looked up at the two punks, “You boys better get home before you get hurt.”His eyes revealed his steady look of defiance. “Youse a smart mouth muther for a dickhead.” Then the larger of the two reached out to grab Jack with his left hand and his right hand produced a six inch switchblade. Jack was faster than Muhammad Ali thrusting a jab. He caught the punk’s left hand and twisted it back and down with his strength and rammed his fist into the punk’s face knocking him flat on his ass. The other Punk froze for a second at the speed of this homey in the wheelchair. He then reached for his blade, but as he did Jack threw a three point Ninja star and stuck him in the forehead. The other one got off the ground bleeding from the mouth. The ganger pulled a gun from his hip, as his hand was swinging to get a shot, Jack thumped his elbow against his side, and a wrist gun strapped to his forearm snapped into Jack`s hand--- `kapow`. The wrist gun instantly stopped the assailant’s life forces and he dropped lifeless to the ground. The quiet was deafening as Jack stared at the two on the ground. The blood was coloring the black pavement, a black pool of life exiting each man’s life.  As the confrontation was happening a window watcher caught the action on a video camera. He was a video hobbyist who often would film the street from his apartment window. He kept an eye on the street always ready to film anything that happened. He happened to see the drama unfold and grabbed his camera off the window sill. He filmed the entire confrontation and then he called 911 and the local TV station. The San Francisco Police Department (SFPD) arrived talking to Jack and the video man. “We reviewed the video that the witness took; you definitely acted in self defense.” “Had no choice officer.” “You have a permit to carry a gun?” “Yes sir.” A local TV station aired the interview and video tape of the attempted mugging. Morning News-(KJTV-(SAN FRANCISCO) “This is KJTV speaking to Jack Frazzel who was attacked by two assailants in the video which he dispatched with lighting speed and deft maneuvers from his wheelchair. Mr. Frazzel you must have had training to react as quickly as you did and you used a Ninja type devise to thwart one of the assailants. What kind of training do you have?” As he thrust the microphone in his face. “I’m an x-seal retired from the Navy.” “It’s obvious the way you defended yourself. It was dangerous to take on two but you didn’t hesitate.” “It was my training, I acted instinctively without thinking.” “From the video it was evident they meant harm.” “Yes, I had no choice.” “As you can see, Jack Frazzel defended himself from certain harm. We are grateful for the witness who filmed this; this is Connie Brinks from KJTV from San Francisco. More news at seven.  The interview closed, Ron Papasinsky was watching the telecast from his private detective office as he was finishing a case his agency had closed. He thought, that was impressive for a guy in a wheel chair; he was fast and methodical defending himself. I might have a job for him. Ron called the police and got Jacks phone number. Ron knew the police well as he had worked with them on several cases. Jack agreed to come by his detective agency. Angie his daughter asked when Jack was coming to the agency, she was impressed watching the video. CH. 3 BACK TO TOPEKA The killer of The Unholy Priest returned home, he lived in Topeka, Kansas, he checked in at work. Captain Russell Brock saw Larry arrive. Larry was hard to miss. He was six foot five, lanky build, good looking, and had silvery brown hair that gave him a look of a distinguished judge or successful business CEO. Captain Brock made a snide remark, “there’s that lazy detective whose case load is off the charts.” “No problem, I’m gonna retire soon.” “I remember in high school you were retired then too.” The two had known each other as kids. They both grew up in Oakland adjacent to the Kaw River. Then it was a peaceful area and kids did what kids did, no drugs or gangs, it was a good place to live. Captain Brock (Bud by nickname) and Larry were always bantering and still are. Larry returned to his parent’s house, he lived there alone now, his parents passed on. He has a sister who lives in Oakland, married with a daughter and husband. The solitude at home forced him to recall. Damn serial killer, I wanted to get him before he killed that lady. I need to react a little faster after I have my vision. That makes three now. These damn killers are sprouting like weeds. I don’t like killing but I hate to think of the innocent victims. I must continue on. The FBI should be looking for me, by now they have a profile on me. I’m ready for plan B if they come sniffing around Topeka. Larry has worked for the TPD for fifteen years. He started killing serial killers three years ago when the visions started again. He knew that eventually he’d be found out. He had prepared an escape plan if he needed to go into hiding. So far he killed three serial killers with the last killing of the Unholy Priest in San Francisco. He had no remorse breaking the law or killing these monsters; after all he figured he was saving innocent lives that would be the next victims. Larry had inherited a large sum of money he used to travel and locate these killers. He would wait for his next vision. They came without warning and the visions seemed random. He had no clue why certain killers were in his vision. He knew he would have to act fast to stop these killers. He had one vision while he was driving; he had to pull off the road since the visions would impair his driving. A policeman saw him driving erratically and pulled over and approached Larry in the middle of his vision. “You having a little trouble driving?” The policeman asked. Larry was in a daze but he was conscious that the policeman had spoken. Larry rubbed his head as he tried to reply. “Yes, I’m having a terrific migraine.” The policeman was suspicious that he might be inebriated. Larry’s head snapped back as the vision left leaving him exhausted but almost normal. Larry focused on the blue uniform standing by his car. He reached into his pocket and grabbed his badge. “Sorry officer but these headaches are vicious that’s why I pulled over”. The officer’s attitude changed when the gold badge catching the Sun’s rays flashed in his eyes. “You ok?” “Yes, thanks for checking me out.” The two exchanged chat since they were fellow employees of the Topeka Police Department. The policeman shifted his belt and told Larry that everything was ok and left. Larry headed home and prepared to go to Arizona and take care of the killer in his vision. He called in telling the Captain that he was going to take some vacation time and be gone for a few days. Larry only used his vacation time to hunt his deadly prey. ¤¤¤ The vision revealed a large lake. The killer was in a patrol boat of some kind with the name Lake Powell Patrol written on the side of the craft. He was following a medium sized yacht with two males and two females on board. Larry always had two or three visions until the last one were the killer would do his deed. So far he received a sign or clue on each vision where the stalking occurred giving him time to find the killer and stop him. He googled Lake Powell and it had to be the lake in Arizona. He rented a helicopter in Arizona after his arrival by plane. It was a Bell 412 with attached pontoons. He found a picture of the killer on the internet since he was an employee of the Corp, of Engineers for Lake Powell as a patrolman. He also found out that three other missing females had disappeared on the lake in the last month. It was easy to locate the killer. He ran a scheduled patrol every day during his work week. He simply followed the killer in his rented helicopter. It was nearing dusk as Larry was following the patrol boat. Larry flew at a safe distance to avoid alerting the killer. He had packed his swat gear he brought thinking in this rugged terrain he might need it. Lake Powell had two thousand miles of shoreline with cliffs surrounding the lake with many side coves darting off the main body resembling jagged tentacles from the air. The killer was following the same yacht in Larry’s vision. The yacht pulled into a narrow channel that had grey smooth boulders on both sides extending several hundred feet straight up. Against the crystal clear water the huge boulders looked like giant marbles of different sizes stacked to the top with shades of different grey colors on each smooth boulder. The killer sped past the opening then turned the patrol boat around creating an arc of white water and slowed to a crawl. The yacht traveled a third of a mile and pulled to the side and dropped anchor. The yachters were spending the night. It was dark now as the Sun had retired for another day. Larry had his night vision goggles on as he landed in the bird’s stealth mode. He was on the cliffs directly above the killer. Larry had a Remington 700 sniper rifle with a night vision scope. The killer was changing into a wet suit with scuba gear, he was determined this night. Larry needed to act quickly before the target was swallowed by the lake; he set up his rifle and loaded his ice bullet from his dry ice cooler. He aimed---thawp, a direct hit on the top of the killers head as he was preparing to dive. Larry had saved another innocent life CH. 4 THE INTERVIEW Ron Papasinsky called Jack and he accepted the invitation. He was on time at the Cisco Detective Agency owned and operated by Ron Papasinsky. “I’m here to see Mr. Papasinsky.” “Go right in, he’s expecting you.” “How do you know me?” “Saw the video, you were fantastic.” “Thanks, I had one eye shut too.” The receptionist laughed and Jack entered the office, Ron stood up and shook Jack’s hand. The office was nicely organized with pictures on the wall of all the associate detectives. Ron greeted jack. He was a fit fifty five year old man with a pleasant demeanor. His eyes had that caring look as if you were the most important human on the planet. “Glad you came.” “No problem, what do have in mind?” “As you can see I run a detective agency.” “Looks like a successful agency; you have a nice setup here.” The building was a new one story metal building with a full basement sixty feet by sixty. “Been doing it for twenty years, I have three good associate detectives that helped make this business successful.” “Is this about a job?” “Yes, I saw your video on TV, and I was impressed.” I was lucky.” “I doubt that, you must have some kind of training?” “Ex-seal-retired.” “You’re too young to be retired, why didn’t you stay on?” “Offered a desk job and I’m not cut out for that, so I took my disability.” “I could use a man like you, I read from your history where you were a squad leader.” “Yeah, I’ll miss those guys.” “I think you would make an excellent detective.” “Even with my disability?” “I think your disability would be an advantage.” “How’s that?” “For surveillance you would not be suspect, plus with your seal training you would be perfect for the agency.” “Finally a man with some common sense.” “A handicap doesn’t necessarily mean a person can’t do a job, it depends on the person.” “I like your thinking Ron.” “I want you to meet someone.” Ron called Angie to the office. She was a beautiful blonde, well built, and carried herself with confidence. “Meet my assistant and top notch detective, Angela Papasinsky.” “Glad to meet you, is this your daughter?” “Yes.” As Jack shook her hand it felt strange and her grip was extremely firm. “You have an unusually firm grip.” She grinned as she pulled off her latex fake covering over her right hand. Underneath was a shiny stainless steel appendage that resembled a well engineered mechanical hand. Jack was mesmerized as he stared at her fascinating hand; it looked like the hand of the terminator in the movie. She wiggled her fingers and then reached and picked up a pen on the desk and wrote her name with the terminator hand. “Wow!” “This hand is flexible.” “I understand now why you’re dad is not inhibited by a disability.” “Angie is my top associate and supervisor over the other detectives on my staff, and she works in the field.” “Now I’m impressed,” as he winked at Angie. “Your wheel chair seems to have some extra attachments and I noticed that the steel caps on the end of your legs have some kind of wheels for mobility.” “Do you have a gym or workout room in this building?” “Yes, we have a racquet ball court, weight room, and firing range for the staff in the basement.” “Lead me to the racquet ball court and I will demonstrate this altered wheel chair.”  The three went downstairs where; they entered the racquet ball court. Jack wheeled to the center of the court and faced Ron and Angie. He pushed a lever, quickly four collapsible stainless steel rods extended at thirty five degree angles from the chair; they rested firmly on the floor creating a solid base to prevent the wheel chair from being toppled. “Ron, you’re a big man, try to knock me over from all four sides.” Ron tried to but Jack was firmly set. “Who designed this for you, Jack?” “I designed and built it.” “Where did you learn these skills?” “Before I became a seal I had three years of mechanical engineering in college.” “That would explain your wheelchair.” “I love to tinker so I rigged this up.” “What about those wheels on the end of those caps?” Jack grinned then pushed himself off the wheel chair and hit the floor roller skating around the court like a kid. Ron and Angie were awed by this ingenuity. “Where did you get the idea to build these?” Ron asked. “I saw kids with small wheels on the bottom of their running shoes and so I made my own.” “Why don’t you just forget the wheel chair then?” “Two reasons, one I’m a tad lazy, and two, I modified this wheel chair so that it can move as fast as kid running.” Jack floored the wheel chair and sped around the court like a demon on fire. “Damn, you’re full of surprises.” “You want more?” “By all means” “You mentioned a firing range, lead me there.” Ron had installed a one hundred and fifty foot firing range for his detectives too keep them sharp with their handguns. Jack placed himself at the front of the range, there was a paper target at the end of the range, and it was fifty feet from Jack. Jack reached to his belt on the left side and pushed one of two buttons and a slight click could be heard. He raised his right leg aligning it with the target and pushed a second button four times in rapid succession---bang, bang, bang, bang. The end of his right cap released four nine millimeter bullets creating a neat hole in the head of the target. The cap was smoking and Jack was grinning. Ron and Christy were stunned at this display and Ron quickly yelled. “Wooweee, show us that device.” Jack pushed the first button again on his belt, “that’s the safety button on the Sig Saur in the cap.” He wheeled around and reached down and removed the cap revealing the Sig Saur built into the cap with a rod like structure located where the hammer of the pistol normally was located, the rod had a thin wire running up Jack`s leg to the buttons embedded in his belt. “You’re a dangerous man in that wheelchair.” “I love to design and build.” “When can you start?” Jack hesitated for a moment, this guy is serious and this job might be fun, at least I can use my training; I’ll take it and see how it goes. When do I start?” “Today if you can?” “Sure, my wheelchair needs the action.” CH. 5 JACK AND ANGIE Jack was hired and he asked Angie out to dinner to get acquainted. They were at a nice restaurant discussing their disabilities. “I enjoyed that today, watching you was fun.” “You were handy too.” Jack joked. They both laughed at the pun. “How did you lose your legs, if I may ask?” “It`s ok, I’ll tell you.” “I was on a night recon with two other seals in Iraq. We were sneaking up on an Iraqi command post at three am Iraqi time.” The moon cascaded over the dunes and a slight wind would cause sand to spiral up like a mini tornado. It was an ocean of sand stretching forever. The moon made the sand look like grey water rolling in high swells, “There was a lone guard checking the southern perimeter and I quietly took him out. Then we were moving slowly toward the command post when a squad of six Iraqis appeared over a ridge in the dunes. We all three hit the sand and lay perfectly still. They didn’t see us but we were about thirty yards in front of them and they were moving toward us. We had to do something quick, I gave the hand command for a pyramid move and then I sprang up and ran horizontally to them to divert their attention. I sprinted for a good seventy five feet as they started firing at me. They riddled my lower legs with rapid fire and I hit the sand and started firing back. My legs burned from the bullets but the Iraqis had my attention. We now had them in our pyramid formation and my two buddies’ commenced firing. We surprised them in our crossfire and between the three of us we wiped them out. We had radioed in a copter and were rescued and returned to base, my legs were demolished.” “That was close, but your legs.” “Shit happens, what about you? Tell me about your hand.” “We were chasing a bail bond jumper in a dark alley when I tripped and I put out my hands to catch my fall, my left hand hit a broken beer bottle that was sitting upright with the jagged edges; I sliced my left hand and cut my wrist so bad my hand was just dangling. My partner rushed me to the emergency room, they tried to reattach it but it didn’t take. So I lost my left hand and after the stump healed a friend of dad designed an artificial hand. Not as life threatening as your story, I’ll hand you that.” “What about your family?”Angie said. “Lost my parents in a car wreck, then shortly after that I joined the Navy.” “Any siblings?” “No, just me.” “You miss the action in the Navy?” “Yeah, it’s in my blood.” “Do you think you`ll like this type of work?” “Better than a regular job, for sure.” “Do your legs ever hurt?” “Yes, sometimes they get to itching and ache.” “My wrist aches sometimes but it goes away.” “At least we both function well, a lot of people with our disabilities aren’t as fortunate.” “Have you met the other two associates with us?” “Not yet.” “I’ll introduce you tomorrow, there’s Will Farrow and Andrew Clemmer, both good men. Will is a retired detective and Andy is learning the ropes like you. Will retired from the San Francisco Police Department and Andy wants to be a crime fighter, both are good associates and can be trusted.” “Tomorrow then.” Publication Date: March 10th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-rfeasel

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-angel-of-death-the-forgotten-book/

Angel.of.Death The Forgotten Book The Forgotten Book Isis was rooting around in the new apartment she had just bought when she came across a leather book that must have fallen down the back of the desk from the previous owner. She had just moved to the town and didn’t know why she had gotten the apartment so dirt cheap. She sat down with the book that had dust gathering on it and blew it off. Just inside the cover it said ‘Maria Tate, Please Read’. It was dated some five years earlier. Isis shrugged Might as well. I have nothing else to be doing until tonight. She turned to the first page and began reading. ***** Now I can understand if you read this and believe it to be a load of rubbish but I beseech you to read it anyway in the hopes that it will at least place the notion into your head you will cause a small amount of suspicion and you will not make the same mistake I did. I write this in the hope of preventing anything happening to another girl. Please read this and remember. It all started a month ago... ‘Ring Ring’ I grabbed my phone as it went off and answered it. “Hello Maria Tate speaking may I ask who is calling?” The man on the other end replied with a deep, gravelly voice. “Hello this is Keith Peters speaking. I phoned to ask if you are available to babysit my daughter Elsie tomorrow night?” I told him of course I could and that my rates were £3.50 an hour. I asked what time should I arrive and where did he live. Of course at this point I didn’t know what I had agreed to Mr Peters told me he lived at 189 Dunneross Avenue and that he and his wife were going out at a quarter to six so to arrive at half five and they would be back at half eleven. I smiled because there was another twenty pounds towards the fifty pounds I needed to get my new apartment. Then he told me that if Elsie was bathed and in bed when they returned he would give me thirty pounds. Of course at this time I thought he was just being generous. I guess he didn’t think I’d last the night to be paid. He must have thought I would be dead. He was very nearly right. The next night I went round to the house and thought wow! His house was huge and also obvious in its oldness. I walked up the winding path bordered with blue, yellow and red roses as well as purple posies mixed in here and there. The path itself was made of the old uneven cobbles from Victorian streets. The house itself was also early Victorian. I found this out when I enquired its age from Mr Peters. The interior was as magnificent and beautiful as its exterior. It was incredibly expensive and elegant and everything seemed so very delicate as if a stiff breeze would send it all smashing to the ground. I started when I remembered that a toddler. I couldn’t believe they would leave all these expensive items within reach of a small child. I asked Mrs Peters and she shrugged and told me in a voice that spoke of high class that Elsie never went near anything of great expense. When she spoke to me there was a small look of pity in her eyes but I didn’t register until later. At a quarter to six I said goodbye to the Peters and went to collect Elsie from her friend’s house next door which had been renovated and looked incredibly modern compared to its neighbours. I brought Elsie back to the Peters and asked her what she wanted. In an incredibly childish, sweet, soprano like voice that couldn’t form the words properly yet she replied. “ ‘Petty ‘Oops.” Which I took to mean Spaghetti Hoops and I was right! So after we had both finished eating I sat her down with me in the main living room in front of the television. I heard the phone ring so I picked it up from its cradle in the hall and carried it into the room with me to continue watching Elsie. “Hello Peters’ residence. Mr and Mrs Peters are out at the minute could I take a message?” Then I heard the voice that would change my life. It gave me shivers down my spine, Goosebumps on my arms and raised the hairs on the back of my neck. No matter how hard I try I will never forget it. The voice was male, deep, and creepy and it sounded like he was sneering at me. “Hello little girly, I know you are alone in there. I’m the man with the bloody hand. I’m at the bottom off the street and I am coming to get you.” Beeeeeep. The line was dead. I lifted the phone away from my ear in a daze. Elsie was watching a cartoon and turned to face me when I sat down beside her again. “ ‘E call ‘gain didn’t ‘e?” I looked at her in shock. He called again didn’t he? “What do you mean he called again? Has he called here before?” I asked. “Yep ev’ry ‘onth.” She said happily before turning back to her cartoon. I was scared but didn’t want to frighten Elsie. As she watched her programme I thought about it. By the time her show had finished I came to the conclusion that it was a prank caller. At half eight I brought Elsie upstairs, washed her, dressed her and put her to bed. When I was half way through her story the phone rang again so I ran downstairs to grab it. I answered slightly out of breath from running down two flights of stairs. “I’m sorry Mr and Mrs Peters are out at the moment can I take a message?” “I’m the man with the bloody hand and I’m at the gate.” Beeeeeep. The line went dead and at that moment I heard the gate creak open like it was only being opened for the first time in years. I went upstairs and finished Elsie’s story before heading back downstairs and watching television. It was during the first break the phone rang. “Hello Mr and Mrs Peters...” I didn’t get to finish because the voice on the other end cut over me. “I’m the man with the bloody hand and I’m at the front door.” Beeeeeep. The line went dead and I ran to look at the front door. The letter box opened and a bloody hand covered in bandages appeared. A scream caught in my throat and when I blinked it was gone. I took a few deep breaths. Don’t be silly Maria I berated myself you are tired from college and freaked because of the phone calls. I went into the kitchen for a glass of water. I turned on the tap and gave a scream of horror as I recoiled away from the tap hat was spewing not clear but shocking red blood. I turned off the tap and found some orange juice in the fridge and poured myself a glass of it. As I went to return to the living room I caught sight of the clock on the cooker which read half ten. I sighed in relief only a hour to go. I was still pretty scared so I grabbed a butcher knife and bought it with me into the living room where I placed it under the cushion beside me. Fifteen minutes later the phone rang. “Hello?” I said in a small, terrified voice. “I’m the man with the bloody hand and I am in the house.”Beeeeeep. The line went dead. I suddenly felt braver and furious at the same time as I knew there was no one in the house except Elsie and I. I hit redial. It started ringing and I froze in terror. There was a phone ringing. Right. Behind. My. Head. My fingers slid under the cushion and tightened around the handle of the knife. I ever so slowly turned my head to look behind me and exhaled a breath of relief when I saw nothing. Then a flash of red caught my eye and I jumped off the sofa. There was a red handprint on the cream leather sofa. The phone rang. It was him. He told me he was upstairs and asked if I had checked on Elsie. I dropped the phone and ran upstairs as I felt my face drain colour and my heart froze in terror. There he was. Standing over Elsie. There was blood on her head but I could see it had come from the blood dripping from the knife in his hand. He stalked towards me, like a lion that had caught sight of its prey, dripping blood all the way. I felt as if I had turned to stone and had been glued to the floor. I was frozen in terror and panic. He drove the knife into me and yanked it out again. I looked down to see my blood gush out. I blacked out. Next thing I knew I was in a hospital bed after being asleep for three days. I had serious internal injuries and they said if the paramedics hadn’t gotten there so fast I would be dead. Due to this I had to stay for almost a month. I was let out this morning but told to rest. So here I am in my living room writing my story in hopes of saving another life. The police thoroughly checked the house but couldn’t find a drop of blood not even cleaning products that could have removed it. It was almost as if there had never been any blood there at all including my own. They did find a small amount on the answering machine. There was a new message it said, oh wait I can hear someone at the door. Oh no it’s him! HELP ME!!! OH PLEASE SOMEONE HELP M___ I am the man with the bloody hand. I told you Maria Tate I would get you and now .... Your Story Has Been Finished In Your Own Blood. A fitting end I think. All who read this beware for you will be my next victim. ***** Isis set the book down with a shaky hand. She gave a nervous laugh. I guess who ever lived here before me was a fiction writer. No way was that true. It was just a scary story. Now she laughed at herself and shook her head at her silliness. The phone rang and she gave a small shriek. She placed a hand on her chest over her racing heart. She shook her head firmly. I am being ridiculous! She thought and picked up the phone. “Hi Isis Elliot may I ask who is calling?” She froze at the voice she heard. “Hello Isis I believe you read my story. I am the man with the bloody hand and I’m at the door.” Isis dropped the phone and let loose a bloodcurdling scream as her front door burst open. Publication Date: April 24th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-angel.of.death

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-seren-do-you-believe-in-ghosts/

seren do you believe in ghosts ghosts Do you believe in ghosts? I definitely do. Ghosts Have haunted people I know and even people that I love. Read on to hear true ghost stories. A girl I know is haunted day and night not even seeing her "attacker". Besides her dad, no one that has seen it. Some of the ghosts that followed her could be nice, but most are always evil. For her it is hard. She can not talk about the ghosts. She isn't 100 percent sure herself what to think, let alone what to say! Many people have seen ghosts. So.e hear them,actually, dogs can sense spirits, good or bad. Most people won't be just be haunted, ghost have a specific reason for haunting so some. Ghosts normally haunt children because of higher state of open mindedness, iggnorance, and believabillity. Ghosts will manely haunt childrenchildren nearing puberty because of the energy they will give out. Editing: buggy1234 Publication Date: January 2nd 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-seren.w

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-aaron-wise-untrace-able-chapter-1/

Aaron Wise UNTRACE-ABLE: Chapter 1 UNTRACE-ABLE Chapter 1 It was a starry night in a city called New York. Officer Randy Bright, an officer who had served 15 years, was in his car patrolling the streets. His job was to rid the streets of criminals. As he passed the New York City Bank he noticed a mysterious blue truck parked a few feet away from the bank. Officer Randy stopped the car to investigate but before he could do anything a stone flew from the truck into Officer Randy’s windshield. In the truck was Donny White and four other men. After throwing the stone Donny noticed police cars in the distance. Hurrying to escape Donny threw his foot down on the pedal. As he pulls away from the Bank, six men run out and jump into the back of the truck. “Got the money, dog?” Crash, one of the four men in the truck asked. “Yeah foo, we got a big baby here, about 6.5 million in cash!” cried Terry Wilkins, one of the six men who jumped in the back of the truck. “Sweet” Richard Johnson said. “Let’s go get Frank!” Joe Kingston shouted as the sound of the police sirens enveloped the sound of the other men talking. Six miles to the south was Frank McKillan, in one of the many jail cells of the New York City Jail. Stretching his hand out of the cell’s window he grabbed a rope. Attached to the rope was a bag with a silenced pistol, a knife, a hacksaw, and some dark clothing for moving through the night. Putting on the dark clothes, he dives under his bed and yells at the top of his lungs. While doing that he points his pistol at the door. “What the heck is going on!?!?!?” cries a guard as he starts unlocking the door of the cell. Seeing the gun in Frank’s hand he quickly tries to reach for his own but is too late. Frank fires and the guard falls heavily. Grabbing the keys, Frank unlocks some cells for a distraction while he escapes. Grabbing a hacksaw Frank saws through through the bars of a window. Tying some rope to a post, Frank jumps out of the window holding the rope’s other end and slides into the shadows. Seeing guards, Frank runs to a wall and due to his dark clothes they don’t see him. As he finds a huge crack about three feet wide and five feet high, two hands come out and grab Frank. As a beam of light shines on Frank’s face, he recognizes two of his gang-mates holding flashlights. “Get that light off my face!” Frank cried. “Dang it, sorry man. I had to know it was you!” Jerry Homer, one of the two men replied. “Where’s Donny?” “He’s coming, don’t worry,” Jerry said. “I got the bomb ready to blow as soon as I press this button,” Eddie Hope, the other guy said as he gestured to a small box with a red button on it.Fine but just blow it at the right moment. Okay?” “Sure” Eddie replied. As they waited for Donny, Jerry went to the main gain to plant some bombs. A few minutes later Donny came in his truck followed by half a dozen police cars. When the truck passed the main gate, the door of the truck opened and Richard Johnson and Crash popped out and started shooting at the police cars. While Crash and Richard were shooting, Joe and another guy started pulling in Frank, Jerry, and Eddie. Seeing the police cars coming, Eddie pressed the button. After the button was pressed the front gate and a portion of the wall blew up, making them fall on top of the police cars. Seeing the front gate and a portion of wall gone the prisoners start pouring out but are stopped by the police while Donny, Frank, Jerry and the others flee in their truck while the police’s attention is on the prisoners. “Okay guys, the first part of my plan went pretty well. We robbed the bank and also destroyed half a dozen police cars in the process!” Donny said smiling. In the gang’s headquarters Donny splits up the money, taking 1.5 million for himself. “How come you get 1.5 mill man?” Martin Nelson, the gang’s Mexican drug supplier and dealer asked. “It’s because he’s the brains of the operation,” Lucky, the gang’s bouncer replied. “Yeah, that’s why. Anyways who are you to have that kind of money? Don’t you get enough money selling your weed and other stuff?” Donny said facing Martin. Martin immediately shut his mouth and walked away smoking a cigarette. Seeing Martin leaving, the others decided to go as well. “Whoa hold on guys! Before you go remember to meet back here on Tuesday you hear?” Donny said, shouting as most of his men left to spend their money. All of them left except Joe, Lucky, Frank, and Machete (one of the robbers who was with Donny when they stole the money from the New York City Bank). “Tell me man, how do you know that the police aren’t on our trail?” Machete asked Donny. “I don’t. Although I don’t think they’re really able to send somebody to look for us. After we destroyed most of the cars that were available for them to use,” Donny replied. “I’m gonna go now. I’ll come back in a few hours guys,” Joe said as he got up heading for the door. “Bring me a beer, Okay?” Frank said. “Sure,” Joe said, already going out the door. Machete looked at his gang-mates and then went to the gang’s basement where all the weapons were kept. “Machete!” Donny shouted. “What?!?!?!?” Machete said shouting back. “I just remembered, we need to tell the other members of the gang to meet us on Tuesday. Go to the other side of town in your car and notify them. Oh yeah, take Frank with you.” “I got plans man!” “You have to do this. Also remember to watch out for those other gangs on the way. Maybe you would enjoy fighting them,” Donny said, trying to get Machete interested. “Okay, fine” Machete said with a hint of interest while loading a Mac-10. Frank then went down to grab an MP5. After grabbing the MP5 he shoved it into his coat and grabbed a fully loaded 500 magnum revolver. “I’m ready, how about you?” Frank said, holding the revolver. “One second,” Machete replied while grabbing an M4A1 and some ammo. Holding the Mac-10 in one hand and an M4A1 in the other, Machete walked to his car, a Ford Mustang with a custom black and gray paint job. Machete stashed the M4A1 in the back and then sat in the driver’s seat beside Frank. “Ready?” Machete said. “Yeah,” Frank replied as they sped across town. 20 minutes later Machete had just run a red light, and was running more.“Are you crazy man!?!?!? Do you want us to get caught!?!?” Frank said shouting over the noise of the engine. “Oh who cares? Let me have some fun,” Machete replied smiling. “Let me drive -- you’re too reckless!” “Nah, hey wait a minute look at that,” said Machete pointing to a group of cars with some guys smoking and drinking. “Black Snake Gang,” Frank said to himself in awe. “I thought they were dead!” One of the guys, sitting on the hood of a car, looked up at Machete’s car. “Well well, look what we have here,” the guy said, a Caucasian about 35 years old. The other people with the guy started to look at Machete’s car. “Python!” Machete said to himself, as he and Frank got out of his car. “Well if it isn’t Frank and Machete,” Python said. The other people started laughing. “Python, the leader of the most wanted gang in New York and the reason for me getting caught and put in jail!” Frank said in anger. “But you and your gang were gone for 5 years! Everyone thought you were dead!” Machete said to Python. “Well we ain’t dead as you can see, and we’re here to show New York why we were called New York’s most wanted gang!” replied Python smiling “Oh and guess what? We will first show New York who’s boss by killing you two!” “Darn,” said Machete as he clutched his Mac-10 behind his back. Machete looked at Frank and nodded as Python pulled out a pistol. The rest of his gang did the same, pulling out various weapons. “Fire!” Frank shouted as he pulled his MP5 and shot down two people while Machete shot three. Seeing Frank and Machete armed, Python jumped behind his car and started firing. “Get in the car!” Machete shouted as he provided cover fire for Frank, but got shot in his left arm. Frank jumped in the car and grabbed the M4A1 shooting a Black Snake member’s car causing it to blow up. Text: This is Copyrighted by Aaron Wise. No part of this book may be used in anyway without the proper authorization of the author. NOTE: Chapter 2-4 should be finished within this month and shall be posted on BookRix ASAP. All rights reserved. Publication Date: September 4th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-slyarrow

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-sir-arthur-conan-doyle-his-last-bow/

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle His Last Bow His Last Bow An Epilogue of Sherlock Holmes By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Part of a collection of stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle published as a book entitled His Last Bow) It was nine o'clock at night upon the second of August--the most terrible August in the history of the world. One might have thought already that God's curse hung heavy over a degenerate world, for there was an awesome hush and a feeling of vague expectancy in the sultry and stagnant air. The sun had long set, but one blood-red gash like an open wound lay low in the distant west. Above, the stars were shining brightly, and below, the lights of the shipping glimmered in the bay. The two famous Germans stood beside the stone parapet of the garden walk, with the long, low, heavily gabled house behind them, and they looked down upon the broad sweep of the beach at the foot of the great chalk cliff in which Von Bork, like some wandering eagle, had perched himself four years before. They stood with their heads close together, talking in low, confidential tones. From below the two glowing ends of their cigars might have been the smouldering eyes of some malignant fiend looking down in the darkness. A remarkable man this Von Bork--a man who could hardly be matched among all the devoted agents of the Kaiser. It was his talents which had first recommended him for the English mission, the most important mission of all, but since he had taken it over those talents had become more and more manifest to the half-dozen people in the world who were really in touch with the truth. One of these was his present companion, Baron Von Herling, the chief secretary of the legation, whose huge 100-horse-power Benz car was blocking the country lane as it waited to waft its owner back to London. "So far as I can judge the trend of events, you will probably be back in Berlin within the week," the secretary was saying. "When you get there, my dear Von Bork, I think you will be surprised at the welcome you will receive. I happen to know what is thought in the highest quarters of your work in this country." He was a huge man, the secretary, deep, broad, and tall, with a slow, heavy fashion of speech which had been his main asset in his political career. Von Bork laughed. "They are not very hard to deceive," he remarked. "A more docile, simple folk could not be imagined." "I don't know about that," said the other thoughtfully. "They have strange limits and one must learn to observe them. It is that surface simplicity of theirs which makes a trap for the stranger. One's first impression is that they are entirely soft. Then one comes suddenly upon something very hard, and you know that you have reached the limit and must adapt yourself to the fact. They have, for example, their insular conventions which simply MUST be observed." "Meaning 'good form' and that sort of thing?" Von Bork sighed as one who had suffered much. "Meaning British prejudice in all its queer manifestations. As an example I may quote one of my own worst blunders--I can afford to talk of my blunders, for you know my work well enough to be aware of my successes. It was on my first arrival. I was invited to a week-end gathering at the country house of a cabinet minister. The conversation was amazingly indiscreet." Von Bork nodded. "I've been there," said he dryly. "Exactly. Well, I naturally sent a resume of the information to Berlin. Unfortunately our good chancellor is a little heavy-handed in these matters, and he transmitted a remark which showed that he was aware of what had been said. This, of course, took the trail straight up to me. You've no idea the harm that it did me. There was nothing soft about our British hosts on that occasion, I can assure you. I was two years living it down. Now you, with this sporting pose of yours--" "No, no, don't call it a pose. A pose is an artificial thing. This is quite natural. I am a born sportsman. I enjoy it." "Well, that makes it the more effective. You yacht against them, you hunt with them, you play polo, you match them in every game, your four-in-hand takes the prize at Olympia. I have even heard that you go the length of boxing with the young officers. What is the result? Nobody takes you seriously. You are a 'good old sport' 'quite a decent fellow for a German,' a hard-drinking, night-club, knock-about-town, devil-may-care young fellow. And all the time this quiet country house of yours is the centre of half the mischief in England, and the sporting squire the most astute secret-service man in Europe. Genius, my dear Von Bork--genius!" "You flatter me, Baron. But certainly I may claim my four years in this country have not been unproductive. I've never shown you my little store. Would you mind stepping in for a moment?" The door of the study opened straight on to the terrace. Von Bork pushed it back, and, leading the way, he clicked the switch of the electric light. He then closed the door behind the bulky form which followed him and carefully adjusted the heavy curtain over the latticed window. Only when all these precautions had been taken and tested did he turn his sunburned aquiline face to his guest. "Some of my papers have gone," said he. "When my wife and the household left yesterday for Flushing they took the less important with them. I must, of course, claim the protection of the embassy for the others." "Your name has already been filed as one of the personal suite. There will be no difficulties for you or your baggage. Of course, it is just possible that we may not have to go. England may leave France to her fate. We are sure that there is no binding treaty between them." "And Belgium?" "Yes, and Belgium, too." Von Bork shook his head. "I don't see how that could be. There is a definite treaty there. She could never recover from such a humiliation." "She would at least have peace for the moment." "But her honor?" "Tut, my dear sir, we live in a utilitarian age. Honour is a mediaeval conception. Besides England is not ready. It is an inconceivable thing, but even our special war tax of fifty million, which one would think made our purpose as clear as if we had advertised it on the front page of the Times, has not roused these people from their slumbers. Here and there one hears a question. It is my business to find an answer. Here and there also there is an irritation. It is my business to soothe it. But I can assure you that so far as the essentials go--the storage of munitions, the preparation for submarine attack, the arrangements for making high explosives--nothing is prepared. How, then, can England come in, especially when we have stirred her up such a devil's brew of Irish civil war, window-breaking Furies, and God knows what to keep her thoughts at home." "She must think of her future." "Ah, that is another matter. I fancy that in the future we have our own very definite plans about England, and that your information will be very vital to us. It is to-day or to-morrow with Mr. John Bull. If he prefers to-day we are perfectly ready. If it is to-morrow we shall be more ready still. I should think they would be wiser to fight with allies than without them, but that is their own affair. This week is their week of destiny. But you were speaking of your papers." He sat in the armchair with the light shining upon his broad bald head, while he puffed sedately at his cigar. The large oak-panelled, book-lined room had a curtain hung in the future corner. When this was drawn it disclosed a large, brass-bound safe. Von Bork detached a small key from his watch chain, and after some considerable manipulation of the lock he swung open the heavy door. "Look!" said he, standing clear, with a wave of his hand. The light shone vividly into the opened safe, and the secretary of the embassy gazed with an absorbed interest at the rows of stuffed pigeon-holes with which it was furnished. Each pigeon-hole had its label, and his eyes as he glanced along them read a long series of such titles as "Fords," "Harbour-defences," "Aeroplanes," "Ireland,", "Egypt," "Portsmouth forts," "The Channel," "Rosythe," and a score of others. Each compartment was bristling with papers and plans. "Colossal!" said the secretary. Putting down his cigar he softly clapped his fat hands. "And all in four years, Baron. Not such a bad show for the hard-drinking, hard-riding country squire. But the gem of my collection is coming and there is the setting all ready for it." He pointed to a space over which "Naval Signals" was printed. "But you have a good dossier there already." "Out of date and waste paper. The Admiralty in some way got the alarm and every code has been changed. It was a blow, Baron--the worst setback in my whole campaign. But thanks to my check-book and the good Altamont all will be well to-night." The Baron looked at his watch and gave a guttural exclamation of disappointment. "Well, I really can wait no longer. You can imagine that things are moving at present in Carlton Terrace and that we have all to be at our posts. I had hoped to be able to bring news of your great coup. Did Altamont name no hour?" Von Bork pushed over a telegram. Will come without fail to-night and bring new sparking plugs. Altamont. "Sparking plugs, eh?" "You see he poses as a motor expert and I keep a full garage. In our code everything likely to come up is named after some spare part. If he talks of a radiator it is a battleship, of an oil pump a cruiser, and so on. Sparking plugs are naval signals." "From Portsmouth at midday," said the secretary, examining the superscription. "By the way, what do you give him?" "Five hundred pounds for this particular job. Of course he has a salary as well." "The greedy rogue. They are useful, these traitors, but I grudge them their blood money." "I grudge Altamont nothing. He is a wonderful worker. If I pay him well, at least he delivers the goods, to use his own phrase. Besides he is not a traitor. I assure you that our most pan-Germanic Junker is a sucking dove in his feelings towards England as compared with a real bitter Irish-American." "Oh, an Irish-American?" "If you heard him talk you would not doubt it. Sometimes I assure you I can hardly understand him. He seems to have declared war on the King's English as well as on the English king. Must you really go? He may be here any moment." "No. I'm sorry, but I have already overstayed my time. We shall expect you early to-morrow, and when you get that signal book through the little door on the Duke of York's steps you can put a triumphant finis to your record in England. What! Tokay!" He indicated a heavily sealed dust-covered bottle which stood with two high glasses upon a salver. "May I offer you a glass before your journey?" "No, thanks. But it looks like revelry." "Altamont has a nice taste in wines, and he took a fancy to my Tokay. He is a touchy fellow and needs humouring in small things. I have to study him, I assure you." They had strolled out on to the terrace again, and along it to the further end where at a touch from the Baron's chauffeur the great car shivered and chuckled. "Those are the lights of Harwich, I suppose," said the secretary, pulling on his dust coat. "How still and peaceful it all seems. There may be other lights within the week, and the English coast a less tranquil place! The heavens, too, may not be quite so peaceful if all that the good Zepplin promises us comes true. By the way, who is that?" Only one window showed a light behind them; in it there stood a lamp, and beside it, seated at a table, was a dear old ruddy-faced woman in a country cap. She was bending over her knitting and stopping occasionally to stroke a large black cat upon a stool beside her. "That is Martha, the only servant I have left." The secretary chuckled. "She might almost personify Britannia," said he, "with her complete self-absorption and general air of comfortable somnolence. Well, au revoir, Von Bork!" With a final wave of his hand he sprang into the car, and a moment later the two golden cones from the headlights shot through the darkness. The secretary lay back in the cushions of the luxurious limousine, with his thoughts so full of the impending European tragedy that he hardly observed that as his car swung round the village street it nearly passed over a little Ford coming in the opposite direction. Von Bork walked slowly back to the study when the last gleams of the motor lamps had faded into the distance. As he passed he observed that his old housekeeper had put out her lamp and retired. It was a new experience to him, the silence and darkness of his widespread house, for his family and household had been a large one. It was a relief to him, however, to think that they were all in safety and that, but for that one old woman who had lingered in the kitchen, he had the whole place to himself. There was a good deal of tidying up to do inside his study and he set himself to do it until his keen, handsome face was flushed with the heat of the burning papers. A leather valise stood beside his table, and into this he began to pack very neatly and systematically the precious contents of his safe. He had hardly got started with the work, however, when his quick ears caught the sounds of a distant car. Instantly he gave an exclamation of satisfaction, strapped up the valise, shut the safe, locked it, and hurried out on to the terrace. He was just in time to see the lights of a small car come to a halt at the gate. A passenger sprang out of it and advanced swiftly towards him, while the chauffeur, a heavily built, elderly man with a gray moustache, settled down like one who resigns himself to a long vigil. "Well?" asked Von Bork eagerly, running forward to meet his visitor. For answer the man waved a small brown-paper parcel triumphantly above his head. "You can give me the glad hand to-night, mister," he cried. "I'm bringing home the bacon at last." "The signals?" "Same as I said in my cable. Every last one of them, semaphore, lamp code, Marconi--a copy, mind you, not the original. That was too dangerous. But it's the real goods, and you can lay to that." He slapped the German upon the shoulder with a rough familiarity from which the other winced. "Come in," he said. "I'm all alone in the house. I was only waiting for this. Of course a copy is better than the original. If an original were missing they would change the whole thing. You think it's all safe about the copy?" The Irish-American had entered the study and stretched his long limbs from the armchair. He was a tall, gaunt man of sixty, with clear-cut features and a small goatee beard which gave him a general resemblance to the caricatures of Uncle Sam. A half-smoked, sodden cigar hung from the corner of his mouth, and as he sat down he struck a match and relit it. "Making ready for a move?" he remarked as he looked round him. "Say, mister," he added, as his eyes fell upon the safe from which the curtain was now removed, "you don't tell me you keep your papers in that?" "Why not?" "Gosh, in a wide-open contraption like that! And they reckon you to be some spy. Why, a Yankee crook would be into that with a can-opener. If I'd known that any letter of mine was goin' to lie loose in a thing like that I'd have been a mug to write to you at all." "It would puzzle any crook to force that safe," Von Bork answered. "You won't cut that metal with any tool." "But the lock?" "No, it's a double combination lock. You know what that is?" "Search me," said the American. "Well, you need a word as well as a set of figures before you can get the lock to work." He rose and showed a double-radiating disc round the keyhole. "This outer one is for the letters, the inner one for the figures." "Well, well, that's fine." "So it's not quite as simple as you thought. It was four years ago that I had it made, and what do you think I chose for the word and figures?" "It's beyond me." "Well, I chose August for the word, and 1914 for the figures, and here we are." The American's face showed his surprise and admiration. "My, but that was smart! You had it down to a fine thing." "Yes, a few of us even then could have guessed the date. Here it is, and I'm shutting down to-morrow morning." "Well, I guess you'll have to fix me up also. I'm not staying is this gol-darned country all on my lonesome. In a week or less, from what I see, John Bull will be on his hind legs and fair ramping. I'd rather watch him from over the water." "But you're an American citizen?" "Well, so was Jack James an American citizen, but he's doing time in Portland all the same. It cuts no ice with a British copper to tell him you're an American citizen. 'It's British law and order over here,' says he. By the way, mister, talking of Jack James, it seems to me you don't do much to cover your men." "What do you mean?" Von Bork asked sharply. "Well, you are their employer, ain't you? It's up to you to see that they don't fall down. But they do fall down, and when did you ever pick them up? There's James--" "It was James's own fault. You know that yourself. He was too self-willed for the job." "James was a bonehead--I give you that. Then there was Hollis." "The man was mad." "Well, he went a bit woozy towards the end. It's enough to make a man bug-house when he has to play a part from morning to night with a hundred guys all ready to set the coppers wise to him. But now there is Steiner--" Von Bork started violently, and his ruddy face turned a shade paler. "What about Steiner?" "Well, they've got him, that's all. They raided his store last night, and he and his papers are all in Portsmouth jail. You'll go off and he, poor devil, will have to stand the racket, and lucky if he gets off with his life. That's why I want to get over the water as soon as you do." Von Bork was a strong, self-contained man, but it was easy to see that the news had shaken him. "How could they have got on to Steiner?" he muttered. "That's the worst blow yet." "Well, you nearly had a worse one, for I believe they are not far off me." "You don't mean that!" "Sure thing. My landlady down Fratton way had some inquiries, and when I heard of it I guessed it was time for me to hustle. But what I want to know, mister, is how the coppers know these things? Steiner is the fifth man you've lost since I signed on with you, and I know the name of the sixth if I don't get a move on. How do you explain it, and ain't you ashamed to see your men go down like this?" Von Bork flushed crimson. "How dare you speak in such a way!" "If I didn't dare things, mister, I wouldn't be in your service. But I'll tell you straight what is in my mind. I've heard that with you German politicians when an agent has done his work you are not sorry to see him put away." Von Bork sprang to his feet. "Do you dare to suggest that I have given away my own agents!" "I don't stand for that, mister, but there's a stool pigeon or a cross somewhere, and it's up to you to find out where it is. Anyhow I am taking no more chances. It's me for little Holland, and the sooner the better." Von Bork had mastered his anger. "We have been allies too long to quarrel now at the very hour of victory," he said. "You've done splendid work and taken risks, and I can't forget it. By all means go to Holland, and you can get a boat from Rotterdam to New York. No other line will be safe a week from now. I'll take that book and pack it with the rest." The American held the small parcel in his hand, but made no motion to give it up. "What about the dough?" he asked. "The what?" "The boodle. The reward. The 500 pounds. The gunner turned damned nasty at the last, and I had to square him with an extra hundred dollars or it would have been nitsky for you and me. 'Nothin' doin'!' says he, and he meant it, too, but the last hundred did it. It's cost me two hundred pound from first to last, so it isn't likely I'd give it up without gettin' my wad." Von Bork smiled with some bitterness. "You don't seem to have a very high opinion of my honour," said he, "you want the money before you give up the book." "Well, mister, it is a business proposition." "All right. Have your way." He sat down at the table and scribbled a check, which he tore from the book, but he refrained from handing it to his companion. "After all, since we are to be on such terms, Mr. Altamont," said he, "I don't see why I should trust you any more than you trust me. Do you understand?" he added, looking back over his shoulder at the American. "There's the check upon the table. I claim the right to examine that parcel before you pick the money up." The American passed it over without a word. Von Bork undid a winding of string and two wrappers of paper. Then he sat gazing for a moment in silent amazement at a small blue book which lay before him. Across the cover was printed in golden letters Practical Handbook of Bee Culture. Only for one instant did the master spy glare at this strangely irrelevant inscription. The next he was gripped at the back of his neck by a grasp of iron, and a chloroformed sponge was held in front of his writhing face. "Another glass, Watson!" said Mr. Sherlock Holmes as he extended the bottle of Imperial Tokay. The thickset chauffeur, who had seated himself by the table, pushed forward his glass with some eagerness. "It is a good wine, Holmes." "A remarkable wine, Watson. Our friend upon the sofa has assured me that it is from Franz Josef's special cellar at the Schoenbrunn Palace. Might I trouble you to open the window, for chloroform vapour does not help the palate." The safe was ajar, and Holmes standing in front of it was removing dossier after dossier, swiftly examining each, and then packing it neatly in Von Bork's valise. The German lay upon the sofa sleeping stertorously with a strap round his upper arms and another round his legs. "We need not hurry ourselves, Watson. We are safe from interruption. Would you mind touching the bell? There is no one in the house except old Martha, who has played her part to admiration. I got her the situation here when first I took the matter up. Ah, Martha, you will be glad to hear that all is well." The pleasant old lady had appeared in the doorway. She curtseyed with a smile to Mr. Holmes, but glanced with some apprehension at the figure upon the sofa. "It is all right, Martha. He has not been hurt at all." "I am glad of that, Mr. Holmes. According to his lights he has been a kind master. He wanted me to go with his wife to Germany yesterday, but that would hardly have suited your plans, would it, sir?" "No, indeed, Martha. So long as you were here I was easy in my mind. We waited some time for your signal to-night." "It was the secretary, sir." "I know. His car passed ours." "I thought he would never go. I knew that it would not suit your plans, sir, to find him here." "No, indeed. Well, it only meant that we waited half an hour or so until I saw your lamp go out and knew that the coast was clear. You can report to me to-morrow in London, Martha, at Claridge's Hotel." "Very good, sir." "I suppose you have everything ready to leave." "Yes, sir. He posted seven letters to-day. I have the addresses as usual." "Very good, Martha. I will look into them to-morrow. Good-night. These papers," he continued as the old lady vanished, "are not of very great importance, for, of course, the information which they represent has been sent off long ago to the German government. These are the originals which cold not safely be got out of the country." "Then they are of no use." "I should not go so far as to say that, Watson. They will at least show our people what is known and what is not. I may say that a good many of these papers have come through me, and I need not add are thoroughly untrustworthy. It would brighten my declining years to see a German cruiser navigating the Solent according to the mine-field plans which I have furnished. But you, Watson"--he stopped his work and took his old friend by the shoulders--"I've hardly seen you in the light yet. How have the years used you? You look the same blithe boy as ever." "I feel twenty years younger, Holmes. I have seldom felt so happy as when I got your wire asking me to meet you at Harwich with the car. But you, Holmes--you have changed very little--save for that horrible goatee." "These are the sacrifices one makes for one's country, Watson," said Holmes, pulling at his little tuft. "To-morrow it will be but a dreadful memory. With my hair cut and a few other superficial changes I shall no doubt reappear at Claridge's to-morrow as I was before this American stunt--I beg your pardon, Watson, my well of English seems to be permanently defiled--before this American job came my way." "But you have retired, Holmes. We heard of you as living the life of a hermit among your bees and your books in a small farm upon the South Downs." "Exactly, Watson. Here is the fruit of my leisured ease, the magnum opus of my latter years!" He picked up the volume from the table and read out the whole title, Practical Handbook of Bee Culture, with Some Observations upon the Segregation of the Queen. "Alone I did it. Behold the fruit of pensive nights and laborious days when I watched the little working gangs as once I watched the criminal world of London." "But how did you get to work again?" "Ah, I have often marvelled at it myself. The Foreign Minister alone I could have withstood, but when the Premier also deigned to visit my humble roof--! The fact is, Watson, that this gentleman upon the sofa was a bit too good for our people. He was in a class by himself. Things were going wrong, and no one could understand why they were going wrong. Agents were suspected or even caught, but there was evidence of some strong and secret central force. It was absolutely necessary to expose it. Strong pressure was brought upon me to look into the matter. It has cost me two years, Watson, but they have not been devoid of excitement. When I say that I started my pilgrimage at Chicago, graduated in an Irish secret society at Buffalo, gave serious trouble to the constabulary at Skibbareen, and so eventually caught the eye of a subordinate agent of Von Bork, who recommended me as a likely man, you will realize that the matter was complex. Since then I have been honoured by his confidence, which has not prevented most of his plans going subtly wrong and five of his best agents being in prison. I watched them, Watson, and I picked them as they ripened. Well, sir, I hope that you are none the worse!" The last remark was addressed to Von Bork himself, who after much gasping and blinking had lain quietly listening to Holmes's statement. He broke out now into a furious stream of German invective, his face convulsed with passion. Holmes continued his swift investigation of documents while his prisoner cursed and swore. "Though unmusical, German is the most expressive of all languages," he observed when Von Bork had stopped from pure exhaustion. "Hullo! Hullo!" he added as he looked hard at the corner of a tracing before putting it in the box. "This should put another bird in the cage. I had no idea that the paymaster was such a rascal, though I have long had an eye upon him. Mister Von Bork, you have a great deal to answer for." The prisoner had raised himself with some difficulty upon the sofa and was staring with a strange mixture of amazement and hatred at his captor. "I shall get level with you, Altamont," he said, speaking with slow deliberation. "If it takes me all my life I shall get level with you!" "The old sweet song," said Holmes. "How often have I heard it in days gone by. It was a favorite ditty of the late lamented Professor Moriarty. Colonel Sebastian Moran has also been known to warble it. And yet I live and keep bees upon the South Downs." "Curse you, you double traitor!" cried the German, straining against his bonds and glaring murder from his furious eyes. "No, no, it is not so bad as that," said Holmes, smiling. "As my speech surely shows you, Mr. Altamont of Chicago had no existence in fact. I used him and he is gone." "Then who are you?" "It is really immaterial who I am, but since the matter seems to interest you, Mr. Von Bork, I may say that this is not my first acquaintance with the members of your family. I have done a good deal of business in Germany in the past and my name is probably familiar to you." "I would wish to know it," said the Prussian grimly. "It was I who brought about the separation between Irene Adler and the late King of Bohemia when your cousin Heinrich was the Imperial Envoy. It was I also who saved from murder, by the Nihilist Klopman, Count Von und Zu Grafenstein, who was your mother's elder brother. It was I--" Von Bork sat up in amazement. "There is only one man," he cried. "Exactly," said Holmes. Von Bork groaned and sank back on the sofa. "And most of that information came through you," he cried. "What is it worth? What have I done? It is my ruin forever!" "It is certainly a little untrustworthy," said Holmes. "It will require some checking and you have little time to check it. Your admiral may find the new guns rather larger than he expects, and the cruisers perhaps a trifle faster." Von Bork clutched at his own throat in despair. "There are a good many other points of detail which will, no doubt, come to light in good time. But you have one quality which is very rare in a German, Mr. Von Bork: you are a sportsman and you will bear me no ill-will when you realize that you, who have outwitted so many other people, have at last been outwitted yourself. After all, you have done your best for your country, and I have done my best for mine, and what could be more natural? Besides," he added, not unkindly, as he laid his hand upon the shoulder of the prostrate man, "it is better than to fall before some ignoble foe. These papers are now ready, Watson. If you will help me with our prisoner, I think that we may get started for London at once." It was no easy task to move Von Bork, for he was a strong and a desperate man. Finally, holding either arm, the two friends walked him very slowly down the garden walk which he had trod with such proud confidence when he received the congratulations of the famous diplomatist only a few hours before. After a short, final struggle he was hoisted, still bound hand and foot, into the spare seat of the little car. His precious valise was wedged in beside him. "I trust that you are as comfortable as circumstances permit," said Holmes when the final arrangements were made. "Should I be guilty of a liberty if I lit a cigar and placed it between your lips?" But all amenities were wasted upon the angry German. "I suppose you realize, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said he, "that if your government bears you out in this treatment it becomes an act of war." "What about your government and all this treatment?" said Holmes, tapping the valise. "You are a private individual. You have no warrant for my arrest. The whole proceeding is absolutely illegal and outrageous." "Absolutely," said Holmes. "Kidnapping a German subject." "And stealing his private papers." "Well, you realize your position, you and your accomplice here. If I were to shout for help as we pass through the village--" "My dear sir, if you did anything so foolish you would probably enlarge the two limited titles of our village inns by giving us 'The Dangling Prussian' as a signpost. The Englishman is a patient creature, but at present his temper is a little inflamed, and it would be as well not to try him too far. No, Mr. Von Bork, you will go with us in a quiet, sensible fashion to Scotland Yard, whence you can send for your friend, Baron Von Herling, and see if even now you may not fill that place which he has reserved for you in the ambassadorial suite. As to you, Watson, you are joining us with your old service, as I understand, so London won't be out of your way. Stand with me here upon the terrace, for it may be the last quiet talk that we shall ever have." The two friends chatted in intimate converse for a few minutes, recalling once again the days of the past, while their prisoner vainly wriggled to undo the bonds that held him. As they turned to the car Holmes pointed back to the moonlit sea and shook a thoughtful head. "There's an east wind coming, Watson." "I think not, Holmes. It is very warm." "Good old Watson! You are the one fixed point in a changing age. There's an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us may wither before its blast. But it's God's own wind none the less, and a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared. Start her up, Watson, for it's time that we were on our way. I have a check for five hundred pounds which should be cashed early, for the drawer is quite capable of stopping it if he can." Publication Date: May 12th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.doyle

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-natalie-wood-saving-alex-storm/

Natalie Wood Saving Alex Storm A Ghost Story To my fifth and sixth grade teacher, whom without the help of, I would never of discovered my love of reading and writting. Death The ally was lit by the dim flicker of stars. They seemed to smile down at me, looking warm against the deep, dark blue of the sky. The city seemed strangly silent and dark. You couldn't usually see the stars. I thought I heard something behind me, but looking around, I saw nothing in the darkness, so glanced at the stars again. I was startled by the hand on my shoulder, that spun me around very suddenly. When saw it was my brother Andy, I wasn't just scared, I was terrified. I knew I should of stayed inside. "What the hell are you doing out here! I told you to stay inside!" Andy screeched out. Anger bubbled out of him like water over a waterfall. "I wanted to see the stars, you almost never see them in the city." I said quietly. I hoped if I didn't provoke him more, I would avoid getting beat up as badly. "You're such a fucking faggot, Alex! Get back in the apartment before I kick your ass!" Andy roared. You could almost see the anger pulsing from him in angry red waves. "Fuck you!" The moment the words slipped out of my lips, I knew he was in trouble. Big trouble. My brothers eyes where black, angery pits that sparked with hatred, and a vein on his neck pulsed with rage. Andy raised his arm, hand clenched into a fist. I tried my best to relax my muscles before the blow hit, to lessen the impact, but it only helped a little. Andy's fist connected with my face. The blow sent me staggering back a few steps, and tears prickled at my eyes. Another blow pushed me into the wall, and the tears stared falling. "I'm sorry Andy," I sobbed. "I didn't mean it." The next blow sent me to the ground. I didn't even have time to put my hand out to stop my fall, and my face smashed in to ground, breaking my nose. My head swam, purple and black spots clouding his vision. Andy jumped on me, rolling me over to face the sky, and continued to smash at my face, my stomach, my everywhere. I whimpered when I heard my arm crack, and the pain was to much. I had one last fleeting thought before the world went dark. The stars are waiting for me. Rebirth I was floating through a giant blanket of black and dark, and felt strangely warm. It wasn't uncomfortable, in fact, it was the most pleasant feeling in the world. I had been floating for some time when I realized I couldn't see. Text: Copyright © 2012 by Natalie Wood. All right reserved. This book, or parts of thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the author. The distribution of this book via any means without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Images: Copyright © 2012 by Natalie Wood. All rights reserved. Publication Date: September 3rd 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-natiwood

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-katie-r-jamison-the-mystery-of-haverlin-manor-in-progress/

Katie R Jamison The Mystery of Haverlin Manor (In progress) Having problems getting chapters to save.Read what is there and tell me what you think. Prolouge "My lord,there is a man here to see you."   "Thank you Darrens," Lord Haverly said,as he pulled off his gloves. "Were is he?"   "In the library my lord," Darrens said.   "Good, it is the only room in this house that stays halfway warm," Lord Haverly sais,as he started down the hall. "Please ask Mrs. Middleton if she will ready a tray of her best bisquits."   "Yes my lord," Darrens as he gave a short bow. "Did all go well with your meeting?"   "Indeed it did," Lord Haverly said. " I feel we are getting closer and closer to making our discovery known."   Lord Haverly opened the door to the library. "I am sorry to have kept.." He stopped in mdsentence when he realized who his quest was. "You!"   "Yes Lord Haverly, it is me," The man said, raising a revolver.  There was a loud bang, and Lord Haverly clutched at his chest as he fell onto the carpet. Looking down he could see the crimson stain al ready coming through his shirt. He looked up at the man as he walked towards the window. "No hard feelings, I just couldn't have you telling my little secret just yet."The man stopped and looked at him once more just outside the window. "You should be grateful though, I atleast came when your wife and lovely daughter were in London." Chapter One  I looked up at my grandmother's town house as our carriage rolled to a stop. The two story town house had been in the family for several generations, my grandmother had taken it over as her own when she decided that the fresh country air was to much on her old bones.   I let out another sigh as we waited for the driver to open our door. My mother and I had just arrived from out home out in the country and I missed it. My mother looked at me, and gave me a slight smile.    "I know Evelyn, I would much rather be back home then here." She said, as she smoothed her skirt. But,your grandmother insisted that we came for the Cortwell's summer soree and your father felt it best that we come." "I know," I said as the driver opened the door. "I just can't stand London after all the fresh air and wide open spaces of Haverlin Manor." I accepted the hand that was offered and climbed down out of the carriage.I brushed the wrinkles from my skirt as my grandmother's butler approached us. "Lady Mary, Lady Evelyn," he said with a bow. "Come,I shall have your baggage unloaded and taken to the roper quarters." "Thank you  Chapter Two Chapter Three .... Chapter Four .. Chapter Five .. Chapter Six .. Chapter Seven "Dance with me Lady Evelynn?" James asked,suddenly appearing at my side.He took my arm and lead me towards the ballroom floor. He turned towards me placing his hand on my waist,taking my  hand as I placed the other on his shoulder.He guided me out onto the dance floor aong the other couples sweeping me out into a waltz. "Out with it." I said,as we spun around to a slightly less crowded part of the dance floor. He looked around making sure there was no one close enough to over hear us."There was a murder last night," He said, turning her to sweep past a couple that had gotten close. "Lord Byron was found dead in his bed this morning." His arms tightened around my waist as I stumbled a little. "Do you think he was the Lord B my father was writing to?" I asked as he spun me around to another part of the dance floor. "We found a letter that he had started,it has your father's name on it. James said. He took my arm and led me off to the side when the dance ended. Finding an empty bench along the wall, he guided me towards it. "Wait here and I will get us a glass of wine." He said dissepearing into the crowd.   Text: This is copyrighted All rights reserved. Publication Date: January 18th 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-katie187

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-mell-corcoran-shadows-of-deceit/

Mell Corcoran Shadows of Deceit Crime, Mystery, Fiction, Suspense, Thriller, Paranormal, eBook, Mell Corcoran, Series of Shadows Chapter One (excerpt) The call had come in at 5:22 a.m. Sunday morning. Deputies Lopez and Gearhard drove their cruiser through the first set of massive gates into the ultra-posh Oakridge Estates where they were responding to what is known as a code 2115, a silent alarm triggered at one of the multimillion dollar mansions. By the time the deputies pulled through the last gate and were making the turn to the top of the ridge, Gearhard had relayed all the salient information about the residence to her partner. The owner of record was listed as the Bloomberg Family Trust but the property was being leased by a man named Casius Arcano. According to the data, Mr. Arcano was halfway through his one-year lease and there was no prior history of alarms or calls to the address in that time. Being their regular beat, Lopez and Gearhard were very familiar with the area. They knew first hand that the residents took their security and privacy very seriously. It was not uncommon, however, for an alarm to be triggered by a raccoon wandering in through a doggie door. It was also not unheard of for a high- profile resident to hit their panic button because some sleazy paparazzo had somehow managed to hike through miles of back canyon and up the ridge that separated the community from basically everything else. Most of the residents that backed up to the ridge had their own on-site security teams to watch out for paparazzi which also helped to deter the would-be burglar as well. The property in question gave no information that there was security staff on site and the alarm company had relayed to dispatch that the camera feed to their monitoring facilities were blacked out and not functioning. While this little tid-bit made Gearhard excited, it made Lopez nervous. The phrase “darkest before the dawn” didn’t quite seem to cut it for how black as pitch the morning was. Even with the cruiser’s high beams on, Lopez nearly missed the last turn. When they finally pulled up into the long driveway of the estate, they couldn’t help but notice how the pitch- black theme continued. Not one glimmer of light could be seen coming from the house or the property. The hair on the back of Lopez’s neck stood up and he immediately called in for additional support. Something was definitely not right here. Gearhard flipped on the cruiser’s prowl light and slowly scanned over the grounds from left to right. Absolutely nothing. No car in the drive, no light anywhere, not even a breeze to shift the trees. It was eerie, still and quiet. Lopez tapped his radio for an ETA on their back-up and the stoic voice on the other end relayed that the nearest unit to them was still twenty minutes out. Too long. “It’s probably a stupid possum or raccoon.” The eager Gearhard reassured her partner. “Or by the look of it, a power glitch. That would explain no cameras up.” “Yeah, maybe.” Lopez was not convinced. “Stay sharp just the same.” Lopez popped the trunk of the cruiser then exited the vehicle. Gearhard tried to stifle her excitement at her partner’s silent decision to move in before support arrived. Lopez retrieved a shotgun from the trunk and fastened his flashlight to the barrel. “We do a sweep around the perimeter then we knock.” Lopez looked out into the darkness, letting his eyes adjust a bit better. “No sense in scaring the crap out of the resident if he’s just asleep and clueless to the alarm.” Gearhard snorted. “Kinda like that guy that got home blasted drunk last month? Thought he was closing the garage door but was hitting his panic button then passed out on the kitchen floor?” “Kinda.” Lopez smirked at his partner then took the lead as they headed to the left side of the property. They did a clockwise sweep of the mansion. Slowly and methodically they checked doors and windows, scanning their flashlights inside the home and across the landscape but seeing nothing. The wrong kind of nothing. The house appeared to be vacant. Not a stick of furniture could be seen inside as they worked their way back around to the entry doors. Lopez called in on his radio to update their status and inform dispatch they were going to enter the premises. “Someone is supposed to be living here, right?” Lopez asked, looking at his partner with a furrowed brow. “That’s what the security company said.” Gearhard confirmed with a shrug, her enthusiasm waning fast. “The watch commander at the first security gate would have said otherwise.” The entry doors to the home were massive. Two arched slabs of wood that stood at least ten feet high and were secured by seriously solid but beautiful iron hardware. At the center of each door, about eye-level were speakeasy doors with decorative iron grills fastened over the openings. Lopez expected that the doors were meant to be regal and elegant but he appreciated the functional aspect a hell of a lot more. It would take a solid ram to get through them. Gearhard took a chance and tried the latch and to both their surprise the door was unlocked. They postured themselves at the ready and nodded to each other before Gearhard swung the door open cautiously. Lopez went high, fanning his shotgun from left to right while Gearhard went low and panned right to left with her 9mm Beretta. They only took a single step inside before the odor hit them like a slap in the face. “Holy Mother...” Gearhard gasped. “...what the hell?” Lopez continued to scan the huge entry hall but was not seeing anything save for bare walls and the refracting light from the massive chandelier that hung low in the center of the room. He took a deep breath and held it, then listened carefully for a moment. He panned the beam of his flashlight towards a buzzing sound that seemed to be coming from about ten feet in front of him. There in the middle of the foyer floor they saw them. Three bodies laying shoulder to shoulder, neatly arranged on the ground, headless and rotting. They sidestepped carefully to the left, avoiding the large pool of black that spread out from the bodies and was most certainly congealed blood. Silently Lopez gave Gearhard hand signals, instructing her that they were heading deeper into the house to do the requisite sweep. Just as they had done outside, they worked their way through the bottom floor in a clockwise manner, finding nothing but empty, hollow rooms. They came back around from the right into the foyer, worked their way up the grand staircase and continued through the upper level. Empty. Not one shred of anything to indicate the place had ever been inhabited. Lopez called in on his radio updating their status and they headed back downstairs just in time to meet their back-up walking in the doorway with guns at the ready. “It’s secure. We just finished the sweep.” Lopez announced to the deputies that were now joining them and seeing the macabre scene splayed out on the foyer floor. “Holy shit!” The uniformed officer that Lopez knew as Nichols covered his mouth as if that would prevent the stench from permeating his lungs. “We’ll set up a perimeter and tape everything off, OK?” “Yeah, OK. Homicide is on route.” Gearhard skirted her way back to the entry doors, careful not to disturb the scene anymore then they already had. “Getting some air while I get my notes started.” “Right.” Lopez nodded to her, acknowledging her need to catch her breath. “We are going to need to wake up the neighbors. Start a canvas. May as well get on that while we wait for the troops.” Lopez knew that even though the sun had barely lit the horizon, it was going to be a very long day.   Detective Tallulah Louelle Donovan was sick of sleep. Lou felt like all she had been doing for weeks was sleep. She was well aware that it was barely over a month ago that she nearly died at the hands of a psychopathic serial killer but she was restless just the same. Every time she looked at herself in the mirror she was painfully reminded of how her injuries were nearly fatal. It often made her wish that she could put the bandages back on so she didn’t have to see it so often. The thick red scar swathed across her body like the sash of a beauty pageant contestant. She felt like the furthest thing from a beauty. She felt hideous. As she examined the wound closely in the mirror she could see the indentations in her skin where the staples had been. It was raw still, both physically and mentally, no matter how much everyone tried to distract her. The ultimate cliché was her blaming herself for being taken the way she was. Sloppy. Only a naive civilian would have allowed their guard to be so let down that they would have fallen into such a predictable trap. Lou was not a civilian and she was not sloppy. Clumsy, she would concede to, but even that was confined to mornings, when she first woke up. Her Sleep Inertia often left her disoriented and out of sorts but she knew this, as did her family and her partner. They accounted for it and factored that in when they worked. It was part of what made her and Vinny such a good team. That, Lou accepted. What chapped her hide was having been abducted from such a huge, high-profile gathering, been drugged, stripped naked to face certain death with absolutely no way out. It was humiliating to her. That was something she was not going to put behind her for some time. Lou didn’t do “victim” well. She pulled her fluffy orange robe closed tight and grabbed her mug of coffee from the dressing table. As she headed for the terrace she tried to go through everything in her head again, make sense of it all. Her life had forever been altered on so many levels, even without factoring in the abduction. She knew, logically, that it was natural to be a bit off her game but she didn’t have to like it. When she thought about everything that had transpired, she knew it was actually a good thing for her to be out on medical leave. While recovering from her injuries she had time to wrap her head around everything else. Just over a month ago it had been business as usual. She was a hard- assed homicide detective for the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department and was in love with her job. That basically hadn’t changed. It was the foundation of everything that had been pulled out from under her and it all began when she started investigating the gruesome murder of an underage drug addict and prostitute named Angela Talbott. The case from the get-go was off and wasn’t really even her and her partner’s to investigate. Technically it had been LAPD’s jurisdiction but something about it stuck with Lou and she pursued it, despite her Captain’s orders to the contrary. If she knew then what she knew now, Lou really wouldn’t have changed anything. She was glad to be where she was. It was just going to take some getting used to. Lou walked out into the chilly pre-dawn spring air and thought that perhaps she should have tried to sleep a little longer. The darkness consumed the landscape with the shock of navy blue sky making everything in the distance look like black cutouts. She settled in to her large papasan chair, tucking her legs in tight. Cupping her mug with both hands she savored the warmth of the ceramic against her palms. The quiet was almost as soothing as the mug of coffee. The croaking frogs and the first chirps from morning birds intermittently broke the silence but overall the quiet was as thick and cozy to her as her bathrobe. It was a truly welcomed change. Even though Lou had been recovering, the past several weeks had been a whirlwind of activity. Learning everything she possibly could about her new world, her new life, and the critical role she played in it. Looking out into the darkness she thought back again. Back to that chance encounter with a stranger in the hall of the County Morgue. Thinking about it even now made her knees weak, just as it had the moment she first set eyes on him when she passed him in that hall. It was a serious case of love/hate that he had that effect on her. She loved the butterflies, the breathlessness, the pure euphoric sensation she got even simply thinking about him. However, Lou hated how much she wanted the man. She needed to breathe the same air as him. It challenged the very core of her being, her fierce independence. Who knew that this stranger would turn her life upside down in so many ways. Maximilian Augustus Julian. She looked out into the distance trying peer past the darkness to see the construction site of Max’s home. As promised, they had kept the structure well off in the distance and only partially visible from her vantage point. It was too black to see anything really, but Lou noticed the absolute quiet and that meant they were not working. Strange. Max’s people had gotten special permitting and dispensation from the County as well as the Homeowner’s Association to work at all hours and had been true to their word being very considerate of noise. Usually Lou could hear something. A hum or a buzz of some sort from that direction but there was nothing. The framing looked complete the day before and it was an ongoing joke with Lou and her mother, asking each other every day if the house was finished yet. Maybe they were waiting for some inspection or something. Maybe she would sneak over and take a look at it later, if no one was around. Maybe it was important for her to see where the man that had defrosted her heart would be living. What rooms he would sit and read in. Where he would cook his meals, take his showers, lay and dream. Maybe of her. The security light below her terrace popped on and snapped Lou back from her musings. She turned her attention just in time to catch sight of a family of raccoons trotting across the lawn. Lou smiled to herself as two babies stopped to wrestle in the dew soaked grass, chortling and grunting. Mom and dad raccoon finally intervened and lead the babes back up into the trees. Lou loved this land. The McAllister compound was a home that Lou’s step-father, Joe, had built for her mother for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary as a surprise. The twelve-thousand square foot Tuscan Mediterranean home was carefully planned and crafted on it’s majestic ten acres to Joe’s exact specifications and with the express request that Lou live there with them. Family, after all, was the most important thing. Lou was born in Los Angeles but when she was five, and after a year of Joe’s begging, her mother finally accepted his proposal and moved them to Galveston to live with him. Lou’s father had been killed in the line of duty when she was only two. If truth be told she barely remembered him. Joe had long since become Lou’s dad in every way that mattered to her. Even still, the memories Lou did have of her father were kept strong and vibrant through the stories her mother and uncle would tell her over the years. They made her proud and inspired her to follow in his and her uncle’s footsteps. Lou moved back to L.A. after high school to attend college and applied to the Sheriff’s Department just before graduation. Once accepted, she never looked back. Even though she was only five- feet, four-inches, she earned her reputation as a tough-as-nails cop with a bull-dog investigative style. No one, but no one, other than her mother and uncle called her Tallulah unless they wanted their ass handed to them in a paper bag. Lou’s soft side was reserved solely for animals. As she watched the last baby raccoon waddle behind a huge oak and vanish into the landscape, Lou happily admitted she was a sucker for animals. It was people that she often had issues with. That was true now more than ever since no one was who they appeared to be. Lou drank the last of her coffee and set the empty mug on the table beside her. The security light below finally shut off and the dark blue aura of morning wrapped all around her. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her robe and snuggled deeper into the chair, closing her eyes and allowing the peace and quiet of the morning to lull her to sleep for a little while longer.   Veteran Homicide Detective, Vincenzo DeLuca, pulled his standard department issue sedan up to the crime scene perimeter, shut off the engine and sat quietly for a moment. He looked out the windshield and took in the scene with the multitude of deputies guarding the perimeter and the forensics people ducking back and fourth under the tape. He missed his partner. It had been over a month since Lou had been injured and sidelined. It hit him hard. Life was throwing too many curve balls at him lately. In a little more then seven months he was going to be a father and that scared the crap out of him. As a result of a serious reality check, Vinny concluded that he needed to be around more for his family so he did the responsible thing and had taken and passed the lieutenant’s exam. He knew it was the right thing to do but the thought of not being out in the field was really not settling well with him. He loved being a homicide detective and he loved working with his partner. Lou was his best friend and former partner’s niece. She was his family too. With her recovering, homicide was down a man and with his making lieutenant, things were getting shuffled around more than he would like. Vinny was looking for his successor and it wasn’t going well at all. Lou was tricky to partner with. She had a hard time snapping to in the morning so Vinny usually picked her up for work. She was stubborn as hell and often rubbed people the wrong way if left unchecked. Vinny had to find the right fit before he was even going to think of taking a seat behind a desk and leaving her with a stranger. Lou being out on medical leave had actually provided him the golden opportunity to properly vet the candidates without her considerable two-cents. He hadn’t been the least bit happy with the first seven applicants, none of which even lasted a full day before he sent them packing. Vinny couldn’t give up hope though. He knew it would probably take a dozen tries before he would find someone he felt could truly have Lou’s back and do the job right. He would meet contestant number eight in an hour or so. In the meantime, they had a whopper of a case on their hands and he really wished Lou was with him. With a heavy sigh, Vinny got out of the car and headed into the trenches. It was a magnificent house even with the onslaught of deputies, investigators and coroner personnel trampling all over the yard. As he approached the front doors he got nods and acknowledgments from the masses. Vinny liked being liked. It was going to come in handy with his transition to management. When he finally reached the front doorway he grabbed a pair of blue paper booties from a box on the ground and pulled them over his loafers then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of thick latex gloves. With a crisp snap of the latex, he was sufficiently prepared to proceed. Upon entering the home he immediately saw the forensic team at work in the foyer. The cavernous formal entry was brightly lit with both portable lights and the sparkly glow of the giant crystal chandelier hanging directly over the scene. At the center of the room was a large pool of congealed blood that spread out thickly over the highly polished marble floor. There in the middle lay three bodies, snugly placed side by side like sardines in a can. Vinny could only see the lower half of the victims because deputy medical examiner Caroline Devereux was sprawled out on tip toes, hovering, obscuring his view of the upper torsos of the bodies. Even though they were clearly past the two day dead mark, the deceased appeared to be men. High priced suits and even higher priced shoes sagged in the middle of the bloody puddle. When Caroline stood up and twirled around in a move he thought only a ballerina could make, Vinny got the first sight of the fact that the victims had been decapitated. “Riddle me this one Bratman.” Caroline grinned at him. “You happen to see these guys’ heads on your way in?” The cheery southern belle stretched out one leg carefully then tiptoed out of the blood pool towards him and removed her gloves. “There’s something ya don’t see every day. Mornin’ Doc.” Vinny smiled at Caroline then looked back at the conundrum. “Morning Vinny. No crash-test dummy today?” Caroline had taken to calling Vinny’s prospective replacements the colorful but ironically accurate term. She snickered as she took a paper cup handed to her by one of the techs and happily sipped. “Not yet. Got another contestant coming in though. I sent word for them to meet me here. Baptism by fire so to speak.” Vinny smirked. “Good idea! I’ll slow down so I can get a shot at him. It a him or a her?” Caroline popped the plastic lid off the paper mug so she could gulp the caffeine. Vinny looked at her sideways. “You think I would put Lou with a girl? She barely likes you.” He turned his attention back to the matter at hand. “So what have we got here Doc? This looks a little hinky.” “A little?” Caroline snorted, careful not to choke on her coffee. “We got three males. From left to right we have a Latino, a Caucasian and another Latino. No I.D. on any of them or from the thumb scan but I uploaded the prints to the lab for a full search so I’ll let you know as soon as we get anything.” Vinny nodded and wished he had his own coffee. “OK, what else?” “Preliminary time of death is about twenty-four to thirty hours ago. Sometime between late Friday night and early Saturday morning.” Caroline stepped away from the scene and carefully removed her blue booties then stuffed them in a bio-hazard bag that was set up next to the front door. “I will be able to narrow that down a bit better once I get them back to the shop and the bugs are processed.” “So no heads on site huh? Seriously?” He looked at the scene carefully. It took a bit of work to accomplish this. “Seriously. Your guys are going over the place with a fine tooth comb but from what I have seen so far, there is not one drop of blood outside this circle here. No tissue, no spatter, nothing.” Vinny had noticed the lack of blood spatter right off. The chandelier was spotless and gleaming, the walls could have passed for freshly painted and the floor outside of the pool itself were polished to a mirror finish. Given the volume of blood that was present, it appeared to Vinny that this was their primary crime scene, where the bodies bled out, but decapitation was a messy business. Whether the heads were chopped off, sawed off or whatever, there would be some sort of spatter, spray or cast-off as a result. Despite appearances, the forensics team was swabbing everything and scanning every inch with their magic flashlights. If something was there, they would find it. Caroline looked past Vinny and saw the detectives assigned to the case heading their way. “Here comes Cagney and Lacy. I’m sure they will fill you in.” She finished her sentence with an eye-roll, clearly expressing her dislike for the detectives. “Ah crap. I forgot they were on call.” Vinny turned around to meet the detectives and took an authoritative stance that made Caroline grin. Two female detectives walked up the path, both flipping through their notepads and scowling like they were looking for a fight. The pair did in fact resemble the characters from the television series that ran for the better part of the nineteen-eighties. Detective Sara Rochelle had cropped jet black hair and an extremely thick Brooklyn accent. She had joined the Sheriff’s department after working vice on the East Coast for seven years and despite having glowing recommendations on paper, it was well known that she left Brooklyn to avoid being caught up in a serious internal affairs fiasco. Off the record, Vinny’s captain had warned him that Rochelle had a reputation back East for pushing the envelope with suspects, just dancing on the edge of police brutality. Nothing could ever be proven and no one ever filed a formal complaint against her but Vinny didn’t trust her all the same. Detective Lydia Barnes was the taller of the two and had impossibly short bleach-blond, spiky hair. As usual, she looked like she spent all her spare time working out at Muscle Beach down in Venice. She was extremely tan and had a very masculine physique. Vinny was certain she could crush his head like a walnut simply by clapping her hands. He was really glad the captain had told him in confidence that she was gunning for a transfer to the Special Enforcement Bureau. Neither detective liked Vinny or Lou and they made no secret of it. He was sure it fried both of their asses that he had made lieutenant and was now their superior. A fact that was clearly confirmed as Rochelle completely ignored him and directed her attentions to Caroline. “What have you got for me Devereux?” Rochelle’s thick accent only accentuated her annoyance. Caroline cocked her head and looked at the woman with disbelief. Not acknowledging Vinny as an individual was one thing, but snubbing her lieutenant was wholly unprofessional and insubordinate. Rochelle simply stared at Caroline waiting, totally oblivious to how her behavior was inappropriate. Caroline finally rolled her eyes at the stubby woman which made Vinny think she must have had a headache from all her eye-rolling. “I already relayed my findings thus far to your lieutenant. I’ll forward my report when it’s done.” Caroline turned her back on Rochelle, grabbed a set of fresh booties and pulled them over her shoes. “Nice to see you again Lieutenant DeLuca.” She winked at him before she moved back into the house to continue her work. “Morning Lieutenant.” Barnes stepped up and addressed Vinny directly, clearly trying to make up for her partner’s major faux pas. “So far we have deputies responding to a silent alarm that was triggered at approximately 5:21 a.m. The security company informed dispatch that the residence was equipped with full surveillance for the entire property. The live feed streams directly to their facilities and is supposed to be monitored twenty-four-seven. However, the feed was blacked out or otherwise disabled at around 1:07 a.m. Unfortunately, no one at the monitoring facility noticed it until the silent alarm was triggered.” Barnes flipped through the pages of her notebook before she continued. “They are cooperating and sending us all of the footage they have for the past several days and we are meeting with the chief security manager once we are done here.” “The source of the alarm?” Vinny ignored Rochelle completely and directed his questions to Barnes. “Well that’s a mystery in itself.” Barnes ruffled the top of her spiky head. “When Lopez and Gearhard entered the premises the alarm system was not only disengaged but completely dead. No power to any of the control panels or the cameras, which explains the black out. Our techs are looking at it right now but no wires were cut and the back-up battery is in-tact. There is a lot here that isn’t making any sense right off the bat.” “Like what?” Vinny really wanted a cup of coffee right about now. “The house is totally clean. No furniture, bare floors vacuumed clean, not a piece of lint or dust anywhere. The kicker is that security for the community had no clue the resident moved out. They have the current resident listed as Casius Arcano, with a regular in and out pattern morning and evening. Other than a large cocktail party at the residence last Saturday, there have been no visitors or deliveries to this address since then. Nothing has deviated out of the norm and they say he is very friendly with the guards. Last entry for him was coming in Friday evening at 6:32 p.m. like usual. There have been no movers in or out of the entire community for any resident in over a week. No trucks other than UPS and FedEx that could possibly have cleaned this place out. The watch commander for the community is all over this.” Vinny considered the implications of what Barnes was telling him. “Those two gates the only way in or out of here?” “Yes sir. Well, I guess you could do a hike up the canyon but no way in hell could you move furniture out that way or bring in a crew and all the equipment needed to get this place so spotless. Forensics is coming up with nothing anywhere in the house so far. Not one single fingerprint, not on a knob or even the faucets. This place was scrubbed clean and recently.” Vinny nodded in understanding despite really not understanding how all this was possible. “Devereux is putting time of death between late Friday night and early Saturday morning so clean up had to take place after that. Cutting those heads off made a royal mess, no two ways about it, but someone wanted things neat and tidy for us.” Vinny looked back at the bodies and tried working it out in his head. “We don’t know they were decapitated here.” Rochelle’s condescending tone oozed out of her. “That’s pure speculation. They could have been dumped here.” “Despite the glaringly obvious conclusion an experienced homicide detective would make given the volume of blood you can barely avoid tripping over when you walk into this place, I don’t recall ever factually concluding they were decapitated here, Detective Rochelle.” Vinny looked at her hard then turned his gaze on Barnes. “Did I, Detective Barnes?” “No sir.” Barnes shook her head, much like a dog would wag her tail in anticipation of a treat. “Your only assertion, sir, was that a mess would have been made and that someone wanted things tidy.” Vinny nodded. “That’s what I thought too. Thanks for clearing that up for me. It’s called deductive reasoning, Detective Rochelle. You should try it sometime.” He gave Rochelle a scowl then looked past her as he noticed a large figure coming up the driveway. “Go get updates from the forensics teams while I deal with whoever this is. I want a full report on everything before you take off to meet with that security manager.” “Yes sir.” Barnes turned on her heal and headed down the cobble path with an almost robotic determination. Rochelle muttered something under her breath, shoved her notepad into her jacket pocket then slumped after her partner without another word. With the heavy-duty lighting set up to illuminate the house, Vinny could only make out the black silhouette of a behemoth headed towards him. Squinting against the glare and forgetting the blue paper booties on his feet, Vinny stepped out the threshold and met the approaching man on the porch. A porch, Vinny noted, that was the size of his entire backyard. “Lieutenant DeLuca? Sir?” The man stretched out his hand to Vinny. “Yeah? Who’s asking?” Vinny squinted to get a good look at the fellow, hesitant to accept the offered hand. “Sir, I’m Detective Dillon Cole. I was instructed to come here rather than the Bureau.” He continued to hold his hand out, certain that recognition would kick in any second. “Oh! Yeah!” Vinny promptly shook the man’s hand and noticed that despite only being a few inches taller, the man seemed huge to him. “Right, sorry. I forgot I told them to have you meet me here. I figure we could hit the ground running, see how you do.” Dillon Cole was a carefully chiseled slab of heavy duty stone. As solid and imposing as a mountain. He stood six-feet, three-inches and instantly reminded Vinny of a Roman gladiator, the way he was built. With a sharp jaw and keen green eyes, Vinny got the impression right away that this guy would be excellent protection for Lou on the streets. It didn’t hurt that Lou would probably only make it to his elbows as far as height went. The image made him chuckle to himself. “Alright.” Vinny got back to business. “Let’s show you what we got, make the rounds then you’ll give me your impressions. We’ll go from there.” “Yes, Sir.” Dillon retrieved a small, leather-bound notebook from his inside jacket pocket and immediately began scribbling notes. Vinny couldn’t help but notice that Dillon was not looking at the paper as he wrote. It made him a little jealous. That talent could come in real handy when his wife, Vera, was dictating orders. He had reviewed Dillon’s file briefly the day before and vaguely remembered that he had recently moved to Los Angeles from Washington State where he worked in some small town station for several years. Cole seemed a little young for having been there that long and first impressions made him more of a military man to Vinny than a tree-hugger cop. Dillon’s precise movements and respectful demeanor just didn’t jive with country lawman. The newcomer wore a tailored navy blue suit and crisp white shirt with a simple gray and navy striped tie. His shoes were high-end lug- soled lace ups, not the standard cop shoe to be sure, which Vinny found to be a smart move. Dressing to impress and not sparing expense when it came to taking care of your feet were two things Vinny appreciated. It was also probably impossible to buy a decent suit off the rack given the man’s hulking build. “OK sport, let’s take a look, shall we?” Vinny turned and started to head back into the house when Dillon gently pulled him by the shoulder. “Sir?” Perhaps it would be wise to re-boot.” Dillon grabbed two sets of blue booties from the box and handed one pair to Vinny. “Those two detectives tracked a lot of dirt up here. Better safe than sorry, don’t you think?” Vinny looked down at his own feet and realized he still had the old ones on. “Ah geez! I need coffee.” He ripped off the soiled foot covers, took the new pair from Dillon and pulled them on. “Nice catch sport. I appreciate it.” “No problem Sir. I realize it’s very early and you are spread thin. I am fully briefed on the situation with Detective Donovan and am looking forward to meeting her. I am also aware that you are expecting you’re first child so I’m certain sleep is a rare commodity for you these days. Congratulations by the way, Sir.” Dillon’s sincerity made Vinny pause. “Thanks. Thanks a lot sport.” So far Vinny was liking candidate number eight. Only time would tell if he would be completely sold on having him as his replacement as Lou’s partner. He really hoped so. Vinny was running out of options. They started inside, going through each room meticulously but finding absolutely nothing. Aside from the hardware and fixtures, each room was barren and sparkling clean. Aside from the small holes in the walls where they assumed art and pictures once hung, the house itself looked as though no one had ever moved in.. It was a hollow shell that smelled of decomp and cleaning solvent. When the two finally headed outside, Vinny set their path from the far left of the property and they began a spiral sweep of the grounds. Scanning with their flashlights, Vinny couldn’t help but notice that Dillon was lagging a bit, fondling, sniffing and sometimes even tasting leaves and branches. When he saw Dillon get down on all fours, sniff the grass then actually pluck a blade and eat it, Vinny simply couldn’t take it any longer. “Are you some sort of freaky raw food vegan or something?” It was all Vinny could think of given Dillon had just come from up north, a notoriously earthy region often known for its extreme environmentalism and beyond organic eating habits. Dillon looked up at him, slightly confused. “What?” When it occurred to him how his behavior appeared, Dillon flustered and got up quickly, dusting himself off. “Oh! No! Sorry, I was just...” “You realize you’ve been grazing through this place?” Vinny cocked his head, baffled. “You got a theory or you just hungry?” “No sir, I’m a normal carnivore.” Dillon suddenly felt ridiculous. “I’ve just been noticing a few things and was checking them out. A theory, but I’m not sure how far fetched it is just yet.” “You gonna share any time soon or do I just keep thinkin you’re some special kind of fruit cup?” Vinny asked with a smirk. Dillon snorted despite his mortification. “I’d rather wait until we are finished and I have more data before I give you just wild speculation. If you don’t mind, sir?” Vinny shook his head as he turned to continue their sweep. He could only imagine what Lou would be saying if she was there to witness Dillon’s bizarre behavior. “Just don’t start eatin’ bugs. I dunno if I could handle that.” Dillon chided himself silently for his lack of composure. He had been trained better than that. First impressions were critical and he had planned to conduct himself in a far different manner. The problem was that he had not expected to spot evidence of what looked to be quite an elaborate operation at his first crime scene with Vinny. Dillon’s gut was screaming at him but too much was riding on this case. How he handled himself would dictate his fate and the stakes were too high for him to rely solely on his gut. He was going to need hard data to back it up before he uttered one word out loud. The two men continued to search the grounds and despite the odd exchange earlier, things seemed to fall into a solid rhythm. As they worked their way through the grounds and were given short briefings from the various investigators and techs they met up with as they went. When they finally finished their full spiral and were about to head back out to the front of the property, Caroline appeared out of nowhere holding a tray with three large paper mugs baring the colorful logo of a local coffee joint Vinny loved. “Hey there fellas. Thought you could use a little juice to keep ya going. I had one of my interns make a run.” Caroline beamed a smile so bright at Dillon that Vinny almost had to squint. “And who might you be?” Her southern drawl sounded thicker then usual. This time it was Vinny who rolled his eyes. “Caroline, this is Detective Dillon Cole, contestant number eight. Dillon, this is Deputy Medical Examiner, Caroline Devereux.” “Ohhh! Well hello!” Caroline was not exactly subtle when it came to the male persuasion and this was absolutely no exception. She offered him her hand in true debutant fashion. “Candidate number eight?” Dillon looked at Vinny with confusion then caught himself. “Ma’am, forgive me.” His West Point training kicked in immediately. He took her hand and bowed slightly at the waist. “It’s a pleasure.” “It certainly will be.” She hadn’t meant to say it aloud but she wasn’t about to apologize. “Aw geez Caroline! The kid just got here!” Vinny yanked the tray of coffee from Caroline’s other hand. “Which one is mine?” “The one with the giant red “V” on it, Sherlock.” Caroline slowly retracted her hand and gathered her composure. Candidate number eight definitely had her vote and she was going to call Lou and tell her so as soon as it was a respectable hour. “Here, let me.” She pulled Vinny’s coffee from the tray and handed it off to him then passed one to Dillon. “Cream and two sugars. Light and sweet, just like me.” She smirked as she sipped from her cup. “I hope that’s OK.” “Oh for cripe’s sake.” Vinny yanked the tray out of Caroline’s hand and swatted her over the head with it. “Hey Doc, mind putting that engine in neutral and getting back to the case a minute? I mean I appreciate the coffee and all but, seriously? The words ‘sexual harassment’ mean anything to you?” “You are such a killjoy. I hope that kid of yours doesn’t turn out to be a girl or her life is gonna suck.” Caroline stuck her tongue out at him. “Hey!” Vinny took a step toward her. “That’s hittin’ below the belt!” “If the shoe fits!” She took a step towards him and stuck out her chin in an act of defiance. “Uh, excuse me...” Dillon stepped between them. “Can someone clarify the ‘candidate number eight’ thing for me? I wasn’t briefed on that.” Caroline and Vinny looked at him then looked at each other with obvious embarrassment. “It’s nothing, sport.” Vinny composed himself quickly. “Just a little humor between pals is all.” “Right, sorry. Just a little joke.” Caroline smoothed her hair back and sipped her coffee. “I apologize for my behavior. Sleep deprivation I guess. Getting a little slap happy.” “Nothing to apologize for ma’am.” Dillon smiled at her and took a sip of his own coffee. “Thank you for the coffee ma’am. It’s perfect, thank you again.” “Call me Caroline, please. Ma’am is my mother.” She grunted. “And you’re welcome.” The sound of morning birdsongs was growing along with the light of day and the majesty of the estate’s grounds were coming into full view. They were standing at the far side of the yard, on a sprawling patio area that butted up to a massive rectangular pool. On the furthest side of the pool was an infinity fall that made the water look like it spilled out into the sky. “So there is absolutely no way anyone could have hauled all the contents of the house out this side.” Vinny pulled his focus back on the case and walked around to the infinity edge of the pool to take a good look in the growing light. “No way that I saw when I was snooping.” Caroline said as she followed him and Dillon, to the far edge. The yard dropped down a mild slope and then into a steep hillside that eventually lead to the massive canyon behind the estate. A dozen steps lead down to where the falls of the pool fell into a trough which rested on another patio below. The far end of the patio dropped off in a steep grade that was swallowed up by the canyon. On the patio were several chaise lounges and a substantial firepit. It was a secluded area set off from the rest of the manicured grounds. Once you hit the property line, there were hundreds of acres of nature between where they stood and anything else. The nearest road was miles away and the terrain was thick with sumac, old oaks, boulders and chaparral. There would most certainly be a trail had anyone tried dragging anything through the canyon this way. Driving any sort of vehicle through the dense vegetation was simply impossible without leaving a visible trail. “No one came this way.” Vinny was certain. “If no trucks came to haul the stuff away, it was either air-lifted or vanished into thin air.” He turned to head back towards the house. “I’ll make Barnes and Rochelle go over the security footage for this whole community for the past month.” Caroline snorted. “That’s gonna score you major love from those two.” “You say that like I care.” Vinny tried to hide a grin. “I can go over it if you prefer, Sir.” Dillon volunteered. “Hell no.” Vinny waved him off. “We got more important things to do. I’ll let those two have the fun stuff.” Dillon seamed confused for a moment but Caroline took the liberty of informing him that they didn’t much care for the two detectives and that the detectives surely didn’t care much for them. He nodded in understanding and quietly grinned, making Caroline even more certain that she liked the guy. As the three walked along the east side of the property towards the front yard, Vinny was stopped by a uniformed deputy who quietly relayed something to him as he handed him a slip of paper. “Crap.” Vinny dragged his fingers through his hair and blew out a breath. “What’s wrong?” Caroline looked at him with concern. “The neighbor across the street.” Vinny turned and looked at Caroline, clearly not happy. “Jane and Matt Michaels. Jane is demanding to speak to me, and only me. She’s giving the deputies a hard time with the canvas.” “Shevaun’s Jane?” Caroline blinked several times as recognition kicked in. “The one and only. I got it Lopez, thanks.” Vinny handed the paper back to the deputy and continued on to the front yard. “These people are significant, I take it?” Dillon asked, following after Vinny, taking notes as he walked. “Lou, Detective Donovan, you know?” Caroline asked to make sure he knew who she was talking about. “Of course, ma’am...” Dillon caught himself. “I mean, Caroline.” “Right, well, Jane Michaels is her mother’s BFF” She watched his face carefully to make sure he understood. “If you know even a tiny bit of Lou’s reputation, you need to bare in mind that apples do not fall far from trees. Shevaun and her posse fancy themselves as detectives and are no pushovers. Once they get their teeth into something, they don’t let go until they have what they want.” “They aren’t that bad! Lou is much worse.” Vinny insisted. “But she’s right, Jane isn’t going to just sit by and watch. Want to start a pool right now on what time I get a call from Lou and Shevaun?” “Oh!” Caroline swatted Dillon’s arm. “Take this down! I got a hundred on Shevaun calling at eight. No later then that. I’ll put another hundred on Lou calling by no later than nine.” Dillon was not sure if she was joking or not. “Write it down, sport. I got a hundred on Shevaun at eight-thirty and Lou at ten.” Vinny retrieved his wallet from his pocket, pulled out a hundred dollar bill and handed it to Dillon. “You hold the cash. I’ll hit the ATM on my way out for the other hundred.” He looked pointedly at Caroline. “Cough it up Doc.” Caroline feigned a look of insult that lasted about two seconds. “Oh fine! Be right back. My wallet is in the truck.” She split off from them and ran down the street. “Sir?” Dillon paused when they hit the curb. “Yeah?” Vinny stopped and turned towards him. “Are we seriously starting a pool on when your partner and her mother call about this case?” Dillon was still unsure if he was seriously supposed to be writing this down. “Hell yes we are. I suggest you get in on it too. I’ll initial you’re bet for you.” Vinny turned and continued to cross the street. Dillon shrugged and decided to split the difference, taking eight-fifteen and nine-thirty.   Jane Michaels was an extremely stylish and savvy woman who obviously took her yoga seriously as evidenced by the shape she was in. She met Vinny and Dillon at the door, not giving them the opportunity to knock. It was barely past 7 a.m. but Jane was perfectly polished in a pricey looking cream colored sweater dress and her sunny blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. The clear giveaway to her down to earth attitude were the enormously fluffy scrunched socks she wore in a screaming bright pink. Vinny had known Jane for as long as she had known Lou’s family. Jane and Lou’s mother had gone to high school together and been the best of friends since. He often considered her more Shevaun’s sister with how close the two women were. “Vinny!” Jane gushed as she give him a huge hug. “How are you? How is Vera? I cannot wait until the baby shower!” She turned her sights on Dillon with a clear note of suspicion. “Who are you?” “Good to see you Jane. This is Detective Dillon Cole...” Before he could finish she sidled up to the poor, unwitting newbie and gave him a not so subtle once over. “A candidate for your replacement?” She squinted as she looked him dead in the eyes. “Yeah, this is his first day so...” She cut Vinny off again. “You have some serious shoes to fill mister.” She was not being mean or malicious in any way, just matter of fact and it made Vinny smile. “What makes you think you can handle it?” “Ma’am, it’s an honor to meet you. I don’t think anyone could fill Detective DeLuca’s shoes, ma’am.” Dillon swallowed hard and stood tall, scoring another point in Vinny’s book. “I only hope I have the opportunity to try.” Jane squinted a bit harder at him, contemplating for several moments. “Good answer cutie. Nice to meet ya! Now let’s get you boys some coffee and we can get to all the juicy stuff across the street.” She turned on her heals and headed into the house, waving for the men to follow. “Close the door for me! I don’t want the dogs to wander out if they decide to wake up.” Dillon looked at Vinny for some sign that he had done alright but only caught Vinny shaking his head and chuckling before he walked inside. The Michaels’ home was plush and opulent but warm and homey at the same time. Despite it being at least ten times the size of Vinny’s, there was nothing stuffy or pretentious about it. When they reached the kitchen, Vinny figured he could park both his sedan and Vera’s new minivan in the space the island alone occupied. When he finally spotted Jane in the corner of the kitchen, he almost fainted when he saw what she was working with. Vinny was a coffee snob and coveted Lou’s parent’s Belle Époque espresso machine. He had been known to disappear during family gatherings just to polish the thing. Here, however, was a new obsession of his and he had a half a dozen brochures at home for that “one day” when he would splurge. “Is that a La Pavoni?” Vinny almost couldn’t get the name out. “It sure is!” She looked over her shoulder and grinned at him. “Oh I forgot! You are a barista at heart, isn’t that right?” “I have a picture of that very machine taped to my fridge at home.” He walked toward it, slowly, reverently. “Well here, you make the coffee then. Get some training in.” She smiled and moved out of the way to let Vinny play and leaned against the counter watching his childlike enthusiasm. “The company is on of my husband’s clients. The V.P. gave me that as a thank you for babysitting his Pomeranian while he went on vacation. I should see if Matthew can snatch one up for you.” Vinny’s head spun around so fast it was amazing he didn’t give himself whiplash. “Seriously?” “Couldn’t hurt to try! You’re going to need all the good coffee you can get once the baby arrives. I bet Mathew has three of those sitting around at the office somewhere.” She grinned as Vinny began humming a cheery tune as he proceeded to steam some milk. Turning her attention to Dillon she realized he was a little lost in the conversation. “My husband is an international corporate lawyer. His firm has clients all over the world and they are always giving him nice things, like the espresso machine. We are very lucky.” She walked to the far side of the kitchen island and pulled out two stools. “Here, have a seat!” “Thank you ma’am.” Dillon perched himself on the stool and continued to observe Vinny with fascination. It was like watching a kid with a brand new toy. “Lucky perhaps, but he is obviously very good at what he does for his clients to give him such gifts.” “That’s true too.” Her grin was directed at him now. “Please, call me Jane.” “Alright, here we go!” Vinny placed their cups in front of them. “I am sure Caroline will be here in a second so if you don’t mind, I’ll make her one too?” “I thought I saw her out there! Definitely make her some too. That’s usually the first place she hits when she visits.” Jane scooped a small spoonful of sugar from a bowl on the island and stirred it diligently into her coffee. “Help yourself now, Dillon. It’s raw sugar though, I’m on a weird kick with raw and organic this month. Vinny and Caroline will tell you I am always doing some weird fad thing.” “Last month it was no white foods, wasn’t it?” Caroline asked, startling them as she came in from the hall. “Put a bell on you! You scared the life out of me!” Jane swatted Caroline’s shoulder as she came to give her a kiss on her cheek. “Yes, last month was no white.” “Sorry! Kinda weird you getting spooked with Captain America and the Godfather in your kitchen.” Caroline winked at Dillon then hopped up on a stool at the other end of the island just as Vinny placed a cup in front of her. “Thank you Papa.” “You’re welcome.” Vinny smiled and tugged on her ponytail then sat down next to her with his own cup. “OK, we need to get serious here.” Dillon pulled his notebook from his jacket and set his pen to the ready. For a brief moment he had completely forgotten the purpose for their being at Jane Michaels’ home. He had been enjoying the casual, familiar banter and the warm atmosphere. It had been a long time since he had felt quite so comfortable. “Oh yeah, right!” Jane grimaced. “OK so tell me everything! What’s going on over there?” “Jane!” Vinny and Caroline blurted in unison, making Dillon grin. “Oh come on! It’s me! You know I am going to find out anyway!” She sipped her coffee with a sheepish grin. “Jane, you know damn well we cannot discuss an ongoing investigation.” Dillon wasn’t sure if Vinny was admonishing Jane or reminding himself. “Now, tell us what you can about your neighbor across the street.” “Fine, play it that way. We’ll see how long that lasts.” Jane looked at Vinny, then Caroline, with a knowing smile then sipped her coffee once more before she began. Approximately forty-five minutes later Dillon was certain he was on his last sheet of paper. Jane had relayed every detail she could think of about her neighbor across the street, Casius Arcano. It was quite remarkable to Dillon that she was so observant and her recollection of details was excellent. She was able to tell them that Arcano was the son of a very wealthy coffee baron from Colombia and that his father had recently passed away. Shoring up all the family’s business connections in the U.S. had been the reason for Arcano’s short term residency but that he had clearly stated to Jane he was planning to stay for at least the remainder of the year. Jane had also told them that he entertained frequently and she and her husband were always invited to Arcano’s parties. They had been at one last weekend and she was able to recall a good number of names for the guests in attendance. She also recalled him inviting them to a party he was planning for Memorial Day which lead them even further to the conclusion that Arcano hadn’t been planning to move. As for romantic interest, Jane had to admit that she was beginning to think Arcano was not interested in women since she had never seen him with a woman that she could recall. Further stoking her suspicion was the fact that he gushed and fawned over his West Highland Terrier, Luna. This and other little things made her suspect Arcano was gay. “Oh dear God! Where is Luna?” Jane shouted, realizing that the dog was missing just like everything else in that house. “If one of those bodies is Casius, then someone took Luna. He never ever let that dog out of his sight!” “We don’t know if he’s one of the bodies, Jane.” Caroline reassured her. “I am sure the dog is fine. They will find out, don’t worry.” Jane calmed a bit but Dillon could see her genuine concern. “I need to get back to work.” Caroline sighed. “I’ve given them enough time to get back to the shop and harvest all the bugs. Thank you for the hospitality Jane. This was a nice change of pace.” She hopped off her stool and put her cup in the dishwasher before she gave Jane a kiss goodbye. “See you boys later. Oh!” Caroline looked at her watch and grunted, then pulled two one hundred dollars from her pocket and slapped them into Dillon’s hand. “There, I know I lost already.” With that, she waved to them, then headed out. “Lost what?” Jane inquired and Dillon looked to Vinny for assistance. He couldn’t think of an answer that wouldn’t insult the woman. “Oh we had a pool going on how long things would take at the scene. Just silliness to pass the time.” Vinny gave Dillon a knowing glance. “We need to head out too.” Vinny followed Caroline’s example, picking up Dillon’s cup as well then putting their dishes into the dishwasher. “Thanks for all your help Jane. We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek then headed for the door. “It was a pleasure Mrs. Michaels. I hope we meet again.” Dillon shook her hand gently and smiled. “I have a feeling we will. I have a good feeling about it.” She squeezed his hand before she let go and gave him a wink. “When you meet her, don’t take her shit. Hear me?” Dillon almost laughed out. “I’ll try not too, ma’am.” “Good luck with that.” Vinny shouted from down the hall. “Come on sport. It’s gonna be a long day.” The men left the Michaels’ home and ran into Rochelle and Barnes while crossing the street. Barnes gave them a five minute recap, bringing Vinny up to speed on things that Dillon suspected he already knew. So far they had found no trace of any sort other than what they expected to be cleaning products inside the home. The only footprints or traces within the house were from the deputies themselves from when they entered the premises. Everything else was going to take time to properly process. The forensics, the video, the security logs, all of it was going to take time. After Vinny dismissed Rochelle and Barnes, he directed Dillon to follow him to his car. As if on cue, Vinny’s cell phone rang and Dillon couldn’t resist looking at his watch. It was 8:16 a.m. on the dot. He grinned. “Don’t get happy yet. It could be the captain.” Vinny squinted at the screen on his phone then muttered something under his breath. “Beginner’s luck...” He scoffed at Dillon then answered the phone. “Good morning Shevaun. What can I do for you?” Dillon covered his mouth, trying not to laugh out loud. He gave Vinny space and walked to the driveway of their perplexing crime scene. It struck him all of the sudden that he had been there for less than two hours and other than taking more notes then he had taken since he left West Point, the morning had been more enjoyable than he had ever expected. He admired Vinny’s loyalty and work ethic. Caroline was far sassier than he was prepared for. Rochelle was going to be a problem for him if she got in his face. He was a gentleman always, the highest respect for women. However, if she got in his face, he had no problem getting in hers. He had now met Lou’s partner, her best friend and her mother’s best friend. It was not difficult to like them all very much and enjoy the rapport they all had with each other. Dillon expected that Lou would fall in with all those personalities but he really had no clue what to expect when and if he finally met her. He had read her file a dozen times preparing for this gig, just as he had read Vinny and Caroline’s. It was all just words on paper when you came down to it. What really mattered was how they got along and how they worked together as a team. Dillon reminded himself that he wasn’t interviewing to be Vinny or Caroline’s partner, they were essentially the gatekeepers. Lou was the target. “OK, so you won the first round.” Vinny suddenly appeared beside Dillon. “We still got time before the second. So tell me what you think we got here.” “Alright.” Dillon didn’t take out his notebook to review, he knew everything by heart already. “None of the three victims are going to turn out to be Arcano. We will need to dig into his business but I am willing to bet that those three were a message. Not sure if that message is for Arcano or for someone else connected to him. They were most definitely killed where the killer or killers left them but there was one serious clean-up and I really am not sure why they went to such an extreme. I think it’s safe to assume that Arcano, his dog and all his stuff was removed from here before those boys in there showed up. Maybe they were part of the crew that cleared the place out? Loose ends that were tied up on the spot?” He paused to organize his thoughts a moment. “Jane says she saw Arcano in his doorway Friday morning when she walked her dogs. He waved, she saw a giant floral arrangement behind him on a table approximately where our John Does were laid out.” Vinny tossed some of the info they gleaned from Jane at him. “That means that house was being lived in like normal, with furniture and dog up until at least then.” “Right. I’m guessing the table was centered under the chandelier so that was taken out before the bodies were left. The blood pool is pristine. No voids or any smearing that I could see.” Dillon and Vinny were on the same page so far. “About the furniture being cleared out though...” Dillon was a little hesitant to give Vinny his theory but he figured he may as well start tossing it out in pieces. “How long of a helicopter flight would you say it is from here to the nearest military base?” “Helicopter flight?” Vinny hadn’t expected to hear that. “I know it’s out of left field, but humor me here.” Dillon requested. “Alright...” Vinny looked around to gauge his location. “Well, it would take about thirty to forty minutes to drive to Point Magu Naval Air Station, Port Hueneme. A Black Hawk has a cruising speed of what? 130 miles per hour? So that’s what a ten minutes trip? Fifteen tops?” Vinny wasn’t sure where Dillon was going with this. “I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty of asking forensics to take samples of the lawn out back, and some of the plants too.” Dillon paused a moment. “I also asked for number of full spectrum camera shots to be taken of the back yard from the master suite balcony.” “What are you thinking here?” Vinny thought he was catching on but it seemed implausible. “Sir, I know this will sound far fetched but I am thinking a very well oiled, well funded machine flew in here and cleaned the place out. Did you notice the patio furniture on the main patio in the back was in disarray?” “Well I wouldn’t say disarray.” Vinny disagreed with Dillon’s description. “It looked more like someone had moved it, maybe to wash the patio or something.” “Perhaps, but I know for a fact that a helo can easily land on that pad.” Although it wasn’t in his public record and Vinny wouldn’t know, Dillon was former Army, intelligence no less. He knew a little bit about this subject. “A helicopter? Are you kidding me?” Vinny raked his fingers through his glossy black hair. “No way. They are way too loud to come in and out of here undetected. Even at night.” “Not a specific type of helicopter, sir.” Dillon waited for Vinny’s reaction. “You read about the MH-X, the Stealth Eagle or Silent Eagle? The specialized Black Hawk they used to get in and cap Bin Laden?” “You telling me those are real?” It was amazing how Vinny could whisper and yell at the same time. “While I am not at liberty to give specifics, I can tell you that I personally have flown such aircraft and they are so silent that one could land behind you right now and the only tip off would be the wind picking up.” Dillon got in real close to Vinny. “The payload is the issue. They would have to make a few trips, even with the exterior cargo hook. But with a big enough team and a couple hours, it could be done. I have contacts, I could make some calls.” It was extremely far fetched. Vinny’s first thought was to the old saying about when you hear hoofbeats, you think horse, not zebra. Dillon’s theory was definitely in the zebra category and the implication of such an operation made Vinny’s mind whirl with all sorts of conspiracy theories. He wasn’t sure he was ready to make such a leap. They needed to dig into this Casius Arcano and his family business first. They also needed to find out who the hell those bodies were. “Alright, you got your own car so meet me over at Lost Hills and you can start making your calls. I’ll see you there in ten.” Vinny turned without another word and got into his car. Dillon knew how it must have sounded but if he was right, forensics was going to find jet fuel residue on the plants out back and those full spectrum photographs were going to pull a signature from where that helo had landed. If neither of those things showed up, he knew it was going to be goodbye candidate number eight.   Publication Date: April 30th 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-ih56fc532441635

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-alexandre-dumas-pere-joan-of-naples/

Alexandre Dumas père Joan of Naples Celebrated Crimes JOAN OF NAPLES--1343-1382 CHAPTER I In the night of the 15th of January 1343, while the inhabitants of Naples lay wrapped in peaceful slumber, they were suddenly awakened by the bells of the three hundred churches that this thrice blessed capital contains. In the midst of the disturbance caused by so rude a call the first thought in the mind of all was that the town was on fire, or that the army of some enemy had mysteriously landed under cover of night and could put the citizens to the edge of the sword. But the doleful, intermittent sounds of all these fills, which disturbed the silence at regular and distant intervals, were an invitation to the faithful to pray for a passing soul, and it was soon evident that no disaster threatened the town, but that the king alone was in danger. Indeed, it had been plain for several days past that the greatest uneasiness prevailed in Castel Nuovo; the officers of the crown were assembled regularly twice a day, and persons of importance, whose right it was to make their way into the king's apartments, came out evidently bowed down with grief. But although the king's death was regarded as a misfortune that nothing could avert, yet the whole town, on learning for certain of the approach of his last hour, was affected with a sincere grief, easily understood when one learns that the man about to die, after a reign of thirty-three years, eight months, and a few days, was Robert of Anjou, the most wise, just, and glorious king who had ever sat on the throne of Sicily. And so he carried with him to the tomb the eulogies and regrets of all his subjects. Soldiers would speak with enthusiasm of the long wars he had waged with Frederic and Peter of Aragon, against Henry VII and Louis of Bavaria; and felt their hearts beat high, remembering the glories of campaigns in Lombardy and Tuscany; priests would gratefully extol his constant defence of the papacy against Ghibelline attacks, and the founding of convents, hospitals, and churches throughout his kingdom; in the world of letters he was regarded as the most learned king in Christendom; Petrarch, indeed, would receive the poet's crown from no other hand, and had spent three consecutive days answering all the questions that Robert had deigned to ask him on every topic of human knowledge. The men of law, astonished by the wisdom of those laws which now enriched the Neapolitan code, had dubbed him the Solomon of their day; the nobles applauded him for protecting their ancient privileges, and the people were eloquent of his clemency, piety, and mildness. In a word, priests and soldiers, philosophers and poets, nobles and peasants, trembled when they thought that the government was to fall into the hands of a foreigner and of a young girl, recalling those words of Robert, who, as he followed in the funeral train of Charles, his only son, turned as he reached the threshold of the church and sobbingly exclaimed to his barons about him, "This day the crown has fallen from my head: alas for me! alas for you!" Now that the bells were ringing for the dying moments of the good king, every mind was full of these prophetic words: women prayed fervently to God; men from all parts of the town bent their steps towards the royal palace to get the earliest and most authentic news, and after waiting some moments, passed in exchanging sad reflections, were obliged to return as they had come, since nothing that went on in the privacy of the family found its way outside--the castle was plunged in complete darkness, the drawbridge was raised as usual, and the guards were at their post. Yet if our readers care to be present at the death of the nephew of Saint Louis and the grandson of Charles of Anjou, we may conduct them into the chamber of the dying man. An alabaster lamp suspended from the ceiling serves to light the vast and sombre room, with walls draped in black velvet sewn with golden fleur-de-lys. Near the wall which faces the two entrance doors that at this moment are both shut close, there stands beneath a brocaded canopy an ebony bed, supported on four twisted columns carved with symbolic figures. The king, after a struggle with a violent paroxysm, has fallen swooning in the arms of his confessor and his doctor, who each hold one of his dying hands, feeling his pulse anxiously and exchanging looks of intelligence. At the foot of the bed stands a woman about fifty years of age, her hands clasped, her eyes raised to heaven, in an attitude of resigned grief: this woman is the queen, No tears dim her eyes: her sunken cheek has that waxen yellow tinge that one sees on the bodies of saints preserved by miracle. In her look is that mingling of calm and suffering that points to a soul at once tried by sorrow and imbued with religion. After the lapse of an hour, while no movement had disturbed the profound silence which reigned about the bed of death, the king trembled slightly; opened his eyes, and endeavoured feebly to raise his head. They thanking the physician and priest with a smile, who had both hastened to arrange his pillows, he begged the queen to come near, and told her in a low voice that he would speak with her a moment alone. The doctor and confessor retired, deeply bowing, and the king followed them with his eyes up to the moment when one of the doors closed behind them. He passed his hand across his brow, as though seeking to collect his thoughts, and rallying all his forces for the supreme effort, pronounced these words: "What I must say to you, Sancha, has no concern with those two good persons who were here a moment ago: their task is ended. One has done all for my body that human science could teach him, and all that has come of it is that my death is yet a little deferred; the other has now absolved me of all my sins, and assured me of God's forgiveness, yet cannot keep from me those dread apparitions which in this terrible hour arise before me. Twice have you seen me battling with a superhuman horror. My brow has been bathed in sweat, my limbs rigid, my cries have been stifled by a hand of iron. Has God permitted the Evil Spirit to tempt me? Is this remorse in phantom shape? These two conflicts I have suffered have so subdued my strength that I can never endure a third. Listen then, my Sandra, for I have instructions to give you on which perhaps the safety of my soul depends." "My lord and my master," said the queen in the most gentle accents of submission, "I am ready to listen to your orders; and should it be that God, in the hidden designs of His providence, has willed to call you to His glory while we are plunged in grief, your last wishes shall be fulfilled here on earth most scrupulously and exactly. But," she added, with all the solicitude of a timid soul, "pray suffer me to sprinkle drops of holy water and banish the accursed one from this chamber, and let me offer up some part of that service of prayer that you composed in honour of your sainted brother to implore God's protection in this hour when we can ill afford to lose it." Then opening a richly bound book, she read with fervent devotion certain verses of the office that Robert had written in a very pure Latin for his brother Louis, Bishop of Toulouse, which was in use in the Church as late as the time of the Council of Trent. Soothed by the charm of the prayers he had himself composed, the king was near forgetting the object of the interview he had so solemnly and eagerly demanded and letting himself lapse into a state of vague melancholy, he murmured in a subdued voice, "Yes, yes, you are right; pray for me, for you too are a saint, and I am but a poor sinful man." "Say not so, my lord," interrupted Dona Sancha; "you are the greatest, wisest, and most just king who has ever sat upon the throne of Naples." "But the throne is usurped," replied Robert in a voice of gloom; "you know that the kingdom belonged to my elder brother, Charles Martel; and since Charles was on the throne of Hungary, which he inherited from his mother, the kingdom of Naples devolved by right upon his eldest son, Carobert, and not on me, who am the third in rank of the family. And I have suffered myself to be crowned in my nephew's stead, though he was the only lawful-king; I have put the younger branch in the place of the elder, and for thirty-three years I have stifled the reproaches of my conscience. True, I have won battles, made laws, founded churches; but a single word serves to give the lie to all the pompous titles showered upon me by the people's admiration, and this one word rings out clearer in my ears than all the flattery of courtiers, all the songs of poets, all the orations of the crowd:--I am an usurper!" "Be not unjust towards yourself, my lord, and bear in mind that if you did not abdicate in favour of the rightful heir, it was because you wished to save the people from the worst misfortunes. Moreover," continued the queen, with that air of profound conviction that an unanswerable argument inspires, "you have remained king by the consent and authority of our Holy Father the sovereign pontiff, who disposes of the throne as a fief belonging to the Church." "I have long quieted my scruples thus," replied the dying man, "and the pope's authority has kept me silent; but whatever security one may pretend to feel in one's lifetime, there yet comes a dreadful solemn hour when all illusions needs must vanish: this hour for me has come, and now I must appear before God, the one unfailing judge." "If His justice cannot fail, is not His mercy infinite?" pursued the queen, with the glow of sacred inspiration. "Even if there were good reason for the fear that has shaken your soul, what fault could not be effaced by a repentance so noble? Have you not repaired the wrong you may have done your nephew Carobert, by bringing his younger son Andre to your kingdom and marrying him to Joan, your poor Charles's elder daughter? Will not they inherit your crown?" "Alas!" cried Robert, with a deep sigh, "God is punishing me perhaps for thinking too late of this just reparation. O my good and noble Sandra, you touch a chord which vibrates sadly in my heart, and you anticipate the unhappy confidence I was about to make. I feel a gloomy presentiment--and in the hour of death presentiment is prophecy--that the two sons of my nephew, Louis, who has been King of Hungary since his father died, and Andre, whom I desired to make King of Naples, will prove the scourge of my family. Ever since Andre set foot in our castle, a strange fatality has pursued and overturned my projects. I had hoped that if Andre and Joan were brought up together a tender intimacy would arise between the two children; and that the beauty of our skies, our civilisation, and the attractions of our court would end by softening whatever rudeness there might be in the young Hungarian's character; but in spite of my efforts all has tended to cause coldness, and even aversion, between the bridal pair. Joan, scarcely fifteen, is far ahead of her age. Gifted with a brilliant and mobile mind, a noble and lofty character, a lively and glowing fancy, now free and frolicsome as a child, now grave and proud as a queen, trustful and simple as a young girl, passionate and sensitive as a woman, she presents the most striking contrast to Andre, who, after a stay of ten years at our court, is wilder, more gloomy, more intractable than ever. His cold, regular features, impassive countenance, and indifference to every pleasure that his wife appears to love, all this has raised between him and Joan a barrier of indifference, even of antipathy. To the tenderest effusion his reply is no more than a scornful smile or a frown, and he never seems happier than when on a pretext of the chase he can escape from the court. These, then, are the two, man and wife, on whose heads my crown shall rest, who in a short space will find themselves exposed to every passion whose dull growl is now heard below a deceptive calm, but which only awaits the moment when I breathe my last, to burst forth upon them." "O my God, my God!" the queen kept repeating in her grief: her arms fell by her side, like the arms of a statue weeping by a tomb. "Listen, Dona Sandra. I know that your heart has never clung to earthly vanities, and that you only wait till God has called me to Himself to withdraw to the convent of Santa Maria delta Croce, founded by yourself in the hope that you might there end your days. Far be it from me to dissuade you from your sacred vocation, when I am myself descending into the tomb and am conscious of the nothingness of all human greatness. Only grant me one year of widowhood before you pass on to your bridal with the Lord, one year in which you will watch over Joan and her husband, to keep from them all the dangers that threaten. Already the woman who was the seneschal's wife and her son have too much influence over our grand-daughter; be specially careful, and amid the many interests, intrigues, and temptations that will surround the young queen, distrust particularly the affection of Bertrand d'Artois, the beauty of Louis of Tarentum; and the ambition of Charles of Durazzo." The king paused, exhausted by the effort of speaking; then turning on his wife a supplicating glance and extending his thin wasted hand, he added in a scarcely audible voice: "Once again I entreat you, leave not the court before a year has passed. Do you promise me?" "I promise, my lord." "And now," said Robert, whose face at these words took on a new animation, "call my confessor and the physician and summon the family, for the hour is at hand, and soon I shall not have the strength to speak my last words." A few moments later the priest and the doctor re-entered the room, their faces bathed, in tears. The king thanked them warmly for their care of him in his last illness, and begged them help to dress him in the coarse garb of a Franciscan monk, that God, as he said, seeing him die in poverty, humility, and penitence, might the more easily grant him pardon. The confessor and doctor placed upon his naked feet the sandals worn by mendicant friars, robed him in a Franciscan frock, and tied the rope about his waist. Stretched thus upon his bed, his brow surmounted by his scanty locks, with his long white beard, and his hands crossed upon his breast, the King of Naples looked like one of those aged anchorites who spend their lives in mortifying the flesh, and whose souls, absorbed in heavenly contemplation, glide insensibly from out their last ecstasy into eternal bliss. Some time he lay thus with closed eyes, putting up a silent prayer to God; then he bade them light the spacious room as for a great solemnity, and gave a sign to the two persons who stood, one at the head, the other at the foot of the bed. The two folding doors opened, and the whole of the royal family, with the queen at their head and the chief barons following, took their places in silence around the dying king to hear his last wishes. His eyes turned toward Joan, who stood next him on his right hand, with an indescribable look of tenderness and grief. She was of a beauty so unusual and so marvellous, that her grandfather was fascinated by the dazzling sight, and mistook her for an angel that God had sent to console him on his deathbed. The pure lines of her fine profile, her great black liquid eyes, her noble brow uncovered, her hair shining like the raven's wing, her delicate mouth, the whole effect of this beautiful face on the mind of those who beheld her was that of a deep melancholy and sweetness, impressing itself once and for ever. Tall and slender, but without the excessive thinness of some young girls, her movements had that careless supple grace that recall the waving of a flower stalk in the breeze. But in spite of all these smiling and innocent graces one could yet discern in Robert's heiress a will firm and resolute to brave every obstacle, and the dark rings that circled her fine eyes plainly showed that her heart was already agitated by passions beyond her years. Beside Joan stood her younger sister, Marie, who was twelve or thirteen years of age, the second daughter of Charles, Duke of Calabria, who had died before her birth, and whose mother, Marie of Valois, had unhappily been lost to her from her cradle. Exceedingly pretty and shy, she seemed distressed by such an assembly of great personages, and quietly drew near to the widow of the grand seneschal, Philippa, surnamed the Catanese, the princesses' governess, whom they honoured as a mother. Behind the princesses and beside this lady stood her son, Robert of Cabane, a handsome young man, proud and upright, who with his left hand played with his slight moustache while he secretly cast on Joan a glance of audacious boldness. The group was completed by Dona Cancha, the young chamberwoman to the princesses, and by the Count of Terlizzi, who exchanged with her many a furtive look and many an open smile. The second group was composed of Andre, Joan's husband, and Friar Robert, tutor to the young prince, who had come with him from Budapesth, and never left him for a minute. Andre was at this time perhaps eighteen years old: at first sight one was struck by the extreme regularity of his features, his handsome, noble face, and abundant fair hair; but among all these Italian faces, with their vivid animation, his countenance lacked expression, his eyes seemed dull, and something hard and icy in his looks revealed his wild character and foreign extraction. His tutor's portrait Petrarch has drawn for us: crimson face, hair and beard red, figure short and crooked; proud in poverty, rich and miserly; like a second Diogenes, with hideous and deformed limbs barely concealed beneath his friar's frock. In the third group stood the widow of Philip, Prince of Tarentum, the king's brother, honoured at the court of Naples with the title of Empress of Constantinople, a style inherited by her as the granddaughter of Baldwin II. Anyone accustomed to sound the depths of the human heart would at one glance have perceived that this woman under her ghastly pallor concealed an implacable hatred, a venomous jealousy, and an all-devouring ambition. She had her three sons about her--Robert, Philip, and Louis, the youngest. Had the king chosen out from among his nephews the handsomest, bravest, and most generous, there can be no doubt that Louis of Tarentum would have obtained the crown. At the age of twenty-three he had already excelled the cavaliers of most renown in feats of arms; honest, loyal, and brave, he no sooner conceived a project than he promptly carried it out. His brow shone in that clear light which seems to serve as a halo of success to natures so privileged as his; his fine eyes, of a soft and velvety black, subdued the hearts of men who could not resist their charm, and his caressing smile made conquest sweet. A child of destiny, he had but to use his will; some power unknown, some beneficent fairy had watched over his birth, and undertaken to smooth away all obstacles, gratify all desires. Near to him, but in the fourth group, his cousin Charles of Duras stood and scowled. His mother, Agnes, the widow of the Duke of Durazzo and Albania, another of the king's brothers, looked upon him affrighted, clutching to her breast her two younger sons, Ludovico, Count of Gravina, and Robert, Prince of Morea. Charles, pale-faced, with short hair and thick beard, was glancing with suspicion first at his dying uncle and then at Joan and the little Marie, then again at his cousins, apparently so excited by tumultuous thoughts that he could not stand still. His feverish uneasiness presented a marked contrast with the calm, dreamy face of Bertrand d'Artois, who, giving precedence to his father Charles, approached the queen at the foot of the bed, and so found himself face to face with Joan. The young man was so absorbed by the beauty of the princess that he seemed to see nothing else in the room. As soon as Joan and Andre, the Princes of Tarentum and Durazzo, the Counts of Artois, and Queen Sancha had taken their places round the bed of death, forming a semicircle, as we have just described, the vice-chancellor passed through the rows of barons, who according to their rank were following closely after the princes of the blood; and bowing low before the king, unfolded a parchment sealed with the royal seal, and read in a solemn voice, amid a profound silence: "Robert, by the grace of God King of Sicily and Jerusalem, Count of Provence, Forcalquier, and Piedmont, Vicar of the Holy Roman Church, hereby nominates and declares his sole heiress in the kingdom of Sicily on this side and the other side of the strait, as also in the counties of Provence, Forcalquier, and Piedmont, and in all his other territories, Joan, Duchess of Calabria, elder daughter of the excellent lord Charles, Duke of Calabria, of illustrious memory. "Moreover, he nominates and declares the honourable lady Marie, younger daughter of the late Duke of Calabria, his heiress in the county of Alba and in the jurisdiction of the valley of Grati and the territory of Giordano, with all their castles and dependencies; and orders that the lady thus named receive them in fief direct from the aforesaid duchess and her heirs; on this condition, however, that if the duchess give and grant to her illustrious sister or to her assigns the sum of 10,000 ounces of gold by way of compensation, the county and jurisdiction aforesaid--shall remain in the possession of the duchess and her heirs. "Moreover, he wills and commands, for private and secret reasons, that the aforesaid lady Marie shall contract a marriage with the very illustrious prince, Louis, reigning King of Hungary. And in case any impediment should appear to this marriage by reason of the union said to be already arranged and signed between the King of Hungary and the King of Bohemia and his daughter, our lord the king commands that the illustrious lady Marie shall contract a marriage with the elder son of the mighty lord Don Juan, Duke of Normandy, himself the elder son of the reigning King of France." At this point Charles of Durazzo gave Marie a singularly meaning look, which escaped the notice of all present, their attention being absorbed by the reading of Robert's will. The young girl herself, from the moment when she first heard her own name, had stood confused and thunderstruck, with scarlet cheeks, not daring to raise her eyes. The vice-chancellor continued: "Moreover, he has willed and commanded that the counties of Forcalquier and Provence shall in all perpetuity be united to his kingdom, and shall form one sole and inseparable dominion, whether or not there be several sons or daughters or any other reason of any kind for its partition, seeing that this union is of the utmost importance for the security and common prosperity of the kingdom and counties aforesaid. "Moreover, he has decided and commanded that in case of the death of the Duchess Joan--which God avert!--without lawful issue of her body, the most illustrious lord Andre, Duke of Calabria, her husband, shall have the principality of Salerno, with the title, fruits, revenues, and all the rights thereof, together with the revenue of 2000 ounces of gold for maintenance. "Moreover, he has decided and ordered that the Queen above all, and also the venerable father Don Philip of Cabassole, Bishop of Cavaillon, vice-chancellor of the kingdom of Sicily, and the magnificent lords Philip of Sanguineto, seneschal of Provence, Godfrey of Marsan, Count of Squillace, admiral of the kingdom, and Charles of Artois, Count of Aire, shall be governors, regents, and administrators of the aforesaid lord Andre and the aforesaid ladies Joan and Marie, until such time as the duke, the duchess, and the very illustrious lady Marie shall have attained their twenty-fifth year," etc. etc. When the vice-chancellor had finished reading, the king sat up, and glancing round upon his fair and numerous family, thus spoke: "My children, you have heard my last wishes. I have bidden you all to my deathbed, that you may see how the glory of the world passes away. Those whom men name the great ones of the earth have more duties to perform, and after death more accounts to render: it is in this that their greatness lies. I have reigned thirty-three years, and God before whom I am about to appear, God to whom my sighs have often arisen during my long and painful life, God alone knows the thoughts that rend my heart in the hour of death. Soon shall I be lying in the tomb, and all that remains of me in this world will live in the memory of those who pray for me. But before I leave you for ever, you, oh, you who are twice my daughters, whom I have loved with a double love, and you my nephews who have had from me all the care and affection of a father, promise me to be ever united in heart and in wish, as indeed you are in my love. I have lived longer than your fathers, I the eldest of all, and thus no doubt God has wished to tighten the bonds of your affection, to accustom you to live in one family and to pay honour to one head. I have loved you all alike, as a father should, without exception or preference. I have disposed of my throne according to the law of nature and the inspiration of my conscience: Here are the heirs of the crown of Naples; you, Joan, and you, Andre, will never forget the love and respect that are due between husband and wife, and mutually sworn by you at the foot of the altar; and you, my nephews all; my barons, my officers, render homage to your lawful sovereigns; Andre of Hungary, Louis of Tarentum, Charles of Durazzo, remember that you are brothers; woe to him who shall imitate the perfidy of Cain! May his blood fall upon his own head, and may he be accursed by Heaven as he is by the mouth of a dying man; and may the blessing of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit descend upon that man whose heart is good, when the Lord of mercy shall call to my soul Himself!" The king remained motionless, his arms raised, his eyes fixed on heaven, his cheeks extraordinarily bright, while the princes, barons, and officers of the court proffered to Joan and her husband the oath of fidelity and allegiance. When it was the turn of the Princes of Duras to advance, Charles disdainfully stalked past Andre, and bending his knee before the princess, said in a loud voice, as he kissed her hand-- "To you, my queen, I pay my homage." All looks were turned fearfully towards the dying man, but the good king no longer heard. Seeing him fall back rigid and motionless, Dona Sancha burst into sobs, and cried in a voice choked with tears-- "The king is dead; let us pray for his soul." At the very same moment all the princes hurried from the room, and every passion hitherto suppressed in the presence of the king now found its vent like a mighty torrent breaking through its banks. "Long live Joan!" Robert of Cabane, Louis of Tarentum, and Bertrand of Artois were the first to exclaim, while the prince's tutor, furiously breaking through the crowd and apostrophising the various members of the council of regency, cried aloud in varying tones of passion, "Gentlemen, you have forgotten the king's wish already; you must cry, 'Long live Andre!' too;" then, wedding example to precept, and himself making more noise than all the barons together, he cried in a voice of thunder-- "Long live the King of Naples!" But there was no echo to his cry, and Charles of Durazzo, measuring the Dominican with a terrible look, approached the queen, and taking her by the hand, slid back the curtains of the balcony, from which was seen the square and the town of Naples. So far as the eye could reach there stretched an immense crowd, illuminated by streams of light, and thousands of heads were turned upward towards Castel Nuovo to gather any news that might be announced. Charles respectfully drawing back and indicating his fair cousin with his hand, cried out-- "People of Naples, the King is dead: long live the Queen!" "Long live Joan, Queen of Naples!" replied the people, with a single mighty cry that resounded through every quarter of the town. The events that on this night had followed each other with the rapidity of a dream had produced so deep an impression on Joan's mind, that, agitated by a thousand different feelings, she retired to her own rooms, and shutting herself up in her chamber, gave free vent to her grief. So long as the conflict of so many ambitions waged about the tomb, the young queen, refusing every consolation that was offered her, wept bitterly for the death of her grandfather, who had loved her to the point of weakness. The king was buried with all solemnity in the church of Santa Chiara, which he had himself founded and dedicated to the Holy Sacrament, enriching it with magnificent frescoes by Giotto and other precious relics, among which is shown still, behind the tribune of the high altar, two columns of white marble taken from Solomon's temple. There still lies Robert, represented on his tomb in the dress of a king and in a monk's frock, on the right of the monument to his son Charles, the Duke of Calabria. CHAPTER II As soon as the obsequies were over, Andre's tutor hastily assembled the chief Hungarian lords, and it was decided in a council held in the presence of the prince and with his consent, to send letters to his mother, Elizabeth of Poland, and his brother, Louis of Hungary, to make known to them the purport of Robert's will, and at the same time to lodge a complaint at the court of Avignon against the conduct of the princes and people of Naples in that they had proclaimed Joan alone Queen of Naples, thus overlooking the rights of her husband, and further to demand for him the pope's order for Andre's coronation. Friar Robert, who had not only a profound knowledge of the court intrigues, but also the experience of a philosopher and all a monk's cunning, told his pupil that he ought to profit by the depression of spirit the king's death had produced in Joan, and ought not to suffer her favourites to use this time in influencing her by their seductive counsels. But Joan's ability to receive consolation was quite as ready as her grief had at first been impetuous; the sobs which seemed to be breaking her heart ceased all at once; new thoughts, more gentle, less lugubrious, took possession of the young queen's mind; the trace of tears vanished, and a smile lit up her liquid eyes like the sun's ray following on rain. This change, anxiously awaited, was soon observed by Joan's chamberwoman: she stole to the queen's room, and falling on her knees, in accents of flattery and affection, she offered her first congratulations to her lovely mistress. Joan opened her arms and held her in a long embrace, for Dona Cancha was far more to her than a lady-in-waiting; she was the companion of infancy, the depositary of all her secrets, the confidante of her most private thoughts. One had but to glance at this young girl to understand the fascination she could scarcely fail to exercise over the queen's mind. She had a frank and smiling countenance, such as inspires confidence and captivates the mind at first sight. Her face had an irresistible charm, with clear blue eyes, warm golden hair, mouth bewitchingly turned up at the corners, and delicate little chin. Wild, happy, light of heart, pleasure and love were the breath of her being; her dainty refinement, her charming inconstancies, all made her at sixteen as lovely as an angel, though at heart she was corrupt. The whole court was at her feet, and Joan felt more affection for her than for her own sister. "Well, my dear Cancha," she murmured, with a sigh, "you find me very sad and very unhappy!" "And you find me, fair queen," replied the confidante, fixing an admiring look on Joan,--"you find me just the opposite, very happy that I can lay at your feet before anyone else the proof of the joy that the people of Naples are at this moment feeling. Others perhaps may envy you the crown that shines upon your brow, the throne which is one of the noblest in the world, the shouts of this entire town that sound rather like worship than homage; but I, madam, I envy you your lovely black hair, your dazzling eyes, your more than mortal grace, which make every man adore you." "And yet you know, my Cancha, I am much to be pitied both as a queen and as a woman: when one is fifteen a crown is heavy to wear, and I have not the liberty of the meanest of my subjects--I mean in my affections; for before I reached an age when I could think I was sacrificed to a man whom I can never love." "Yet, madam," replied Cancha in a more insinuating voice, "in this court there is a young cavalier who might by virtue of respect, love, and devotion have made you forget the claims of this foreigner, alike unworthy to be our king and to be your husband." The queen heaved a heavy sigh. "When did you lose your skill to read my heart?" she cried. "Must I actually tell you that this love is making me wretched? True, at the very first this unsanctioned love was a keen joy: a new life seemed to wake within my heart; I was drawn on, fascinated by the prayers, the tears, and the despair of this man, by the opportunities that his mother so easily granted, she whom I had always looked upon as my own mother; I have loved him.... O my God, I am still so young, and my past is so unhappy. At times strange thoughts come into my mind: I fancy he no longer loves me, that he never did love me; I fancy he has been led on by ambition, by self-interest, by some ignoble motive, and has only feigned a feeling that he has never really felt. I feel myself a coldness I cannot account for; in his presence I am constrained, I am troubled by his look, his voice makes me tremble: I fear him; I would sacrifice a year of my life could I never have listened to him." These words seemed to touch the young confidante to the very depths of her soul; a shade of sadness crossed her brow, her eyelids dropped, and for some time she answered nothing, showing sorrow rather than surprise. Then, lifting her head gently, she said, with visible embarrassment-- "I should never have dared to pass so severe a judgment upon a man whom my sovereign lady has raised above other men by casting upon him a look of kindness; but if Robert of Cabane has deserved the reproach of inconstancy and ingratitude, if he has perjured himself like a coward, he must indeed be the basest of all miserable beings, despising a happiness which other men might have entreated of God the whole time of their life and paid for through eternity. One man I know, who weeps both night and day without hope or consolation, consumed by a slow and painful malady, when one word might yet avail to save him, did it come from the lips of my noble mistress." "I will not hear another word," cried Joan, suddenly rising; "there shall be no new cause for remorse in my life. Trouble has come upon me through my loves, both lawful and criminal; alas! no longer will I try to control my awful fate, I will bow my head without a murmur. I am the queen, and I must yield myself up for the good of my subjects." "Will you forbid me, madam," replied Dona Cancha in a kind, affectionate tone--"will you forbid me to name Bertrand of Artois in your presence, that unhappy man, with the beauty of an angel and the modesty of a girl? Now that you are queen and have the life and death of your subjects in your own keeping, will you feel no kindness towards an unfortunate one whose only fault is to adore you, who strives with all his mind and strength to bear a chance look of yours without dying of his joy?" "I have struggled hard never to look on him," cried the queen, urged by an impulse she was not strong enough to conquer: then, to efface the impression that might well have been made on her friend's mind, she added severely, "I forbid you to pronounce his name before me; and if he should ever venture to complain, I bid you tell him from me that the first time I even suspect the cause of his distress he will be banished for ever from my presence." "Ah, madam, dismiss me also; for I shall never be strong enough to do so hard a bidding: the unhappy man who cannot awake in your heart so much as a feeling of pity may now be struck down by yourself in your wrath, for here he stands; he has heard your sentence, and come to die at your feet." The last words were spoken in a louder voice, so that they might be heard from outside, and Bertrand of Artois came hurriedly into the room and fell on his knees before the queen. For a long time past the young lady-in-waiting had perceived that Robert of Cabane had, through his own fault, lost the love of Joan; for his tyranny had indeed become more unendurable to her than her husband's. Dona Cancha had been quick enough to perceive that the eyes of her young mistress were wont to rest with a kind of melancholy gentleness on Bertrand, a young man of handsome appearance but with a sad and dreamy expression; so when she made up her mind to speak in his interests, she was persuaded that the queen already loved him. Still, a bright colour overspread Joan's face, and her anger would have fallen on both culprits alike, when in the next room a sound of steps was heard, and the voice of the grand seneschal's widow in conversation with her son fell on the ears of the three young people like a clap of thunder. Dona Cancha, pale as death, stood trembling; Bertrand felt that he was lost--all the more because his presence compromised the queen; Joan only, with that wonderful presence of mind she was destined to preserve in the most difficult crises of her future life, thrust the young man against the carved back of her bed, and concealed him completely beneath the ample curtain: she then signed to Cancha to go forward and meet the governess and her son. But before we conduct into the queen's room these two persons, whom our readers may remember in Joan's train about the bed of King Robert, we must relate the circumstances which had caused the family of the Catanese to rise with incredible rapidity from the lowest class of the people to the highest rank at court. When Dona Violante of Aragon, first wife of Robert of Anjou, became the mother of Charles, who was later on the Duke of Calabria, a nurse was sought for the infant among the most handsome women of the people. After inspecting many women of equal merit as regards beauty, youth and health, the princess's choice lighted on Philippa, a young Catanese woman, the wife of a fisherman of Trapani, and by condition a laundress. This young woman, as she washed her linen on the bank of a stream, had dreamed strange dreams: she had fancied herself summoned to court, wedded to a great personage, and receiving the honours of a great lady. Thus when she was called to Castel Nuovo her joy was great, for she felt that her dreams now began to be realised. Philippa was installed at the court, and a few months after she began to nurse the child the fisherman was dead and she was a widow. Meanwhile Raymond of Cabane, the major-domo of King Charles II's house, had bought a negro from some corsairs, and having had him baptized by his own name, had given him his liberty; afterwards observing that he was able and intelligent, he had appointed him head cook in the king's kitchen; and then he had gone away to the war. During the absence of his patron the negro managed his own affairs at the court so cleverly, that in a short time he was able to buy land, houses, farms, silver plate, and horses, and could vie in riches with the best in the kingdom; and as he constantly won higher favour in the royal family, he passed on from the kitchen to the wardrobe. The Catanese had also deserved very well of her employers, and as a reward for the care she had bestowed on the child, the princess married her to the negro, and he, as a wedding gift, was granted the title of knight. From this day forward, Raymond of Cabane and Philippa the laundress rose in the world so rapidly that they had no equal in influence at court. After the death of Dona Violante, the Catanese became the intimate friend of Dona Sandra, Robert's second wife, whom we introduced to our readers at the beginning of this narrative. Charles, her foster son, loved her as a mother, and she was the confidante of his two wives in turn, especially of the second wife, Marie of Valois. And as the quondam laundress had in the end learned all the manners and customs of the court, she was chosen at the birth of Joan and her sister to be governess and mistress over the young girls, and at this juncture Raymond was created major-domo. Finally, Marie of Valois on her deathbed commended the two young princesses to her care, begging her to look on them as her own-daughters. Thus Philippa the Catanese, honoured in future as foster mother of the heiress to the throne of Naples, had power to nominate her husband grand seneschal, one of the seven most important offices in the kingdom, and to obtain knighthood for her sons. Raymond of Cabane was buried like a king in a marble tomb in the church of the Holy Sacrament, and there was speedily joined by two of his sons. The third, Robert, a youth of extraordinary strength and beauty, gave up an ecclesiastical career, and was himself made major-domo, his two sisters being married to the Count of Merlizzi and the Count of Morcone respectively. This was now the state of affairs, and the influence of the grand seneschal's widow seemed for ever established, when an unexpected event suddenly occurred, causing such injury as might well suffice to upset the edifice of her fortunes that had been raised stone by stone patiently and slowly: this edifice was now undermined and threatened to fall in a single day. It was the sudden apparition of Friar Robert, who followed to the court of Rome his young pupil, who from infancy had been Joan's destined husband, which thus shattered all the designs of the Catanese and seriously menaced her future. The monk had not been slow to understand that so long as she remained at the court, Andre would be no more than the slave, possibly even the victim, of his wife. Thus all Friar Robert's thoughts were obstinately concentrated on a single end, that of getting rid of the Catanese or neutralising her influence. The prince's tutor and the governess of the heiress had but to exchange one glance, icy, penetrating, plain to read: their looks met like lightning flashes of hatred and of vengeance. The Catanese, who felt she was detected, lacked courage to fight this man in the open, and so conceived the hope of strengthening her tottering empire by the arts of corruption and debauchery. She instilled by degrees into her pupil's mind the poison of vice, inflamed her youthful imagination with precocious desires, sowed in her heart the seeds of an unconquerable aversion for her husband, surrounded the poor child with abandoned women, and especially attached to her the beautiful and attractive Dona Cancha, who is branded by contemporary authors with the name of a courtesan; then summed up all these lessons in infamy by prostituting Joan to her own son. The poor girl, polluted by sin before she knew what life was, threw her whole self into this first passion with all the ardour of youth, and loved Robert of Cabane so violently, so madly, that the Catanese congratulated herself on the success of her infamy, believing that she held her prey so fast in her toils that her victim would never attempt to escape them. A year passed by before Joan, conquered by her infatuation, conceived the smallest suspicion of her lover's sincerity. He, more ambitious than affectionate, found it easy to conceal his coldness under the cloak of a brotherly intimacy, of blind submission, and of unswerving devotion; perhaps he would have deceived his mistress for a longer time had not Bertrand of Artois fallen madly in love with Joan. Suddenly the bandage fell from the young girl's eyes; comparing the two with the natural instinct of a woman beloved which never goes astray, she perceived that Robert of Cabane loved her for his own sake, while Bertrand of Artois would give his life to make her happy. A light fell upon her past: she mentally recalled the circumstances that preceded and accompanied her earliest love; and a shudder went through her at the thought that she had been sacrificed to a cowardly seducer by the very woman she had loved most in the world, whom she had called by the name of mother. Joan drew back into herself, and wept bitterly. Wounded by a single blow in all her affections, at first her grief absorbed her; then, roused to sudden anger, she proudly raised her head, for now her love was changed to scorn. Robert, amazed at her cold and haughty reception of him, following on so great a love, was stung by jealousy and wounded pride. He broke out into bitter reproach and violent recrimination, and, letting fall the mask, once for all lost his place in Joan's heart. His mother at last saw that it was time to interfere: she rebuked her son, accusing him of upsetting all her plans by his clumsiness. "As you have failed to conquer her by love," she said, "you must now subdue her by fear. The secret of her honour is in our hands, and she will never dare to rebel. She plainly loves Bertrand of Artois, whose languishing eyes and humble sighs contrast in a striking manner with your haughty indifference and your masterful ways. The mother of the Princes of Tarentum, the Empress of Constantinople, will easily seize an occasion of helping on the princess's love so as to alienate her more and more from her husband: Cancha will be the go between, and sooner or later we shall find Bertrand at Joan's feet. Then she will be able to refuse us nothing." While all this was going on, the old king died, and the Catanese, who had unceasingly kept on the watch for the moment she had so plainly foreseen, loudly called to her son, when she saw Bertrand slip into Joan's apartment, saying as she drew him after her-- "Follow me, the queen is ours." It was thus that she and her son came to be there. Joan, standing in the middle of the chamber, pallid, her eyes fixed on the curtains of the bed, concealed her agitation with a smile, and took one step forward towards her governess, stooping to receive the kiss which the latter bestowed upon her every morning. The Catanese embraced her with affected cordiality, and turning, to her son, who had knelt upon one knee, said, pointing to Robert-- "My fair queen, allow the humblest of your subjects to offer his sincere congratulations and to lay his homage at your feet." "Rise, Robert," said Joan, extending her hand kindly, and with no show of bitterness. "We were brought up together, and I shall never forget that in our childhood--I mean those happy days when we were both innocent--I called you my brother." "As you allow me, madam," said Robert, with an ironical smile, "I too shall always remember the names you formerly gave me." "And I," said the Catanese, "shall forget that I speak to the Queen of Naples, in embracing once more my beloved daughter. Come, madam, away with care: you have wept long enough; we have long respected your grief. It is now time to show yourself to these good Neapolitans who bless Heaven continually for granting them a queen so beautiful and good; it is time that your favours fall upon the heads of your faithful subjects, and my son, who surpasses all in his fidelity, comes first to ask a favour of you, in order that he may serve you yet more zealously." Joan cast on Robert a withering look, and, speaking to the Catanese, said with a scornful air-- "You know, madam, I can refuse your son nothing." "All he asks," continued the lady, "is a title which is his due, and which he inherited from his father--the title of Grand Seneschal of the Two Sicilies: I trust, my daughter, you will have no difficulty in granting this." "But I must consult the council of regency." "The council will hasten to ratify the queen's wishes," replied Robert, handing her the parchment with an imperious gesture: "you need only speak to the Count of Artois." And he cast a threatening glance at the curtain, which had slightly moved. "You are right," said the queen at once; and going up to a table she signed the parchment with a trembling hand. "Now, my daughter, I have come in the name of all the care I bestowed on your infancy, of all the maternal love I have lavished on you, to implore a favour that my family will remember for evermore." The queen recoiled one step, crimson with astonishment and rage; but before she could find words to reply, the lady continued in a voice that betrayed no feeling-- "I request you to make my son Count of Eboli." "That has nothing to do with me, madam; the barons of this kingdom would revolt to a man if I were on my own authority to exalt to one of the first dignities the son of a---" "A laundress and a negro; you would say, madam?" said Robert, with a sneer. "Bertrand of Artois would be annoyed perhaps if I had a title like his." He advanced a step towards the bed, his hand upon the hilt of his sword. "Have mercy, Robert!" cried the queen, checking him: "I will do all you ask." And she signed the parchment naming him Count of Eboli. "And now," Robert went on impudently, "to show that my new title is not illusory, while you are busy about signing documents, let me have the privilege of taking part in the councils of the crown: make a declaration that, subject to your good pleasure, my mother and I are to have a deliberative voice in the council whenever an important matter is under discussion." "Never!" cried Joan, turning pale. "Philippa and Robert, you abuse my weakness and treat your queen shamefully. In the last few days I have wept and suffered continually, overcome by a terrible grief; I have no strength to turn to business now. Leave me, I beg: I feel my strength gives way." "What, my daughter," cried the Catanese hypocritically, "are you feeling unwell? Come and lie down at once." And hurrying to the bed, she took hold of the curtain that concealed the Count of Artois. The queen uttered a piercing cry, and threw herself before Philippa with the fury of a lioness. "Stop!" she cried in a choking voice; "take the privilege you ask, and now, if you value your own life, leave me." The Catanese and her son departed instantly, not even waiting to reply, for they had got all they wanted; while Joan, trembling, ran desperately up to Bertrand, who had angrily drawn his dagger, and would have fallen upon the two favourites to take vengeance for the insults they had offered to the queen; but he was very soon disarmed by the lovely shining eyes raised to him in supplication, the two arms cast about him, and the tears shed by Joan: he fell at her feet and kissed them rapturously, with no thought of seeking excuse for his presence, with no word of love, for it was as if they had loved always: he lavished the tenderest caresses on her, dried her tears, and pressed his trembling lips upon her lovely head. Joan began to forget her anger, her vows, and her repentance: soothed by the music of her lover's speech, she returned uncomprehending monosyllables: her heart beat till it felt like breaking, and once more she was falling beneath love's resistless spell, when a new interruption occurred, shaking her roughly out of her ecstasy; but this time the young count was able to pass quietly and calmly into a room adjoining, and Joan prepared to receive her importunate visitor with severe and frigid dignity. The individual who arrived at so inopportune a moment was little calculated to smooth Joan's ruffled brow, being Charles, the eldest son of the Durazzo family. After he had introduced his fair cousin to the people as their only legitimate sovereign, he had sought on various occasions to obtain an interview with her, which in all probability would be decisive. Charles was one of those men who to gain their end recoil at nothing; devoured by raging ambition and accustomed from his earliest years to conceal his most ardent desires beneath a mask of careless indifference, he marched ever onward, plot succeeding plot, towards the object he was bent upon securing, and never deviated one hair's-breadth from the path he had marked out, but only acted with double prudence after each victory, and with double courage after each defeat. His cheek grew pale with joy; when he hated most, he smiled; in all the emotions of his life, however strong, he was inscrutable. He had sworn to sit on the throne of Naples, and long had believed himself the rightful heir, as being nearest of kin to Robert of all his nephews. To him the hand of Joan would have been given, had not the old king in his latter days conceived the plan of bringing Andre from Hungary and re-establishing the elder branch in his person, though that had long since been forgotten. But his resolution had never for a moment been weakened by the arrival of Andre in the kingdom, or by the profound indifference wherewith Joan, preoccupied with other passion, had always received the advances of her cousin Charles of Durazzo. Neither the love of a woman nor the life of a man was of any account to him when a crown was weighed in the other scale of the balance. During the whole time that the queen had remained invisible, Charles had hung about her apartments, and now came into her presence with respectful eagerness to inquire for his cousin's health. The young duke had been at pains to set off his noble features and elegant figure by a magnificent dress covered with golden fleur-de-lys and glittering with precious stones. His doublet of scarlet velvet and cap of the same showed up, by their own splendour, the warm colouring of his skin, while his face seemed illumined by his black eyes that shone keen as an eagle's. Charles spoke long with his cousin of the people's enthusiasm on her accession and of the brilliant destiny before her; he drew a hasty but truthful sketch of the state of the kingdom; and while he lavished praises on the queen's wisdom, he cleverly pointed out what reforms were most urgently needed by the country; he contrived to put so much warmth, yet so much reserve, into his speech that he destroyed the disagreeable impression his arrival had produced. In spite of the irregularities of her youth and the depravity brought about by her wretched education, Joan's nature impelled her to noble action: when the welfare of her subjects was concerned, she rose above the limitations of her age and sex, and, forgetting her strange position, listened to the Duke of Durazzo with the liveliest interest and the kindliest attention. He then hazarded allusions to the dangers that beset a young queen, spoke vaguely of the difficulty in distinguishing between true devotion and cowardly complaisance or interested attachment; he spoke of the ingratitude of many who had been loaded with benefits, and had been most completely trusted. Joan, who had just learned the truth of his words by sad experience, replied with a sigh, and after a moment's silence added-- "May God, whom I call to witness for the loyalty and uprightness of my intentions, may God unmask all traitors and show me my true friends! I know that the burden laid upon me is heavy, and I presume not on my strength, but I trust that the tried experience of those counsellors to whom my uncle entrusted me, the support of my family, and your warm and sincere friendship above all, my dear cousin, will help me to accomplish my duty." "My sincerest prayer is that you may succeed, my fair cousin, and I will not darken with doubts and fears a time that ought to be given up to joy; I will not mingle with the shouts of gladness that rise on all sides to proclaim you queen, any vain regrets over that blind fortune which has placed beside the woman whom we all alike adore, whose single glance would make a man more blest than the angels, a foreigner unworthy of your love and unworthy of your throne." "You forget, Charles," said the queen, putting out her hand as though to check his words, "Andre is my husband, and it was my grandfather's will that he should reign with me." "Never!" cried the duke indignantly; "he King of Naples! Nay, dream that the town is shaken to its very foundations, that the people rise as one man, that our church bells sound a new Sicilian vespers, before the people of Naples will endure the rule of a handful of wild Hungarian drunkards, a deformed canting monk, a prince detested by them even as you are beloved!" "But why is Andre blamed? What has he done?" "What has he done? Why is he blamed, madam? The people blame him as stupid, coarse, a savage; the nobles blame him for ignoring their privileges and openly supporting men of obscure birth; and I, madam,"--here he lowered his voice, "I blame him for making you unhappy." Joan shuddered as though a wound had been touched by an unkind hand; but hiding her emotion beneath an appearance of calm, she replied in a voice of perfect indifference-- "You must be dreaming, Charles; who has given you leave to suppose I am unhappy?" "Do not try to excuse him, my dear cousin," replied Charles eagerly; "you will injure yourself without saving him." The queen looked fixedly at her cousin, as though she would read him through and through and find out the meaning of his words; but as she could not give credence to the horrible thought that crossed her mind, she assumed a complete confidence in her cousin's friendship, with a view to discovering his plans, and said carelessly-- "Well, Charles, suppose I am not happy, what remedy could you offer me that I might escape my lot?" "You ask me that, my dear cousin? Are not all remedies good when you suffer, and when you wish for revenge?" "One must fly to those means that are possible. Andre will not readily give up his pretensions: he has a party of his own, and in case of open rupture his brother the King of Hungary may declare war upon us, and bring ruin and desolation upon our kingdom." The Duke of Duras faintly smiled, and his countenance assumed a sinister expression. "You do not understand me," he said. "Then explain without circumlocution," said the queen, trying to conceal the convulsive shudder that ran through her limbs. "Listen, Joan," said Charles, taking his cousin's hand and laying it upon his heart: "can you feel that dagger?" "I can," said Joan, and she turned pale. "One word from you--and--" "Yes?" "To-morrow you will be free." "A murder!" cried Joan, recoiling in horror: "then I was not deceived; it is a murder that you have proposed." "It is a necessity," said the duke calmly: "today I advise; later on you will give your orders." "Enough, wretch! I cannot tell if you are more cowardly or more rash: cowardly, because you reveal a criminal plot feeling sure that I shall never denounce you; rash, because in revealing it to me you cannot tell what witnesses are near to hear it all." "In any case, madam, since I have put myself in your hands, you must perceive that I cannot leave you till I know if I must look upon myself as your friend or as your enemy." "Leave me," cried Joan, with a disdainful gesture; "you insult your queen." "You forget, my dear cousin, that some day I may very likely have a claim to your kingdom." "Do not force me to have you turned out of this room," said Joan, advancing towards the door. "Now do not get excited, my fair cousin; I am going: but at least remember that I offered you my hand and you refused it. Remember what I say at this solemn moment: to-day I am the guilty man; some day perhaps I may be the judge." He went away slowly, twice turning his head, repeating in the language of signs his menacing prophecy. Joan hid her face in her hands, and for a long time remained plunged in dismal reflections; then anger got the better of all her other feelings, and she summoned Dona Cancha, bidding her not to allow anybody to enter, on any pretext whatsoever. This prohibition was not for the Count of Artois, for the reader will remember that he was in the adjoining room. CHAPTER III Night fell, and from the Molo to the Mergellina, from the Capuano Castle to the hill of St. Elmo, deep silence had succeeded the myriad sounds that go up from the noisiest city in the world. Charles of Durazzo, quickly walking away from the square of the Correggi, first casting one last look of vengeance at the Castel Nuovo, plunged into the labyrinth of dark streets that twist and turn, cross and recross one another, in this ancient city, and after a quarter of an hour's walking, that was first slow, then very rapid, arrived at his ducal palace near the church of San Giovanni al Mare. He gave certain instructions in a harsh, peremptory tone to a page who took his sword and cloak. Then Charles shut himself into his room, without going up to see his poor mother, who was weeping, sad and solitary over her son's ingratitude, and like every other mother taking her revenge by praying God to bless him. The Duke of Durazzo walked up and down his room several times like a lion in a cage, counting the minutes in a fever of impatience, and was on the point of summoning a servant and renewing his commands, when two dull raps on the door informed him that the person he was waiting for had arrived. He opened at once, and a man of about fifty, dressed in black from head to foot, entered, humbly bowing, and carefully shut the door behind him. Charles threw himself into an easy-chair, and gazing fixedly at the man who stood before him, his eyes on the ground and his arms crossed upon his breast in an attitude of the deepest respect and blind obedience, he said slowly, as though weighing each word-- "Master Nicholas of Melazzo, have you any remembrance left of the services I once rendered you?" The man to whom these words were addressed trembled in every limb, as if he heard the voice of Satan come to claim his soul; then lifting a look of terror to his questioner's face, he asked in a voice of gloom-- "What have I done, my lord, to deserve this reproach?" "It is not a reproach: I ask a simple question." "Can my lord doubt for a moment of my eternal gratitude? Can I forget the favours your Excellency showed me? Even if I could so lose my reason and my memory, are not my wife and son ever here to remind me that to you we owe all our life, our honour, and our fortune? I was guilty of an infamous act," said the notary, lowering his voice, "a crime that would not only have brought upon my head the penalty of death, but which meant the confiscation of my goods, the ruin of my family, poverty and shame for my only son--that very son, sire, for whom I, miserable wretch, had wished to ensure a brilliant future by means of my frightful crime: you had in your hands the proofs of this! "I have them still." "And you will not ruin me, my lord," resumed the notary, trembling; "I am at your feet, your Excellency; take my life and I will die in torment without a murmur, but save my son since you have been so merciful as to spare him till now; have pity on his mother; my lord, have pity!" "Be assured," said Charles, signing to him to rise; "it is nothing to do with your life; that will come later, perhaps. What I wish to ask of you now is a much simpler, easier matter." "My lord, I await your command." "First," said the duke, in a voice of playful irony, "you must draw up a formal contract of my marriage." "At once, your Excellency." "You are to write in the first article that my wife brings me as dowry the county of Alba, the jurisdiction of Grati and Giordano, with all castles, fiefs, and lands dependent thereto." "But, my lord--" replied the poor notary, greatly embarrassed. "Do you find any difficulty, Master Nicholas?" "God forbid, your Excellency, but--" "Well, what is it?" "Because, if my lord will permit, because there is only one person in Naples who possesses that dowry your Excellency mentions." "And so?" "And she," stammered the notary, embarrassed more and more, "--she is the queen's sister." "And in the contract you will write the name of Marie of Anjou." "But the young maiden," replied Nicholas timidly, "whom your Excellency would marry is destined, I thought, under the will of our late king of blessed memory, to become the wife of the King of Hungary or else of the grandson of the King of France." "Ah, I understand your surprise: you may learn from this that an uncle's intentions are not always the same as his nephew's." "In that case, sire, if I dared--if my lord would deign to give me leave--if I had an opinion I might give, I would humbly entreat your Excellency to reflect that this would mean the abduction of a minor." "Since when did you learn to be scrupulous, Master Nicholas?" These words were uttered with a glance so terrible that the poor notary was crushed, and had hardly the strength to reply-- "In an hour the contract will be ready." "Good: we agree as to the first point," continued Charles, resuming his natural tone of voice. "You now will hear my second charge. You have known the Duke of Calabria's valet for the last two years pretty intimately?" "Tommaso Pace; why, he is my best friend." "Excellent. Listen, and remember that on your discretion the safety or ruin of your family depends. A plot will soon be on foot against the queen's husband; the conspirators no doubt will gain over Andre's valet, the man you call your best friend; never leave him for an instant, try to be his shadow; day by day and hour by hour come to me and report the progress of the plot, the names of the plotters." "Is this all your Excellency's command?" "All." The notary respectfully bowed, and withdrew to put the orders at once into execution. Charles spent the rest of that night writing to his uncle the Cardinal de Perigord, one of the most influential prelates at the court of Avignon. He begged him before all things to use his authority so as to prevent Pope Clement from signing the bull that would sanction Andre's coronation, and he ended his letter by earnestly entreating his uncle to win the pope's consent to his marriage with the queen's sister. "We shall see, fair cousin," he said as he sealed his letter, "which of us is best at understanding where our interest lies. You would not have me as a friend, so you shall have me as an enemy. Sleep on in the arms of your lover: I will wake you when the time comes. I shall be Duke of Calabria perhaps some day, and that title, as you well know, belongs to the heir to the throne." The next day and on the following days a remarkable change took place in the behaviour of Charles towards Andre: he showed him signs of great friendliness, cleverly flattering his inclinations, and even persuading Friar Robert that, far from feeling any hostility in the matter of Andre's coronation, his most earnest desire was that his uncle's wishes should be respected; and that, though he might have given the impression of acting contrary to them, it had only been done with a view to appeasing the populace, who in their first excitement might have been stirred up to insurrection against the Hungarians. He declared with much warmth that he heartily detested the people about the queen, whose counsels tended to lead her astray, and he promised to join Friar Robert in the endeavour to get rid of Joan's favourites by all such means as fortune might put at his disposal. Although the Dominican did not believe in the least in the sincerity of his ally's protestations, he yet gladly welcomed the aid which might prove so useful to the prince's cause, and attributed the sudden change of front to some recent rupture between Charles and his cousin, promising himself that he would make capital out of his resentment. Be that as it might, Charles wormed himself into Andre's heart, and after a few days one of them could hardly be seen without the other. If Andre went out hunting, his greatest pleasure in life, Charles was eager to put his pack or his falcons at his disposal; if Andre rode through the town, Charles was always ambling by his side. He gave way to his whims, urged him to extravagances, and inflamed his angry passions: in a word, he was the good angel--or the bad one--who inspired his every thought and guided his every action. Joan soon understood this business, and as a fact had expected it. She could have ruined Charles with a single word; but she scorned so base a revenge, and treated him with utter contempt. Thus the court was split into two factions: the Hungarians with Friar Robert at their head and supported by Charles of Durazzo; on the other side all the nobility of Naples, led by the Princes of Tarentum. Joan, influenced by the grand seneschal's widow and her two daughters, the Countesses of Terlizzi and Morcone, and also by Dona Cancha and the Empress of Constantinople, took the side of the Neapolitan party against the pretensions of her husband. The partisans of the queen made it their first care to have her name inscribed upon all public acts without adding Andre's; but Joan, led by an instinct of right and justice amid all the corruption of her court, had only consented to this last after she had taken counsel with Andre d'Isernia, a very learned lawyer of the day, respected as much for his lofty character as for his great learning. The prince, annoyed at being shut out in this way, began to act in a violent and despotic manner. On his own authority he released prisoners; he showered favours upon Hungarians, and gave especial honours and rich gifts to Giovanni Pipino, Count of Altanuera, the enemy of all others most dreaded and detested by the Neapolitan barons. Then the Counts of San Severino, Mileto, Terlizzi and Balzo, Calanzaro and Sant' Angelo, and most of the grandees, exasperated by the haughty insolence of Andre's favourite, which grew every day more outrageous, decided that he must perish, and his master with him, should he persist in attacking their privileges and defying their anger. Moreover, the women who were about Joan at the court egged her on, each one urged by a private interest, in the pursuit of her fresh passion. Poor Joan,--neglected by her husband and betrayed by Robert of Cabane--gave way beneath the burden of duties beyond her strength to bear, and fled for refuge to the arms of Bertrand of Artois, whose love she did not even attempt to resist; for every feeling for religion and virtue had been destroyed in her own set purpose, and her young inclinations had been early bent towards vice, just as the bodies of wretched children are bent and their bones broken by jugglers when they train them. Bertrand himself felt an adoration for her surpassing ordinary human passion. When he reached the summit of a happiness to which in his wildest dreams he had never dared to aspire, the young count nearly lost his reason. In vain had his father, Charles of Artois (who was Count of Aire, a direct descendant of Philip the Bold, and one of the regents of the kingdom), attempted by severe admonitions to stop him while yet on the brink of the precipice: Bertrand would listen to nothing but his love for Joan and his implacable hatred for all the queen's enemies. Many a time, at the close of day, as the breeze from Posilippo or Sorrento coming from far away was playing in his hair, might Bertrand be seen leaning from one of the casements of Castel Nuovo, pale and motionless, gazing fixedly from his side of the square to where the Duke of Calabria and the Duke of Durazzo came galloping home from their evening ride side by side in a cloud of dust. Then the brows of the young count were violently contracted, a savage, sinister look shone in his blue eyes once so innocent, like lightning a thought of death and vengeance flashed into his mind; he would all at once begin to tremble, as a light hand was laid upon his shoulder; he would turn softly, fearing lest the divine apparition should vanish to the skies; but there beside him stood a young girl, with cheeks aflame and heaving breast, with brilliant liquid eyes: she had come to tell how her past day had been spent, and to offer her forehead for the kiss that should reward her labours and unwilling absence. This woman, dictator of laws and administrator of justice among grave magistrates and stern ministers, was but fifteen years old; this man; who knew her griefs, and to avenge them was meditating regicide, was not yet twenty: two children of earth, the playthings of an awful destiny! Two months and a few days after the old king's death, on the morning of Friday the 28th of March of the same year, 1343, the widow of the grand seneschal, Philippa, who, had already contrived to get forgiven for the shameful trick she had used to secure all her son's wishes, entered the queen's apartments, excited by a genuine fear, pale and distracted, the bearer of news that spread terror and lamentation throughout the court: Marie, the queen's younger sister, had disappeared. The gardens and outside courts had been searched for any trace of her; every corner of the castle had been examined; the guards had been threatened with torture, so as to drag the truth from them; no one had seen anything of the princess, and nothing could be found that suggested either flight or abduction. Joan, struck down by this new blow in the midst of other troubles, was for a time utterly prostrated; then, when she had recovered from her first surprise, she behaved as all people do if despair takes the place of reason: she gave orders for what was already done to be done again, she asked the same questions that could only bring the same answers, and poured forth vain regrets and unjust reproaches. The news spread through the town, causing the greatest astonishment: there arose a great commotion in the castle, and the members of the regency hastily assembled, while couriers were sent out in every direction, charged to promise 12,000 ducats to whomsoever should discover the place where the princess was concealed. Proceedings were at once taken against the soldiers who were on guard at the fortress at the time of the disappearance. Bertrand of Artois drew the queen apart, telling her his suspicions, which fell directly upon Charles of Durazzo; but Joan lost no time in persuading him of the improbability of his hypothesis: first of all, Charles had never once set his foot in Castel Nuovo since the day of his stormy interview with the queen, but had made a point of always leaving Andre by the bridge when he came to the town with him; besides, it had never been noticed, even in the past, that the young duke had spoken to Marie or exchanged looks with her: the result of all attainable evidence was that no stranger had entered the castle the evening before except a notary named Master Nicholas of Melazzo, an old person, half silly, half fanatical, for whom Tommaso Pace, valet de chambre to the Duke of Calabria, was ready to answer with his life. Bertrand yielded to the queen's reasoning, and day by day advanced new suggestions, each less probable than the last, to draw his mistress on to feel a hope that he was far from feeling himself. But a month later, and precisely on the morning of Monday the 30th of April, a strange and unexpected scene took place, an exhibition of boldness transcending all calculations. The Neapolitan people were stupefied in astonishment, and the grief of Joan and her friends was changed to indignation. Just as the clock of San Giovanni struck twelve, the gate of the magnificent palace of the Durazzo flung open its folding doors, and there came forth to the sound of trumpets a double file of cavaliers on richly caparisoned horses, with the duke's arms on their shields. They took up their station round the house to prevent the people outside from disturbing a ceremony which was to take place before the eyes of an immense crowd, assembled suddenly, as by a miracle, upon the square. At the back of the court stood an altar, and upon the steps lay two crimson velvet cushions embroidered with the fleur-de-lys of France and the ducal crown. Charles came forward, clad in a dazzling dress, and holding by the hand the queen's sister, the Princess Marie, at that time almost thirteen years of age. She knelt down timidly on one of the cushions, and when Charles had done the same, the grand almoner of the Duras house asked the young duke solemnly what was his intention in appearing thus humbly before a minister of the Church. At these words Master Nicholas of Melazzo took his place on the left of the altar, and read in a firm, clear voice, first, the contract of marriage between Charles and Marie, and then the apostolic letters from His Holiness the sovereign pontiff, Clement VI, who in his own name removing all obstacles that might impede the union, such as the age of the young bride and the degrees of affinity between the two parties, authorised his dearly beloved son Charles, Duke of Durazzo and Albania, to take in marriage the most illustrious Marie of Anjou, sister of Joan, Queen of Naples and Jerusalem, and bestowed his benediction on the pair. The almoner then took the young girl's hand, and placing it in that of Charles, pronounced the prayers of the Church. Charles, turning half round to the people, said in a loud voice-- "Before God and man, this woman is my wife." "And this man is my husband," said Marie, trembling. "Long live the Duke and Duchess of Durazzo!" cried the crowd, clapping their hands. And the young pair, at once mounting two beautiful horses and followed by their cavaliers and pages, solemnly paraded through the town, and re-entered their palace to the sound of trumpets and cheering. When this incredible news was brought to the queen, her first feeling was joy at the recovery of her sister; and when Bertrand of Artois was eager to head a band of barons and cavaliers and bent on falling upon the cortege to punish the traitor, Joan put up her hand to stop him with a very mournful look. "Alas!" she said sadly, "it is too late. They are legally married, for the head of the Church--who is moreover by my grandfather's will the head of our family--has granted his permission. I only pity my poor sister; I pity her for becoming so young the prey of a wretched man who sacrifices her to his own ambition, hoping by this marriage to establish a claim to the throne. O God! what a strange fate oppresses the royal house of Anjou! My father's early death in the midst of his triumphs; my mother's so quickly after; my sister and I, the sole offspring of Charles I, both before we are women grown fallen into the hands of cowardly men, who use us but as the stepping-stones of their ambition!" Joan fell back exhausted on her chair, a burning tear trembling on her eyelid. "This is the second time," said Bertrand reproachfully, "that I have drawn my sword to avenge an insult offered to you, the second time I return it by your orders to the scabbard. But remember, Joan, the third time will not find me so docile, and then it will not be Robert of Cabane or Charles of Durazzo that I shall strike, but him who is the cause of all your misfortunes." "Have mercy, Bertrand! do not you also speak these words; whenever this horrible thought takes hold of me, let me come to you: this threat of bloodshed that is drummed into my ears, this sinister vision that haunts my sight; let me come to you, beloved, and weep upon your bosom, beneath your breath cool my burning fancies, from your eyes draw some little courage to revive my perishing soul. Come, I am quite unhappy enough without needing to poison the future by an endless remorse. Tell me rather to forgive and to forget, speak not of hatred and revenge; show me one ray of hope amid the darkness that surrounds me; hold up my wavering feet, and push me not into the abyss." Such altercations as this were repeated as often as any fresh wrong arose from the side of Andre or his party; and in proportion as the attacks made by Bertrand and his friends gained in vehemence--and we must add, in justice--so did Joan's objections weaken. The Hungarian rule, as it became more and more arbitrary and unbearable, irritated men's minds to such a point that the people murmured in secret and the nobles proclaimed aloud their discontent. Andre's soldiers indulged in a libertinage which would have been intolerable in a conquered city: they were found everywhere brawling in the taverns or rolling about disgustingly drunk in the gutters; and the prince, far from rebuking such orgies, was accused of sharing them himself. His former tutor, who ought to have felt bound to drag him away from so ignoble a mode of life, rather strove to immerse him in degrading pleasures, so as to keep him out of business matters; without suspecting it, he was hurrying on the denouement of the terrible drama that was being acted behind the scenes at Castel Nuovo. Robert's widow, Dona Sancha of Aragon, the good and sainted lady whom our readers may possibly have forgotten, as her family had done, seeing that God's anger was hanging over her house, and that no counsels, no tears or prayers of hers could avail to arrest it, after wearing mourning for her husband one whole year, according to her promise, had taken the veil at the convent of Santa Maria delta Croce, and deserted the court and its follies and passions, just as the prophets of old, turning their back on some accursed city, would shake the dust from off their sandals and depart. Sandra's retreat was a sad omen, and soon the family dissensions, long with difficulty suppressed, sprang forth to open view; the storm that had been threatening from afar broke suddenly over the town, and the thunderbolt was shortly to follow. On the last day of August 1344, Joan rendered homage to Americ, Cardinal of Saint Martin and legate of Clement VI, who looked upon the kingdom of Naples as being a fief of the Church ever since the time when his predecessors had presented it to Charles of Anjou, and overthrown and excommunicated the house of Suabia. For this solemn ceremony the church of Saint Clara was chosen, the burial-place of Neapolitan kings, and but lately the tomb of the grandfather and father of the young queen, who reposed to right and left of the high altar. Joan, clad in the royal robe, with the crown upon her head, uttered her oath of fidelity between the hands of the apostolic legate in the presence of her husband, who stood behind her simply as a witness, just like the other princes of the blood. Among the prelates with their pontifical insignia who formed the brilliant following of the envoy, there stood the Archbishops of Pisa, Bari, Capua, and Brindisi, and the reverend fathers Ugolino, Bishop of Castella, and Philip, Bishop of Cavaillon, chancellor to the queen. All the nobility of Naples and Hungary were present at this ceremony, which debarred Andre from the throne in a fashion at once formal and striking. Thus, when they left the church the excited feelings of both parties made a crisis imminent, and such hostile glances, such threatening words were exchanged, that the prince, finding himself too weak to contend against his enemies, wrote the same evening to his mother, telling her that he was about to leave a country where from his infancy upwards he had experienced nothing but deceit and disaster. Those who know a mother's heart will easily guess that Elizabeth of Poland was no sooner aware of the danger that threatened her son than she travelled to Naples, arriving there before her coming was suspected. Rumour spread abroad that the Queen of Hungary had come to take her son away with her, and the unexpected event gave rise to strange comments: the fever of excitement now blazed up in another direction. The Empress of Constantinople, the Catanese, her two daughters, and all the courtiers, whose calculations were upset by Andre's departure, hurried to honour the arrival of the Queen of Hungary by offering a very cordial and respectful reception, with a view to showing her that, in the midst of a court so attentive and devoted, any isolation or bitterness of feeling on the young prince's part must spring from his pride, from an unwarrantable mistrust, and his naturally savage and untrained character. Joan received her husband's mother with so much proper dignity in her behaviour that, in spite of preconceived notions, Elizabeth could not help admiring the noble seriousness and earnest feeling she saw in her daughter-in-law. To make the visit more pleasant to an honoured guest, fetes and tournaments were given, the barons vying with one another in display of wealth and luxury. The Empress of Constantinople, the Catanese, Charles of Duras and his young wife, all paid the utmost attention to the mother of the prince. Marie, who by reason of her extreme youth and gentleness of character had no share in any intrigues, was guided quite as much by her natural feeling as by her husband's orders when she offered to the Queen of Hungary those marks of regard and affection that she might have felt for her own mother. In spite, however, of these protestations of respect and love, Elizabeth of Poland trembled for her son, and, obeying a maternal instinct, chose to abide by her original intention, believing that she should never feel safe until Andre was far away from a court in appearance so friendly but in reality so treacherous. The person who seemed most disturbed by the departure, and tried to hinder it by every means in his power, was Friar Robert. Immersed in his political schemes, bending over his mysterious plans with all the eagerness of a gambler who is on the point of gaining, the Dominican, who thought himself on the eve of a tremendous event, who by cunning, patience, and labour hoped to scatter his enemies and to reign as absolute autocrat, now falling suddenly from the edifice of his dream, stiffened himself by a mighty effort to stand and resist the mother of his pupil. But fear cried too loud in the heart of Elizabeth for all the reasonings of the monk to lull it to rest: to every argument he advanced she simply said that while her son was not king and had not entire unlimited power, it was imprudent to leave him exposed to his enemies. The monk, seeing that all was indeed lost and that he could not contend against the fears of this woman, asked only the boon of three days' grace, at the end of which time, should a reply he was expecting have not arrived, he said he would not only give up his opposition to Andre's departure, but would follow himself, renouncing for ever a scheme to which he had sacrificed everything. Towards the end of the third day, as Elizabeth was definitely making her preparations for departure, the monk entered radiant. Showing her a letter which he had just hastily broken open, he cried triumphantly-- "God be praised, madam! I can at last give you incontestable proofs of my active zeal and accurate foresight." Andre's mother, after rapidly running through the document, turned her eyes on the monk with yet some traces of mistrust in her manner, not venturing to give way to her sudden joy. "Yes, madam," said the monk, raising his head, his plain features lighted up by his glance of intelligence--"yes, madam, you will believe your eyes, perhaps, though you would never believe my words: this is not the dream of an active imagination, the hallucination of a credulous mind, the prejudice of a limited intellect; it is a plan slowly conceived, painfully worked out, my daily thought and my whole life's work. I have never ignored the fact that at the court of Avignon your son had powerful enemies; but I knew also that on the very day I undertook a certain solemn engagement in the prince's name, an engagement to withdraw those laws that had caused coldness between the pope and Robert; who was in general so devoted to the Church, I knew very well that my offer would never be rejected, and this argument of mine I kept back for the last. See, madam, my calculations are correct; your enemies are put to shame and your son is triumphant." Then turning to Andre, who was just corning in and stood dumbfounded at the threshold on hearing the last words, he added-- "Come, my son, our prayers are at last fulfilled: you are king." "King!" repeated Andre, transfixed with joy, doubt, and amazement. "King of Sicily and Jerusalem: yes, my lord; there is no need for you to read this document that brings the joyful, unexpected news. You can see it in your mother's tears; she holds out her arms to press you to her bosom; you can see it in the happiness of your old teacher; he falls on his knees at your feet to salute you by this title, which he would have paid for with his own blood had it been denied to you much longer." "And yet," said Elizabeth, after a moment's mournful reflection, "if I obey my presentiments, your news will make no difference to our plans for departure." "Nay, mother," said Andre firmly, "you would not force me to quit the country to the detriment of my honour. If I have made you feel some of the bitterness and sorrow that have spoiled my own young days because of my cowardly enemies, it is not from a poor spirit, but because I was powerless, and knew it, to take any sort of striking vengeance for their secret insults, their crafty injuries, their underhand intrigues. It was not because my arm wanted strength, but because my head wanted a crown. I might have put an end to some of these wretched beings, the least dangerous maybe; but it would have been striking in the dark; the ringleaders would have escaped, and I should never have really got to the bottom of their infernal plots. So I have silently eaten out my own heart in shame and indignation. Now that my sacred rights are recognised by the Church, you will see, my mother, how these terrible barons, the queen's counsellors, the governors of the kingdom, will lower their heads in the dust: for they are threatened with no sword and no struggle; no peer of their own is he who speaks, but the king; it is by him they are accused, by the law they shall be condemned, and shall suffer on the scaffold." "O my beloved son," cried the queen in tears, "I never doubted your noble feelings or the justice of your claims; but when your life is in danger, to what voice can I listen but the voice of fear? what can move my counsels but the promptings of love?" "Mother, believe me, if the hands and hearts alike of these cowards had not trembled, you would have lost your son long ago." "It is not violence that I fear, my son, it is treachery." "My life, like every man's, belongs to God, and the lowest of sbirri may take it as I turn the corner of the street; but a king owes something to his people." The poor mother long tried to bend the resolution of Andre by reason and entreaties; but when she had spoken her last word and shed her last tear, she summoned Bertram de Baux, chief-justice of the kingdom, and Marie, Duchess of Durazzo. Trusting in the old man's wisdom and the girl's innocence, she commended her son to them in the tenderest and most affecting words; then drawing from her own hand a ring richly wrought, and taking the prince aside, she slipped it upon his finger, saying in a voice that trembled with emotion as she pressed him to her heart-- "My son, as you refuse to come with me, here is a wonderful talisman, which I would not use before the last extremity. So long as you wear this ring on your finger, neither sword nor poison will have power against you." "You see then, mother," said the prince, smiling, "with this protection there is no reason at all to fear for my life." "There are other dangers than sword or poison," sighed the queen. "Be calm, mother: the best of all talismans is your prayer to God for me: it is the tender thought of you that will keep me for ever in the path of duty and justice; your maternal love will watch over me from afar, and cover me like the wings of a guardian angel." Elizabeth sobbed as she embraced her son, and when she left him she felt her heart was breaking. At last she made up her mind to go, and was escorted by the whole court, who had never changed towards her for a moment in their chivalrous and respectful devotion. The poor mother, pale, trembling, and faint, leaned heavily upon Andre's arm, lest she should fall. On the ship that was to take her for ever from her son, she cast her arms for the last time about his neck, and there hung a long time, speechless, tearless, and motionless; when the signal for departure was given, her women took her in their arms half swooning. Andre stood on the shore with the feeling of death at his heart: his eyes were fixed upon the sail that carried ever farther from him the only being he loved in the world. Suddenly he fancied he beheld something white moving a long way off: his mother had recovered her senses by a great effort, and had dragged herself up to the bridge to give a last signal of farewell: the unhappy lady knew too well that she would never see her son again. At almost the same moment that Andre's mother left the kingdom, the former queen of Naples, Robert's widow, Dona Sancha, breathed her last sigh. She was buried in the convent of Santa Maria delta Croce, under the name of Clara, which she had assumed on taking her vows as a nun, as her epitaph tells us, as follows: "Here lies, an example of great humility, the body of the sainted sister Clara, of illustrious memory, otherwise Sancha, Queen of Sicily and Jerusalem, widow of the most serene Robert, King of Jerusalem and Sicily, who, after the death of the king her husband, when she had completed a year of widowhood, exchanged goods temporary for goods eternal. Adopting for the love of God a voluntary poverty, and distributing her goods to the poor, she took upon her the rule of obedience in this celebrated convent of Santa Croce, the work of her own hands, in the year 1344, on the gist of January of the twelfth indiction, where, living a life of holiness under the rule of the blessed Francis, father of the poor, she ended her days religiously in the year of our Lord 1345, on the 28th of July of the thirteenth indiction. On the day following she was buried in this tomb." The death of Dona Sancha served to hasten on the catastrophe which was to stain the throne of Naples with blood: one might almost fancy that God wished to spare this angel of love and resignation the sight of so terrible a spectacle, that she offered herself as a propitiatory sacrifice to redeem the crimes of her family. CHAPTER IV Eight days after the funeral of the old queen, Bertrand of Artois came to Joan, distraught, dishevelled, in a state of agitation and confusion impossible to describe. Joan went quickly up to her lover, asking him with a look of fear to explain the cause of his distress. "I told you, madam," cried the young baron excitedly, "you will end by ruining us all, as you will never take any advice from me." "For God's sake, Bertrand, speak plainly: what has happened? What advice have I neglected?" "Madam, your noble husband, Andre of Hungary, has just been made King of Jerusalem and Sicily, and acknowledged by the court of Avignon, so henceforth you will be no better than his slave." "Count of Artois, you are dreaming." "No, madam, I am not dreaming: I have this fact to prove the truth of my words, that the pope's ambassadors are arrived at Capua with the bull for his coronation, and if they do not enter Castel Nuovo this very evening, the delay is only to give the new king time to make his preparations." The queen bent her head as if a thunderbolt had fallen at her feet. "When I told you before," said the count, with growing fury, "that we ought to use force to make a stand against him, that we ought to break the yoke of this infamous tyranny and get rid of the man before he had the means of hurting you, you always drew back in childish fear, with a woman's cowardly hesitation." Joan turned a tearful look upon her lover. "God, my God!" she cried, clasping her hands in desperation, "am I to hear for ever this awful cry of death! You too, Bertrand, you too say the word, like Robert of Cabane, like Charles of Duras? Wretched man, why would you raise this bloody spectre between us, to check with icy hand our adulterous kisses? Enough of such crimes; if his wretched ambition makes him long to reign, let him be king: what matters his power to me, if he leaves me with your love?" "It is not so sure that our love will last much longer." "What is this, Bertrand? You rejoice in this merciless torture." "I tell you, madam, that the King of Naples has a black flag ready, and on the day of his coronation it will be carried before him." "And you believe," said Joan, pale as a corpse in its shroud, "--you believe that this flag is a threat?" "Ay, and the threat begins to be put in execution." The queen staggered, and leaned against a table to save herself from falling. "Tell me all," she cried in a choking voice; "fear not to shock me; see, I am not trembling. O Bertrand, I entreat you!" "The traitors have begun with the man you most esteemed, the wisest counsellor of the crown, the best of magistrates, the noblest-hearted, most rigidly virtuous----" "Andrea of Isernia!" "Madam, he is no more." Joan uttered a cry, as though the noble old man had been slain before her eyes: she respected him as a father; then, sinking back, she remained profoundly silent. "How did they kill him?" she asked at last, fixing her great eyes in terror on the count. "Yesterday evening, as he left this castle, on the way to his own home, a man suddenly sprang out upon him before the Porta Petruccia: it was one of Andre's favourites, Conrad of Gottis chosen no doubt because he had a grievance against the incorruptible magistrate on account of some sentence passed against him, and the murder would therefore be put down to motives of private revenge. The cowardly wretch gave a sign to two or three companions, who surrounded the victim and robbed him of all means of escape. The poor old man looked fixedly at his assassin, and asked him what he wanted. 'I want you to lose your life at my hands, as I lost my case at yours!' cried the murderer, and leaving him no time to answer, he ran him through with his sword. Then the rest fell upon the poor man, who did not even try to call for help, and his body was riddled with wounds and horribly mutilated, and then left bathed in its blood." "Terrible!" murmured the queen, covering her face. "It was only their first effort; the proscription lists are already full: Andre must needs have blood to celebrate his accession to the throne of Naples. And do you know, Joan, whose name stands first in the doomed list?" "Whose?" cried the queen, shuddering from head to foot. "Mine," said the count calmly. "Yours!" cried Joan, drawing herself up to her full height; "are you to be killed next! Oh, be careful, Andre; you have pronounced your own death-sentence. Long have I turned aside the dagger pointing to your breast, but you put an end to all my patience. Woe to you, Prince of Hungary! the blood which you have spilt shall fall on your own head." As she spoke she had lost her pallor; her lovely face was fired with revenge, her eyes flashed lightning. This child of sixteen was terrible to behold; she pressed her lover's hand with convulsive tenderness, and clung to him as if she would screen him with her own body. "Your anger is awakened too late," said he gently and sadly; for at this moment Joan seemed so lovely that he could reproach her with nothing. "You do not know that his mother has left him a talisman preserving him from sword and poison?" "He will die," said Joan firmly; the smile that lighted up her face was so unnatural that the count was dismayed, and dropped his eyes. The next day the young Queen of Naples, lovelier, more smiling than ever, sitting carelessly in a graceful attitude beside a window which looked out on the magnificent view of the bay, was busy weaving a cord of silk and gold. The sun had run nearly two-thirds of his fiery course, and was gradually sinking his rays in the clear blue waters where Posilippo's head is reflected with its green and flowery crown. A warm, balmy breeze that had passed over the orange trees of Sorrento and Amalfi felt deliciously refreshing to the inhabitants of the capital, who had succumbed to torpor in the enervating softness of the day. The whole town was waking from a long siesta, breathing freely after a sleepy interval; the Molo was covered with a crowd of eager people dressed out in the brightest colours; the many cries of a festival, joyous songs, love ditties sounded from all quarters of the vast amphitheatre, which is one of the chief marvels of creation; they came to the ears of Joan, and she listened as she bent over her work, absorbed in deep thought. Suddenly, when she seemed most busily occupied, the indefinable feeling of someone near at hand, and the touch of something on her shoulder, made her start: she turned as though waked from a dream by contact with a serpent, and perceived her husband, magnificently dressed, carelessly leaning against the back of her chair. For a long time past the prince had not come to his wife in this familiar fashion, and to the queen the pretence of affection and careless behaviour augured ill. Andre did not appear to notice the look of hatred and terror that had escaped Joan in spite of herself, and assuming the best expression of gentleness as that his straight hard features could contrive to put on in such circumstances as these, he smilingly asked-- "Why are you making this pretty cord, dear dutiful wife?" "To hang you with, my lord," replied the queen, with a smile. Andre shrugged his shoulders, seeing in the threat so incredibly rash nothing more than a pleasantry in rather bad taste. But when he saw that Joan resumed her work, he tried to renew the conversation. "I admit," he said, in a perfectly calm voice, "that my question is quite unnecessary: from your eagerness to finish this handsome piece of work, I ought to suspect that it is destined for some fine knight of yours whom you propose to send on a dangerous enterprise wearing your colours. If so, my fair queen, I claim to receive my orders from your lips: appoint the time and place for the trial, and I am sure beforehand of carrying off a prize that I shall dispute with all your adorers." "That is not so certain," said Joan, "if you are as valiant in war as in love." And she cast on her husband a look at once seductive and scornful, beneath which the young man blushed up to his eyes. "I hope," said Andre, repressing his feelings, "I hope soon to give you such proofs of my affection that you will never doubt it again." "And what makes you fancy that, my lord?" "I would tell you, if you would listen seriously." "I am listening." "Well, it is a dream I had last night that gives me such confidence in the future." "A dream! You surely ought to explain that." "I dreamed that there was a grand fete in the town: an immense crowd filled the streets like an overflowing torrent, and the heavens were ringing with their shouts of joy; the gloomy granite facades were hidden by hangings of silk and festoons of flowers; the churches were decorated as though for some grand ceremony. I was riding side by side with you." Joan made a haughty movement: "Forgive me, madam, it was only a dream: I was on your right, riding a fine white horse, magnificently caparisoned, and the chief-justice of the kingdom carried before me a flag unfolded in sign of honour. After riding in triumph through the main thoroughfares of the city, we arrived, to the sound of trumpets and clarions, at the royal church of Saint Clara, where your grandfather and my uncle are buried, and there, before the high altar, the pope's ambassador laid your hand in mine and pronounced a long discourse, and then on our two heads in turn placed the crown of Jerusalem and Sicily; after which the nobles and the people shouted in one voice, 'Long live the King and Queen of Naples!' And I, wishing to perpetuate the memory of so glorious a day, proceeded to create knights among the most zealous in our court." "And do you not remember the names of the chosen persons whom you judged worthy of your royal favours?" "Assuredly, madam: Bertrand, Count of Artois." "Enough, my lord; I excuse you from naming the rest: I always supposed you were loyal and generous, but you give me fresh proof of it by showing favour to men whom I most honour and trust. I cannot tell if your wishes are likely soon to be realised, but in any case feel sure of my perpetual gratitude." Joan's voice did not betray the slightest emotion; her look had became kind, and the sweetest smile was on her lips. But in her heart Andre's death was from that moment decided upon. The prince, too much preoccupied with his own projects of vengeance, and too confident in his all-powerful talisman and his personal valour, had no suspicion that his plans could be anticipated. He conversed a long time with his wife in a chatting, friendly way, trying to spy out her secret, and exposing his own by his interrupted phrases and mysterious reserves. When he fancied that every cloud of former resentment, even the lightest, had disappeared from Joan's brow, he begged her to go with her suite on a magnificent hunting expedition that he was organising for the 20th of August, adding that such a kindness on her part would be for him a sure pledge of their reconciliation and complete forgetfulness of the past. Joan promised with a charming grace, and the prince retired fully satisfied with the interview, carrying with him the conviction that he had only to threaten to strike a blow at the queen's favourite to ensure her obedience, perhaps even her love. But on the eve of the 20th of August a strange and terrible scene was being enacted in the basement storey of one of the lateral towers of Castel Nuovo. Charles of Durazzo, who had never ceased to brood secretly over his infernal plans, had been informed by the notary whom he had charged to spy upon the conspirators, that on that particular evening they were about to hold a decisive meeting, and therefore, wrapped in a black cloak, he glided into the underground corridor and hid himself behind a pillar, there to await the issue of the conference. After two dreadful hours of suspense, every second marked out by the beating of his heart, Charles fancied he heard the sound of a door very carefully opened; the feeble ray of a lantern in the vault scarcely served to dispel the darkness, but a man coming away from the wall approached him walking like a living statue. Charles gave a slight cough, the sign agreed upon. The man put out his light and hid away the dagger he had drawn in case of a surprise. "Is it you, Master Nicholas?" asked the duke in a low voice. "It is I, my lord." "What is it?" "They have just fixed the prince's death for tomorrow, on his way to the hunt." "Did you recognise every conspirator?" "Every one, though their faces were masked; when they gave their vote for death, I knew them by their voices." "Could you point out to me who they are?" "Yes, this very minute; they are going to pass along at the end of this corridor. And see, here is Tommaso Pace walking in front of them to light their way." Indeed, a tall spectral figure, black from head to foot, his face carefully hidden under a velvet mask, walked at the end of the corridor, lamp in hand, and stopped at the first step of a staircase which led to the upper floors. The conspirators advanced slowly, two by two, like a procession of ghosts, appeared for one moment in the circle of light made by the torch, and again disappeared into shadow. "See, there are Charles and Bertrand of Artois," said the notary; "there are the Counts of Terlizzi and Catanzaro; the grand admiral and grand seneschal, Godfrey of Marsan, Count of Squillace, and Robert of Cabane, Count of Eboli; the two women talking in a low voice with the eager gesticulations are Catherine of Tarentum, Empress of Constantinople, and Philippa the Catanese, the queen's governess and chief lady; there is Dona Cancha, chamberwoman and confidante of Joan; and there is the Countess of Morcone." The notary stopped on beholding a shadow alone, its head bowed, with arms hanging loosely, choking back her sobs beneath a hood of black. "Who is the woman who seems to drag herself so painfully along in their train?" asked the duke, pressing his companion's arm. "That woman," said the notary, "is the queen." "Ah, now I see," thought Charles, breathing freely, with the same sort of satisfaction that Satan no doubt feels when a long coveted soul falls at length into his power. "And now, my lord," continued Master Nicholas, when all had returned once more into silence and darkness, "if you have bidden me spy on these conspirators with a view to saving the young prince you are protecting with love and vigilance, you must hurry forward, for to-morrow maybe it will be too late." "Follow me," cried the duke imperiously; "it is time you should know my real intention, and then carry out my orders with scrupulous exactness." With these words he drew him aside to a place opposite to where the conspirators had just disappeared. The notary mechanically followed through a labyrinth of dark corridors and secret staircases, quite at a loss how to account for the sudden change that had come over his master--crossing one of the ante-chambers in the castle, they came upon Andre, who joyfully accosted them; grasping the hand of his cousin Duras in his affectionate manner, he asked him in a pressing way that would brook no refusal, "Will you be of our hunting party to-morrow, duke?" "Excuse me, my lord," said Charles, bowing down to the ground; "it will be impossible for me to go to-morrow, for my wife is very unwell; but I entreat you to accept the best falcon I have." And here he cast upon the notary a petrifying glance. The morning of the 20th of August was fine and calm--the irony of nature contrasting cruelly with the fate of mankind. From break of day masters and valets, pages and knights, princes and courtiers, all were on foot; cries of joy were heard on every side when the queen arrived on a snow-white horse, at the head of the young and brilliant throng. Joan was perhaps paler than usual, but that might be because she had been obliged to rise very early. Andre, mounted on one of the most fiery of all the steeds he had tamed, galloped beside his wife, noble and proud, happy in his own powers, his youth, and the thousand gilded hopes that a brilliant future seemed to offer. Never had the court of Naples shown so brave an aspect: every feeling of distrust and hatred seemed entirely forgotten; Friar Robert himself, suspicious as he was by nature, when he saw the joyous cavalcade go by under his window, looked out with pride, and stroking his beard, laughed at his own seriousness. Andre's intention was to spend several days hunting between Capua and Aversa, and only to return to Naples when all was in readiness for his coronation. Thus the first day they hunted round about Melito, and went through two or three villages in the land of Labore. Towards evening the court stopped at Aversa, with a view to passing the night there, and since at that period there was no castle in the place worthy of entertaining the queen with her husband and numerous court, the convent of St. Peter's at Majella was converted into a royal residence: this convent had been built by Charles II in the year of our Lord 1309. While the grand seneschal was giving orders for supper and the preparation of a room for Andre and his wife, the prince, who during the whole day had abandoned himself entirely to his favourite amusement, went up on the terrace to enjoy the evening air, accompanied by the good Isolda, his beloved nurse, who loved him more even than his mother, and would not leave his side for a moment. Never had the prince appeared so animated and happy: he was in ecstasies over the beauty of the country, the clear air, the scent of the trees around; he besieged his nurse with a thousand queries, never waiting for an answer; and they were indeed long in coming, for poor Isolda was gazing upon him with that appearance of fascination which makes a mother absent-minded when her child is talking: Andre was eagerly telling her about a terrible boar he had chased that morning across the woods, how it had lain foaming at his feet, and Isolda interrupted him to say he had a grain of dust in his eye. Then Andre was full of his plans for the future, and Isolda stroked his fair hair, remarking that he must be feeling very tired. Then, heeding nothing but his own joy and excitement, the young prince hurled defiance at destiny, calling by all his gods on dangers to come forward, so that he might have the chance of quelling them, and the poor nurse exclaimed, in a flood of tears, "My child, you love me no longer." Out of all patience with these constant interruptions, Andre scolded her kindly enough, and mocked at her childish fears. Then, paying no attention to a sort of melancholy that was coming over him, he bade her tell him old tales of his childhood, and had a long talk about his brother Louis, his absent mother, and tears were in his eyes when he recalled her last farewell. Isolda listened joyfully, and answered all he asked; but no fell presentiment shook her heart: the poor woman loved Andre with all the strength of her soul; for him she would have given up her life in this world and in the world to come; yet she was not his mother. When all was ready, Robert of Cabane came to tell the prince that the queen awaited him; Andre cast one last look at the smiling fields beneath the starry heavens, pressed his nurse's hand to his lips and to his heart, and followed the grand seneschal slowly and, it seemed, with some regret. But soon the brilliant lights of the room, the wine that circulated freely, the gay talk, the eager recitals of that day's exploits served to disperse the cloud of gloom that had for a moment overspread the countenance of the prince. The queen alone, leaning on the table with fixed eyes and lips that never moved, sat at this strange feast pale and cold as a baleful ghost summoned from the tomb to disturb the joy of the party. Andre, whose brain began to be affected by the draughts of wine from Capri and Syracuse, was annoyed at his wife's look, and attributing it to contempt, filled a goblet to the brim and presented it to the queen. Joan visibly trembled, her lips moved convulsively; but the conspirators drowned in their noisy talk the involuntary groan that escaped her. In the midst of a general uproar, Robert of Cabane proposed that they should serve generous supplies of the same wine drunk at the royal table to the Hungarian guards who were keeping watch at the approaches to the convent, and this liberality evoked frenzied applause. The shouting of the soldiers soon gave witness to their gratitude for the unexpected gift, and mingled with the hilarious toasts of the banqueters. To put the finishing touch to Andre's excitement, there were cries on every side of "Long live the Queen! Long live His Majesty the King of Naples!" The orgy lasted far into the night: the pleasures of the next day were discussed with enthusiasm, and Bertrand of Artois protested in a loud voice that if they were so late now some would not rise early on the morrow. Andre declared that, for his part, an hour or two's rest would be enough to get over his fatigue, and he eagerly protested that it would be well for others to follow his example. The Count of Terlizzi seemed to express some doubt as to the prince's punctuality. Andre insisted, and challenging all the barons present to see who would be up first, he retired with the queen to the room that had been reserved for them, where he very soon fell into a deep and heavy sleep. About two o'clock in the morning, Tommaso Pace, the prince's valet and first usher of the royal apartments, knocked at his master's door to rouse him for the chase. At the first knock, all was silence; at the second, Joan, who had not closed her eyes all night, moved as if to rouse her husband and warn him of the threatened danger; but at the third knock the unfortunate young man suddenly awoke, and hearing in the next room sounds of laughter and whispering, fancied that they were making a joke of his laziness, and jumped out of bed bareheaded, in nothing but his shirt, his shoes half on and half off. He opened the door; and at this point we translate literally the account of Domenico Gravina, a historian of much esteem. As soon as the prince appeared, the conspirators all at once fell upon him, to strangle him with their hands; believing he could not die by poison or sword, because of the charmed ring given him by his poor mother. But Andre was so strong and active, that when he perceived the infamous treason he defended himself with more than human strength, and with dreadful cries got free from his murderers, his face all bloody, his fair hair pulled out in handfuls. The unhappy young man tried to gain his own bedroom, so as to get some weapon and valiantly resist the assassins; but as he reached the door, Nicholas of Melazzo, putting his dagger like a bolt into the lock, stopped his entrance. The prince, calling aloud the whole time and imploring the protection of his friends, returned to the hall; but all the doors were shut, and no one held out a helping hand; for the queen was silent, showing no uneasiness about her husband's death. But the nurse Isolda, terrified by the shouting of her beloved son and lord, leapt from her bed and went to the window, filling the house with dreadful cries. The traitors, alarmed by the mighty uproar, although the place was lonely and so far from the centre of the town that nobody could have come to see what the noise was, were on the point of letting their victim go, when Bertrand of Artois, who felt he was more guilty than the others, seized the prince with hellish fury round the waist, and after a desperate struggle got him down; then dragging him by the hair of his head to a balcony which gave upon the garden, and pressing one knee upon his chest, cried out to the others-- "Come here, barons: I have what we want to strangle him with." And round his neck he passed a long cord of silk and gold, while the wretched man struggled all he could. Bertrand quickly drew up the knot, and the others threw the body over the parapet of the balcony, leaving it hanging between earth and sky until death ensued. When the Count of Terlizzi averted his eyes from the horrid spectacle, Robert of Cabane cried out imperiously-- "What are you doing there? The cord is long enough for us all to hold: we want not witnesses, we want accomplices!" As soon as the last convulsive movements of the dying man had ceased, they let the corpse drop the whole height of the three storeys, and opening the doors of the hall, departed as though nothing had happened. Isolda, when at last she contrived to get a light, rapidly ran to the queen's chamber, and finding the door shut on the inside, began to call loudly on her Andre. There was no answer, though the queen was in the room. The poor nurse, distracted, trembling, desperate, ran down all the corridors, knocked at all the cells and woke the monks one by one, begging them to help her look for the prince. The monks said that they had indeed heard a noise, but thinking it was a quarrel between soldiers drunken perhaps or mutinous, they had not thought it their business to interfere. Isolda eagerly, entreated: the alarm spread through the convent; the monks followed the nurse, who went on before with a torch. She entered the garden, saw something white upon the grass, advanced trembling, gave one piercing cry, and fell backward. The wretched Andre was lying in his blood, a cord round his neck as though he were a thief, his head crushed in by the height from which he fell. Then two monks went upstairs to the queen's room, and respectfully knocking at the door, asked in sepulchral tones-- "Madam, what would you have us do with your husband's corpse?" And when the queen made no answer, they went down again slowly to the garden, and kneeling one at the head, the other at the foot of the dead man, they began to recite penitential psalms in a low voice. When they had spent an hour in prayer, two other monks went up in the same way to Joan's chamber, repeating the same question and getting no answer, whereupon they relieved the first two, and began themselves to pray. Next a third couple went to the door of this inexorable room, and coming away perturbed by their want of success, perceived that there was a disturbance of people outside the convent, while vengeful cries were heard amongst the indignant crowd. The groups became more and more thronged, threatening voices were raised, a torrent of invaders threatened the royal dwelling, when the queen's guard appeared, lance in readiness, and a litter closely shut, surrounded by the principal barons of the court, passed through the crowd, which stood stupidly gazing. Joan, wrapped in a black veil, went back to Castel Nuovo, amid her escort; and nobody, say the historians, had the courage to say a word about this terrible deed. CHAPTER V The terrible part that Charles of Durazzo was to play began as soon as this crime was accomplished. The duke left the corpse two whole days exposed to the wind and the rain, unburied and dishonoured, the corpse of a man whom the pope had made King of Sicily and Jerusalem, so that the indignation of the mob might be increased by the dreadful sight. On the third he ordered it to be conveyed with the utmost pomp to the cathedral of Naples, and assembling all the Hungarians around the catafalque, he thus addressed them, in a voice of thunder:-- "Nobles and commoners, behold our king hanged like a dog by infamous traitors. God will soon make known to us the names of all the guilty: let those who desire that justice may be done hold up their hands and swear against murderers bloody persecution, implacable hatred, everlasting vengeance." It was this one man's cry that brought death and desolation to the murderers' hearts, and the people dispersed about the town, shrieking, "Vengeance, vengeance!" Divine justice, which knows naught of privilege and respects no crown, struck Joan first of all in her love. When the two lovers first met, both were seized alike with terror and disgust; they recoiled trembling, the queen seeing in Bertrand her husband's executioner, and he in her the cause of his crime, possibly of his speedy punishment. Bertrand's looks were disordered, his cheeks hollow, his eyes encircled with black rings, his mouth horribly distorted; his arm and forefinger extended towards his accomplice, he seemed to behold a frightful vision rising before him. The same cord he had used when he strangled Andre, he now saw round the queen's neck, so tight that it made its way into her flesh: an invisible force, a Satanic impulse, urged him to strangle with his own hands the woman he had loved so dearly, had at one time adored on his knees. The count rushed out of the room with gestures of desperation, muttering incoherent words; and as he shewed plain signs of mental aberration, his father, Charles of Artois, took him away, and they went that same evening to their palace of St. Agatha, and there prepared a defence in case they should be attacked. But Joan's punishment, which was destined to be slow as well as dreadful, to last thirty-seven years and end in a ghastly death, was now only beginning. All the wretched beings who were stained with Andre's death came in turn to her to demand the price of blood. The Catanese and her son, who held in their hands not only the queen's honour but her life, now became doubly greedy and exacting. Dona Cancha no longer put any bridle on her licentiousness, and the Empress of Constantinople ordered her niece to marry her eldest son, Robert, Prince of Tarentum. Joan, consumed by remorse, full of indignation and shame at the arrogant conduct of her subjects, dared scarcely lift her head, and stooped to entreaties, only stipulating for a few days' delay before giving her answer: the empress consented, on condition that her son should come to reside at Castel Nuovo, with permission to see the queen once a day. Joan bowed her head in silence, and Robert of Tarentum was installed at the castle. Charles of Durazzo, who by the death of Andre had practically become the head of the family, and, would, by the terms of his grandfather's will, inherit the kingdom by right of his wife Marie in the case of Joan's dying without lawful issue, sent to the queen two commands: first, that she should not dream of contracting a new marriage without first consulting him in the choice of a husband; secondly, that she should invest him at once with the title of Duke of Calabria. To compel his cousin to make these two concessions, he added that if she should be so ill advised as to refuse either of them, he should hand over to justice the proofs of the crime and the names of the murderers. Joan, bending beneath the weight of this new difficulty, could think of no way to avoid it; but Catherine, who alone was stout enough to fight this nephew of hers, insisted that they must strike at the Duke of Durazzo in his ambition and hopes, and tell him, to begin with--what was the fact--that the queen was pregnant. If, in spite of this news, he persisted in his plans, she would find some means or other, she said, of causing trouble and discord in her nephew's family, and wounding him in his most intimate affections or closest interests, by publicly dishonouring him through his wife or his mother. Charles smiled coldly when his aunt came to tell him from the queen that she was about to bring into the world an infant, Andre's posthumous child. What importance could a babe yet unborn possibly have--as a fact, it lived only a few months--in the eyes of a man who with such admirable coolness got rid of people who stood in his wary, and that moreover by the hand of his own enemies? He told the empress that the happy news she had condescended to bring him in person, far from diminishing his kindness towards his cousin, inspired him rather with more interest and goodwill; that consequently he reiterated his suggestion, and renewed his promise not to seek vengeance for his dear Andre, since in a certain sense the crime was not complete should a child be destined to survive; but in case of a refusal he declared himself inexorable. He cleverly gave Catherine to understand that, as she had some interest herself in the prince's death, she ought for her own sake to persuade the queen to stop legal proceedings. The empress seemed to be deeply impressed by her nephew's threatening attitude, and promised to do her best to persuade the queen to grant all he asked, on condition, however, that Charles should allow the necessary time for carrying through so delicate a business. But Catherine profited by this delay to think out her own plan of revenge, and ensure the means of certain success. After starting several projects eagerly and then regretfully abandoning them, she fixed upon an infernal and unheard-of scheme, which the mind would refuse to believe but for the unanimous testimony of historians. Poor Agnes of Duras, Charles's mother, had for some few days been suffering with an inexplicable weariness, a slow painful malady with which her son's restlessness and violence may have had not a little to do. The empress resolved that the first effect of her hatred was to fall upon this unhappy mother. She summoned the Count of Terlizzi and Dona Cancha, his mistress, who by the queen's orders had been attending Agnes since her illness began. Catherine suggested to the young chamberwoman, who was at that time with child, that she should deceive the doctor by representing that certain signs of her own condition really belonged to the sick woman, so that he, deceived by the false indications, should be compelled to admit to Charles of Durazzo that his mother was guilty and dishonoured. The Count of Terlizzi, who ever since he had taken part in the regicide trembled in fear of discovery, had nothing to oppose to the empress's desire, and Dona Cancha, whose head was as light as her heart was corrupt, seized with a foolish gaiety on any chance of taking her revenge on the prudery of the only princess of the blood who led a pure life at a court that was renowned for its depravity. Once assured that her accomplices would be prudent and obedient, Catherine began to spread abroad certain vague and dubious but terribly serious rumours, only needing proof, and soon after the cruel accusation was started it was repeated again and again in confidence, until it reached the ears of Charles. At this amazing revelation the duke was seized with a fit of trembling. He sent instantly for the doctor, and asked imperiously what was the cause of his mother's malady. The doctor turned pale and stammered; but when Charles grew threatening he admitted that he had certain grounds for suspecting that the duchess was enceinte, but as he might easily have been deceived the first time, he would make a second investigation before pronouncing his opinion in so serious a matter. The next day, as the doctor came out of the bedroom, the duke met him, and interrogating him with an agonised gesture, could only judge by the silence that his fears were too well confirmed. But the doctor, with excess of caution, declared that he would make a third trial. Condemned criminals can suffer no worse than Charles in the long hours that passed before that fatal moment when he learned that his mother was indeed guilty. On the third day the doctor stated on his soul and conscience that Agnes of Durazzo was pregnant. "Very good," said Charles, dismissing the doctor with no sign of emotion. That evening the duchess took a medicine ordered by the doctor; and when, half an hour later, she was assailed with violent pains, the duke was warned that perhaps other physicians ought to be consulted, as the prescription of the ordinary doctor, instead of bringing about an improvement in her state, had only made her worse. Charles slowly went up to the duchess's room, and sending away all the people who were standing round her bed, on the pretext that they were clumsy and made his mother worse, he shut the door, and they were alone. Then poor Agnes, forgetting her internal agony when she saw her son, pressed his hand tenderly and smiled through her tears. Charles, pale beneath his bronzed complexion, his forehead moist with a cold sweat, and his eyes horribly dilated, bent over the sick woman and asked her gloomily-- "Are you a little better, mother?" "Ah, I am in pain, in frightful pain, my poor Charles. I feel as though I have molten lead in my veins. O my son, call your brothers, so that I may give you all my blessing for the last time, for I cannot hold out long against this pain. I am burning. Mercy! Call a doctor: I know I have been poisoned." Charles did not stir from the bedside. "Water!" cried the dying woman in a broken voice,--"water! A doctor, a confessor! My children--I want my children!" And as the duke paid no heed, but stood moodily silent, the poor mother, prostrated by pain, fancied that grief had robbed her son of all power of speech or movement, and so, by a desperate effort, sat up, and seizing him by the arm, cried with all the strength she could muster-- "Charles, my son, what is it? My poor boy, courage; it is nothing, I hope. But quick, call for help, call a doctor. Ah, you have no idea of what I suffer." "Your doctor," said Charles slowly and coldly, each word piercing his mother's heart like a dagger,--"your doctor cannot come." "Oh why?" asked Agnes, stupefied. "Because no one ought to live who knows the secret of our shame." "Unhappy man!" she cried, overwhelmed with, pain and terror, "you have murdered him! Perhaps you have poisoned your mother too! Charles, Charles, have mercy on your own soul!" "It is your doing," said Charles, without show of emotion: "you have driven me into crime and despair; you have caused my dishonour in this world and my damnation in the next." "What are you saying? My own Charles, have mercy! Do not let me die in this horrible uncertainty; what fatal delusion is blinding you? Speak, my son, speak: I am not feeling the poison now. What have I done? Of what have I been accused?" She looked with haggard eyes at her son: her maternal love still struggled against the awful thought of matricide; at last, seeing that Charles remained speechless in spite of her entreaties, she repeated, with a piercing cry-- "Speak, in God's name, speak before I die!" "Mother, you are with child." "What!" cried Agnes, with a loud cry, which broke her very heart. "O God, forgive him! Charles, your mother forgives and blesses you in death." Charles fell upon her neck, desperately crying for help: he would now have gladly saved her at the cost of his life, but it was too late. He uttered one cry that came from his heart, and was found stretched out upon his mother's corpse. Strange comments were made at the court on the death of the Duchess of Durazzo and her doctor's disappearance; but there was no doubt at all that grief and gloom were furrowing wrinkles on Charles's brow, which was already sad enough. Catherine alone knew the terrible cause of her nephew's depression, for to her it was very plain that the duke at one blow had killed his mother and her physician. But she had never expected a reaction so sudden and violent in a man who shrank before no crime. She had thought Charles capable of everything except remorse. His gloomy, self absorbed silence seemed a bad augury for her plans. She had desired to cause trouble for him in his own family, so that he might have no time to oppose the marriage of her son with the queen; but she had shot beyond her mark, and Charles, started thus on the terrible path of crime, had now broken through the bonds of his holiest affections, and gave himself up to his bad passions with feverish ardour and a savage desire for revenge. Then Catherine had recourse to gentleness and submission. She gave her son to understand that there was only one way of obtaining the queen's hand, and that was by flattering the ambition of Charles and in some sort submitting himself to his patronage. Robert of Tarentum understood this, and ceased making court to Joan, who received his devotion with cool kindness, and attached himself closely to Charles, paying him much the same sort of respect and deference that he himself had affected for Andre, when the thought was first in his mind of causing his ruin. But the Duke of Durazzo was by no means deceived as to the devoted friendship shown towards him by the heir of the house of Tarentum, and pretending to be deeply touched by the unexpected change of feeling, he all the time kept a strict guard on Robert's actions. An event outside all human foresight occurred to upset the calculations of the two cousins. One day while they were out together on horseback, as they often were since their pretended reconciliation, Louis of Tarentum, Robert's youngest brother, who had always felt for Joan a chivalrous, innocent love,--a love which a young man of twenty is apt to lock up in his heart as a secret treasure,--Louis, we say, who had held aloof from the infamous family conspiracy and had not soiled his hands with Andre's blood, drawn on by an irrepressible passion, all at once appeared at the gates of Castel Nuovo; and while his brother was wasting precious hours in asking for a promise of marriage, had the bridge raised and gave the soldiers strict orders to admit no one. Then, never troubling himself about Charles's anger or Robert's jealousy, he hurried to the queen's room, and there, says Domenico Gravina, without any preamble, the union was consummated. On returning from his ride, Robert, astonished that the bridge was not at once lowered for him, at first loudly called upon the soldiers on guard at the fortress, threatening severe punishment for their unpardonable negligence; but as the gates did not open and the soldiers made no sign of fear or regret, he fell into a violent fit of rage, and swore he would hang the wretches like dogs for hindering his return home. But the Empress of Constantinople, terrified at the bloody quarrel beginning between the two brothers, went alone and on foot to her son, and making use of her maternal authority to beg him to master his feelings, there in the presence of the crowd that had come up hastily to witness the strange scene, she related in a low voice all that had passed in his absence. A roar as of a wounded tiger escaped from Robert's breast: all but blind with rage, he nearly trampled his mother under the feet of his horse, which seemed to feel his master's anger, and plunging violently, breathed blood from his nostrils. When the prince had poured every possible execration on his brother's head, he turned and galloped away from the accursed castle, flying to the Duke of Durazzo, whom he had only just left, to tell him of this outrage and stir him to revenge. Charles was talking carelessly with his young wife, who was but little used to such tranquil conversation and expansiveness, when the Prince of Tarentum, exhausted, out of breath, bathed in perspiration, came up with his incredible tale. Charles made him say it twice over, so impossible did Louis's audacious enterprise appear to him. Then quickly changing from doubt to fury, he struck his brow with his iron glove, saying that as the queen defied him he would make her tremble even in her castle and in her lover's arms. He threw one withering look on Marie, who interceded tearfully for her sister, and pressing Robert's hand with warmth, vowed that so long as he lived Louis should never be Joan's husband. That same evening he shut himself up in his study, and wrote letters whose effect soon appeared. A bull, dated June 2, 1346, was addressed to Bertram de Baux, chief-justice of the kingdom of Sicily and Count of Monte Scaglioso, with orders to make the most strict inquiries concerning Andre's murderers, whom the pope likewise laid under his anathema, and to punish them with the utmost rigour of the law. But a secret note was appended to the bull which was quite at variance with the designs of Charles: the sovereign pontiff expressly bade the chief-justice not to implicate the queen in the proceedings or the princes of the blood, so as to avoid worse disturbances, reserving, as supreme head of the Church and lord of the kingdom, the right of judging them later on, as his wisdom might dictate. For this imposing trial Bertram de Baux made great preparations. A platform was erected in the great hall of tribunal, and all the officers of the crown and great state dignitaries, and all the chief barons, had a place behind the enclosure where the magistrates sat. Three days after Clement VI's bull had been published in the capital, the chief-justice was ready for a public examination of two accused persons. The two culprits who had first fallen into the hands of justice were, as one may easily suppose, those whose condition was least exalted, whose lives were least valuable, Tommaso Pace and Nicholas of Melazzo. They were led before the tribunal to be first of all tortured, as the custom was. As they approached the judges, the notary passing by Charles in the street had time to say in a low voice-- "My lord, the time has come to give my life for you: I will do my duty; I commend my wife and children to you." Encouraged by a nod from his patron, he walked on firmly and deliberately. The chief-justice, after establishing the identity of the accused, gave them over to the executioner and his men to be tortured in the public square, so that their sufferings might serve as a show and an example to the crowd. But no sooner was Tommaso Pace tied to the rope, when to the great disappointment of all he declared that he would confess everything, and asked accordingly to be taken back before his judges. At these words, the Count of Terlizzi, who was following every movement of the two men with mortal anxiety, thought it was all over now with him and his accomplices; and so, when Tommaso Pace was turning his steps towards the great hall, led by two guards, his hands tied behind his back, and followed by the notary, he contrived to take him into a secluded house, and squeezing his throat with great force, made him thus put his tongue out, whereupon he cut it off with a sharp razor. The yells of the poor wretch so cruelly mutilated fell on the ears of the Duke of Durazzo: he found his way into the room where the barbarous act had been committed just as the Count of Terlizzi was coming out, and approached the notary, who had been present at the dreadful spectacle and had not given the least sign of fear or emotion. Master Nicholas, thinking the same fate was in store for him, turned calmly to the duke, saying with a sad smile-- "My lord, the precaution is useless; there is no need for you to cut out my tongue, as the noble count has done to my poor companion. The last scrap of my flesh may be torn off without one word being dragged from my mouth. I have promised, my lord, and you have the life of my wife and the future of my children as guarantee for my word." "I do not ask for silence," said the duke solemnly; "you can free me from all my enemies at once, and I order you to denounce them at the tribunal." The notary bowed his head with mournful resignation; then raising it in affright, made one step up to the duke and murmured in a choking voice-- "And the queen?" "No one would believe you if you ventured to denounce her; but when the Catanese and her son, the Count of Terlizzi and his wife and her most intimate friends, have been accused by you, when they fail to endure the torture, and when they denounce her unanimously--" "I see, my lord. You do not only want my life; you would have my soul too. Very well; once more I commend to you my children." With a deep sigh he walked up to the tribunal. The chief-justice asked Tommaso Pace the usual questions, and a shudder of horror passed through the assembly when they saw the poor wretch in desperation opening his mouth, which streamed with blood. But surprise and terror reached their height when Nicholas of Melazzo slowly and firmly gave a list of Andre's murderers, all except the queen and the princes of the blood, and went on to give all details of the assassination. Proceedings were at once taken for the arrest of the grand seneschal, Robert of Cabane, and the Counts of Terlizzi and Morcone, who were present and had not ventured to make any movement in self-defence. An hour later, Philippa, her two daughters, and Dona Cancha joined them in prison, after vainly imploring the queen's protection. Charles and Bertrand of Artois, shut up in their fortress of Saint Agatha, bade defiance to justice, and several others, among them the Counts of Meleto and Catanzaro, escaped by flight. As soon as Master Nicholas said he had nothing further to confess, and that he had spoken the whole truth and nothing but the truth, the chief-justice pronounced sentence amid a profound silence; and without delay Tommaso Pace and the notary were tied to the tails of two horses, dragged through the chief streets of the town, and hanged in the market place. The other prisoners were thrown into a subterranean vault, to be questioned and put to the torture on the following day. In the evening, finding themselves in the same dungeon, they reproached one another, each pretending he had been dragged into the crime by someone else. Then Dona Cancha, whose strange character knew no inconsistencies, even face to face with death and torture, drowned with a great burst of laughter the lamentations of her companions, and joyously exclaimed-- "Look here, friends, why these bitter recriminations--this ill-mannered raving? We have no excuses to make, and we are all equally guilty. I am the youngest of all, and not the ugliest, by your leave, ladies, but if I am condemned, at least I will die cheerfully. For I have never denied myself any pleasure I could get in this world, and I can boast that much will be forgiven me, for I have loved much: of that you, gentlemen, know something. You, bad old man," she continued to the Count of Terlizzi, "do you not remember lying by my side in the queen's ante-chamber? Come, no blushes before your noble family; confess, my lord, that I am with child by your Excellency; and you know how we managed to make up the story of poor Agnes of Durazzo and her pregnancy--God rest her soul! For my part, I never supposed the joke would take such a serious turn all at once. You know all this and much more; spare your lamentations, for, by my word, they are getting very tiresome: let us prepare to die joyously, as we have lived." With these words she yawned slightly, and, lying down on the straw, fell into a deep sleep, and dreamed as happy dreams as she had ever dreamed in her life. On the morrow from break of day there was an immense crowd on the sea front. During the night an enormous palisade had been put up to keep the people away far enough for them to see the accused without hearing anything. Charles of Durazzo, at the head of a brilliant cortege of knights and pages, mounted on a magnificent horse, all in black, as a sign of mourning, waited near the enclosure. Ferocious joy shone in his eyes as the accused made their way through the crowd, two by two, their wrists tied with ropes; for the duke every minute expected to hear the queen's name spoken. But the chief-justice, a man of experience, had prevented indiscretion of any kind by fixing a hook in the tongue of each one. The poor creatures were tortured on a ship, so that nobody should hear the terrible confessions their sufferings dragged from them. But Joan, in spite of the wrongs that most of the conspirators had done her, felt a renewal of pity for the woman she had once respected as a mother, for her childish companions and her friends, and possibly also some remains of love for Robert of Cabane, and sent two messengers to beg Bertram de Baux to show mercy to the culprits. But the chief-justice seized these men and had them tortured; and on their confession that they also were implicated in Andre's murder, he condemned them to the same punishment as the others. Dona Cancha alone, by reason of her situation, escaped the torture, and her sentence was deferred till the day of her confinement. As this beautiful girl was returning to prison, with many a smile for all the handsomest cavaliers she could see in the crowd, she gave a sign to Charles of Durazzo as she neared him to come forward, and since her tongue had not been pierced (for the same reason) with an iron instrument, she said some words to him a while in a low voice. Charles turned fearfully pale, and putting his hand to his sword, cried-- "Wretched woman!" "You forget, my lord, I am under the protection of the law." "My mother!--oh, my poor mother!" murmured Charles in a choked voice, and he fell backward. The next morning the people were beforehand with the executioner, loudly demanding their prey. All the national troops and mercenaries that the judicial authorities could command were echeloned in the streets, opposing a sort of dam to the torrent of the raging crowd. The sudden insatiable cruelty that too often degrades human nature had awaked in the populace: all heads were turned with hatred and frenzy; all imaginations inflamed with the passion for revenge; groups of men and women, roaring like wild beasts, threatened to knock down the walls of the prison, if the condemned were not handed over to them to take to the place of punishment: a great murmur arose, continuous, ever the same, like the growling of thunder: the queen's heart was petrified with terror. But, in spite of the desire of Bertram de Baux to satisfy the popular wish, the preparations for the solemn execution were not completed till midday, when the sun's rays fell scorchingly upon the town. There went up a mighty cry from ten thousand palpitating breasts when a report first ran through the crowd that the prisoners were about to appear. There was a moment of silence, and the prison doors rolled slowly back on their hinges with a rusty, grating noise. A triple row of horsemen, with lowered visor and lance in rest, started the procession, and amid yells and curses the condemned prisoners came out one by one, each tied upon a cart, gagged and naked to the waist, in charge of two executioners, whose orders were to torture them the whole length of their way. On the first cart was the former laundress of Catana, afterwards wife of the grand seneschal and governess to the queen, Philippa of Cabane: the two executioners at right and left of her scourged her with such fury that the blood spurting up from the wounds left a long track in all the streets passed by the cortege. Immediately following their mother on separate carts came the Countesses of Terlizzi and Morcone, the elder no more than eighteen years of age. The two sisters were so marvellously beautiful that in the crowd a murmur of surprise was heard, and greedy eyes were fixed upon their naked trembling shoulders. But the men charged to torture them gazed with ferocious smiles upon their forms of seductive beauty, and, armed with sharp knives, cut off pieces of their flesh with a deliberate enjoyment and threw them out to the crowd, who eagerly struggled to get them, signing to the executioners to show which part of the victims' bodies they preferred. Robert of Cabane, the grand seneschal, the Counts of Terlizzi and Morcone, Raymond Pace, brother of the old valet who had been executed the day before, and many more, were dragged on similar carts, and both scourged with ropes and slashed with knives; their flesh was torn out with red-hot pincers, and flung upon brazen chafing-dishes. No cry of pain was heard from the grand seneschal, he never stirred once in his frightful agony; yet the torturers put such fury into their work that the poor wretch was dead before the goal was reached. In the centre of the square of Saint Eligius an immense stake was set up: there the prisoners were taken, and what was left of their mutilated bodies was thrown into the flames. The Count of Terlizzi and the grand seneschal's widow were still alive, and two tears of blood ran down the cheeks of the miserable mother as she saw her son's corpse and the palpitating remains of her two daughters cast upon the fire--they by their stifled cries showed that they had not ceased to suffer. But suddenly a fearful noise overpowered the groans of the victims; the enclosure was broken and overturned by the mob. Like madmen, they rushed at the burning pile,--armed with sabres, axes, and knives, and snatching the bodies dead or alive from the flames, tore them to pieces, carrying off the bones to make whistles or handles for their daggers as a souvenir of this horrible day. CHAPTER VI The spectacle of this frightful punishment did not satisfy the revenge of Charles of Durazzo. Seconded by the chief-justice, he daily brought about fresh executions, till Andre's death came to be no more than a pretext for the legal murder of all who opposed his projects. But Louis of Tarentum, who had won Joan's heart, and was eagerly trying to get the necessary dispensation for legalising the marriage, from this time forward took as a personal insult every act of the high court of justice which was performed against his will and against the queen's prerogative: he armed all his adherents, increasing their number by all the adventurers he could get together, and so put on foot a strong enough force to support his own party and resist his cousin. Naples was thus split up into hostile camps, ready to come to blows on the smallest pretext, whose daily skirmishes, moreover, were always followed by some scene of pillage or death. But Louis had need of money both to pay his mercenaries and to hold his own against the Duke of Durazzo and his own brother Robert, and one day he discovered that the queen's coffers were empty. Joan was wretched and desperate, and her lover, though generous and brave and anxious to reassure her so far as he could, did not very clearly see how to extricate himself from such a difficult situation. But his mother Catherine, whose ambition was satisfied in seeing one of her sons, no matter which, attain to the throne of Naples, came unexpectedly to their aid, promising solemnly that it would only take her a few days to be able to lay at her niece's feet a treasure richer than anything she had ever dreamed of, queen as she was. The empress then took half her son's troops, made for Saint Agatha, and besieged the fortress where Charles and Bertrand of Artois had taken refuge when they fled from justice. The old count, astonished at the sight of this woman, who had been the very soul of the conspiracy, and not in the least understanding her arrival as an enemy, sent out to ask the intention of this display of military force. To which Catherine replied in words which we translate literally: "My friends, tell Charles, our faithful friend, that we desire to speak with him privately and alone concerning a matter equally interesting to us both, and he is not to be alarmed at our arriving in the guise of an enemy, for this we have done designedly, as we shall explain in the course of our interview. We know he is confined to bed by the gout, and therefore feel no surprise at his not coming out to meet us. Have the goodness to salute him on our part and reassure him, telling him that we desire to come in, if such is his good pleasure, with our intimate counsellor, Nicholas Acciajuoli, and ten soldiers only, to speak with him concerning an important matter that cannot be entrusted to go-betweens." Entirely reassured by these frank, friendly explanations, Charles of Artois sent out his son Bertrand to the empress to receive her with the respect due to her rank and high position at the court of Naples. Catherine went promptly to the castle with many signs of joy, and inquiring after the count's health and expressing her affection, as soon as they were alone, she mysteriously lowered her voice and explained that the object of her visit was to consult a man of tried experience on the affairs of Naples, and to beg his active cooperation in the queen's favour. As, however, she was not pressed for time, she could wait at Saint Agatha for the count's recovery to hear his views and tell him of the march of events since he left the court. She succeeded so well in gaining the old man's confidence and banishing his suspicions, that he begged her to honour them with her presence as long as she was able, and little by little received all her men within the walls. This was what Catherine was waiting for: on the very day when her army was installed at Saint Agatha, she suddenly entered the count's room, followed by four soldiers, and seizing the old man by the throat, exclaimed wrathfully-- "Miserable traitor, you will not escape from our hands before you have received the punishment you deserve. In the meanwhile, show me where your treasure is hidden, if you would not have me throw your body out to feed the crows that are swooping around these dungeons." The count, half choking, the dagger at his breast, did not even attempt to call for help; he fell on his knees, begging the empress to save at least the life of his son, who was not yet well from the terrible attack of melancholia that had shaken his reason ever since the catastrophe. Then he painfully dragged himself to the place where he had hidden his treasure, and pointing with his finger, cried-- "Take all; take my life; but spare my son." Catherine could not contain herself for joy when she saw spread out at her feet exquisite and incredibly valuable cups, caskets of pearls, diamonds and rubies of marvellous value, coffers full of gold ingots, and all the wonders of Asia that surpass the wildest imagination. But when the old man, trembling, begged for the liberty of his son as the price of his fortune and his own life, the empress resumed her cold, pitiless manner, and harshly replied-- "I have already given orders for your son to be brought here; but prepare for an eternal farewell, for he is to be taken to the fortress of Melfi, and you in all probability will end your days beneath the castle of Saint Agatha." The grief of the poor count at this violent separation was so great, that a few days later he was found dead in his dungeon, his lips covered with a bloody froth, his hands gnawed in despair. Bertrand did not long survive him. He actually lost his reason when he heard of his father's death, and hanged himself on the prison grating. Thus did the murderers of Andre destroy one another, like venomous animals shut up in the same cage. Catherine of Tarentum, carrying off the treasure she had so gained, arrived at the court of Naples, proud of her triumph and contemplating vast schemes. But new troubles had come about in her absence. Charles of Durazzo, for the last time desiring the queen to give him the duchy of Calabria, a title which had always belonged to the heir presumptive, and angered by her refusal, had written to Louis of Hungary, inviting him to take possession of the kingdom, and promising to help in the enterprise with all his own forces, and to give up the principal authors of his brother's death, who till now had escaped justice. The King of Hungary eagerly accepted these offers, and got ready an army to avenge Andre's death and proceed to the conquest of Naples. The tears of his mother Elizabeth and the advice of Friar Robert, the old minister, who had fled to Buda, confirmed him in his projects of vengeance. He had already lodged a bitter complaint at the court of Avignon that, while the inferior assassins had been punished, she who was above all others guilty had been shamefully let off scot free, and though still stained with her husband's blood, continued to live a life of debauchery and adultery. The pope replied soothingly that, so far as it depended upon him, he would not be found slow to give satisfaction to a lawful grievance; but the accusation ought to be properly formulated and supported by proof; that no doubt Joan's conduct during and after her husband's death was blamable; but His Majesty must consider that the Church of Rome, which before all things seeks truth and justice, always proceeds with the utmost circumspection, and in so grave a matter more especially must not judge by appearances only. Joan, frightened by the preparations for war, sent ambassadors to the Florentine Republic, to assert her innocence of the crime imputed to her by public opinion, and did not hesitate to send excuses even to the Hungarian court; but Andre's brother replied in a letter laconic and threatening:-- "Your former disorderly life, the arrogation to yourself of exclusive power, your neglect to punish your husband's murderers, your marriage to another husband, moreover your own excuses, are all sufficient proofs that you were an accomplice in the murder." Catherine would not be put out of heart by the King of Hungary's threats, and looking at the position of the queen and her son with a coolness that was never deceived, she was convinced that there was no other means of safety except a reconciliation with Charles, their mortal foe, which could only be brought about by giving him all he wanted. It was one of two things: either he would help them to repulse the King of Hungary, and later on they would pay the cost when the dangers were less pressing, or he would be beaten himself, and thus they would at least have the pleasure of drawing him down with them in their own destruction. The agreement was made in the gardens of Castel Nuovo, whither Charles had repaired on the invitation of the queen and her aunt. To her cousin of Durazzo Joan accorded the title so much desired of Duke of Calabria, and Charles, feeling that he was hereby made heir to the kingdom, marched at once on Aquila, which town already was flying the Hungarian colours. The wretched man did not foresee that he was going straight to his destruction. When the Empress of Constantinople saw this man, whom she hated above all others, depart in joy, she looked contemptuously upon him, divining by a woman's instinct that mischief would befall him; then, having no further mischief to do, no further treachery on earth, no further revenge to satisfy, she all at once succumbed to some unknown malady, and died suddenly, without uttering a cry or exciting a single regret. But the King of Hungary, who had crossed Italy with a formidable army, now entered the kingdom from the side of Aquila: on his way he had everywhere received marks of interest and sympathy; and Alberto and Mertino delta Scala, lords of Verona, had given him three hundred horse to prove that all their goodwill was with him in his enterprise. The news of the arrival of the Hungarians threw the court into a state of confusion impossible to describe. They had hoped that the king would be stopped by the pope's legate, who had come to Foligno to forbid him, in the name of the Holy Father, and on pain of excommunication to proceed any further without his consent; but Louis of Hungary replied to the pope's legate that, once master of Naples, he should consider himself a feudatory of the Church, but till then he had no obligations except to God and his own conscience. Thus the avenging army fell like a thunderbolt upon the heart of the kingdom, before there was any thought of taking serious measures for defence. There was only one plan possible: the queen assembled the barons who were most strongly attached to her, made them swear homage and fidelity to Louis of Tarentum, whom she presented to them as her husband, and then leaving with many tears her most faithful subjects, she embarked secretly, in the middle of the night, on a ship of Provence, and made for Marseilles. Louis of Tarentum, following the prompting of his adventure-loving character, left Naples at the head of three thousand horse and a considerable number of foot, and took up his post on the banks of the Voltorno, there to contest the enemy's passage; but the King of Hungary foresaw the stratagem, and while his adversary was waiting for him at Capua, he arrived at Beneventum by the mountains of Alife and Morcone, and on the same day received Neapolitan envoys: they in a magnificent display of eloquence congratulated him on his entrance, offered the keys of the town, and swore obedience to him as being the legitimate successor of Charles of Anjou. The news of the surrender of Naples soon reached the queen's camp, and all the princes of the blood and the generals left Louis of Tarentum and took refuge in the capital. Resistance was impossible. Louis, accompanied by his counsellor, Nicholas Acciajuoli, went to Naples on the same evening on which his relatives quitted the town to get away from the enemy. Every hope of safety was vanishing as the hours passed by; his brothers and cousins begged him to go at once, so as not to draw down upon the town the king's vengeance, but unluckily there was no ship in the harbour that was ready to set sail. The terror of the princes was at its height; but Louis, trusting in his luck, started with the brave Acciajuoli in an unseaworthy boat, and ordering four sailors to row with all their might, in a few minutes disappeared, leaving his family in a great state of anxiety till they learned that he had reached Pisa, whither he had gone to join the queen in Provence. Charles of Durazzo and Robert of Tarentum, who were the eldest respectively of the two branches of the royal family, after hastily consulting, decided to soften the Hungarian monarch's wrath by a complete submission. Leaving their young brothers at Naples, they accordingly set off for Aversa, where the king was. Louis received them with every mark of friendship, and asked with much interest why their brothers were not with them. The princes replied that their young brothers had stayed at Naples to prepare a worthy reception for His Majesty. Louis thanked them for their kind intentions, but begged them to invite the young princes now, saying that it would be infinitely more pleasant to enter Naples with all his family, and that he was most anxious to see his cousins. Charles and Robert, to please the king, sent equerries to bid their brothers come to Aversa; but Louis of Durazzo, the eldest of the boys, with many tears begged the others not to obey, and sent a message that he was prevented by a violent headache from leaving Naples. So puerile an excuse could not fail to annoy Charles, and the same day he compelled the unfortunate boys to appear before the king, sending a formal order which admitted of no delay. Louis of Hungary embraced them warmly one after the other, asked them several questions in an affectionate way, kept them to supper, and only let them go quite late at night. When the Duke of Durazzo reached his room, Lello of Aquila and the Count of Fondi slipped mysteriously to the side of his bed, and making sure that no one could hear, told him that the king in a council held that morning had decided to kill him and to imprison the other princes. Charles heard them out, but incredulously: suspecting treachery, he dryly replied that he had too much confidence in his cousin's loyalty to believe such a black calumny. Lello insisted, begging him in the name of his dearest friends to listen; but the duke was impatient, and harshly ordered him to depart. The next day there was the same kindness on the king's part, the same affection shown to the children, the same invitation to supper. The banquet was magnificent; the room was brilliantly lighted, and the reflections were dazzling: vessels of gold shone on the table; the intoxicating perfume of flowers filled the air; wine foamed in the goblets and flowed from the flagons in ruby streams; conversation, excited and discursive, was heard on every side; all faces beamed with joy. Charles of Durazzo sat opposite the king, at a separate table among his brothers. Little by little his look grew fixed, his brow pensive. He was fancying that Andre might have supped in this very hall on the eve of his tragic end, and he thought how all concerned in that death had either died in torment or were now languishing in prison; the queen, an exile and a fugitive, was begging pity from strangers: he alone was free. The thought made him tremble; but admiring his own cleverness in pursuing his infernal schemes, and putting away his sad looks, he smiled again with an expression of indefinable pride. The madman at this moment was scoffing at the justice of God. But Lello of Aquila, who was waiting at the table, bent down, whispering gloomily-- "Unhappy duke, why did you refuse to believe me? Fly, while there is yet time." Charles, angered by the man's obstinacy, threatened that if he were such a fool as to say any more, he would repeat every word aloud. "I have done my duty," murmured Lello, bowing his head; "now it must happen as God wills." As he left off speaking, the king rose, and as the duke went up to take his leave, his face suddenly changed, and he cried in an awful voice-- "Traitor! At length you are in my hands, and you shall die as you deserve; but before you are handed over to the executioner, confess with your own lips your deeds of treachery towards our royal majesty: so shall we need no other witness to condemn you to a punishment proportioned to your crimes. Between our two selves, Duke of Durazzo, tell me first why, by your infamous manoeuvring, you aided your uncle, the Cardinal of Perigord, to hinder the coronation of my brother, and so led him on, since he had no royal prerogative of his own, to his miserable end? Oh, make no attempt to deny it. Here is the letter sealed with your seal; in secret you wrote it, but it accuses you in public. Then why, after bringing us hither to avenge our brother's death, of which you beyond all doubt were the cause,--why did you suddenly turn to the queen's party and march against our town of Aquila, daring to raise an army against our faithful subjects? You hoped, traitor, to make use of us as a footstool to mount the throne withal, as soon as you were free from every other rival. Then you would but have awaited our departure to kill the viceroy we should have left in our place, and so seize the kingdom. But this time your foresight has been at fault. There is yet another crime worse than all the rest, a crime of high treason, which I shall remorselessly punish. You carried off the bride that our ancestor King Robert designed for me, as you knew, by his will. Answer, wretch what excuse can you make for the rape of the Princess Marie?" Anger had so changed Louis's voice that the last words sounded like the roar of a wild beast: his eyes glittered with a feverish light, his lips were pale and trembling. Charles and his brothers fell upon their knees, frozen by mortal terror, and the unhappy duke twice tried to speak, but his teeth were chattering so violently that he could not articulate a single word. At last, casting his eyes about him and seeing his poor brothers, innocent and ruined by his fault, he regained some sort of courage, and said-- "My lord, you look upon me with a terrible countenance that makes me tremble. But on my knees I entreat you, have mercy on me if I have done wrong, for God is my witness that I did not call you to this kingdom with any criminal intention: I have always desired, and still desire, your supremacy in all the sincerity of my soul. Some treacherous counsellors, I am certain, have contrived to draw down your hatred upon me. If it is true, as you say, that I went with an armed force to Aquila I was compelled by Queen Joan, and I could not do otherwise; but as soon as I heard of your arrival at Fermo I took my troops away again. I hope for the love of Christ I may obtain your mercy and pardon, by reason of my former services and constant loyalty. But as I see you are now angry with me, I say no more waiting for your fury to pass over. Once again, my lord, have pity upon us, since we are in the hands of your Majesty." The king turned away his head, and retired slowly, confiding the prisoners to the care of Stephen Vayvoda and the Count of Zornic, who guarded them during the night in a room adjoining the king's chamber. The next day Louis held another meeting of his council, and ordered that Charles should have his throat cut on the very spot where poor Andre had been hanged. He then sent the other princes of the blood, loaded with chains, to Hungary, where they were long kept prisoners. Charles, quite thunderstruck by such an unexpected blow, overwhelmed by the thought of his past crimes, trembled like a coward face to face with death, and seemed completely crushed. Bowed, upon his knees, his face half hidden in his hands, from time to time convulsive sobs escaped him, as he tried to fix the thoughts that chased each other through his mind like the shapes of a monstrous dream. Night was in his soul, but every now and then light flashed across the darkness, and over the gloomy background of his despair passed gilded figures fleeing from him with smiles of mockery. In his ears buzzed voices from the other world; he saw a long procession of ghosts, like the conspirators whom Nicholas of Melazzo had pointed out in the vaults of Castel Nuovo. But these phantoms each held his head in his hand, and shaking it by the hair, bespattered him with drops of blood. Some brandished whips, some knives: each threatened Charles with his instrument of torture. Pursued by the nocturnal train, the hapless man opened his mouth for one mighty cry, but his breath was gone, and it died upon his lips. Then he beheld his mother stretching out her arms from afar, and he fancied that if he could but reach her he would be safe. But at each step the path grew more and more narrow, pieces of his flesh were torn off by the approaching walls; at last, breathless, naked and bleeding, he reached his goal; but his mother glided farther away, and it was all to begin over again. The phantoms pursued him, grinning and screaming in his ears:-- "Cursed be he who slayeth his mother!" Charles was roused from these horrors by the cries of his brothers, who had come to embrace him for the last time before embarking. The duke in a low voice asked their pardon, and then fell back into his state of despair. The children were dragged away, begging to be allowed to share their brother's fate, and crying for death as an alleviation of their woes. At length they were separated, but the sound of their lamentation sounded long in the heart of the condemned man. After a few moments, two soldiers and two equerries came to tell the duke that his hour had come. Charles followed them, unresisting, to the fatal balcony where Andre had been hanged. He was there asked if he desired to confess, and when he said yes, they brought a monk from the sane convent where the terrible scene had been enacted: he listened to the confession of all his sins, and granted him absolution. The duke at once rose and walked to the place where Andre had been thrown down for the cord to be put round his neck, and there, kneeling again, he asked his executioners-- "Friends, in pity tell me, is there any hope for my life?" And when they answered no, Charles exclaimed: "Then carry out your instructions." At these words, one of the equerries plunged his sword into his breast, and the other cut his head off with a knife, and his corpse was thrown over the balcony into the garden where Andre's body had lain for three days unburied. CHAPTER VII The King of Hungary, his black flag ever borne before him, started for Naples, refusing all offered honours, and rejecting the canopy beneath which he was to make his entry, not even stopping to give audience to the chief citizens or to receive the acclamations of the crowd. Armed at all points, he made for Castel Nuovo, leaving behind him dismay and fear. His first act on entering the city was to order Dona Cancha to be burnt, her punishment having been deferred by reason of her pregnancy. Like the others, she was drawn on a cart to the square of St. Eligius, and there consigned to the flames. The young creature, whose suffering had not impaired her beauty, was dressed as for a festival, and laughing like a mad thing up to the last moment, mocked at her executioners and threw kisses to the crowd. A few days later, Godfrey of Marsana, Count of Squillace and grand admiral of the kingdom, was arrested by the king's orders. His life was promised him on condition of his delivering up Conrad of Catanzaro, one of his relatives, accused of conspiring against Andre. The grand admiral committed this act of shameless treachery, and did not shrink from sending his own son to persuade Conrad to come to the town. The poor wretch was given over to the king, and tortured alive on a wheel made with sharp knives. The sight of these barbarities, far from calming the king's rage, seemed to inflame it the more. Every day there were new accusations and new sentences. The prisons were crowded: Louis's punishments were redoubled in severity. A fear arose that the town, and indeed the whole kingdom, were to be treated as having taken part in Andre's death. Murmurs arose against this barbarous rule, and all men's thoughts turned towards their fugitive queen. The Neapolitan barons had taken the oath of fidelity with no willing hearts; and when it came to the turn of the Counts of San Severino, they feared a trick of some kind, and refused to appear all together before the Hungarian, but took refuge in the town of Salerno, and sent Archbishop Roger, their brother, to make sure of the king's intentions beforehand. Louis received him magnificently, and appointed him privy councillor and grand proto notary. Then, and not till then, did Robert of San Severino and Roger, Count of Chiaramonte, venture into the king's presence; after doing homage, they retired to their homes. The other barons followed their example of caution, and hiding their discontent under a show of respect, awaited a favourable moment for shaking off the foreign yoke. But the queen had encountered no obstacle in her flight, and arrived at Nice five days later. Her passage through Provence was like a triumph. Her beauty, youth, and misfortunes, even certain mysterious reports as to her adventures, all contributed to arouse the interest of the Provencal people. Games and fetes were improvised to soften the hardship of exile for the proscribed princess; but amid the outbursts of joy from every town, castle, and city, Joan, always sad, lived ever in her silent grief and glowing memories. At the gates of Aix she found the clergy, the nobility, and the chief magistrates, who received her respectfully but with no signs of enthusiasm. As the queen advanced, her astonishment increased as she saw the coldness of the people and the solemn, constrained air of the great men who escorted her. Many anxious thoughts alarmed her, and she even went so far as to fear some intrigue of the King of Hungary. Scarcely had her cortege arrived at Castle Arnaud, when the nobles, dividing into two ranks, let the queen pass with her counsellor Spinelli and two women; then closing up, they cut her off from the rest of her suite. After this, each in turn took up his station as guardian of the fortress. There was no room for doubt: the queen was a prisoner; but the cause of the manoeuvre it was impossible to guess. She asked the high dignitaries, and they, protesting respectful devotion, refused to explain till they had news from Avignon. Meanwhile all honours that a queen could receive were lavished on Joan; but she was kept in sight and forbidden to go out. This new trouble increased her depression: she did not know what had happened to Louis of Tarentum, and her imagination, always apt at creating disasters, instantly suggested that she would soon be weeping for his loss. But Louis, always with his faithful Acciajuoli, had after many fatiguing adventures been shipwrecked at the port of Pisa; thence he had taken route for Florence, to beg men and money; but the Florentines decided to keep an absolute neutrality, and refused to receive him. The prince, losing his last hope, was pondering gloomy plans, when Nicholas Acciajuoli thus resolutely addressed him: "My lord, it is not given to mankind to enjoy prosperity for ever: there are misfortunes beyond all human foresight. You were once rich and powerful, and you are now a fugitive in disguise, begging the help of others. You must reserve your strength for better days. I still have a considerable fortune, and also have relations and friends whose wealth is at my disposal: let us try to make our way to the queen, and at once decide what we can do. I myself shall always defend you and obey you as my lord and master." The prince received these generous offers with the utmost gratitude, and told his counsellor that he placed his person in his hands and all that remained of his future. Acciajuoli, not content with serving his master as a devoted servant, persuaded his brother Angelo, Archbishop of Florence, who was in great favour at Clement VI's court, to join with them in persuading the pope to interest himself in the cause of Louis of Tarentum. So, without further delay, the prince, his counsellor, and the good prelate made their way to the port of Marseilles, but learning that the queen was a prisoner at Aix, they embarked at Acque-Morte, and went straight to Avignon. It soon appeared that the pope had a real affection and esteem for the character of the Archbishop of Florence, for Louis was received with paternal kindness at the court of Avignon; which was far more than he had expected: when he kneeled before the sovereign pontiff, His Holiness bent affectionately towards him and helped him to rise, saluting him by the title of king. Two days later, another prelate, the Archbishop of Aix, came into the queen's presence,-- "Most gracious and dearly beloved sovereign, permit the most humble and devoted of your servants to ask pardon, in the name of your subjects, for the painful but necessary measure they have thought fit to take concerning your Majesty. When you arrived on our coast, your loyal town of Aix had learned from a trustworthy source that the King of France was proposing to give our country to one of his own sons, making good this loss to you by the cession of another domain, also that the Duke of Normandy had come to Avignon to request this exchange in person. We were quite decided, madam, and had made a vow to God that we would give up everything rather than suffer the hateful tyranny of the French. But before spilling blood we thought it best to secure your august person as a sacred hostage, a sacred ark which no man dared touch but was smitten to the ground, which indeed must keep away from our walls the scourge of war. We have now read the formal annulment of this hateful plan, in a brief sent by the sovereign pontiff from Avignon; and in this brief he himself guarantees your good faith. "We give you your full and entire liberty, and henceforth we shall only endeavour to keep you among us by prayers and protestations. Go then, madam, if that is your pleasure, but before you leave these lands, which will be plunged into mourning by your withdrawal, leave with us some hope that you forgive the apparent violence to which we have subjected you, only in the fear that we might lose you; and remember that on the day when you cease to be our queen you sign the death-warrant of all your subjects." Joan reassured the archbishop and the deputation from her good town of Aix with a melancholy smile, and promised that she would always cherish the memory of their affection. For this time she could not be deceived as to the real sentiments of the nobles and people; and a fidelity so uncommon, revealed with sincere tears, touched her heart and made her reflect bitterly upon her past. But a league's distance from Avignon a magnificent triumphal reception awaited her. Louis of Tarentum and all the cardinals present at the court had come out to meet her. Pages in dazzling dress carried above Joan's head a canopy of scarlet velvet, ornamented with fleur-de-lys in gold and plumes. Handsome youths and lovely girls, their heads crowned with flowers, went before her singing her praise. The streets were bordered with a living hedge of people; the houses were decked out; the bells rang a triple peal, as at the great Church festivals. Clement VI first received the queen at the castle of Avignon with all the pomp he knew so well how to employ on solemn occasions, then she was lodged in the palace of Cardinal Napoleon of the Orsini, who on his return from the Conclave at Perugia had built this regal dwelling at Villeneuve, inhabited later by the popes. No words could give an idea of the strangely disturbed condition of Avignon at this period. Since Clement V had transported the seat of the papacy to Provence, there had sprung up, in this rival to Rome, squares, churches, cardinals' palaces, of unparalleled splendour. All the business of nations and kings was transacted at the castle of Avignon. Ambassadors from every court, merchants of every nation, adventurers of all kinds, Italians, Spaniards, Hungarians, Arabs, Jews, soldiers, Bohemians, jesters, poets, monks, courtesans, swarmed and clustered here, and hustled one another in the streets. There was confusion of tongues, customs, and costumes, an inextricable mixture of splendour and rags, riches and misery, debasement and grandeur. The austere poets of the Middle Ages stigmatised the accursed city in their writings under the name of the New Babylon. There is one curious monument of Joan's sojourn at Avignon and the exercise of her authority as sovereign. She was indignant at the effrontery of the women of the town, who elbowed everybody shamelessly in the streets, and published a notable edict, the first of its kind, which has since served as a model in like cases, to compel all unfortunate women who trafficked in their honour to live shut up together in a house, that was bound to be open every day in the year except the last three days of Holy Week, the entrance to be barred to Jews at all times. An abbess, chosen once a year, had the supreme control over this strange convent. Rules were established for the maintenance of order, and severe penalties inflicted for any infringement of discipline. The lawyers of the period gained a great reputation by this salutary institution; the fair ladies of Avignon were eager in their defence of the queen in spite of the calumnious reports that strove to tarnish her reputation: with one voice the wisdom of Andre's widow was extolled. The concert of praises was disturbed, however, by murmurs from the recluses themselves, who, in their own brutal language, declared that Joan of Naples was impeding their commerce so as to get a monopoly for herself. Meanwhile Marie of Durazzo had joined her sister. After her husband's death she had found means to take refuge in the convent of Santa Croce with her two little daughters; and while Louis of Hungary was busy burning his victims, the unhappy Marie had contrived to make her escape in the frock of an old monk, and as by a miracle to get on board a ship that was setting sail for Provence. She related to her sister the frightful details of the king's cruelty. And soon a new proof of his implacable hatred confirmed the tales of the poor princess. Louis's ambassadors appeared at the court of Avignon to demand formally the queen's condemnation. It was a great day when Joan of Naples pleaded her own cause before the pope, in the presence of all the cardinals then at Avignon, all the ambassadors of foreign powers, and all the eminent persons come from every quarter of Europe to be present at this trial, unique in the annals of history. We must imagine a vast enclosure, in whose midst upon a raised throne, as president of the august tribunal, sat God's vicar on earth, absolute and supreme judge, emblem of temporal and spiritual power, of authority human and divine. To right and left of the sovereign pontiff, the cardinals in their red robes sat in chairs set round in a circle, and behind these princes of the Sacred College stretched rows of bishops extending to the end of the hall, with vicars, canons, deacons, archdeacons, and the whole immense hierarchy of the Church. Facing the pontifical throne was a platform reserved for the Queen of Naples and her suite. At the pope's feet stood the ambassadors from the King of Hungary, who played the part of accusers without speaking a word, the circumstances of the crime and all the proofs having been discussed beforehand by a committee appointed for the purpose. The rest of the hall was filled by a brilliant crowd of high dignitaries, illustrious captains, and noble envoys, all vying with one another in proud display. Everyone ceased to breathe, all eyes were fixed on the dais whence Joan was to speak her own defence. A movement of uneasy curiosity made this compact mass of humanity surge towards the centre, the cardinals above raised like proud peacocks over a golden harvest-field shaken in the breeze. The queen appeared, hand in hand with her uncle, the old Cardinal of Perigord, and her aunt, the Countess Agnes. Her gait was so modest and proud, her countenance so melancholy and pure, her looks so open and confident, that even before she spoke every heart was hers. Joan was now twenty years of age; her magnificent beauty was fully developed, but an extreme pallor concealed the brilliance of her transparent satin skin, and her hollow cheek told the tale of expiation and suffering. Among the spectators who looked on most eagerly there was a certain young man with strongly marked features, glowing eyes, and brown hair, whom we shall meet again later on in our narrative; but we will not divert our readers' attention, but only tell them that his name was James of Aragon, that he was Prince of Majorca, and would have been ready to shed every drop of his blood only to check one single tear that hung on Joan's eyelids. The queen spoke in an agitated, trembling voice, stopping from time to time to dry her moist and shining eyes, or to breathe one of those deep sighs that go straight to the heart. She told the tale of her husband's death painfully and vividly, painted truthfully the mad terror that had seized upon her and struck her down at that frightful time, raised her hands to her brow with the gesture of despair, as though she would wrest the madness from her brain--and a shudder of pity and awe passed through the assembled crowd. It is a fact that at this moment, if her words were false, her anguish was both sincere and terrible. An angel soiled by crime, she lied like Satan himself, but like him too she suffered all the agony of remorse and pride. Thus, when at the end of her speech she burst into tears and implored help and protection against the usurper of her kingdom, a cry of general assent drowned her closing words, several hands flew to their sword-hilts, and the Hungarian ambassadors retired covered with shame and confusion. That same evening the sentence, to the great joy of all, was proclaimed, that Joan was innocent and acquitted of all concern in the assassination of her husband. But as her conduct after the event and the indifference she had shown about pursuing the authors of the crime admitted of no valid excuse, the pope declared that there were plain traces of magic, and that the wrong-doing attributed to Joan was the result of some baneful charm cast upon her, which she could by no possible means resist. At the same time, His Holiness confirmed her marriage with Louis of Tarentum, and bestowed on him the order of the Rose of Gold and the title of King of Sicily and Jerusalem. Joan, it is true, had on the eve of her acquittal sold the town of Avignon to the pope for the sum of 80,000 florins. While the queen was pleading her cause at the court of Clement VI, a dreadful epidemic, called the Black Plague--the same that Boccaccio has described so wonderfully--was ravaging the kingdom of Naples, and indeed the whole of Italy. According to the calculation of Matteo Villani, Florence lost three-fifths of her population, Bologna two-thirds, and nearly all Europe was reduced in some such frightful proportion. The Neapolitans were already weary of the cruelties and greed of the Hungarians, they were only awaiting some opportunity to revolt against the stranger's oppression, and to recall their lawful sovereign, whom, for all her ill deeds, they had never ceased to love. The attraction of youth and beauty was deeply felt by this pleasure-loving people. Scarcely had the pestilence thrown confusion into the army and town, when loud cursing arose against the tyrant and his executioners. Louis of Hungary, suddenly threatened by the wrath of Heaven and the people's vengeance, was terrified both by the plague and by the riots, and disappeared in the middle of the night. Leaving the government of Naples in the hands of Conrad Lupo, one of his captains, he embarked hastily at Berletta, and left the kingdom in very much the same way as Louis of Tarentum, fleeing from him, had left it a few months before. This news arrived at Avignon just when the pope was about to send the queen his bull of absolution. It was at once decided to take away the kingdom from Louis's viceroy. Nicholas Acciajuoli left for Naples with the marvellous bull that was to prove to all men the innocence of the queen, to banish all scruples and stir up a new enthusiasm. The counsellor first went to the castle of Melzi, commanded by his son Lorenzo: this was the only fortress that had always held out. The father and son embraced with the honourable pride that near relatives may justly feel when they meet after they have united in the performance of a heroic duty. From the governor of Melzi Louis of Tarentum's counsellor learned that all men were wearied of the arrogance and vexatious conduct of the queen's enemies, and that a conspiracy was in train, started in the University of Naples, but with vast ramifications all over the kingdom, and moreover that there was dissension in the enemy's army. The indefatigable counsellor went from Apulia to Naples, traversing towns and villages, collecting men everywhere, proclaiming loudly the acquittal of the queen and her marriage with Louis of Tarentum, also that the pope was offering indulgences to such as would receive with joy their lawful sovereigns. Then seeing that the people shouted as he went by, "Long live Joan! Death to the Hungarians!" he returned and told his sovereigns in what frame of mind he had left their subjects. Joan borrowed money wherever she could, armed galleys, and left Marseilles with her husband, her sister, and two faithful advisers, Acciajuoli and Spinelli, on the 10th of September 1348. The king and queen not being able to enter at the harbour, which was in the enemy's power, disembarked at Santa Maria del Carmine, near the river Sebeto, amid the frenzied applause of an immense crowd, and accompanied by all the Neapolitan nobles. They made their way to the palace of Messire Ajutorio, near Porta Capuana, the Hungarians having fortified themselves in all the castles; but Acciajuoli, at the head of the queen's partisans, blockaded the fortresses so ably that half of the enemy were obliged to surrender, and the other half took to flight and were scattered about the interior of the kingdom. We shall now follow Louis of Tarentum in his arduous adventures in Apulia, the Calabrias, and the Abruzzi, where he recovered one by one the fortresses that the Hungarians had taken. By dint of unexampled valour and patience, he at last mastered nearly all the more considerable places, when suddenly everything changed, and fortune turned her back upon him for the second time. A German captain called Warner, who had deserted the Hungarian army to sell himself to the queen, had again played the traitor and sold himself once more, allowed himself to be surprised at Corneto by Conrad Lupo, the King of Hungary's vicar-general, and openly joined him, taking along with him a great party of the adventurers who fought under his orders. This unexpected defection forced Louis of Tarentum to retire to Naples. The King of Hungary soon learning that the troops had rallied round his banner, and only awaited his return to march upon the capital, disembarked with a strong reinforcement of cavalry at the port of Manfredonia, and taking Trani, Canosa, and Salerno, went forward to lay siege to Aversa. The news fell like a thunder-clap on Joan and her husband. The Hungarian army consisted of 10,000 horse and more than 7000 infantry, and Aversa had only 500 soldiers under Giacomo Pignatelli. In spite of the immense disproportion of the numbers, the Neapolitan general vigorously repelled the attack; and the King of Hungary, fighting in the front, was wounded in his foot by an arrow. Then Louis, seeing that it would be difficult to take the place by storm, determined to starve them out. For three months the besieged performed prodigies of valour, and further assistance was impossible. Their capitulation was expected at any moment, unless indeed they decided to perish every man. Renaud des Baux, who was to come from Marseilles with a squadron of ten ships to defend the ports of the capital and secure the queen's flight, should the Hungarian army get possession of Naples, had been delayed by adverse winds and obliged to stop on the way. All things seemed to conspire in favour of the enemy. Louis of Tarentum, whose generous soul refused to shed the blood of his brave men in an unequal and desperate struggle, nobly sacrificed himself, and made an offer to the King of Hungary to settle their quarrel in single combat. We append the authentic letters that passed between Joan's husband and Andre's brother. "Illustrious King of Hungary, who has come to invade our kingdom, we, by the grace of God King of Jerusalem and Sicily, invite you to single combat. We know that you are in no wise disturbed by the death of your lancers or the other pagans in your suite, no more indeed than if they were dogs; but we, fearing harm to our own soldiers and men-at-arms, desire to fight with you personally, to put an end to the present war and restore peace to our kingdom. He who survives shall be king. And therefore, to ensure that this duel shall take place, we definitely propose as a site either Paris, in the presence of the King of France, or one of the towns of Perugia, Avignon, or Naples. Choose one of these four places, and send us your reply." The King of Hungary first consulted with his council, and then replied:-- "Great King, we have read and considered your letter sent to us by the bearer of these presents, and by your invitation to a duel we are most supremely pleased; but we do not approve of any of the places you propose, since they are all suspect, and for several reasons. The King of France is your maternal grandfather, and although we are also connected by blood with him, the relationship is not so near. The town of Avignon, although nominally belonging to the sovereign pontiff, is the capital of Provence, and has always been subject to your rule. Neither have we any more confidence in Perugia, for that town is devoted to your cause. "As to the city of Naples, there is no need to say that we refuse that rendezvous, since it is in revolt against us and you are there as king. But if you wish to fight with us, let it be in the presence of the Emperor of Germany, who is lord supreme, or the King of England, who is our common friend, or the Patriarch of Aquilea, a good Catholic. If you do not approve of any of the places we propose, we shall soon be near you with our army, and so remove all difficulties and delays. Then you can come forth, and our duel can take place in the presence of both armies." After the interchange of these two letters, Louis of Tarentum proposed nothing further. The garrison at Aversa had capitulated after a heroic resistance, and it was known only too well that if the King of Hungary could get so far as the walls of Naples, he would not have to endanger his life in order to seize that city. Happily the Provencal galleys had reached port at last. The king and the queen had only just time to embark and take refuge at Gaeta. The Hungarian army arrived at Naples. The town was on the point of yielding, and had sent messengers to the king humbly demanding peace; but the speeches of the Hungarians showed such insolence that the people, irritated past endurance, took up arms, and resolved to defend their household gods with all the energy of despair. CHAPTER VIII While the Neapolitans were holding out against their enemy at the Porta Capuana, a strange scene was being enacted at the other side of the town, a scene that shows us in lively colours the violence and treachery of this barbarous age. The widow of Charles of Durazzo was shut up in the castle of Ovo, and awaiting in feverish anxiety the arrival of the ship that was to take her to the queen. The poor Princess Marie, pressing her weeping children to her heart, pale, with dishevelled locks, fixed eyes, and drawn lips, was listening for every sound, distracted between hope and fear. Suddenly steps resounded along the corridor; a friendly voice was heard; Marie fell upon her knees with a cry of joy: her liberator had come. Renaud des Baux, admiral of the Provencal squadron, respectfully advanced, followed by his eldest son Robert and his chaplain. "God, I thank Thee!" exclaimed Marie, rising to her feet; "we are saved." "One moment, madam," said Renaud, stopping her: "you are indeed saved, but upon one condition." "A condition?" murmured the princess in surprise. "Listen, madam. The King of Hungary, the avenger of Andre's murderers, the slayer of your husband, is at the gates of Naples; the people and soldiers will succumb, as soon as their last gallant effort is spent--the army of the conqueror is about to spread desolation and death throughout the city by fire and the sword. This time the Hungarian butcher will spare no victims: he will kill the mother before her children's eyes, the children in their mother's arms. The drawbridge of this castle is up and there are none on guard; every man who can wield a sword is now at the other end of the town. Woe to you, Marie of Durazzo, if the King of Hungary shall remember that you preferred his rival to him!" "But have you not come here to save me?" cried Marie in a voice of anguish. "Joan, my sister, did she not command you to take me to her?" "Your sister is no longer in the position to give orders," replied Renaud, with a disdainful smile. "She had nothing for me but thanks because I saved her life, and her husband's too, when he fled like a coward before the man whom he had dared to challenge to a duel." Marie looked fixedly at the admiral to assure herself that it was really he who thus arrogantly talked about his masters. But she was terrified at his imperturbable expression, and said gently-- "As I owe my life and my children's lives solely to your generosity, I am grateful to you beyond all measure. But we must hurry, my lord: every moment I fancy I hear cries of vengeance, and you would not leave me now a prey to my brutal enemy?" "God forbid, madam; I will save you at the risk of my life; but I have said already, I impose a condition." "What is it?" said Marie, with forced calm. "That you marry my son on the instant, in the presence of our reverend chaplain." "Rash man!" cried Marie, recoiling, her face scarlet with indignation and shame; "you dare to speak thus to the sister of your legitimate sovereign? Give thanks to God that I will pardon an insult offered, as I know, in a moment of madness; try by your devotion to make me forget what you have said." The count, without one word, signed to his son and a priest to follow, and prepared to depart. As he crossed the threshold Marie ran to him, and clasping her hands, prayed him in God's name never to forsake her. Renaud stopped. "I might easily take my revenge," he said, "for your affront when you refuse my son in your pride; but that business I leave to Louis of Hungary, who will acquit himself, no doubt, with credit." "Have mercy on my poor daughters!" cried the princess; "mercy at least for my poor babes, if my own tears cannot move you." "If you loved your children," said the admiral, frowning, "you would have done your duty at once." "But I do not love your son!" cried Marie, proud but trembling. "O God, must a wretched woman's heart be thus trampled? You, father, a minister of truth and justice, tell this man that God must not be called on to witness an oath dragged from the weak and helpless!" She turned to the admiral's son; and added, sobbing-- "You are young, perhaps you have loved: one day no doubt you will love. I appeal to your loyalty as a young man, to your courtesy as a knight, to all your noblest impulses; join me, and turn your father away from his fatal project. You have never seen me before: you do not know but that in my secret heart I love another. Your pride should be revolted at the sight of an unhappy woman casting herself at your feet and imploring your favour and protection. One word from you, Robert, and I shall bless you every moment of my life: the memory of you will be graven in my heart like the memory of a guardian angel, and my children shall name you nightly in their prayers, asking God to grant your wishes. Oh, say, will you not save me? Who knows, later on I may love you--with real love." "I must obey my father," Robert replied, never lifting his eyes to the lovely suppliant. The priest was silent. Two minutes passed, and these four persons, each absorbed in his own thoughts, stood motionless as statues carved at the four corners of a tomb. Marie was thrice tempted to throw herself into the sea. But a confused distant sound suddenly struck upon her ears: little by little it drew nearer, voices were more distinctly heard; women in the street were uttering cries of distress-- "Fly, fly! God has forsaken us; the Hungarians are in the town!" The tears of Marie's children were the answer to these cries; and little Margaret, raising her hands to her mother, expressed her fear in speech that was far beyond her years. Renaud, without one look at this touching picture, drew his son towards the door. "Stay," said the princess, extending her hand with a solemn gesture: "as God sends no other aid to my children, it is His will that the sacrifice be accomplished." She fell on her knees before the priest, bending her head like a victim who offers her neck to the executioner. Robert des Baux took his place beside her, and the priest pronounced the formula that united them for ever, consecrating the infamous deed by a sacrilegious blessing. "All is over!" murmured Marie of Durazzo, looking tearfully on her little daughters. "No, all is not yet over," said the admiral harshly, pushing her towards another room; "before we leave, the marriage must be consummated." "O just God!" cried the princess, in a voice torn with anguish, and she fell swooning to the floor. Renaud des Baux directed his ships towards Marseilles, where he hoped to get his son crowned Count of Provence, thanks to his strange marriage with Marie of Durazzo. But this cowardly act of treason was not to go unpunished. The wind rose with fury, and drove him towards Gaeta, where the queen and her husband had just arrived. Renaud bade his sailors keep in the open, threatening to throw any man into the sea who dared to disobey him. The crew at first murmured; soon cries of mutiny rose on every side. The admiral, seeing he was lost, passed from threats to prayers. But the princess, who had recovered her senses at the first thunder-clap, dragged herself up to the bridge and screamed for help, "Come to me, Louis! Come, my barons! Death to the cowardly wretches who have outraged my honour!" Louis of Tarentum jumped into a boat, followed by some ten of his bravest men, and, rowing rapidly, reached the ship. Then Marie told him her story in a word, and he turned upon the admiral a lightning glance, as though defying him to make any defence. "Wretch!" cried the king, transfixing the traitor with his sword. Then he had the son loaded with chains, and also the unworthy priest who had served as accomplice to the admiral, who now expiated his odious crime by death. He took the princess and her children in his boat, and re-entered the harbour. The Hungarians, however, forcing one of the gates of Naples, marched triumphant to Castel Nuovo. But as they were crossing the Piazza delle Correggie, the Neapolitans perceived that the horses were so weak and the men so reduced by all they had undergone during the siege of Aversa that a mere puff of wind would dispense this phantom-like army. Changing from a state of panic to real daring, the people rushed upon their conquerors, and drove them outside the walls by which they had just entered. The sudden violent reaction broke the pride of the King of Hungary, and made him more tractable when Clement VI decided that he ought at last to interfere. A truce was concluded first from the month of February 1350 to the beginning of April 1351, and the next year this was converted into a real peace, Joan paying to the King of Hungary the sum of 300,000 florins for the expenses of the war. After the Hungarians had gone, the pope sent a legate to crown Joan and Louis of Tarentum, and the 25th of May, the day of Pentecost, was chosen for the ceremony. All contemporary historians speak enthusiastically of this magnificent fete. Its details have been immortalised by Giotto in the frescoes of the church which from this day bore the name of L'Incoronata. A general amnesty was declared for all who had taken part in the late wars on either side, and the king and queen were greeted with shouts of joy as they solemnly paraded beneath the canopy, with all the barons of the kingdom in their train. But the day's joy was impaired by an accident which to a superstitious people seemed of evil augury. Louis of Tarentum, riding a richly caparisoned horse, had just passed the Porta Petruccia, when some ladies looking out from a high window threw such a quantity of flowers at the king that his frightened steed reared and broke his rein. Louis could not hold him, so jumped lightly to the ground; but the crown fell at his feet and was broken into three pieces. On that very day the only daughter of Joan and Louis died. But the king not wishing to sadden the brilliant ceremony with show of mourning, kept up the jousts and tournaments for three days, and in memory of his coronation instituted the order of 'Chevaliers du Noeud'. But from that day begun with an omen so sad, his life was nothing but a series of disillusions. After sustaining wars in Sicily and Apulia, and quelling the insurrection of Louis of Durazzo, who ended his days in the castle of Ovo, Louis of Tarentum, worn out by a life of pleasure, his health undermined by slow disease, overwhelmed with domestic trouble, succumbed to an acute fever on the 5th of June 1362, at the age of forty-two. His body had not been laid in its royal tomb at Saint Domenico before several aspirants appeared to the hand of the queen. One was the Prince of Majorca, the handsome youth we have already spoken of: he bore her off triumphant over all rivals, including the son of the King of France. James of Aragon had one of those faces of melancholy sweetness which no woman can resist. Great troubles nobly borne had thrown as it were a funereal veil over his youthful days: more than thirteen years he had spent shut in an iron cage; when by the aid of a false key he had escaped from his dreadful prison, he wandered from one court to another seeking aid; it is even said that he was reduced to the lowest degree of poverty and forced to beg his bread. The young stranger's beauty and his adventures combined had impressed both Joan and Marie at the court of Avignon. Marie especially had conceived a violent passion for him, all the more so for the efforts she made to conceal it in her own bosom. Ever since James of Aragon came to Naples, the unhappy princess, married with a dagger at her throat, had desired to purchase her liberty at the expense of crime. Followed by four armed men, she entered the prison where Robert des Baux was still suffering for a fault more his father's than his own. Marie stood before the prisoner, her arms crossed, her cheeks livid, her lips trembling. It was a terrible interview. This time it was she who threatened, the man who entreated pardon. Marie was deaf to his prayers, and the head of the luckless man fell bleeding at her feet, and her men threw the body into the sea. But God never allows a murder to go unpunished: James preferred the queen to her sister, and the widow of Charles of Durazzo gained nothing by her crime but the contempt of the man she loved, and a bitter remorse which brought her while yet young to the tomb. Joan was married in turn to James of Aragon, son of the King of Majorca, and to Otho of Brunswick, of the imperial family of Saxony. We will pass rapidly over these years, and come to the denouement of this history of crime and expiation. James, parted from his wife, continued his stormy career, after a long contest in Spain with Peter the Cruel, who had usurped his kingdom: about the end of the year 1375 he died near Navarre. Otho also could not escape the Divine vengeance which hung over the court of Naples, but to the end he valiantly shared the queen's fortunes. Joan, since she had no lawful heir, adopted her nephew, Charles de la Paix (so called after the peace of Trevisa). He was the son of Louis Duras, who after rebelling against Louis of Tarentum, had died miserably in the castle of Ovo. The child would have shared his father's fate had not Joan interceded to spare his life, loaded him with kindness, and married him to Margaret, the daughter of her sister Marie and her cousin Charles, who was put to death by the King of Hungary. Serious differences arose between the queen and one of her former subjects, Bartolommeo Prigiani, who had become pope under the name of Urban VI. Annoyed by the queen's opposition, the pope one day angrily said he would shut her up in a convent. Joan, to avenge the insult, openly favoured Clement VII, the anti-pope, and offered him a home in her own castle, when, pursued by Pope Urban's army, he had taken refuge at Fondi. But the people rebelled against Clement, and killed the Archbishop of Naples, who had helped to elect him: they broke the cross that was carried in procession before the anti-pope, and hardly allowed him time to make his escape on shipboard to Provence. Urban declared that Joan was now dethroned, and released her subjects from their oath of fidelity to her, bestowing the crown of Sicily and Jerusalem upon Charles de la Paix, who marched on Naples with 8000 Hungarians. Joan, who could not believe in such base ingratitude, sent out his wife Margaret to meet her adopted son, though she might have kept her as a hostage, and his two children, Ladislaus and Joan, who became later the second queen of that name. But the victorious army soon arrived at the gates of Naples, and Charles blockaded the queen in her castle, forgetting in his ingratitude that she had saved his life and loved him like a mother. Joan during the siege endured all the worst fatigues of war that any soldier has to bear. She saw her faithful friends fall around her wasted by hunger or decimated by sickness. When all food was exhausted, dead and decomposed bodies were thrown into the castle that they might pollute the air she breathed. Otho with his troops was kept at Aversa; Louis of Anjou, the brother of the King of France whom she had named as her successor when she disinherited her nephew, never appeared to help her, and the Provencal ships from Clement VII were not due to arrive until all hope must be over. Joan asked for a truce of five days, promising that, if Otho had not come to relieve her in that time, she would surrender the fortress. On the fifth day Otho's army appeared on the side of Piedigrotta. The fight was sharp on both sides, and Joan from the top of a tower could follow with her eyes the cloud of dust raised by her husband's horse in the thickest of the battle. The victory was long uncertain: at length the prince made so bold an onset upon the royal standard, in his eagerness to meet his enemy hand to hand, that he plunged into the very middle of the army, and found himself pressed on every side. Covered with blood and sweat, his sword broken in his hand, he was forced to surrender. An hour later Charles was writing to his uncle, the King of Hungary, that Joan had fallen into his power, and he only awaited His Majesty's orders to decide her fate. It was a fine May morning: the queen was under guard in the castle of Aversa: Otho had obtained his liberty on condition of his quitting Naples, and Louis of Anjou had at last got together an army of 50,000 men and was marching in hot haste to the conquest of the kingdom. None of this news had reached the ears of Joan, who for some days had lived in complete isolation. The spring lavished all her glory on these enchanted plains, which have earned the name of the blessed and happy country, campagna felite. The orange trees were covered with sweet white blossoms, the cherries laden with ruby fruit, the olives with young emerald leaves, the pomegranate feathery with red bells; the wild mulberry, the evergreen laurel, all the strong budding vegetation, needing no help from man to flourish in this spot privileged by Nature, made one great garden, here and there interrupted by little hidden runlets. It was a forgotten Eden in this corner of the world. Joan at her window was breathing in the perfumes of spring, and her eyes misty with tears rested on a bed of flowery verdure; a light breeze, keen and balmy, blew upon her burning brow and offered a grateful coolness to her damp and fevered cheeks. Distant melodious voices, refrains of well-known songs, were all that disturbed the silence of the poor little room, the solitary nest where a life was passing away in tears and repentance, a life the most brilliant and eventful of a century of splendour and unrest. The queen was slowly reviewing in her mind all her life since she ceased to be a child--fifty years of disillusionment and suffering. She thought first of her happy, peaceful childhood, her grandfather's blind affection, the pure joys of her days of innocence, the exciting games with her little sister and tall cousins. Then she shuddered at the earliest thought of marriage, the constraint, the loss of liberty, the bitter regrets; she remembered with horror the deceitful words murmured in her ear, designed to sow the seeds of corruption and vice that were to poison her whole life. Then came the burning memories of her first love, the treachery and desertion of Robert of Cabane, the moments of madness passed like a dream in the arms of Bertrand of Artois--the whole drama up to its tragic denouement showed as in letters of fire on the dark background of her sombre thoughts. Then arose cries of anguish in her soul, even as on that terrible fatal night she heard the voice of Andre asking mercy from his murderers. A long deadly silence followed his awful struggle, and the queen saw before her eyes the carts of infamy and the torture of her accomplices. All the rest of this vision was persecution, flight, exile, remorse, punishments from God and curses from the world. Around her was a frightful solitude: husbands, lovers, kindred, friends, all were dead; all she had loved or hated in the world were now no more; her joy, pain, desire, and hope had vanished for ever. The poor queen, unable to free herself from these visions of woe, violently tore herself away from the awful reverie, and kneeling at a prie-dieu, prayed with fervour. She was still beautiful, in spite of her extreme pallor; the noble lines of her face kept their pure oval; the fire of repentance in her great black eyes lit them up with superhuman brilliance, and the hope of pardon played in a heavenly smile upon her lips. Suddenly the door of the room where Joan was so earnestly praying opened with a dull sound: two Hungarian barons in armour entered and signed to the queen to follow them. Joan arose silently and obeyed; but a cry of pain went up from her heart when she recognised the place where both Andre and Charles of Durazzo had died a violent death. But she collected her forces, and asked calmly why she was brought hither. For all answer, one of the men showed her a cord of silk and gold.... "May the will of a just God be done!" cried Joan, and fell upon her knees. Some minutes later she had ceased to suffer. This was the third corpse that was thrown over the balcony at Aversa. Publication Date: May 27th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.dumas

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-sola-luna-the-case-of-the-quot-dear-diary-killer-quot/

Sola Luna The Case of the "Dear Diary Killer" Sherry Lock and Watsin Uni I dedicate this to all my friends and those of you who are reading this. Thank you. Introductions from the Author: About Sherry Lock, Watsin Uni, and this series Hello, I am Sola.Luna the writer. This book is the first book of the series " Sherry Lock and Watsin". This book is meant for those who like mystery, crime, and comedy books. This book is one of my first ones on put on Bookrix and I welcome all criticism so I may improve my writing and my books. In each book I will put in a introduction to explains some things so nothing will get confusing. Thank you. You can skip to the next chapter if you do not wish to read this. Also there is quite a bit of swearing in this book. Just a precaution. I will now introduce the characters: Sherry Lock- Yes, I based this character off of Sherlock Holmes. This girl is a descendant of Sherlock, but only got the sense of solving crimes from him. All in all, the duo of Sherry and Watsin is mainly for some small laughs. Sherry is also kind of dense and slow at some things. Sherry is a young woman fresh out of college, but is a kid at heart. Watsin Uni- I based the name off of Watson ( I don't know his last name). This guy is emotionless most of the time, but sometimes teases Sherry saying (when she is being dense) " Psh... No shit, Sherlock!" very often. It bothers Sherry, since he is a year or two younger than Sherry. *** In this book, there is going to be serious moments and humorous ones, too. I will probably make each book in the series 5-15 chapters long. I may take some time to create each book, as in time, I mean months. m(_ _)m Sorry if you like the idea of this book, but there's little text. Thank you for reading the Intro. Chapter 1: It begins, Sherry's first Mystery to solve A woman, a rather young looking one, is running quickly down the sidewalk in the town named St. Mysteri. This town is not well known due to this woman, whose name is Sherry Lock. This town is well known for someone else, her childhood friend, Watsin Uni. Now that is a joke, St. Mysteri is really known for it's well flourished business and all other sorts of things, but that's a different story and this story is about Sherry Lock. Sherry, with a cresent smile on her face, is running towards her 'office'. As she runs, her hair boucing in the wind, joined by her bag, the soft clicks of her shoes, and Text: I wrote this. I apologize if my book is similar to your's. This book is pure fiction so I am sorry if any the characters are similar to anybody in real life. I based some of the character's names off of Sherlock Holmes. Images: I found this image on google, it does not belong to me. Editing: Myself All rights reserved. Publication Date: November 21st 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-sola.luna

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-legacy-jackson-akatsuki-no-kuruma/

legacy jackson akatsuki no kuruma I was in pain, all I could hear were silent whispers, silent tears. Blood trickled from my face. All I could see was darkness, My Mom was killed and I couldn’t save her, my sister was slaughtered and I couldn’t protect her. I screamed in agony my wounds burned like fire was seeping through my skin. Suddenly I heard footsteps. I got my sword ready to attack. Anger ran through my mind. I wanted to avenge my loved ones for the sake of my clan. I couldn’t bear anymore, I charged to the sound of the killer’s footsteps. I caught a glimpse of a figure in front of me. I swung my blade like how my father showed me when I was younger. When I reached my target I stopped. I felt his sword go through my body. I disgorged blood that told me he pierced my inner organs. He had a laugh so cold a laugh that would make anybody tremble in fear. “Your the heir of the clan? He asked. I was to hurt, to mad to have a merciful answer knowing that he could have finished me off where I stood for being disrespectful. “I may not have the power to defeat you but I have the honor and power to stay alive”! He scowled then made an evil grin. “You are your father’s daughter, weak and on your knees but still have the courage to stand up for yourself, so I shall spare you and your dignity, letting you live knowing that you have nothing to love anymore, that will be enough pain for you.” I felt his weapon slide out of my stomach slowly as if he wanted me to be in pain. I fell to the floor crying and bleeding. I had the strength to sit up. I was numb and I turned to him and yelled “I will avenge my clan, I will sacrifice anything just to bring you down, I’ll kill you with all the hate I have.” He did a side glance at me and did his signature grin. “Sorry dear, but your soul will have to wait.” Then he suddenly vanished in the shadows. In my mind his voice was repeating over, and, over, again. I Found a roll of gauge in a drawer next to me. I wrapped it around my wounds. I got up and limped to the door. I felt the knob it was cold so I knew it was snowing outside. I walked outside to leave blood stained snow. I started to sing the song of someone who will never be seen again. ☪ I awoke in cold sweat, realizing that it had been a dream of the past. I walked to the river to splash water in my face. I looked up to see beautiful fields covered in snow and a pure white grey sky. All that I remember is that I nearly almost bled to death other than that I don’t know how I got here. “So I see your awake eh?” I looked up to see two boys standing in front of me. They wore capes to keep them from freezing in the snow. “Um yeah I think so.” I said and suddenly blushed. “Thats good to know your ok.” Said one of the boys. He had eyes that were dark like he wanted to take vengeance on something, he had pale white skin and black hair, he seemed that he would hardly smile. Then the other boy turned and he looked exactly like...Me! Then I realized it was Shishimaru, one of my servants that was born to serve my family. “Malady are you okay?” I got up and slapped him and watched his face turn red. I was furious. Where was he when my family was being slaughtered! “ Do I look okay!” I yelled he was about to cry but I suddenly wrapped my arms around his neck. He blushed. Then I started to cry, I fell to my knees with my arms still around him so he knelt down with me. “ Malady this is my friend his name is Hanatoro.” I looked at him with wide eyes and burst into laughter. Hanatoro’s face turned red but only across his nose. “You know where I come from Hanatoro means flower?” I said while trying not to laugh. He turned his back to me. “ Come Shishimaru, and feel free to bring your friend.” “But I don’t think she can walk through the snow she doesn’t have any shoes!” said Shishimaru. Suddenly Hanatoro just vanished. Then I was suddenly being lifted. I realized I was on his back. I turned bright red. “Your going to carry me?” I asked surprised that he was willing to help me after I just insulted him. “Your welcome” he said in a sarcastic voice. Thats were the story begins! We walked for what seemed like days we talked about our lives but I kept quiet about the sad parts to keep me from crying. “So your the heir of the Aizen Clan eh?” said Hanatoro. “Don’t think I’m gonna get on my knees and worship you cause I won’t” “ I didn’t ask you to do that” I snapped back. “But you can if you want to.” “I can drop you right now.” “Oh yeah, well nobody asked you to carry me” “You guys stop arguing, It’s really annoying.” Said Shishimaru. “Anyway we’re here.” I looked up to find something familiar, something that brought sorrowful memories, It was a large mansion with a large crest with the Japanese kana for “5.” Thats when I realized, This is the palace of the Aizen clan! “ Malady, I think it be best if you find us some food and you a pair of clothes before you freeze.” Demanded Shishimaru. I did exactly what he asked. I walked in through the door and scanned the room it looked exactly how it was left. I stopped, rushing through my mind were the bone chilling memories of my clans death. It seemed like I could still hear my mother’s screams. I clapped my hands on my ears to keep it out. “STAY OUT OF MY HEAD!” I yelled. I opened my eyes and let out a waterfall of tears. “Are you ok Malady?” Shishimaru asked worried as ever. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t even open my mouth to form something I ran up to what used to be my room. I looked over to see the blade I used to fight off the murderer who attacked my family, and shut the door behind me. About three minutes later I walked down the stairs to find Shishimaru and Hanatoro sitting on the couch in the dinning room. “You ready?” asked Hanatoro. Shishimaru was standing beside the couch holding a knapsack. I had my katana in my hand and a picture of my clan. My eyes filled with tears, as I saw how big my younger sister’s smile was. She seemed happy as though her life ahead of her was going to be innocent and wonderful. In my head I heard her scream. I felt horrible inside. I was supposed to protect her, and I failed. I remembered the chant the sang when she was born, The dear child born in the autumn, blessed with the name that represents the leaf that falls. Born with beautiful brown eyes that are almost orange, Senna the fourth child of the Aizen clan! I tied my hair with my favorite ribbon. I thought to my self “No more crying!” I walked ahead of Shishimaru and Hanatoro. “Malady where shall we go?” asked Shishimaru. Thats when it came to me Shishimaru was only a servant, he wasn’t like me nor Hanatoro. He vowed to protect me, but with what power? Can I felt safe around him? “I don’t know.” I said. I gave them both a sly smile. “ Where ever the road takes us!” ☪ We walked for days and nights, I was getting tired. We stopped for breaks so we could rest, or set up a camp because the snow fell to hard, but days past and I couldn’t take it anymore. “Ahhh I can’t take this anymore where are we going?” I yelled hoping one of them would hear me. Hanatoro turned to me and said, “Where ever the road takes us.” He started to laugh “ this road goes on forever what makes you think it’s going to take us anywhere special?” He was really getting on my nerves I was about to hit him but he tackled me before I could touch him. I started to yell but I stopped. I saw two figures each in black cloaks. They pulled down their hoods, One was a girl with curly ponytails and purple tear drop shapes printed on her face, her lips curled into an evil grin. The other was a boy, he had a scar run down his eye, he had long silver hair, he didn’t smile. “Well, look what we have here, an old partner.” Said the girl. I wondered who she was talking about. “You know now we have to kill you Hanatoro, betraying the dark master was a bad idea.” Said the silver haired one. Rage shot up through my blood. “ What is he talking about?” I asked. “ My family was forced to work for the man who killed your clan.” Hanatoro replied. Before I could take out my blade to fight, I felt something cold slash through my body. My senses fully came to me, I had been cut! I closed my eyes my memories replayed from the beginning to the end. I opened my eyes and saw that Shishimaru was holding me. His body covered in blood. He saved me. “Why did you do that Shishi?” I asked painfully. “ Because it is my job to protect you, I am the servant, you are the princess, destiny divided, pitiful twins and for you to live, I must die. He fell in the cold snow motionless. I looked over to Hanatoro He was dead to. I stood up, my eyes filled with water. I looked around and I couldn’t see anything but white everything was white... I was confused, was it snow? I was hurt, and I felt dead. I looked ahead and a light flashed in front of me. It was forming into something, it changed colors and started to create an image. It finally took its form and what it changed into something I couldn’t take, It was my sister? Her orange eyes seemed to shine, she had the same smile that she had in the picture, I couldn’t believe it but it was as if I was staring at a version of myself I didn’t even recognize! “ You know your safe now” said Senna. “But, your not ready to come with us.” “What are you talking about Senna?” I asked. Her smile seemed to get bigger like it always does when she had learned something. “ A star falls in the grief of someone who will never be seen again.” She said. “Your soul is still pure but... She didn’t finish her sentence. “You still have a dream, you hold a regret, and you made a promise.” She said. “What are you talking about, I’m done living, I don’t want to live knowing that everything I loved is now gone!” I cried. “ Our souls can’t rest until you reach your goal, You have to avenge us like you said, You kept your word!” Senna said as her eyes seemed to fill with tears. It came to me. I gave her a light smile. “Yes, I did, didn’t I?” I said. “For my name is Yoshimaru Aizen, The last remaining Heir!” “Thats it Yoshi!” Senna yelled. Reality came back to me and in my head I remembered why my soul still roams the earth. “Well looks like one is still alive.” Said the girl with tear drop paint. She ran over to attack but I got the best of her and swayed my blade across her stomach. Her eyes got wide and she fell to the ground. I parried my blood soaked katana waiting for the silver haired one to make his move. He charged me and I pierced his chest will full power. ☪ Morning came and I was as happy as ever. Spring had finally rose and I was about to start a journey that would change my life forever, that will open Heaven’s gates for me. I was about to avenge my family. I sat at the river bank with the guitar that was given to me on my seventh birthday and happily sang the song of someone who will never be seen again! “On this guitar I play the melody of someone who has passed on!” “If given strength anyone can rampage as much as they want!” “Akatsuki no kuruma.” Publication Date: June 9th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-yoshimaru449

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-alexandre-dumas-pere-urbain-grandier/

Alexandre Dumas père Urbain Grandier Celebrated Crimes URBAIN GRANDIER--1634 CHAPTER I On Sunday, the 26th of November, 1631, there was great excitement in the little town of Loudun, especially in the narrow streets which led to the church of Saint-Pierre in the marketplace, from the gate of which the town was entered by anyone coming from the direction of the abbey of Saint-Jouin-les-Marmes. This excitement was caused by the expected arrival of a personage who had been much in people's mouths latterly in Loudun, and about whom there was such difference of opinion that discussion on the subject between those who were on his side and those who were against him was carried on with true provincial acrimony. It was easy to see, by the varied expressions on the faces of those who turned the doorsteps into improvised debating clubs, how varied were the feelings with which the man would be welcomed who had himself formally announced to friends and enemies alike the exact date of his return. About nine o'clock a kind of sympathetic vibration ran through the crowd, and with the rapidity of a flash of lightning the words, "There he is! there he is!" passed from group to group. At this cry some withdrew into their houses and shut their doors and darkened their windows, as if it were a day of public mourning, while others opened them wide, as if to let joy enter. In a few moments the uproar and confusion evoked by the news was succeeded by the deep silence of breathless curiosity. Then, through the silence, a figure advanced, carrying a branch of laurel in one hand as a token of triumph. It was that of a young man of from thirty-two to thirty-four years of age, with a graceful and well-knit frame, an aristocratic air and faultlessly beautiful features of a somewhat haughty expression. Although he had walked three leagues to reach the town, the ecclesiastical garb which he wore was not only elegant but of dainty freshness. His eyes turned to heaven, and singing in a sweet voice praise to the Lord, he passed through the streets leading to the church in the market-place with a slow and solemn gait, without vouchsafing a look, a word, or a gesture to anyone. The entire crowd, falling into step, marched behind him as he advanced, singing like him, the singers being the prettiest girls in Loudun, for we have forgotten to say that the crowd consisted almost entirely of women. Meanwhile the object of all this commotion arrived at length at the porch of the church of Saint-Pierre. Ascending the steps, he knelt at the top and prayed in a low voice, then rising he touched the church doors with his laurel branch, and they opened wide as if by magic, revealing the choir decorated and illuminated as if for one of the four great feasts of the year, and with all its scholars, choir boys, singers, beadles, and vergers in their places. Glancing around, he for whom they were waiting came up the nave, passed through the choir, knelt for a second time at the foot of the altar, upon which he laid the branch of laurel, then putting on a robe as white as snow and passing the stole around his neck, he began the celebration of the mass before a congregation composed of all those who had followed him. At the end of the mass a Te Deum was sung. He who had just rendered thanks to God for his own victory with all the solemn ceremonial usually reserved for the triumphs of kings was the priest Urbain Grandier. Two days before, he had been acquitted, in virtue of a decision pronounced by M. d'Escoubleau de Sourdis, Archbishop of Bordeaux, of an accusation brought against him of which he had been declared guilty by a magistrate, and in punishment of which he had been condemned to fast on bread and water every Friday for three months, and forbidden to exercise his priestly functions in the diocese of Poitiers for five years and in the town of Loudun for ever. These are the circumstances under which the sentence had been passed and the judgment reversed. Urbain Grandier was born at Rovere, a village near Sable, a little town of Bas-Maine. Having studied the sciences with his father Pierre and his uncle Claude Grandier, who were learned astrologers and alchemists, he entered, at the age of twelve, the Jesuit college at Bordeaux, having already received the ordinary education of a young man. The professors soon found that besides his considerable attainments he had great natural gifts for languages and oratory; they therefore made of him a thorough classical scholar, and in order to develop his oratorical talent encouraged him to practise preaching. They soon grew very fond of a pupil who was likely to bring them so much credit, and as soon as he was old enough to take holy orders they gave him the cure of souls in the parish of Saint-Pierre in Loudun, which was in the gift of the college. When he had been some months installed there as a priest-in-charge, he received a prebendal stall, thanks to the same patrons, in the collegiate church of Sainte-Croix. It is easy to understand that the bestowal of these two positions on so young a man, who did not even belong to the province, made him seem in some sort a usurper of rights and privileges belonging to the people of the country, and drew upon him the envy of his brother-ecclesiastics. There were, in fact, many other reasons why Urbain should be an object of jealousy to these: first, as we have already said, he was very handsome, then the instruction which he had received from his father had opened the world of science to him and given him the key to a thousand things which were mysteries to the ignorant, but which he fathomed with the greatest ease. Furthermore, the comprehensive course of study which he had followed at the Jesuit college had raised him above a crowd of prejudices, which are sacred to the vulgar, but for which he made no secret of his contempt; and lastly, the eloquence of his sermons had drawn to his church the greater part of the regular congregations of the other religious communities, especially of the mendicant orders, who had till then, in what concerned preaching, borne away the palm at Loudun. As we have said, all this was more than enough to excite, first jealousy, and then hatred. And both were excited in no ordinary degree. We all know how easily the ill-natured gossip of a small town can rouse the angry contempt of the masses for everything which is beyond or above them. In a wider sphere Urbain would have shone by his many gifts, but, cooped up as he was within the walls of a little town and deprived of air and space, all that might have conduced to his success in Paris led to his destruction at Loudun. It was also unfortunate for Urbain that his character, far from winning pardon for his genius, augmented the hatred which the latter inspired. Urbain, who in his intercourse with his friends was cordial and agreeable, was sarcastic, cold, and haughty to his enemies. When he had once resolved on a course, he pursued it unflinchingly; he jealously exacted all the honour due to the rank at which he had arrived, defending it as though it were a conquest; he also insisted on enforcing all his legal rights, and he resented the opposition and angry words of casual opponents with a harshness which made them his lifelong enemies. The first example which Urbain gave of this inflexibility was in 1620, when he gained a lawsuit against a priest named Meunier. He caused the sentence to be carried out with such rigour that he awoke an inextinguishable hatred in Meunier's mind, which ever after burst forth on the slightest provocation. A second lawsuit, which he likewise gained; was one which he undertook against the chapter of Sainte-Croix with regard to a house, his claim to which the chapter, disputed. Here again he displayed the same determination to exact his strict legal rights to the last iota, and unfortunately Mignon, the attorney of the unsuccessful chapter, was a revengeful, vindictive, and ambitious man; too commonplace ever to arrive at a high position, and yet too much above his surroundings to be content with the secondary position which he occupied. This man, who was a canon of the collegiate church of Sainte-Croix and director of the Ursuline convent, will have an important part to play in the following narrative. Being as hypocritical as Urbain was straightforward, his ambition was to gain wherever his name was known a reputation for exalted piety; he therefore affected in his life the asceticism of an anchorite and the self-denial of a saint. As he had much experience in ecclesiastical lawsuits, he looked on the chapter's loss of this one, of which he had in some sort guaranteed the success, as a personal humiliation, so that when Urbain gave himself airs of triumph and exacted the last letter of his bond, as in the case of Meunier, he turned Mignon into an enemy who was not only more relentless but more dangerous than the former. In the meantime, and in consequence of this lawsuit, a certain Barot, an uncle of Mignon and his partner as well, got up a dispute with Urbain, but as he was a man below mediocrity, Urbain required in order to crush him only to let fall from the height of his superiority a few of those disdainful words which brand as deeply as a red-hot iron. This man, though totally wanting in parts, was very rich, and having no children was always surrounded by a horde of relatives, every one of whom was absorbed in the attempt to make himself so agreeable that his name would appear in Barot's will. This being so, the mocking words which were rained down on Barot spattered not only himself but also all those who had sided with him in the quarrel, and thus added considerably to the tale of Urbain's enemies. About this epoch a still graver event took place. Amongst the most assiduous frequenters of the confessional in his church was a young and pretty girl, Julie by name, the daughter of the king's attorney, Trinquant--Trinquant being, as well as Barot, an uncle of Mignon. Now it happened that this young girl fell into such a state of debility that she was obliged to keep her room. One of her friends, named Marthe Pelletier, giving up society, of which she was very fond, undertook to nurse the patient, and carried her devotion so far as to shut herself up in the same room with her. When Julie Trinquant had recovered and was able again to take her place in the world, it came out that Marthe Pelletier, during her weeks of retirement, had given birth to a child, which had been baptized and then put out to nurse. Now, by one of those odd whims which so often take possession of the public mind, everyone in Loudun persisted in asserting that the real mother of the infant was not she who had acknowledged herself as such--that, in short, Marthe Pelletier had sold her good name to her friend Julie for a sum of money; and of course it followed as a matter about which there could be no possible doubt, that Urbain was the father. Trinquant hearing of the reports about his daughter, took upon himself as king's attorney to have Marthe Pelletier arrested and imprisoned. Being questioned about the child, she insisted that she was its mother, and would take its maintenance upon herself. To have brought a child into the world under such circumstances was a sin, but not a crime; Trinquant was therefore obliged to set Marthe at liberty, and the abuse of justice of which he was guilty served only to spread the scandal farther and to strengthen the public in the belief it had taken up. Hitherto, whether through the intervention of the heavenly powers, or by means of his own cleverness, Urbain Grandier had come out victor in every struggle in which he had engaged, but each victor had added to the number of his enemies, and these were now so numerous that any other than he would have been alarmed, and have tried either to conciliate them or to take precautions against their malice; but Urbain, wrapped in his pride, and perhaps conscious of his innocence, paid no attention to the counsels of his most faithful followers, but went on his way unheeding. All the opponents whom till now Urbain had encountered had been entirely unconnected with each other, and had each struggled for his own individual ends. Urbain's enemies, believing that the cause of his success was to be found in the want of cooperation among themselves, now determined to unite in order to crush him. In consequence, a conference was held at Barot's, at which, besides Barot himself, Meunier, Trinquant, and Mignon took part, and the latter had also brought with him one Menuau, a king's counsel and his own most intimate friend, who was, however, influenced by other motives than friendship in joining the conspiracy. The fact was, that Menuau was in love with a woman who had steadfastly refused to show him any favour, and he had got firmly fixed in his head that the reason for her else inexplicable indifference and disdain was that Urbain had been beforehand with him in finding an entrance to her heart. The object of the meeting was to agree as to the best means of driving the common enemy out of Loudon and its neighbourhood. Urbain's life was so well ordered that it presented little which his enemies could use as a handle for their purpose. His only foible seemed to be a predilection for female society; while in return all the wives and daughters of the place, with the unerring instinct of their sex, seeing, that the new priest was young, handsome, and eloquent, chose him, whenever it was possible, as their spiritual director. As this preference had already offended many husbands and fathers, the decision the conspirators arrived at was that on this side alone was Grandier vulnerable, and that their only chance of success was to attack him where he was weakest. Almost at once, therefore, the vague reports which had been floating about began to attain a certain definiteness: there were allusions made, though no name was mentioned, to a young girl in Loudun; who in spite of Grandier's frequent unfaithfulness yet remained his mistress-in-chief; then it began to be whispered that the young girl, having had conscientious scruples about her love for Urbain, he had allayed them by an act of sacrilege--that is to say, he had, as priest, in the middle of the night, performed the service of marriage between himself and his mistress. The more absurd the reports, the more credence did they gain, and it was not long till everyone in Loudun believed them true, although no one was able to name the mysterious heroine of the tale who had had the courage to contract a marriage with a priest; and considering how small Loudun was, this was most extraordinary. Resolute and full of courage as was Grandier, at length he could not conceal from himself that his path lay over quicksands: he felt that slander was secretly closing him round, and that as soon as he was well entangled in her shiny folds, she would reveal herself by raising her abhorred head, and that then a mortal combat between them would begin. But it was one of his convictions that to draw back was to acknowledge one's guilt; besides, as far as he was concerned, it was probably too late for him to retrace his steps. He therefore went on his way, as unyielding, as scornful, and as haughty as ever. Among those who were supposed to be most active in spreading the slanders relative to Urbain was a man called Duthibaut, a person of importance in the province, who was supposed by the townspeople to hold very advanced views, and who was a "Sir Oracle" to whom the commonplace and vulgar turned for enlightenment. Some of this man's strictures on Grandier were reported to the latter, especially some calumnies to which Duthibaut had given vent at the Marquis de Bellay's; and one day, Grandier, arrayed in priestly garments, was about to enter the church of Sainte-Croix to assist in the service, he encountered Duthibaut at the entrance, and with his usual haughty disdain accused him of slander. Duthibaut, who had got into the habit of saying and doing whatever came into his head without fear of being called to account, partly because of his wealth and partly because of the influence he had gained over the narrow-minded, who are so numerous in a small provincial town, and who regarded him as being much above them, was so furious at this public reprimand, that he raised his cane and struck Urbain. The opportunity which this affront afforded Grandier of being revenged on all his enemies was too precious to be neglected, but, convinced, with too much reason, that he would never obtain justice from the local authorities, although the respect due to the Church had been infringed, in his person he decided to appeal to King Louis XIII, who deigned to receive him, and deciding that the insult offered to a priest robed in the sacred vestments should be expiated, sent the cause to the high court of Parliament, with instructions that the case against Duthibaut should be tried and decided there. Hereupon Urbain's enemies saw they had no time to lose, and took advantage of his absence to make counter accusations against him. Two worthies beings, named Cherbonneau and Bugrau, agreed to become informers, and were brought before the ecclesiastical magistrate at Poitiers. They accused Grandier of having corrupted women and girls, of indulging in blasphemy and profanity, of neglecting to read his breviary daily, and of turning God's sanctuary into a place of debauchery and prostitution. The information was taken down, and Louis Chauvet, the civil lieutenant, and the archpriest of Saint-Marcel and the Loudenois, were appointed to investigate the matter, so that, while Urbain was instituting proceedings against Duthibaut in Paris, information was laid against himself in Loudun. This matter thus set going was pushed forward with all the acrimony so common in religious prosecutions; Trinquant appeared as a witness, and drew many others after him, and whatever omissions were found in the depositions were interpolated according to the needs of the prosecution. The result was that the case when fully got up appeared to be so serious that it was sent to the Bishop of Poitiers for trial. Now the bishop was not only surrounded by the friends of those who were bringing the accusations against Grandier, but had himself a grudge against him. It had happened some time before that Urbain, the case being urgent, had dispensed with the usual notice of a marriage, and the bishop, knowing this, found in the papers laid before him, superficial as they were, sufficient evidence against Urbain to justify him in issuing a warrant for his apprehension, which was drawn up in the following words: "Henri-Louis, Chataignier de la Rochepezai, by divine mercy Bishop of Poitiers, in view of the charges and informations conveyed to us by the archpriest of Loudun against Urbain Grandier, priest-in-charge of the Church of Saint-Pierre in the Market-Place at Loudun, in virtue of a commission appointed by us directed to the said archpriest, or in his absence to the Prior of Chassaignes, in view also of the opinion given by our attorney upon the said charges, have ordered and do hereby order that Urbain Grandier, the accused, be quietly taken to the prison in our palace in Poitiers, if it so be that he be taken and apprehended, and if not, that he be summoned to appear at his domicile within three days, by the first apparitor-priest, or tonsured clerk, and also by the first royal sergeant, upon this warrant, and we request the aid of the secular authorities, and to them, or to any one of them, we hereby give power and authority to carry out this decree notwithstanding any opposition or appeal, and the said Grandier having been heard, such a decision will be given by our attorney as the facts may seem to warrant. "Given at Dissay the 22nd day of October 1629, and signed in the original as follows: "HENRI-LOUIS, Bishop of Poitiers." Grandier was, as we have said, at Paris when these proceedings were taken against him, conducting before the Parliament his case against Duthibaut. The latter received a copy of the decision arrived at by the bishop, before Grandier knew of the charges that had been formulated against him, and having in the course of his defence drawn a terrible picture of the immorality of Grandier's life, he produced as a proof of the truth of his assertions the damning document which had been put into his hands. The court, not knowing what to think of the turn affairs had taken, decided that before considering the accusations brought by Grandier, he must appear before his bishop to clear himself of the charges, brought against himself. Consequently he left Paris at once, and arrived at Loudun, where he only stayed long enough to learn what had happened in his absence, and then went on to Poitiers in order to draw up his defence. He had, however, no sooner set foot in the place than he was arrested by a sheriff's officer named Chatry, and confined in the prison of the episcopal palace. It was the middle of November, and the prison was at all times cold and damp, yet no attention was paid to Grandier's request that he should be transferred to some other place of confinement. Convinced by this that his enemies had more influence than he had supposed, he resolved to possess his soul in patience, and remained a prisoner for two months, during which even his warmest friends believed him lost, while Duthibaut openly laughed at the proceedings instituted against himself, which he now believed would never go any farther, and Barot had already selected one of his heirs, a certain Ismael Boulieau, as successor to Urbain as priest and prebendary. It was arranged that the costs of the lawsuit should be defrayed out of a fund raised by the prosecutors, the rich paying for the poor; for as all the witnesses lived at Loudun and the trial was to take place at Poitiers, considerable expense would be incurred by the necessity of bringing so many people such a distance; but the lust of vengeance proved stronger than the lust of gold; the subscription expected from each being estimated according to his fortune, each paid without a murmur, and at the end of two months the case was concluded. In spite of the evident pains taken by the prosecution to strain the evidence against the defendant, the principal charge could not be sustained, which was that he had led astray many wives and daughters in Loudun. No one woman came forward to complain of her ruin by Grandier; the name of no single victim of his alleged immorality was given. The conduct of the case was the most extraordinary ever seen; it was evident that the accusations were founded on hearsay and not on fact, and yet a decision and sentence against Grandier were pronounced on January 3rd, 1630. The sentence was as follows: For three months to fast each Friday on bread and water by way of penance; to be inhibited from the performance of clerical functions in the diocese of Poitiers for five years, and in the town of Loudun for ever. Both parties appealed from this decision: Grandier to the Archbishop of Bordeaux, and his adversaries, on the advice of the attorney to the diocese, pleading a miscarriage of justice, to the Parliament of Paris; this last appeal being made in order to overwhelm Grandier and break his spirit. But Grandier's resolution enabled him to face this attack boldly: he engaged counsel to defend his case before the Parliament, while he himself conducted his appeal to the Archbishop of Bordeaux. But as there were many necessary witnesses, and it was almost impossible to bring them all such a great distance, the archiepiscopal court sent the appeal to the presidial court of Poitiers. The public prosecutor of Poitiers began a fresh investigation, which being conducted with impartiality was not encouraging to Grandier's accusers. There had been many conflicting statements made by the witnesses, and these were now repeated: other witnesses had declared quite openly that they had been bribed; others again stated that their depositions had been tampered with; and amongst these latter was a certain priest named Mechin, and also that Ishmael Boulieau whom Barot had been in such a hurry to select as candidate for the reversion of Grandier's preferments. Boulieau's deposition has been lost, but we can lay Mechin's before the reader, for the original has been preserved, just as it issued from his pen: "I, Gervais Mechin, curate-in-charge of the Church of Saint-Pierre in the Market Place at Loudun, certify by these presents, signed by my hand, to relieve my conscience as to a certain report which is being spread abroad, that I had said in support of an accusation brought by Gilles Robert, archpriest, against Urbain Grandier, priest-in-charge of Saint-Pierre, that I had found the said Grandier lying with women and girls in the church of Saint Pierre, the doors being closed. "ITEM, that on several different occasions, at unsuitable hours both day and night, I had seen women and girls disturb the said Grandier by going into his bedroom, and that some of the said women remained with him from one o'clock in the after noon till three o'clock the next morning, their maids bringing them their suppers and going away again at once. "ITEM, that I had seen the said Grandier in the church, the doors being open, but that as soon as some women entered he closed them. "As I earnestly desire that such reports should cease, I declare by these presents that I have never seen the said Grandier with women or girls in the church, the doors being closed; that I have never found him there alone with women or girls; that when he spoke to either someone else was always present, and the doors were open; and as to their posture, I think I made it sufficiently clear when in the witness-box that Grandier was seated and the women scattered over the church; furthermore, I have never seen either women or girls enter Grandier's bedroom either by day or night, although it is true that I have heard people in the corridor coming and going late in the evening, who they were I cannot say, but a brother of the said Grandier sleeps close by; neither have I any knowledge that either women or girls, had their suppers brought to the said room. I have also never said that he neglected the reading of his breviary, because that would be contrary to the truth, seeing that on several occasions he borrowed mine and read his hours in it. I also declare that I have never seen him close the doors of the church, and that whenever I have seen him speaking to women I have never noticed any impropriety; I have not ever seen him touch them in any way, they have only spoken together; and if anything is found in my deposition contrary to the above, it is without my knowledge, and was never read to me, for I would not have signed it, and I say and affirm all this in homage to the truth. "Done the last day of October 1630, "(Signed) G. MECHIN." In the face of such proofs of innocence none of the accusations could be considered as established and so, according to the decision of the presidial court of Poitiers, dated the 25th of May 1634, the decision of the bishop's court was reversed, and Grandier was acquitted of the charges brought against him. However, he had still to appear before the Archbishop of Bordeaux, that his acquittal might be ratified. Grandier took advantage of a visit which the archbishop paid to his abbey at Saint-Jouin-les-Marmes, which was only three leagues from Loudun, to make this appearance; his adversaries, who were discouraged by the result of the proceedings at Poitiers, scarcely made any defence, and the archbishop, after an examination which brought clearly to light the innocence of the accused, acquitted and absolved him. The rehabilitation of Grandier before his bishop had two important results: the first was that it clearly established his innocence, and the second that it brought into prominence his high attainments and eminent qualities. The archbishop seeing the persecutions to which he was subjected, felt a kindly interest in him, and advised him to exchange into some other diocese, leaving a town the principal inhabitants of which appeared to have vowed him a relentless hate. But such an abandonment of his rights was foreign to the character of Urbain, and he declared to his superior that, strong in His Grace's approbation and the testimony of his own conscience, he would remain in the place to which God had called him. Monseigneur de Sourdis did not feel it his duty to urge Urbain any further, but he had enough insight into his character to perceive that if Urbain should one day fall, it would be, like Satan, through pride; for he added another sentence to his decision, recommending him to fulfil the duties of his office with discretion and modesty, according to the decrees of the Fathers and the canonical constitutions. The triumphal entry of Urbain into Loudun with which we began our narrative shows the spirit in which he took his recommendation. CHAPTER II Urbain Granadier was not satisfied with the arrogant demonstration by which he signalised his return, which even his friends had felt to be ill advised; instead of allowing the hate he had aroused to die away or at least to fall asleep by letting the past be past, he continued with more zeal than ever his proceedings against Duthibaut, and succeeded in obtaining a decree from the Parliament of La Tournelle, by which Duthibaut was summoned before it, and obliged to listen bareheaded to a reprimand, to offer apologies, and to pay damages and costs. Having thus got the better of one enemy, Urbain turned on the others, and showed himself more indefatigable in the pursuit of justice than they had been in the pursuit of vengeance. The decision of the archbishop had given him a right to a sum of money for compensation, and interest thereon, as well as to the restitution of the revenues of his livings, and there being some demur made, he announced publicly that he intended to exact this reparation to the uttermost farthing, and set about collecting all the evidence which was necessary for the success of a new lawsuit for libel and forgery which he intended to begin. It was in vain that his friends assured him that the vindication of his innocence had been complete and brilliant, it was in vain that they tried to convince him of the danger of driving the vanquished to despair, Urbain replied that he was ready to endure all the persecutions which his enemies might succeed in inflicting on him, but as long as he felt that he had right upon his side he was incapable of drawing back. Grandier's adversaries soon became conscious of the storm which was gathering above their heads, and feeling that the struggle between themselves and this man would be one of life or death, Mignon, Barot, Meunier, Duthibaut, and Menuau met Trinquant at the village of Pindadane, in a house belonging to the latter, in order to consult about the dangers which threatened them. Mignon had, however, already begun to weave the threads of a new intrigue, which he explained in full to the others; they lent a favourable ear, and his plan was adopted. We shall see it unfold itself by degrees, for it is the basis of our narrative. We have already said that Mignon was the director of the convent of Ursulines at Loudun: Now the Ursuline order was quite modern, for the historic controversies to which the slightest mention of the martyrdom of St. Ursula and her eleven thousand virgins gave rise, had long hindered the foundation of an order in the saint's honour. However, in 1560 Madame Angele de Bresse established such an order in Italy, with the same rules as the Augustinian order. This gained the approbation of Pope Gregory XIII in 1572. In 1614, Madeleine Lhuillier, with the approval of Pope Paul V, introduced this order into France, by founding a convent at Paris, whence it rapidly spread over the whole kingdom, so-that in 1626, only six years before the time when the events just related took place, a sisterhood was founded in the little town of Loudun. Although this community at first consisted entirely of ladies of good family, daughters of nobles, officers, judges, and the better class of citizens, and numbered amongst its founders Jeanne de Belfield, daughter of the late Marquis of Cose, and relative of M. de Laubardemont, Mademoiselle de Fazili, cousin of the cardinal-duke, two ladies of the house of Barbenis de Nogaret, Madame de Lamothe, daughter of the Marquis Lamothe-Barace of Anjou, and Madame d'Escoubleau de Sourdis, of the same family as the Archbishop of Bordeaux, yet as these nuns had almost all entered the convent because of their want of fortune, the community found itself at the time of its establishment richer in blood than in money, and was obliged instead of building to purchase a private house. The owner of this house was a certain Moussaut du Frene, whose brother was a priest. This brother, therefore, naturally became the first director of these godly women. Less than a year after his appointment he died, and the directorship became vacant. The Ursulines had bought the house in which they lived much below its normal value, for it was regarded as a haunted house by all the town. The landlord had rightly thought that there was no better way of getting rid of the ghosts than to confront them with a religious sisterhood, the members of which, passing their days in fasting and prayer, would be hardly likely to have their nights disturbed by bad spirits; and in truth, during the year which they had already passed in the house, no ghost had ever put in an appearance--a fact which had greatly increased the reputation of the nuns for sanctity. When their director died, it so happened that the boarders took advantage of the occasion to indulge in some diversion at the expense of the older nuns, who were held in general detestation by the youth of the establishment on account of the rigour with which they enforced the rules of the order. Their plan was to raise once more those spirits which had been, as everyone supposed, permanently relegated to outer darkness. So noises began to be heard on the roof of the house, which resolved themselves into cries and groans; then growing bolder, the spirits entered the attics and garrets, announcing their presence by clanking of chains; at last they became so familiar that they invaded the dormitories, where they dragged the sheets off the sisters and abstracted their clothes. Great was the terror in the convent, and great the talk in the town, so that the mother superior called her wisest, nuns around her and asked them what, in their opinion, would be the best course to take in the delicate circumstances in which they found themselves. Without a dissentient voice, the conclusion arrived at was, that the late director should be immediately replaced by a man still holier than he, if such a man could be found, and whether because he possessed a reputation for sanctity, or for some other reason, their choice fell on Urbain Grandier. When the offer of the post was brought to him, he answered that he was already responsible for two important charges, and that he therefore had not enough time to watch over the snow-white flock which they wished to entrust to him, as a good shepherd should, and he recommended the lady superior to seek out another more worthy and less occupied than himself. This answer, as may be supposed, wounded the self-esteem of the sisters: they next turned their eyes towards Mignon, priest and canon of the collegiate church of Sainte-Croix, and he, although he felt deeply hurt that they had not thought first of him, accepted the position eagerly; but the recollection that Grandier had been preferred before himself kept awake in, him one of those bitter hatreds which time, instead of soothing, intensifies. From the foregoing narrative the reader can see to what this hate led. As soon as the new director was appointed, the mother superior confided to him the kind of foes which he would be expected to vanquish. Instead of comforting her by the assurance that no ghosts existing, it could not be ghosts who ran riot in the house, Mignon saw that by pretending to lay these phantoms he could acquire the reputation for holiness he so much desired. So he answered that the Holy Scriptures recognised the existence of ghosts by relating how the witch of Endor had made the shade of Samuel appear to Saul. He went on to say that the ritual of the Church possessed means of driving away all evil spirits, no matter how persistent they were, provided that he who undertook the task were pure in thought and deed, and that he hoped soon, by the help of God, to rid the convent of its nocturnal visitants, whereupon as a preparation for their expulsion he ordered a three days' fast, to be followed by a general confession. It does not require any great cleverness to understand how easily Mignon arrived at the truth by questioning the young penitents as they came before him. The boarders who had played at being ghosts confessed their folly, saying that they had been helped by a young novice of sixteen years of age, named Marie Aubin. She acknowledged that this was true; it was she who used to get up in the middle of the night, and open the dormitory door, which her more timid room-mates locked most carefully from within every night, before going to bed--a fact which greatly increased their terror when, despite their precautions, the ghosts still got in. Under pretext of not exposing them to the anger of the superior, whose suspicions would be sure to be awakened if the apparitions were to disappear immediately after the general confession, Mignon directed them to renew their nightly frolics from time to time, but at longer and longer intervals. He then sought an interview with the superior, and assured her that he had found the minds of all those under her charge so chaste and pure that he felt sure through his earnest prayers he would soon clear the convent of the spirits which now pervaded it. Everything happened as the director had foretold, and the reputation for sanctity of the holy man, who by watching and praying had delivered the worthy Ursulines from their ghostly assailants, increased enormously in the town of Loudun. CHAPTER III Hardly had tranquillity been restored when Mignon, Duthibaut, Menuau, Meunier, and Barot, having lost their cause before the Archbishop of Bordeaux, and finding themselves threatened by Grandier with a prosecution for libel and forgery, met together to consult as to the best means of defending themselves before the unbending severity of this man, who would, they felt, destroy them if they did not destroy him. The result of this consultation was that very shortly afterwards queer reports began to fly about; it was whispered that the ghosts whom the pious director had expelled had again invaded the convent, under an invisible and impalpable form, and that several of the nuns had given, by their words and acts, incontrovertible proofs of being possessed. When these reports were mentioned to Mignon, he, instead of denying their truth, cast up his eyes to heaven and said that God was certainly a great and merciful God, but it was also certain that Satan was very clever, especially when he was barked by that false human science called magic. However, as to the reports, though they were not entirely without foundation, he would not go so far as to say that any of the sisters were really possessed by devils, that being a question which time alone could decide. The effect of such an answer on minds already prepared to listen to the most impossible things, may easily be guessed. Mignon let the gossip go its rounds for several months without giving it any fresh food, but at length, when the time was ripe, he called on the priest of Saint-Jacques at Chinon, and told him that matters had now come to such a pass in the Ursuline convent that he felt it impossible to bear up alone under the responsibility of caring for the salvation of the afflicted nuns, and he begged him to accompany him to the convent. This priest, whose name was Pierre Barre, was exactly the man whom Mignon needed in such a crisis. He was of melancholy temperament, and dreamed dreams and saw visions; his one ambition was to gain a reputation for asceticism and holiness. Desiring to surround his visit with the solemnity befitting such an important event, he set out for Loudun at the head of all his parishioners, the whole procession going on foot, in order to arouse interest and curiosity; but this measure was quite needless it took less than that to set the town agog. While the faithful filled the churches offering up prayers for the success of the exorcisms, Mignon and Barre entered upon their task at the convent, where they remained shut up with the nuns for six hours. At the end of this time Barre appeared and announced to his parishioners that they might go back to Chinon without him, for he had made up his mind to remain for the present at Loudun, in order to aid the venerable director of the Ursuline convent in the holy work he had undertaken; he enjoined on them to pray morning and evening, with all possible fervour, that, in spite of the serious dangers by which it was surrounded, the good cause might finally triumph. This advice, unaccompanied as it was by any explanation, redoubled the curiosity of the people, and the belief gained ground that it was not merely one or two nuns who were possessed of devils, but the whole sisterhood. It was not very long before the name of the magician who had worked this wonder began to be mentioned quite openly: Satan, it was said, had drawn Urbain Grandier into his power, through his pride. Urbain had entered into a pact with the Evil Spirit by which he had sold him his soul in return for being made the most learned man on earth. Now, as Urbain's knowledge was much greater than that of the inhabitants of Loudun, this story gained general credence in the town, although here and there was to be found a man sufficiently enlightened to shrug his shoulders at these absurdities, and to laugh at the mummeries, of which as yet he saw only the ridiculous side. For the next ten or twelve days Mignon and Barre spent the greater part of their time at the convent; sometimes remaining there for six hours at a stretch, sometimes the entire day. At length, on Monday, the 11th of October, 1632, they wrote to the priest of Venier, to Messire Guillaume Cerisay de la Gueriniere, bailiff of the Loudenois, and to Messire Louis Chauvet, civil lieutenant, begging them to visit the Ursuline convent, in order to examine two nuns who were possessed by evil spirits, and to verify the strange and almost incredible manifestations of this possession. Being thus formally appealed to, the two magistrates could not avoid compliance with the request. It must be confessed that they were not free from curiosity, and felt far from sorry at being able to get to the bottom of the mystery of which for some time the whole town was talking. They repaired, therefore, to the convent, intending to make a thorough investigation as to the reality of the possession and as to the efficacy of the exorcisms employed. Should they judge that the nuns were really possessed, and that those who tried to deliver them were in earnest, they would authorise the continuation of the efforts at exorcism; but if they were not satisfied on these two points, they would soon put an end to the whole thing as a comedy. When they reached the door, Mignon, wearing alb and stole, came to meet them. He told them that the feelings of the nuns had for more than two weeks been harrowed by the apparition of spectres and other blood-curdling visions, that the mother superior and two nuns had evidently been possessed by evil spirits for over a week; that owing to the efforts of Barre and same Carmelite friars who were good enough to assist him against their common enemies, the devils had been temporarily driven out, but on the previous Sunday night, the 10th of October, the mother superior, Jeanne de Belfield, whose conventual name was Jeanne des Anges, and a lay sister called Jeanne Dumagnoux, had again been entered into by the same spirits. It had, however, been discovered by means of exorcisms that a new compact, of which the symbol and token was a bunch of roses, had been concluded, the symbol and token of the first having been three black thorns. He added that during the time of the first possession the demons had refused to give their names, but by the power of his exorcisms this reluctance had been overcome, the spirit which had resumed possession of the mother superior having at length revealed that its name was Ashtaroth, one of the greatest enemies of God, while the devil which had entered into the lay sister was of a lower order, and was called Sabulon. Unfortunately, continued Mignon, just now the two afflicted nuns were resting, and he requested the bailiff and the civil lieutenant to put off their inspection till a little later. The two magistrates were just about to go away, when a nun appeared, saying that the devils were again doing their worst with the two into whom they had entered. Consequently, they accompanied Mignon and the priest from Venier to an upper room, in which were seven narrow beds, of which two only were occupied, one by the mother superior and the other by the lay sister. The superior, who was the more thoroughly possessed of the two, was surrounded by the Carmelite monks, the sisters belonging to the convent, Mathurin Rousseau, priest and canon of Sainte-Croix, and Mannouri, a surgeon from the town. No sooner did the two magistrates join the others than the superior was seized with violent convulsions, writhing and uttering squeals in exact imitation of a sucking pig. The two magistrates looked on in profound astonishment, which was greatly increased when they saw the patient now bury herself in her bed, now spring right out of it, the whole performance being accompanied by such diabolical gestures and grimaces that, if they were not quite convinced that the possession was genuine, they were at least filled with admiration of the manner in which it was simulated. Mignon next informed the bailiff and the civil lieutenant, that although the superior had never learned Latin she would reply in that language to all the questions addressed to her, if such were their desire. The magistrates answered that as they were there in order to examine thoroughly into the facts of the case, they begged the exorcists to give them every possible proof that the possession was real. Upon this, Mignon approached the mother superior, and, having ordered everyone to be silent, placed two of his fingers in her mouth, and, having gone through the form of exorcism prescribed by the ritual, he asked the following questions word for word as they are given, D. Why have you entered into the body of this young girl? R. Causa animositatis. Out of enmity. D. Per quod pactum? By what pact? R. Per flores. By flowers. D. Quales? What flowers? R. Rosas. Roses. D. Quis misfit? By whom wert thou sent? At this question the magistrates remarked that the superior hesitated to reply; twice she opened her mouth in vain, but the third time she said in a weak voice-- D. Dic cognomen? What is his surname? R. Urbanus. Urbain. Here there was again the same hesitation, but as if impelled by the will of the exorcist she answered-- R. Grandier. Grandier. D. Dic qualitatem? What is his profession? R. Sacerdos. A priest. D. Cujus ecclesiae? Of what church? R. Sancti Petri. Saint-Pierre. D. Quae persona attulit flores? Who brought the flowers? R. Diabolica. Someone sent by the devil. As the patient pronounced the last word she recovered her senses, and having repeated a prayer, attempted to swallow a morsel of bread which was offered her; she was, however, obliged to spit it out, saying it was so dry she could not get it down. Something more liquid was then brought, but even of that she could swallow very little, as she fell into convulsions every few minutes. Upon this the two officials, seeing there was nothing more to be got out of the superior, withdrew to one of the window recesses and began to converse in a low tone; whereupon Mignon, who feared that they had not been sufficiently impressed, followed them, and drew their attention to the fact that there was much in what they had just seen to recall the case of Gaufredi, who had been put to death a few years before in consequence of a decree of the Parliament of Aix, in Provence. This ill-judged remark of Mignon showed so clearly what his aim was that the magistrates made no reply. The civil lieutenant remarked that he had been surprised that Mignon had not made any attempt to find out the cause of the enmity of which the superior had spoken, and which it was so important to find out; but Mignon excused himself by saying that he had no right to put questions merely to gratify curiosity. The civil lieutenant was about to insist on the matter being investigated, when the lay sister in her turn went into a fit, thus extricating Mignon from his embarrassment. The magistrates approached the lay sister's bed at once, and directed Mignon to put the same questions to her as to the superior: he did so, but all in vain; all she would reply was, "To the other! To the other!" Mignon explained this refusal to answer by saying that the evil spirit which was in her was of an inferior order, and referred all questioners to Ashtaroth, who was his superior. As this was the only explanation, good or bad, offered them by Mignon, the magistrates went away, and drew up a report of all they had seen and heard without comment, merely appending their signatures. But in the town very few people showed the same discretion and reticence as the magistrates. The bigoted believed, the hypocrites pretended to believe; and the worldly-minded, who were numerous, discussed the doctrine of possession in all its phases, and made no secret of their own entire incredulity. They wondered, and not without reason it must be confessed, what had induced the devils to go out of the nuns' bodies for two days only, and then come back and resume possession, to the confusion of the exorcists; further, they wanted to know why the mother superior's devil spoke Latin, while the lay sister's was ignorant of that tongue; for a mere difference of rank in the hierarchy of hell did not seem a sufficient explanation of such a difference in education; Mignon's refusal to go on with his interrogations as to the cause of the enmity made them, they said, suspect that, knowing he had reached the end of Ashtaroth's classical knowledge, he felt it useless to try to continue the dialogue in the Ciceronian idiom. Moreover, it was well known that only a few days before all Urbain's worst enemies had met in conclave in the village of Puidardane; and besides, how stupidly Mignon had shown his hand by mentioning Gaufredi, the priest who had been executed at Aix: lastly, why had not a desire for impartiality been shown by calling in other than Carmelite monks to be present at the exorcism, that order having a private quarrel with Grandier? It must be admitted that this way of looking at the case was not wanting in shrewdness. On the following day, October 12th, the bailiff and the civil lieutenant, having heard that exorcisms had been again tried without their having been informed beforehand, requested a certain Canon Rousseau to accompany them, and set out with him and their clerk for the convent. On arriving, they asked for Mignon, and on his appearance they told him that this matter of exorcism was of such importance that no further steps were to be taken in it without the authorities being present, and that in future they were to be given timely notice of every attempt to get rid of the evil spirits. They added that this was all the more necessary as Mignon's position as director of the sisterhood and his well-known hate for Grandier would draw suspicions on him unworthy of his cloth, suspicions which he ought to be the first to wish to see dissipated, and that quickly; and that, therefore, the work which he had so piously begun would be completed by exorcists appointed by the court. Mignon replied that, though he had not the slightest objection to the magistrates being present at all the exorcisms, yet he could not promise that the spirits would reply to anyone except himself and Barre. Just at that moment Barre came on the scene, paler and more gloomy than ever, and speaking with the air of a man whose word no one could help believing, he announced that before their arrival some most extraordinary things had taken place. The magistrates asked what things, and Barre replied that he had learned from the mother superior that she was possessed, not by one, but by seven devils, of whom Ashtaroth was the chief; that Grandier had entrusted his pact with the devil, under the symbol of a bunch of roses, to a certain Jean Pivart, to give to a girl who had introduced it into the convent garden by throwing it over the wall; that this took place in the night between Saturday and Sunday "hora secunda nocturna" (two hours after midnight); that those were the very words the superior had used, but that while she readily named Pivart, she absolutely refused to give the name of the girl; that on asking what Pivart was; she had replied, "Pauper magus" (a poor magician); that he then had pressed her as to the word magus, and that she had replied "Magicianus et civis" (magician and citizen); and that just as she said those words the magistrates had arrived, and he had asked no more questions. The two officials listened to this information with the seriousness befitting men entrusted with high judicial functions, and announced to the two priests that they proposed to visit the possessed women and witness for themselves the miracles that were taking place. The clerics offered no opposition, but said they feared that the devils were fatigued and would refuse to reply; and, in fact, when the officials reached the sickroom the two patients appeared to have regained some degree of calm. Mignon took advantage of this quiet moment to say mass, to which the two magistrates listened devoutly and tranquilly, and while the sacrifice was being offered the demons did not dare to move. It was expected that they would offer some opposition at the elevation of the Host, but everything passed off without disturbance, only the lay sister's hands and feet twitched a great deal; and this was the only fact which the magistrates thought worthy of mention in their report for that morning. Barre assured them, however, that if they would return about three o'clock the devils would probably have recovered sufficiently from their fatigue to give a second performance. As the two gentlemen had determined to see the affair to the end, they returned to the convent at the hour named, accompanied by Messire Irenee de Sainte-Marthe, sieur Deshurneaux; and found the room in which the possessed were lying full of curious spectators; for the exorcists had been true prophets--the devils were at work again. The superior, as always, was the more tormented of the two, as was only to be expected, she having seven devils in her all at once; she was terribly convulsed, and was writhing and foaming at the mouth as if she were mad. No one could long continue in such a condition without serious injury to health; Barre therefore asked the devil-in-chief how soon he would come out. "Cras mane" (To-morrow morning), he replied. The exorcist then tried to hurry him, asking him why he would not come out at once; whereupon the superior murmured the word "Pactum" (A pact); and then "Sacerdos" (A priest), and finally "Finis," or "Finit," for even those nearest could not catch the word distinctly, as the devil, afraid doubtless of perpetrating a barbarism, spoke through the nun's closely clenched teeth. This being all decidedly unsatisfying, the magistrates insisted that the examination should continue, but the devils had again exhausted themselves, and refused to utter another word. The priest even tried touching the superior's head with the pyx, while prayers and litanies were recited, but it was all in vain, except that some of the spectators thought that the contortions of the patient became more violent when the intercessions of certain saints were invoked, as for instance Saints Augustine Jerome, Antony, and Mary Magdalene. Barre next directed the mother superior to dedicate her heart and soul to God, which she did without difficulty; but when he commanded her to dedicate her body also, the chief devil indicated by fresh convulsions that he was not going to allow himself to be deprived of a domicile without resistance, and made those who had heard him say that he would leave the next morning feel that he had only said so under compulsion; and their curiosity as to the result became heightened. At length, however, despite the obstinate resistance of the demon, the superior succeeded in dedicating her body also to God, and thus victorious her features resumed their usual expression, and smiling as if nothing had happened, she turned to Barre and said that there was no vestige of Satan left in her. The civil lieutenant then asked her if she remembered the questions she had been asked and the answers she had given, but she replied that she remembered nothing; but afterwards, having taken some refreshment, she said to those around her that she recollected perfectly how the first possession, over which Mignon had triumphed, had taken place: one evening about ten o'clock, while several nuns were still in her room, although she was already in bed, it seemed to her that someone took her hand and laid something in it, closing her fingers; at that instant she felt a sharp pain as if she had been pricked by three pins, and hearing her scream, the nuns came to her bedside to ask what ailed her. She held out her hand, and they found three black thorns sticking in it, each having made a tiny wound. Just as she had told this tale, the lay sister, as if to prevent all commentary, was seized with convulsions, and Barre recommenced his prayers and exorcisms, but was soon interrupted by shrieks; for one of the persons present had seen a black cat come down the chimney and disappear. Instantly everyone concluded it must be the devil, and began to seek it out. It was not without great difficulty that it was caught; for, terrified at the sight of so many people and at the noise, the poor animal had sought refuge under a canopy; but at last it was secured and carried to the superior's bedside, where Barre began his exorcisms once more, covering the cat with signs of the cross, and adjuring the devil to take his true shape. Suddenly the 'touriere', (the woman who received the tradespeople,) came forward, declaring the supposed devil to be only her cat, and she immediately took possession of it, lest some harm should happen to it. The gathering had been just about to separate, but Barry fearing that the incident of the cat might throw a ridiculous light upon the evil spirits, resolved to awake once more a salutary terror by announcing that he was going to burn the flowers through which the second spell had been made to work. Producing a bunch of white roses, already faded, he ordered a lighted brazier to be brought. He then threw the flowers on the glowing charcoal, and to the general astonishment they were consumed without any visible effect: the heavens still smiled, no peal of thunder was heard, and no unpleasant odour diffused itself through the room. Barre feeling that the baldness of this act of destruction had had a bad effect, predicted that the morrow would bring forth wondrous things; that the chief devil would speak more distinctly than hitherto; that he would leave the body of the superior, giving such clear signs of his passage that no one would dare to doubt any longer that it was a case of genuine possession. Thereupon the criminal lieutenant, Henri Herve, who had been present during the exorcism, said they must seize upon the moment of his exit to ask about Pivart, who was unknown at Loudun, although everyone who lived there knew everybody else. Barre replied in Latin, "Et hoc dicet epuellam nominabit" (He will not only tell about him, but he will also name the young girl). The young girl whom the devil was to name was, it may be recollected, she who had introduced the flowers into the convent, and whose name the demon until now had absolutely refused to give. On the strength of these promises everyone went home to await the morrow with impatience. CHAPTER IV That evening Grandier asked the bailiff for an audience. At first he had made fun of the exorcisms, for the story had been so badly concocted, and the accusations were so glaringly improbable, that he had not felt the least anxiety. But as the case went on it assumed such an important aspect, and the hatred displayed by his enemies was so intense, that the fate of the priest Gaufredi, referred to by Mignon, occurred to Urbain's mind, and in order to be beforehand with his enemies he determined to lodge a complaint against them. This complaint was founded on the fact that Mignon had performed the rite of exorcism in the presence of the civil lieutenant, the bailiff, and many other persons, and had caused the nuns who were said to be possessed, in the hearing of all these people, to name him, Urbain, as the author of their possession. This being a falsehood and an attack upon his honour, he begged the bailiff, in whose hands the conduct of the affair had been specially placed, to order the nuns to be sequestered, apart from the rest of the sisterhood and from each other, and then to have each separately examined. Should there appear to be any evidence of possession, he hoped that the bailiff would be pleased to appoint clerics of well-known rank and upright character to perform whatever exorcisms were needful; such men having no bias against him would be more impartial than Mignon and his adherents. He also called upon the bailiff to have an exact report drawn up of everything that took place at the exorcisms, in order that, if necessary, he as petitioner might be able to lay it before anyone to whose judgment he might appeal. The bailiff gave Grandier a statement of the conclusions at which he had arrived, and told him that the exorcisms had been performed that day by Barre, armed with the authority of the Bishop of Poitiers himself. Being, as we have seen, a man of common sense and entirely unprejudiced in the matter, the bailiff advised Grandier to lay his complaint before his bishop; but unfortunately he was under the authority of the Bishop of Poitiers, who was so prejudiced against him that he had done everything in his power to induce the Archbishop of Bordeaux to refuse to ratify the decision in favour of Grandier, pronounced by the presidial court. Urbain could not hide from the magistrate that he had nothing to hope for from this quarter, and it was decided that he should wait and see what the morrow would bring forth, before taking any further step. The impatiently expected day dawned at last, and at eight o'clock in the morning the bailiff, the king's attorney, the civil lieutenant, the criminal lieutenant, and the provost's lieutenant, with their respective clerks, were already at the convent. They found the outer gate open, but the inner door shut. In a few moments Mignon came to them and brought them into a waiting-room. There he told them that the nuns were preparing for communion, and that he would be very much obliged to them if they would withdraw and wait in a house across the street, just opposite the convent, and that he would send them word when they could come back. The magistrates, having first informed Mignon of Urbain's petition, retired as requested. An hour passed, and as Mignon did not summon them, in spite of his promise, they all went together to the convent chapel, where they were told the exorcisms were already over. The nuns had quitted the choir, and Mignon and Barre came to the grating and told them that they had just completed the rite, and that, thanks to their conjurations, the two afflicted ones were now quite free from evil spirits. They went on to say that they had been working together at the exorcism from seven o'clock in the morning, and that great wonders, of which they had drawn up an account, had come to pass; but they had considered it would not be proper to allow any one else to be present during the ceremony besides the exorcists and the possessed. The bailiff pointed out that their manner of proceedings was not only illegal, but that it laid them under suspicion of fraud and collusion, in the eyes of the impartial: Moreover, as the superior had accused Grandier publicly, she was bound to renew and prove her accusation also publicly, and not in secret; furthermore, it was a great piece of insolence on the part of the exorcists to invite people of their standing and character to come to the convent, and having kept them waiting an hour, to tell them that they considered them unworthy to be admitted to the ceremony which they had been requested to attend; and he wound up by saying that he would draw up a report, as he had already done on each of the preceding days, setting forth the extraordinary discrepancy between their promises and their performance. Mignon replied that he and Barre had had only one thing in view, viz. the expulsion of the demons, and that in that they had succeeded, and that their success would be of great benefit to the holy Catholic faith, for they had got the demons so thoroughly into their power that they had been able to command them to produce within a week miraculous proofs of the spells cast on the nuns by Urbain Grandier and their wonderful deliverance therefrom; so that in future no one would be able to doubt as to the reality of the possession. Thereupon the magistrates drew up a report of all that had happened, and of what Barre and Mignon had said. This was signed by all the officials present, except the criminal lieutenant, who declared that, having perfect confidence in the statements of the exorcists, he was anxious to do nothing to increase the doubting spirit which was unhappily so prevalent among the worldly. The same day the bailiff secretly warned Urbain of the refusal of the criminal lieutenant to join with the others in signing the report, and almost at the same moment he learned that the cause of his adversaries was strengthened by the adhesion of a certain Messire Rene Memin, seigneur de Silly, and prefect of the town. This gentleman was held in great esteem not only on account of his wealth and the many offices which he filled, but above all on account of his powerful friends, among whom was the cardinal-duke himself, to whom he had formerly been of use when the cardinal was only a prior. The character of the conspiracy had now become so alarming that Grandier felt it was time to oppose it with all his strength. Recalling his conversation with the bailiff the preceding day, during which he had advised him to lay his complaint before the Bishop of Poitiers, he set out, accompanied by a priest of Loudun, named Jean Buron, for the prelate's country house at Dissay. The bishop, anticipating his visit, had already given his orders, and Grandier was met by Dupuis, the intendant of the palace, who, in reply to Grandier's request to see the bishop, told him that his lordship was ill. Urbain next addressed himself to the bishop's chaplain, and begged him to inform the prelate that his object in coming was to lay before him the official reports which the magistrates had drawn up of the events which had taken place at the Ursuline convent, and to lodge a complaint as to the slanders and accusations of which he was the victim. Grandier spoke so urgently that the chaplain could not refuse to carry his message; he returned, however, in a few moments, and told Grandier, in the presence of Dupuis, Buron, and a certain sieur Labrasse, that the bishop advised him to take his case to the royal judges, and that he earnestly hoped he would obtain justice from them. Grandier perceived that the bishop had been warned against him, and felt that he was becoming more and more entangled in the net of conspiracy around him; but he was not a man to flinch before any danger. He therefore returned immediately to Loudun, and went once more to the bailiff, to whom he related all that had happened at Dissay; he then, a second time, made a formal complaint as to the slanders circulated with regard to him, and begged the magistrates to have recourse to the king's courts in the business. He also said that he desired to be placed under the protection of the king and his justice, as the accusations made against him were aimed at his honour and his life. The bailiff hastened to make out a certificate of Urbain's protest, which forbade at the same time the repetition of the slanders or the infliction on Urbain of any injury. Thanks to this document, a change of parts took place: Mignon, the accuser, became the accused. Feeling that he had powerful support behind him, he had the audacity to appear before the bailiff the same day. He said that he did not acknowledge his jurisdiction, as in what concerned Grandier and himself, they being both priests, they could only be judged by their bishop; he nevertheless protested against the complaint lodged by Grandier, which characterised him as a slanderer, and declared that he was ready to give himself up as a prisoner, in order to show everyone that he did not fear the result of any inquiry. Furthermore, he had taken an oath on the sacred elements the day before, in the presence of his parishioners who had come to mass, that in all he had hitherto done he had been moved, not by hatred of Grandier, but by love of the truth, and by his desire for the triumph of the Catholic faith; and he insisted that the bailiff should give him a certificate of his declaration, and served notice of the same on Grandier that very day. CHAPTER V Since October 13th, the day on which the demons had been expelled, life at the convent seemed to have returned to its usual quiet; but Grandier did not let himself be lulled to sleep by the calm: he knew those with whom he was contending too well to imagine for an instant that he would hear no more of them; and when the bailiff expressed pleasure at this interval of repose, Grandier said that it would not last long, as the nuns were only conning new parts, in order to carry on the drama in a more effective manner than ever. And in fact, on November 22nd, Rene Mannouri, surgeon to the convent, was sent to one of his colleagues, named Gaspard Joubert, to beg him to come, bringing some of the physicians of the town with him, to visit the two sisters, who were again tormented by evil spirits. Mannouri, however, had gone to the wrong man, for Joubert had a frank and loyal character, and hated everything that was underhand. Being determined to take no part in the business, except in a public and judicial manner, he applied at once to the bailiff to know if it was by his orders that he was called in. The bailiff said it was not, and summoned Mannouri before him to ask him by whose authority he had sent for Joubert. Mannouri declared that the 'touriere' had run in a fright to his house, saying that the nuns had never been worse possessed than now, and that the director, Mignon, begged him to come at once to the convent, bringing with him all the doctors he could find. The bailiff, seeing that fresh plots against Grandier were being formed, sent for him and warned him that Barre had come over from Chinon the day before, and had resumed his exorcisms at the convent, adding that it was currently reported in the town that the mother superior and Sister Claire were again tormented by devils. The news neither astonished nor discouraged Grandier, who replied, with his usual smile of disdain, that it was evident his enemies were hatching new plots against him, and that as he had instituted proceedings against them for the former ones, he would take the same course with regard to these. At the same time, knowing how impartial the bailiff was, he begged him to accompany the doctors and officials to the convent, and to be present at the exorcisms, and should any sign of real possession manifest itself, to sequester the afflicted nuns at once, and cause them to be examined by other persons than Mignon and Barre, whom he had such good cause to distrust. The bailiff wrote to the king's attorney, who, notwithstanding his bias against Grandier, was forced to see that the conclusions arrived at were correct, and having certified this in writing, he at once sent his clerk to the convent to inquire if the superior were still possessed. In case of an affirmative reply being given, the clerk had instructions to warn Mignon and Barre that they were not to undertake exorcisms unless in presence of the bailiff and of such officials and doctors as he might choose to bring with him, and that they would disobey at their peril; he was also to tell them that Grandier's demands to have the nuns sequestered and other exorcists called in were granted. Mignon and Barre listened while the clerk read his instructions, and then said they refused to recognise the jurisdiction of the bailiff in this case; that they had been summoned by the mother superior and Sister Claire when their strange illness returned, an illness which they were convinced was nothing else than possession by evil spirits; that they had hitherto carried out their exorcisms under the authority of a commission given them by the Bishop of Poitiers; and as the time for which they had permission had not yet expired; they would continue to exorcise as often as might be necessary. They had, however, given notice to the worthy prelate of what was going on, in order that he might either come himself or send other exorcists as best suited him, so that a valid opinion as to the reality, of the possession might be procured, for up to the present the worldly and unbelieving had taken upon themselves to declare in an off-hand manner that the whole affair was a mixture of fraud and delusion, in contempt of the glory of God and the Catholic religion. As to the rest of the message, they would not, in any way prevent the bailiff and the other officials, with as many medical men as they chose to bring, from seeing the nuns, at least until they heard from the bishop, from whom they expected a letter next day. But it was for the nuns themselves to say whether it was convenient for them to receive visitors; as far as concerned themselves, they desired to renew their protest, and declared they could not accept the bailiff as their judge, and did not think that it could be legal for them to refuse to obey a command from their ecclesiastical superiors, whether with relation to exorcism or any other thing of which the ecclesiastical courts properly took cognisance. The clerk brought this answer to the bailiff, and he, thinking it was better to wait for the arrival of the bishop or of fresh orders from him, put off his visit to the convent until the next day. But the next day came without anything being heard of the prelate himself or of a messenger from him. Early in the morning the bailiff went to the convent, but was not admitted; he then waited patiently until noon, and seeing that no news had arrived from Dissay, and that the convent gates were still closed against him, he granted a second petition of Grandier's, to the effect that Byre and Mignon should be prohibited from questioning the superior and the other nuns in a manner tending to blacken the character of the petitioner or any other person. Notice of this prohibition was served the same day on Barre and on one nun chosen to represent the community. Barre did not pay the slightest attention to this notice, but kept on asserting that the bailiff had no right to prevent his obeying the commands of his bishop, and declaring that henceforward he would perform all exorcisms solely under ecclesiastical sanction, without any reference to lay persons, whose unbelief and impatience impaired the solemnity with which such rites should be conducted. The best part of the day having gone over without any sign of either bishop or messenger, Grandier presented a new petition to the bailiff. The bailiff at once summoned all the officers of the bailiwick and the attorneys of the king, in order to lay it before them; but the king's attorneys refused to consider the matter, declaring upon their honour that although they did not accuse Grandier of being the cause, yet they believed that the nuns were veritably possessed, being convinced by the testimony of the devout ecclesiastics in whose presence the evil spirits had come out. This was only the ostensible reason for their refusal, the real one being that the advocate was a relation of Mignon's, and the attorney a son-in-law of Trinquant's, to whose office he had succeeded. Thus Grandier, against whom were all the ecclesiastical judges, began to feel as if he were condemned beforehand by the judges of the royal courts, for he knew how very short was the interval between the recognition of the possession as a fact and the recognition of himself as its author. Nevertheless, in spite of the formal declarations of the king's advocate and attorney, the bailiff ordered the superior and the lay sister to be removed to houses in town, each to be accompanied by a nun as companion. During their absence from the convent they were to be looked after by exorcists, by women of high character and position, as well as by physicians and attendants, all of whom he himself would appoint, all others being forbidden access to the nuns without his permission. The clerk was again sent to the convent with a copy of this decision, but the superior having listened to the reading of the document, answered that in her own name and that of the sisterhood she refused to recognise the jurisdiction of the bailiff; that she had already received directions from the Bishop of Poitiers, dated 18th November, explaining the measures which were to be taken in the matter, and she would gladly send a copy of these directions to the bailiff, to prevent his pleading ignorance of them; furthermore, she demurred to the order for her removal, having vowed to live always secluded in a convent, and that no one could dispense her from this vow but the bishop. This protest having been made in the presence of Madame de Charnisay, aunt of two of the nuns, and Surgeon Mannouri, who was related to another, they both united in drawing up a protest against violence, in case the bailiff should insist on having his orders carried out, declaring that, should he make the attempt, they would resist him, as if he were a mere private individual. This document being duly signed and witnessed was immediately sent to the bailiff by the hand of his own clerk, whereupon the bailiff ordered that preparations should be made with regard to the sequestration, and announced that the next day, the 24th November, he would repair to the convent and be present at the exorcisms. The next day accordingly, at the appointed hour, the bailiff summoned Daniel Roger, Vincent de Faux, Gaspard Joubert, and Matthieu Fanson, all four physicians, to his presence, and acquainting them with his reasons for having called them, asked them to accompany him to the convent to examine, with the most scrupulous impartiality, two nuns whom he would point out, in order to discover if their illness were feigned, or arose from natural or supernatural causes. Having thus instructed them as to his wishes, they all set out for the convent. They were shown into the chapel and placed close to the altar, being separated by a grating from the choir, in which the nuns who sang usually sat. In a few moments the superior was carried in on a small bed, which was laid down before the grating. Barre then said mass, during which the superior went into violent convulsions. She threw her arms about, her fingers were clenched, her cheeks enormously inflated, and her eyes turned up so that only the whites could be seen. The mass finished, Barre approached her to administer the holy communion and to commence the exorcism. Holding the holy wafer in his hand, he said-- "Adora Deum tuum, creatorem tuum" (Adore God, thy Creator). The superior hesitated, as if she found great difficulty in making this act of love, but at length she said-- "Adoro te" (I adore Thee). "Quem adoras?" (Whom dost thou adore?) "Jesus Christus" (Jesus Christ), answered the nun, quite unconscious that the verb adorn governs accusative. This mistake, which no sixth-form boy would make, gave rise to bursts of laughter in the church; and Daniel Douin, the provost's assessor, was constrained to say aloud-- "There's a devil for you, who does not know much about transitive verbs." Barre perceiving the bad impression that the superior's nominative had made, hastened to ask her-- "Quis est iste quem adoras?" (Who is it whom thou dost adore?) His hope was that she would again reply "Jesus Christus," but he was disappointed. "Jesu Christe," was her answer. Renewed shouts of laughter greeted this infraction of one of the most elementary rules of syntax, and several of those present exclaimed: "Oh, your reverence, what very poor Latin!" Barre pretended not to hear, and next asked what was the name of the demon who had taken possession of her. The poor superior, who was greatly confused by the unexpected effect of her last two answers, could not speak for a long time; but at length with great trouble she brought out the name Asmodee, without daring to latinise it. The exorcist then inquired how many devils the superior had in her body, and to this question she replied quite fluently: "Sex" (Six). The bailiff upon this requested Barre to ask the chief devil how many evil spirits he had with him. But the need for this answer had been foreseen, and the nun unhesitatingly returned-- "Quinque" (Five). This answer raised Asmodee somewhat in the opinion of those present; but when the bailiff adjured the superior to repeat in Greek what she had just said in Latin she made no reply, and on the adjuration being renewed she immediately recovered her senses. The examination of the superior being thus cut short, a little nun who appeared for the first time in public was brought forward. She began by twice pronouncing the name of Grandier with a loud laugh; then turning to the bystanders, called out-- "For all your number, you can do nothing worth while." As it was easy to see that nothing of importance was to be expected from this new patient, she was soon suppressed, and her place taken by the lay sister Claire who had already made her debut in the mother superior's room. Hardly had she entered the choir than she uttered a groan, but as soon as they placed her on the little bed on which the other nuns had lain, she gave way to uncontrollable laughter, and cried out between the paroxysms-- "Grandier, Grandier, you must buy some at the market." Barre at once declared that these wild and whirling words were a proof of possession, and approached to exorcise the demon; but Sister Claire resisted, and pretending to spit in the face of the exorcist, put out her tongue at him, making indecent gestures, using a word in harmony with her actions. This word being in the vernacular was understood by everyone and required no interpretation. The exorcist then conjured her to give the name of the demon who was in her, and she replied-- "Grandier." But Barre by repeating his question gave her to understand that she had made a mistake, whereupon she corrected herself and said-- "Elimi." Nothing in the world could induce her to reveal the number of evil spirits by whom Elimi was accompanied, so that Barre, seeing that it was useless to press her on this point, passed on to the next question. "Quo pacto ingressus est daemon" (By what pact did the demon get in?). "Duplex" (Double), returned Sister Claire. This horror of the ablative, when the ablative was absolutely necessary, aroused once more the hilarity of the audience, and proved that Sister Claire's devil was just as poor a Latin scholar as the superior's, and Barre, fearing some new linguistic eccentricity on the part of the evil spirit, adjourned the meeting to another day. The paucity of learning shown in the answers of the nuns being sufficient to convince any fairminded person that the whole affair was a ridiculous comedy, the bailiff felt encouraged to persevere until he had unravelled the whole plot. Consequently, at three o'clock in the afternoon, he returned to the convent, accompanied by his clerk, by several magistrates, and by a considerable number of the best known people of Loudun, and asked to see the superior. Being admitted, he announced to Barre that he had come to insist on the superior being separated from Sister Claire, so that each could be exorcised apart. Barre dared not refuse before such a great number of witnesses, therefore the superior was isolated and the exorcisms begun all over again. Instantly the convulsions returned, just as in the morning, only that now she twisted her feet into the form of hooks, which was a new accomplishment. Having adjured her several times, the exorcist succeeded in making her repeat some prayers, and then sounded her as to the name and number of the demons in possession, whereupon she said three times that there was one called Achaos. The bailiff then directed Barre to ask if she were possessed 'ex pacto magi, aut ex Aura voluntate Dei' (by a pact with a sorcerer or by the pure will of God), to which the superior answered, "Non est voluntas Dei" (Not by the will of God). Upon this, Barre dreading more questions from the bystanders, hastily resumed his own catechism by asking who was the sorcerer. "Urbanus," answered the superior. "Est-ne Urbanus papa" (Is it Pope Urban?), asked the exorcist. "Grandier," replied the superior. "Quare ingressus es in corpus hujus puellae" (Why did you enter the body of this maiden?), said Barre. "Propter praesentiam tuum" (Because of your presence), answered the superior. At this point the bailiff, seeing no reason why the dialogue between Barre and the superior should ever come to an end, interposed and demanded that questions suggested by him and the other officials present should be put to the superior, promising that if she answered three of four such questions correctly, he, and those with him, would believe in the reality of the possession, and would certify to that effect. Barre accepted the challenge, but unluckily just at that moment the superior regained consciousness, and as it was already late, everyone retired. CHAPTER VI The next day, November 25th, the bailiff and the majority of the officers of the two jurisdictions came to the convent once more, and were all conducted to the choir. In a few moments the curtains behind the grating were drawn back, and the superior, lying on her bed, came to view. Barre began, as usual, by the celebration of mass, during which the superior was seized with convulsions, and exclaimed two or three times, "Grandier! Grandier! false priest!" When the mass was over, the celebrant went behind the grating, carrying the pyx; then, placing it on his head and holding it there, he protested that in all he was doing he was actuated by the purest motives and the highest integrity; that he had no desire to harm anyone on earth; and he adjured God to strike him dead if he had been guilty of any bad action or collusion, or had instigated the nuns to any deceit during the investigation. The prior of the Carmelites next advanced and made the same declaration, taking the oath in the same manner, holding the pyx over his head; and further calling down on himself and his brethren the curse of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram if they had sinned during this inquiry. These protestations did not, however, produce the salutary effect intended, some of those present saying aloud that such oaths smacked of sacrilege. Barre hearing the murmurs, hastened to begin the exorcisms, first advancing to the superior to offer her the holy sacrament: but as soon as she caught sight of him she became terribly convulsed, and attempted to drag the pyx from his hands. Barre, however, by pronouncing the sacred words, overcame the repulsion of the superior, and succeeded in placing the wafer in her mouth; she, however, pushed it out again with her tongue, as if it made her sick; Barge caught it in his fingers and gave it to her again, at the same time forbidding the demon to make her vomit, and this time she succeeded in partly swallowing the sacred morsel, but complained that it stuck in her throat. At last, in order to get it down, Barge three times gave her water to drink; and then, as always during his exorcisms, he began by interrogating the demon. "Per quod pactum ingressus es in corpus hujus puellae?" (By what pact didst thou enter the body of this maiden?) "Aqua" ( By water), said the superior. One of those who had accompanied the bailiff was a Scotchman called Stracan, the head of the Reformed College of Loudun. Hearing this answer, he called on the demon to translate aqua into Gaelic, saying if he gave this proof of having those linguistic attainments which all bad spirits possess, he and those with him would be convinced that the possession was genuine and no deception. Barre, without being in the least taken aback, replied that he would make the demon say it if God permitted, and ordered the spirit to answer in Gaelic. But though he repeated his command twice, it was not obeyed; on the third repetition the superior said-- "Nimia curiositas" (Too much curiosity), and on being asked again, said-- "Deus non volo." This time the poor devil went astray in his conjugation, and confusing the first with the third person, said, "God, I do not wish," which in the context had no meaning. "God does not wish," being the appointed answer. The Scotchman laughed heartily at this nonsense, and proposed to Barre to let his devil enter into competition with the boys of his seventh form; but Barre, instead of frankly accepting the challenge in the devil's name, hemmed and hawed, and opined that the devil was justified in not satisfying idle curiosity. "But, sir, you must be aware," said the civil lieutenant, "and if you are not, the manual you hold in your hand will teach you, that the gift of tongues is one of the unfailing symptoms of true possession, and the power to tell what is happening at a distance another." "Sir," returned Barre, "the devil knows the language very well, but, does not wish to speak it; he also knows all your sins, in proof of which, if you so desire, I shall order him to give the list." "I shall be delighted to hear it," said the civil lieutenant; "be so good as to try the experiment." Barre was about to approach the superior, when he was held back by the bailiff, who remonstrated with him on the impropriety of his conduct, whereupon Barre assured the magistrate that he had never really intended to do as he threatened. However, in spite of all Barre's attempts to distract the attention of the bystanders from the subject, they still persisted in desiring to discover the extent of the devil's knowledge of foreign languages, and at their suggestion the bailiff proposed to Barre to try him in Hebrew instead of Gaelic. Hebrew being, according to Scripture, the most ancient language of all, ought to be familiar to the demon, unless indeed he had forgotten it. This idea met with such general applause that Barre was forced to command the possessed nun to say aqua in Hebrew. The poor woman, who found it difficult enough to repeat correctly the few Latin words she had learned by rote, made an impatient movement, and said-- "I can't help it; I retract" (Je renie). These words being heard and repeated by those near her produced such an unfavourable impression that one of the Carmelite monks tried to explain them away by declaring that the superior had not said "Je renie," but "Zaquay," a Hebrew word corresponding to the two Latin words, "Effudi aquam" (I threw water about). But the words "Je renie" had been heard so distinctly that the monk's assertion was greeted with jeers, and the sub-prior reprimanded him publicly as a liar. Upon this, the superior had a fresh attack of convulsions, and as all present knew that these attacks usually indicated that the performance was about to end, they withdrew, making very merry over a devil who knew neither Hebrew nor Gaelic, and whose smattering of Latin was so incorrect. However, as the bailiff and civil lieutenant were determined to clear up every doubt so far as they still felt any, they went once again to the convent at three o'clock the same afternoon. Barre came out to meet them, and took them for a stroll in the convent grounds. During their walk he said to the civil lieutenant that he felt very much surprised that he, who had on a former occasion, by order of the Bishop of Poitiers, laid information against Grandier should be now on his side. The civil lieutenant replied that he would be ready to inform against him again if there were any justification, but at present his object was to arrive at the truth, and in this he felt sure he should be successful. Such an answer was very unsatisfactory to Barre; so, drawing the bailiff aside, he remarked to him that a man among whose ancestors were many persons of condition, several of whom had held positions of much dignity in the Church, and who himself held such an important judicial position, ought to show less incredulity in regard to the possibility of a devil entering into a human body, since if it were proved it would redound to the glory of God and the good of the Church and of religion. The bailiff received this remonstrance with marked coldness, and replied that he hoped always to take justice for his guide, as his duty commanded. Upon this, Barre pursued the subject no farther, but led the way to the superior's apartment. Just as they entered the room, where a large number of people were already gathered, the superior, catching sight of the pyx which Barre had brought with him, fell once more into convulsions. Barre went towards her, and having asked the demon as usual by what pact he had entered the maiden's body, and received the information that it was by water, continued his examination as follows: "Quis finis pacti" (What is the object of this pact?) "Impuritas" (Unchastity). At these words the bailiff interrupted the exorcist and ordered him to make the demon say in Greek the three words, 'finis, pacti, impuritas'. But the superior, who had once already got out of her difficulties by an evasive answer, had again recourse to the same convenient phrase, "Nimia curiositas," with which Barre agreed, saying that they were indeed too much given to curiosity. So the bailiff had to desist from his attempt to make the demon speak Greek, as he had before been obliged to give up trying to make him speak Hebrew and Gaelic. Barre then continued his examination. "Quis attulit pactum?" (Who brought the pact?) "Magus" (The sorcerer). "Quale nomen magi?" (What is the sorcerer's name?) "Urbanus" (Urban). "Quis Urbanus? Est-ne Urbanus papa?" (What Urban? Pope Urban?) "Grandier." "Cujus qualitatis?" (What is his profession?) "Curcatus." The enriching of the Latin language by this new and unknown word produced a great effect on the audience; however, Barre did not pause long enough to allow it to be received with all the consideration it deserved, but went on at once. "Quis attulit aquam pacti?" (Who brought the water of the pact?) "Magus" (The magician). "Qua hora?" (At what o'clock?) "Septima" (At seven o'clock). "An matutina?" (In the morning?) "Sego" (In the evening). "Quomodo intravit?" (How did he enter?) "Janua" (By the door). "Quis vidit?" (Who saw him?) "Tres" (Three persons). Here Barre stopped, in order to confirm the testimony of the devil, assuring his hearers that the Sunday after the superior's deliverance from the second possession he along with Mignon and one of the sisters was sitting with her at supper, it being about seven o'clock in the evening, when she showed them drops of water on her arm, and no one could tell where they came from. He had instantly washed her arm in holy water and repeated some prayers, and while he was saying them the breviary of the superior was twice dragged from her hands and thrown at his feet, and when he stooped to pick it up for the second time he got a box on the ear without being able to see the hand that administered it. Then Mignon came up and confirmed what Barre had said in a long discourse, which he wound up by calling down upon his head the most terrible penalties if every word he said were not the exact truth. He then dismissed the assembly, promising to drive out the evil spirit the next day, and exhorting those present to prepare themselves, by penitence and receiving the holy communion, for the contemplation of the wonders which awaited them. CHAPTER VII The last two exorcisms had been so much talked about in the town, that Grandier, although he had not been present, knew everything that had happened, down to the smallest detail, so he once more laid a complaint before the bailiff, in which he represented that the nuns maliciously continued to name him during the exorcisms as the author of their pretended possession, being evidently influenced thereto by his enemies, whereas in fact not only had he had no communication with them, but had never set eyes on them; that in order to prove that they acted under influence it was absolutely necessary that they should be sequestered, it being most unjust that Mignon and Barre, his mortal enemies, should have constant access to them and be able to stay with them night and day, their doing so making the collusion evident and undeniable; that the honour of God was involved, and also that of the petitioner, who had some right to be respected, seeing that he was first in rank among the ecclesiastics of the town. Taking all this into consideration, he consequently prayed the bailiff to be pleased to order that the nuns buffering from the so-called possession should at once be separated from each other and from their present associates, and placed under the control of clerics assisted by physicians in whose impartiality the petitioner could have confidence; and he further prayed that all this should be performed in spite of any opposition or appeal whatsoever (but without prejudice to the right of appeal), because of the importance of the matter. And in case the bailiff were not pleased to order the sequestration, the petitioner would enter a protest and complaint against his refusal as a withholding of justice. The bailiff wrote at the bottom of the petition that it would be at once complied with. After Urbain Grandier had departed, the physicians who had been present at the exorcisms presented themselves before the bailiff, bringing their report with them. In this report they said that they had recognised convulsive movements of the mother superior's body, but that one visit was not sufficient to enable them to make a thorough diagnosis, as the movements above mentioned might arise as well from a natural as from supernatural causes; they therefore desired to be afforded opportunity for a thorough examination before being called on to pronounce an opinion. To this end they required permission to spend several days and nights uninterruptedly in the same room with the patients, and to treat them in the presence of other nuns and some of the magistrates. Further, they required that all the food and medicine should pass through the doctors' hands, and that no one, should touch the patients except quite openly, or speak to them except in an audible voice. Under these conditions they would undertake to find out the true cause of the convulsions and to make a report of the same. It being now nine o'clock in the morning, the hour when the exorcisms began, the bailiff went over at once to the convent, and found Barre half way through the mass, and the superior in convulsions. The magistrate entered the church at the moment of the elevation of the Host, and noticed among the kneeling Catholics a young man called Dessentier standing up with his hat on. He ordered him either to uncover or to go away. At this the convulsive movements of the superior became more violent, and she cried out that there were Huguenots in the church, which gave the demon great power over her. Barre asked her how many there were present, and she replied, "Two," thus proving that the devil was no stronger in arithmetic than in Latin; for besides Dessentier, Councillor Abraham Gauthier, one of his brothers, four of his sisters, Rene Fourneau, a deputy, and an attorney called Angevin, all of the Reformed faith, were present. As Barre saw that those present were greatly struck, by this numerical inaccuracy, he tried to turn their thoughts in another direction by asking the superior if it were true that she knew no Latin. On her replying that she did not know a single word, he held the pyx before her and ordered her to swear by the holy sacrament. She resisted at first, saying loud enough for those around her to hear-- "My father, you make me take such solemn oaths that I fear God will punish me." To this Barre replied-- "My daughter, you must swear for the glory of God." And she took the oath. Just then one of the bystanders remarked that the mother superior was in the habit of interpreting the Catechism to her scholars. This she denied, but acknowledged that she used to translate the Paternoster and the Creed for them. As the superior felt herself becoming somewhat confused at this long series of embarrassing questions, she decided on going into convulsions again, but with only moderate success, for the bailiff insisted that the exorcists should ask her where Grandier was at that very moment. Now, as the ritual teaches that one of the proofs of possession is the faculty of telling, when asked, where people are, without seeing them, and as the question was propounded in the prescribed terms, she was bound to answer, so she said that Grandier was in the great hall of the castle. "That is not correct," said the bailiff, "for before coming here I pointed out a house to Grandier and asked him to stay in it till I came back. If anybody will go there, they will be sure to find him, for he wished to help me to discover the truth without my being obliged to resort to sequestration, which is a difficult measure to take with regard to nuns." Barre was now ordered to send some of the monks present to the castle, accompanied by a magistrate and a clerk. Barre chose the Carmelite prior, and the bailiff Charles Chauvet, assessor of the bailiwick, Ismael Boulieau a priest, and Pierre Thibaut, an articled clerk, who all set out at once to execute their commission, while the rest of those present were to await their return. Meanwhile the superior, who had not spoken a word since the bailiff's declaration, remained, in spite of repeated exorcisms, dumb, so Barre sent for Sister Claire, saying that one devil would encourage the other. The bailiff entered a formal protest against this step, insisting that the only result of a double exorcism would be to cause confusion, during which suggestions might be conveyed to the superior, and that the proper thing to do was, before beginning new conjurations, to await the return of the messengers. Although the bailiff's suggestion was most reasonable, Barre knew better than to adopt it, for he felt that no matter what it cost he must either get rid of the bailiff and all the other officials who shared his doubts, or find means with the help of Sister Claire to delude them into belief. The lay sister was therefore brought in, in spite of the opposition of the bailiff and the other magistrates, and as they did not wish to seem to countenance a fraud, they all withdrew, declaring that they could no longer look on at such a disgusting comedy. In the courtyard they met their messengers returning, who told them they had gone first to the castle and had searched the great hall and all the other rooms without seeing anything of Grandier; they had then gone to the house mentioned by the bailiff, where they found him for whom they were looking, in the company of Pere Veret, the confessor of the nuns, Mathurin Rousseau, and Nicolas Benoit, canons, and Conte, a doctor, from whom they learned that Grandier had not been an instant out of their sight for the last two hours. This being all the magistrates wanted to know, they went home, while their envoys went upstairs and told their story, which produced the effect which might be expected. Thereupon a Carmelite brother wishing to weaken the impression, and thinking that the devil might be more lucky in his, second guess than the first, asked the superior where Grandier was just then. She answered without the slightest hesitation that he was walking with the bailiff in the church of Sainte-Croix. A new deputation was at once sent off, which finding the church empty, went on to the palace, and saw the bailiff presiding at a court. He had gone direct from the convent to the palace, and had not yet seen Grandier. The same day the nuns sent word that they would not consent to any more exorcisms being performed in the presence of the bailiff and the officials who usually accompanied him, and that for the future they were determined to answer no questions before such witnesses. Grandier learning of this piece of insolence, which prevented the only man on whose impartiality he could reckon from being henceforward present at the exorcisms, once more handed in a petition to the bailiff, begging for the sequestration of the two nuns, no matter at what risk. The bailiff, however, in the interests of the petitioner himself, did not dare to grant this request, for he was afraid that the ecclesiastical authorities would nullify his procedure, on the ground that the convent was not under his jurisdiction. He, however, summoned a meeting of the principal inhabitants of the town, in order to consult with them as to the best course to take for the public good. The conclusion they arrived at was to write to the attorney-general and to the Bishop of Poitiers, enclosing copies of the reports which had been drawn up, and imploring them to use their authority to put an end to these pernicious intrigues. This was done, but the attorney-general replied that the matter being entirely ecclesiastical the Parliament was not competent to take cognisance of it. As for the bishop, he sent no answer at all. He was not, however, so silent towards Grandier's enemies; for the ill-success of the exorcisms of November 26th having made increased precautions necessary, they considered it would be well to apply to the bishop for a new commission, wherein he should appoint certain ecclesiastics to represent him during the exorcisms to come. Barre himself went to Poitiers to make this request. It was immediately granted, and the bishop appointed Bazile, senior-canon of Champigny, and Demorans, senior canon of Thouars, both of whom were related to some of Grandier's adversaries. The following is a copy of the new commission: "Henri-Louis le Chataignier de la Rochepezai, by the divine will Bishop of Poitiers, to the senior canons of the Chatelet de Saint-Pierre de Thouars et de Champigny-sur-Vese, greeting: "We by these presents command you to repair to the town of Loudun, to the convent of the nuns of Sainte-Ursule, to be present at the exorcisms which will be undertaken by Sieur Barre upon some nuns of the said convent who are tormented by evil spirits, we having thereto authorised the said Barre. You are also to draw up a report of all that takes place, and for this purpose are to take any clerk you may choose with you. "Given and done at Poitiers, November 28th, 1632. "(Signed) HENRI LOUIS, Bishop of Poitiers. "(Countersigned) By order of the said Lord Bishop, "MICHELET" These two commissioners having been notified beforehand, went to Loudun, where Marescot, one of the queen's chaplains, arrived at the same time; for the pious queen, Anne of Austria, had heard so many conflicting accounts of the possession of the Ursuline nuns, that she desired, for her own edification, to get to the bottom of the affair. We can judge what importance the case was beginning to assume by its being already discussed at court. In spite of the notice which had been sent them that the nuns would not receive them, the bailiff and the civil lieutenant fearing that the royal envoy would allow himself to be imposed on, and would draw up an account which would cast doubt on the facts contained in their reports, betook themselves to the convent on December 1st, the day on which the exorcisms were to recommence, in the presence of the new commissioners. They were accompanied by their assessor, by the provost's lieutenant, and a clerk. They had to knock repeatedly before anyone seemed to hear them, but at length a nun opened the door and told them they could not enter, being suspected of bad faith, as they had publicly declared that the possession was a fraud and an imposture. The bailiff, without wasting his time arguing with the sister, asked to see Barre, who soon appeared arrayed in his priestly vestments, and surrounded by several persons, among whom was the queen's chaplain. The bailiff complained that admittance had been refused to him and those with him, although he had been authorised to visit the convent by the Bishop of Poitiers. Barre' replied that he would not hinder their coming in, as far as it concerned him. "We are here with the intention of entering," said the bailiff, "and also for the purpose of requesting you to put one or two questions to the demon which we have drawn up in terms which are in accordance with what is prescribed in the ritual. I am sure you will not refuse," he added, turning with a bow to Marescot, "to make this experiment in the presence of the queen's chaplain, since by that means all those suspicions of imposture can be removed which are unfortunately so rife concerning this business." "In that respect I shall do as I please, and not as you order me," was the insolent reply of the exorcist. "It is, however, your duty to follow legal methods in your procedure," returned the bailiff, "if you sincerely desire the truth; for it would be an affront to God to perform a spurious miracle in His honour, and a wrong to the Catholic faith, whose power is in its truth, to attempt to give adventitious lustre to its doctrines by the aid of fraud and deception." "Sir," said Barre, "I am a man of honour, I know my duty and I shall discharge it; but as to yourself, I must recall to your recollection that the last time you were here you left the chapel in anger and excitement, which is an attitude of mind most unbecoming in one whose duty it is to administer justice." Seeing that these recriminations would have no practical result, the magistrates cut them short by reiterating their demand for admittance; and on this being refused, they reminded the exorcists that they were expressly prohibited from asking any questions tending to cast a slur on the character of any person or persons whatever, under pain of being treated as disturbers of the public peace. At this warning Barre, saying that he did not acknowledge the bailiff's jurisdiction, shut the door in the faces of the two magistrates. As there was no time to lose if the machinations of his enemies were to be brought to nought, the bailiff and the civil lieutenant advised Grandier to write to the Archbishop of Bordeaux, who had once already extricated him from imminent danger, setting forth at length his present predicament; this letter; accompanied by the reports drawn up by the bailiff and the civil lieutenant, were sent off at once by a trusty messenger to His Grace of Escoubleau de Sourdis. As soon as he received the despatches, the worthy prelate seeing how grave was the crisis, and that the slightest delay might be fatal to Grandier, set out at once for his abbey of Saint-Jouinles-Marmes, the place in which he had already vindicated in so striking a manner the upright character of the poor persecuted priest by a fearless act of justice. It is not difficult to realise what a blow his arrival was to those who held a brief for the evil spirits in possession; hardly had he reached Saint-Jouin than he sent his own physician to the convent with orders to see the afflicted nuns and to test their condition, in order to judge if the convulsions were real or simulated. The physician arrived, armed with a letter from the archbishop, ordering Mignon to permit the bearer to make a thorough examination into the position of affairs. Mignon received the physician with all the respect due to him who sent him, but expressed great regret that he had not come a little sooner, as, thanks to his (Mignon's) exertions and those of Barre, the devils had been exorcised the preceding day. He nevertheless introduced the archbishop's envoy to the presence of the superior and Sister Claire, whose demeanour was as calm as if they had never been disturbed by any agitating' experiences. Mignon's statement being thus confirmed, the doctor returned to Saint-Jouin, the only thing to which he could bear testimony being the tranquillity which reigned at the moment in the convent. The imposture being now laid so completely bare, the archbishop was convinced that the infamous persecutions to which it had led would cease at once and for ever; but Grandier, better acquainted with the character of his adversaries, arrived on the 27th of December at the abbey and laid a petition at the archbishop's feet. In this document he set forth that his enemies having formerly brought false and slanderous accusations, against him of which, through the justice of the archbishop, he had been able to clear himself, had employed themselves during the last three months in inventing and publishing as a fact that the petitioner had sent evil spirits into the bodies of nuns in the Ursuline convent of Loudun, although he had never spoken to any of the sisterhood there; that the guardianship of the sisters who, it was alleged, were possessed, and the task of exorcism, had been entrusted to Jean Mignon and Pierre Barre, who had in the most unmistakable manner shown themselves to be the mortal enemies of the petitioner; that in the reports drawn up by the said Jean Mignon and Pierre Barre, which differed so widely from those made by the bailiff and the civil lieutenant, it was boastfully alleged that three or four times devils had been driven out, but that they had succeeded in returning and taking possession of their victims again and again, in virtue of successive pacts entered into between the prince of darkness and the petitioner; that the aim of these reports and allegations was to destroy the reputation of the petitioner and excite public opinion against him; that although the demons had been put to flight by the arrival of His Grace, yet it was too probable that as soon as he was gone they would return to the charge; that if, such being the case, the powerful support of the archbishop were not available, the innocence of the petitioner, no matter how strongly established, would by the cunning tactics of his inveterate foes be obscured and denied: he, the petitioner, therefore prayed that, should the foregoing reasons prove on examination to be cogent, the archbishop would be pleased to prohibit Barre, Mignon, and their partisans, whether among the secular or the regular clergy, from taking part in any future exorcisms, should such be necessary, or in the control of any persons alleged to be possessed; furthermore, petitioner prayed that His Grace would be pleased to appoint as a precautionary measure such other clerics and lay persons as seemed to him suitable, to superintend the administration of food and medicine and the rite of exorcism to those alleged to be possessed, and that all the treatment should be carried out in the presence of magistrates. The archbishop accepted the petition, and wrote below it: "The present petition having been seen by us and the opinion of our attorney having been taken in the matter, we have sent the petitioner in advance of our said attorney back to Poitiers, that justice may be done him, and in the meantime we have appointed Sieur Barre, Pere l'Escaye, a Jesuit residing in Poitiers, Pere Gaut of the Oratory, residing at Tours, to conduct the exorcisms, should such be necessary, and have given them an order to this effect. "It is forbidden to all others to meddle with the said exorcisms, on pain of being punished according to law." It will be seen from the above that His Grace the Archbishop of Bordeaux, in his enlightened and generous exercise of justice, had foreseen and provided for every possible contingency; so that as soon as his orders were made known to the exorcists the possession ceased at once and completely, and was no longer even talked of. Barre withdrew to Chinon, the senior canons rejoined their chapters, and the nuns, happily rescued for the time, resumed their life of retirement and tranquillity. The archbishop nevertheless urged on Grandier the prudence of effecting an exchange of benefices, but he replied that he would not at that moment change his simple living of Loudun for a bishopric. CHAPTER VIII The exposure of the plot was most prejudicial to the prosperity of the Ursuline community: spurious possession, far from bringing to their convent an increase of subscriptions and enhancing their reputation, as Mignon had promised, had ended for them in open shame, while in private they suffered from straitened circumstances, for the parents of their boarders hastened to withdraw their daughters from the convent, and the nuns in losing their pupils lost their sole source of income. Their fall in the estimation of the public filled them with despair, and it leaked out that they had had several altercations with their director, during which they reproached him for having, by making them commit such a great sin, overwhelmed them with infamy and reduced them to misery, instead of securing for them the great spiritual and temporal advantages he had promised them. Mignon, although devoured by hate, was obliged to remain quiet, but he was none the less as determined as ever to have revenge, and as he was one of those men who never give up while a gleam of hope remains, and whom no waiting can tire, he bided his time, avoiding notice, apparently resigned to circumstances, but keeping his eyes fixed on Grandier, ready to seize on the first chance of recovering possession of the prey that had escaped his hands. And unluckily the chance soon presented itself. It was now 1633: Richelieu was at the height of his power, carrying out his work of destruction, making castles fall before him where he could not make heads fall, in the spirit of John Knox's words, "Destroy the nests and the crows will disappear." Now one of these nests was the crenellated castle of Loudun, and Richelieu had therefore ordered its demolition. The person appointed to carry out this order was a man such as those whom Louis XI. had employed fifty years earlier to destroy the feudal system, and Robespierre one hundred and fifty years later to destroy the aristocracy. Every woodman needs an axe, every reaper a sickle, and Richelieu found the instrument he required in de Laubardemont, Councillor of State. But he was an instrument full of intelligence, detecting by the manner in which he was wielded the moving passion of the wielder, and adapting his whole nature with marvellous dexterity to gratify that passion according to the character of him whom it possessed; now by a rough and ready impetuosity, now by a deliberate and hidden advance; equally willing to strike with the sword or to poison by calumny, as the man who moved him lusted for the blood or sought to accomplish the dishonour of his victim. M. de Laubardemont arrived at Loudun during the month of August 1633, and in order to carry out his mission addressed himself to Sieur Memin de Silly, prefect of the town, that old friend of the cardinal's whom Mignon and Barre, as we have said, had impressed so favourably. Memin saw in the arrival of Laubardemont a special intimation that it was the will of Heaven that the seemingly lost cause of those in whom he took such a warm interest should ultimately triumph. He presented Mignon and all his friends to M. Laubardemont, who received them with much cordiality. They talked of the mother superior, who was a relation, as we have seen, of M. de Laubardemont, and exaggerated the insult offered her by the decree of the archbishop, saying it was an affront to the whole family; and before long the one thing alone which occupied the thoughts of the conspirators and the councillor was how best to draw down upon Grandier the anger of the cardinal-duke. A way soon opened. The Queen mother, Marie de Medici, had among her attendants a woman called Hammon, to whom, having once had occasion to speak, she had taken a fancy, and given a post near her person. In consequence of this whim, Hammon came to be regarded as a person of some importance in the queen's household. Hammon was a native of Loudun, and had passed the greater part of her youth there with her own people, who belonged to the lower classes. Grandier had been her confessor, and she attended his church, and as she was lively and clever he enjoyed talking to her, so that at length an intimacy sprang up between them. It so happened at a time when he and the other ministers were in momentary disgrace, that a satire full of biting wit and raillery appeared, directed especially against the cardinal, and this satire had been attributed to Hammon, who was known to share, as was natural, her mistress's hatred of Richelieu. Protected as she was by the queen's favour, the cardinal had found it impossible to punish Hammon, but he still cherished a deep resentment against her. It now occurred to the conspirators to accuse Grandier of being the real author of the satire; and it was asserted that he had learned from Hammon all the details of the cardinal's private life, the knowledge of which gave so much point to the attack on him; if they could once succeed in making Richelieu believe this, Grandier was lost. This plan being decided on, M. de Laubardemont was asked to visit the convent, and the devils knowing what an important personage he was, flocked thither to give him a worthy welcome. Accordingly, the nuns had attacks of the most indescribably violent convulsions, and M. de Laubardemont returned to Paris convinced as to the reality of their possession. The first word the councillor of state said to the cardinal about Urbain Grandier showed him that he had taken useless trouble in inventing the story about the satire, for by the bare mention of his name he was able to arouse the cardinal's anger to any height he wished. The fact was, that when Richelieu had been Prior of Coussay he and Grandier had had a quarrel on a question of etiquette, the latter as priest of Loudun having claimed precedence over the prior, and carried his point. The cardinal had noted the affront in his bloodstained tablets, and at the first hint de Laubardemont found him as eager to bring about Grandier's ruin as was the councillor himself. De Laubardemont was at once granted the following commission: "Sieur de Laubardemont, Councillor of State and Privy Councillor, will betake himself to Loudun, and to whatever other places may be necessary, to institute proceedings against Grandier on all the charges formerly preferred against him, and on other facts which have since come to light, touching the possession by evil spirits of the Ursuline nuns of Loudun, and of other persons, who are said like wise to be tormented of devils through the evil practices of the said Grandier; he will diligently investigate everything from the beginning that has any bearing either on the said possession or on the exorcisms, and will forward to us his report thereon, and the reports and other documents sent in by former commissioners and delegates, and will be present at all future exorcisms, and take proper steps to obtain evidence of the said facts, that they may be clearly established; and, above all, will direct, institute, and carry through the said proceedings against Grandier and all others who have been involved with him in the said case, until definitive sentence be passed; and in spite of any appeal or countercharge this cause will not be delayed (but without prejudice to the right of appeal in other causes), on account of the nature of the crimes, and no regard will be paid to any request for postponement made by the said Grandier. His majesty commands all governors, provincial lieutenant-generals, bailiffs, seneschals, and other municipal authorities, and all subjects whom it may concern, to give every assistance in arresting and imprisoning all persons whom it may be necessary to put under constraint, if they shall be required so to do." Furnished with this order, which was equivalent to a condemnation, de Laubardemont arrived at Laudun, the 5th of December, 1633, at nine o'clock in the evening; and to avoid being seen he alighted in a suburb at the house of one maitre Paul Aubin, king's usher, and son-in-law of Memin de Silly. His arrival was kept so secret that neither Grandier nor his friends knew of it, but Memin, Herve Menuau, and Mignon were notified, and immediately called on him. De Laubardemont received them, commission in hand, but broad as it was, it did not seem to them sufficient, for it contained no order for Grandier's arrest, and Grandier might fly. De Laubardemont, smiling at the idea that he could be so much in fault, drew from his pocket an order in duplicate, in case one copy should be lost, dated like the commission, November 30th, signed LOUIS, and countersigned PHILIPPEAUX. It was conceived in the following terms: LOUIS, etc. etc. "We have entrusted these presents to Sieur de Laubardemont, Privy Councillor, to empower the said Sieur de Laubardemont to arrest Grandier and his accomplices and imprison them in a secure place, with orders to all provosts, marshals, and other officers, and to all our subjects in general, to lend whatever assistance is necessary to carry out above order; and they are commanded by these presents to obey all orders given by the said Sieur; and all governors and lieutenants-general are also hereby commanded to furnish the said Sieur with whatever aid he may require at their hands." This document being the completion of the other, it was immediately resolved, in order to show that they had the royal authority at their back, and as a preventive measure, to arrest Grandier at once, without any preliminary investigation. They hoped by this step to intimidate any official who might still be inclined to take Grandier's part, and any witness who might be disposed to testify in his favour. Accordingly, they immediately sent for Guillaume Aubin, Sieur de Lagrange and provost's lieutenant. De Laubardemont communicated to him the commission of the cardinal and the order of the king, and requested him to arrest Grandier early next morning. M. de Lagrange could not deny the two signatures, and answered that he would obey; but as he foresaw from their manner of going to work that the proceedings about to be instituted would be an assassination and not a fair trial, he sent, in spite of being a distant connection of Memin, whose daughter was married to his (Lagrange's) brother, to warn Grandier of the orders he had received. But Grandier with his usual intrepidity, while thanking Lagrange for his generous message, sent back word that, secure in his innocence and relying on the justice of God, he was determined to stand his ground. So Grandier remained, and his brother, who slept beside him, declared that his sleep that night was as quiet as usual. The next morning he rose, as was his habit, at six o'clock, took his breviary in his hand, and went out with the intention of attending matins at the church of Sainte-Croix. He had hardly put his foot over the threshold before Lagrange, in the presence of Memin, Mignon, and the other conspirators, who had come out to gloat over the sight, arrested him in the name of the king. He was at once placed in the custody of Jean Pouguet, an archer in His Majesty's guards, and of the archers of the provosts of Loudun and Chinon, to be taken to the castle at Angers. Meanwhile a search was instituted, and the royal seal affixed to the doors of his apartments, to his presses, his other articles of furniture-in fact, to every thing and place in the house; but nothing was found that tended to compromise him, except an essay against the celibacy of priests, and two sheets of paper whereon were written in another hand than his, some love-poems in the taste of that time. CHAPTER IX For four months Grandier languished in prison, and, according to the report of Michelon, commandant of Angers, and of Pierre Bacher, his confessor, he was, during the whole period, a model of patience and firmness, passing his days in reading good books or in writing prayers and meditations, which were afterwards produced at his trial. Meanwhile, in spite of the urgent appeals of Jeanne Esteye, mother of the accused, who, although seventy years of age, seemed to recover her youthful strength and activity in the desire to save her son, Laubardemont continued the examination, which was finished on April 4th. Urbain was then brought back from Angers to Loudun. An extraordinary cell had been prepared for him in a house belonging to Mignon, and which had formerly been occupied by a sergeant named Bontems, once clerk to Trinquant, who had been a witness for the prosecution in the first trial. It was on the topmost story; the windows had been walled up, leaving only one small slit open, and even this opening was secured by enormous iron bars; and by an exaggeration of caution the mouth of the fireplace was furnished with a grating, lest the devils should arrive through the chimney to free the sorcerer from his chains. Furthermore, two holes in the corners of the room, so formed that they were unnoticeable from within, allowed a constant watch to be kept over Grandier's movements by Bontem's wife, a precaution by which they hoped to learn something that would help them in the coming exorcisms. In this room, lying on a little straw, and almost without light, Grandier wrote the following letter to his mother: "MY MOTHER,--I received your letter and everything you sent me except the woollen stockings. I endure any affliction with patience, and feel more pity for you than for myself. I am very much inconvenienced for want of a bed; try and have mine brought to me, for my mind will give way if my body has no rest: if you can, send me a breviary, a Bible, and a St. Thomas for my consolation; and above all, do not grieve for me. I trust that, God will bring my innocence to light. Commend me to my brother and sister, and all our good friends.--I am, mother, your dutiful son and servant, "GRANDIER" While Grandier had been in prison at Angers the cases of possession at the convent had miraculously multiplied, for it was no longer only the superior and Sister Claire who had fallen a prey to the evil spirits, but also several other sisters, who were divided into three groups as follows, and separated:-- The superior, with Sisters Louise des Anges and Anne de Sainte-Agnes, were sent to the house of Sieur Delaville, advocate, legal adviser to the sisterhood; Sisters Claire and Catherine de la Presentation were placed in the house of Canon Maurat; Sisters Elisabeth de la Croix, Monique de Sainte-Marthe, Jeanne du Sainte-Esprit, and Seraphique Archer were in a third house. A general supervision was undertaken by Memin's sister, the wife of Moussant, who was thus closely connected with two of the greatest enemies of the accused, and to her Bontems' wife told all that the superior needed to know about Grandier. Such was the manner of the sequestration! The choice of physicians was no less extraordinary. Instead of calling in the most skilled practitioners of Angers, Tours, Poitiers, or Saumur, all of them, except Daniel Roger of Loudun, came from the surrounding villages, and were men of no education: one of them, indeed, had failed to obtain either degree or licence, and had been obliged to leave Saumur in consequence; another had been employed in a small shop to take goods home, a position he had exchanged for the more lucrative one of quack. There was just as little sense of fairness and propriety shown in the choice of the apothecary and surgeon. The apothecary, whose name was Adam, was Mignon's first cousin, and had been one of the witnesses for the prosecution at Grandier's first trial; and as on that occasion--he had libelled a young girl of Loudun, he had been sentenced by a decree of Parliament to make a public apology. And yet, though his hatred of Grandier in consequence of this humiliation was so well known,--perhaps for that very reason, it was to him the duty of dispensing and administering the prescriptions was entrusted, no one supervising the work even so far as to see that the proper doses were given, or taking note whether for sedatives he did not sometimes substitute stimulating and exciting drugs, capable of producing real convulsions. The surgeon Mannouri was still more unsuitable, for he was a nephew of Memin de Silly, and brother of the nun who had offered the most determined opposition to Grandier's demand for sequestration of the possessed sisters, during the second series of exorcisms. In vain did the mother and brother of the accused present petitions setting forth the incapacity of the doctors and the hatred of Grandier professed by the apothecary; they could not, even at their own expense, obtain certified copies of any of these petitions, although they had witnesses ready to prove that Adam had once in his ignorance dispensed crocus metallorum for crocus mantis--a mistake which had caused the death of the patient for whom the prescription was made up. In short, so determined were the conspirators that this time Grandier should be done to death, that they had not even the decency to conceal the infamous methods by which they had arranged to attain this result. The examination was carried on with vigour. As one of the first formalities would be the identification of the accused, Grandier published a memorial in which he recalled the case of Saint-Anastasius at the Council of Tyre, who had been accused of immorality by a fallen woman whom he had never seen before. When this woman entered the hall of justice in order to swear to her deposition, a priest named Timothy went up to her and began to talk to her as if he were Anastasius; falling into the trap, she answered as if she recognised him, and thus the innocence of the saint was shown forth. Grandier therefore demanded that two or three persons of his own height and complexion should be dressed exactly like himself, and with him should be allowed to confront the nuns. As he had never seen any of them, and was almost certain they had never seen him, they would not be able, he felt sure, to point him out with certainty, in spite of the allegations of undue intimacy with themselves they brought against him. This demand showed such conscious innocence that it was embarrassing to answer, so no notice was taken of it. Meanwhile the Bishop of Poitiers, who felt much elated at getting the better of the Archbishop of Bordeaux, who of course was powerless against an order issued by the cardinal-duke, took exception to Pere l'Escaye and Pere Gaut, the exorcists appointed by his superior, and named instead his own chaplain, who had been judge at Grandier's first trial, and had passed sentence on him, and Pere Lactance, a Franciscan monk. These two, making no secret of the side with which they sympathised, put up on their arrival at Nicolas Moussant's, one of Grandier's most bitter enemies; on the following day they went to the superior's apartments and began their exorcisms. The first time the superior opened her lips to reply, Pere Lactance perceived that she knew almost no Latin, and consequently would not shine during the exorcism, so he ordered her to answer in French, although he still continued to exorcise her in Latin; and when someone was bold enough to object, saying that the devil, according to the ritual, knew all languages living and dead, and ought to reply in the same language in which he was addressed, the father declared that the incongruity was caused by the pact, and that moreover some devils were more ignorant than peasants. Following these exorcists, and two Carmelite monks, named Pierre de Saint-Thomas and Pierre de Saint-Mathurin, who had, from the very beginning, pushed their way in when anything was going on, came four Capuchins sent by Pere Joseph, head of the Franciscans, "His grey Eminence," as he was called, and whose names were Peres Luc, Tranquille, Potais, and Elisee; so that a much more rapid advance could be made than hitherto by carrying on the exorcisms in four different places at once--viz., in the convent, and in the churches of Sainte-Croix, Saint-Pierre du Martroy, and Notre-Dame du Chateau. Very little of importance took place, however, on the first two occasions, the 15th and 16th of April; for the declarations of the doctors were most vague and indefinite, merely saying that the things they had seen were supernatural, surpassing their knowledge and the rules of medicine. The ceremony of the 23rd April presented, however, some points of interest. The superior, in reply to the interrogations of Pere Lactance, stated that the demon had entered her body under the forms of a cat, a dog, a stag, and a buck-goat. "Quoties?" (How often?), inquired the exorcist. "I didn't notice the day," replied the superior, mistaking the word quoties for quando (when). It was probably to revenge herself for this error that the superior declared the same day that Grandier had on his body five marks made by the devil, and that though his body was else insensible to pain, he was vulnerable at those spots. Mannouri, the surgeon, was therefore ordered to verify this assertion, and the day appointed for the verification was the 26th. In virtue of this mandate Mannouri presented himself early on that day at Grandier's prison, caused him to be stripped naked and cleanly shaven, then ordered him to be laid on a table and his eyes bandaged. But the devil was wrong again: Grandier had only two marks, instead of five--one on the shoulder-blade, and the other on the thigh. Then took place one of the most abominable performances that can be imagined. Mannouri held in his hand a probe, with a hollow handle, into which the needle slipped when a spring was touched: when Mannouri applied the probe to those parts of Grandier's body which, according to the superior, were insensible, he touched the spring, and the needle, while seeming to bury itself in the flesh, really retreated into the handle, thus causing no pain; but when he touched one of the marks said to be vulnerable, he left the needle fixed, and drove it in to the depth of several inches. The first time he did this it drew from poor Grandier, who was taken unprepared, such a piercing cry that it was heard in the street by the crowd which had gathered round the door. From the mark on the shoulder-blade with which he had commenced, Mannouri passed to that on the thigh, but though he plunged the needle in to its full depth Grandier uttered neither cry nor groan, but went on quietly repeating a prayer, and notwithstanding that Mannouri stabbed him twice more through each of the two marks, he could draw nothing from his victim but prayers for his tormentors. M. de Laubardemont was present at this scene. The next day the devil was addressed in such forcible terms that an acknowledgment was wrung from him that Grandier's body bore, not five, but two marks only; and also, to the vast admiration of the spectators, he was able this time to indicate their precise situation. Unfortunately for the demon, a joke in which he indulged on this occasion detracted from the effect of the above proof of cleverness. Having been asked why he had refused to speak on the preceding Saturday, he said he had not been at Loudun on that day, as the whole morning he had been occupied in accompanying the soul of a certain Le Proust, attorney to the Parliament of Paris, to hell. This answer awoke such doubts in the breasts of some of the laymen present that they took the trouble to examine the register of deaths, and found that no one of the name of Le Proust, belonging to any profession whatever, had died on that date. This discovery rendered the devil less terrible, and perhaps less amusing. Meantime the progress of the other exorcisms met with like interruptions. Pere Pierre de Saint Thomas, who conducted the operations in the Carmelite church, asked one of the possessed sisters where Grandier's books of magic were; she replied that they were kept at the house of a certain young girl, whose name she gave, and who was the same to whom Adam had been forced to apologise. De Laubardemont, Moussant, Herve, and Meunau hastened at once to the house indicated, searched the rooms and the presses, opened the chests and the wardrobes and all the secret places in the house, but in vain. On their return to the church, they reproached the devil for having deceived them, but he explained that a niece of the young woman had removed the books. Upon this, they hurried to the niece's dwelling, but unluckily she was not at home, having spent the whole day at a certain church making her devotions, and when they went thither, the priests and attendants averred that she had not gone out all day; so notwithstanding the desire of the exorcists to oblige Adam they were forced to let the matter drop. These two false statements increased the number of unbelievers; but it was announced that a most interesting performance would take place on May 4th; indeed, the programme when issued was varied enough to arouse general curiosity. Asmodeus was to raise the superior two feet from the ground, and the fiends Eazas and Cerberus, in emulation of their leader, would do as much for two other nuns; while a fourth devil, named Beherit, would go farther still, and, greatly daring, would attack M. de Laubardemont himself, and, having spirited his councillor's cap from his head, would hold it suspended in the air for the space of a Misereye. Furthermore, the exorcists announced that six of the strongest men in the town would try to prevent the contortions of the weakest of the convulsed nuns, and would fail. It need hardly be said that the prospect of such an entertainment filled the church on the appointed day to overflowing. Pere Lactance began by calling on Asmodeus to fulfil his promise of raising the superior from the ground. She began, hereupon, to perform various evolutions on her mattress, and at one moment it seemed as if she were really suspended in the air; but one of the spectators lifted her dress and showed that she was only standing on tiptoe, which, though it might be clever, was not miraculous. Shouts of laughter rent the air, which had such an intimidating effect on Eazas and Cerberus that not all the adjurations of the exorcists could extract the slightest response. Beherit was their last hope, and he replied that he was prepared to lift up M. de Laubardemont's cap, and would do so before the expiration of a quarter of an hour. We must here remark that this time the exorcisms took place in the evening, instead of in the morning as hitherto; and it was now growing dark, and darkness is favourable to illusions. Several of the unbelieving ones present, therefore, began to call attention to the fact that the quarter of an hour's delay would necessitate the employment of artificial light during the next scene. They also noticed that M. de Laubardemont had seated himself apart and immediately beneath one of the arches in the vaulted roof, through which a hole had been drilled for the passage of the bell-rope. They therefore slipped out of the church, and up into the belfry, where they hid. In a few moments a man appeared who began to work at something. They sprang on him and seized his wrists, and found in one of his hands a thin line of horsehair, to one end of which a hook was attached. The holder being frightened, dropped the line and fled, and although M. de Laubardemont, the exorcists, and the spectators waited, expecting every moment that the cap would rise into the air, it remained quite firm on the owner's head, to the no small confusion of Pere Lactance, who, all unwitting of the fiasco, continued to adjure Beherit to keep his word--of course without the least effect. Altogether, this performance of May 4th, went anything but smoothly. Till now no trick had succeeded; never before had the demons been such bunglers. But the exorcists were sure that the last trick would go off without a hitch. This was, that a nun, held by six men chosen for their strength, would succeed in extricating herself from their grasp, despite their utmost efforts. Two Carmelites and two Capuchins went through the audience and selected six giants from among the porters and messengers of the town. This time the devil answered expectations by showing that if he was not clever he was strong, for although the six men tried to hold her down upon her mattress, the superior was seized with such terrible convulsions that she escaped from their hands, throwing down one of those who tried to detain her. This experiment, thrice renewed, succeeded thrice, and belief seemed about to return to the assembly, when a physician of Saumur named Duncan, suspecting trickery, entered the choir, and, ordering the six men to retire, said he was going to try and hold the superior down unaided, and if she escaped from his hands he would make a public apology for his unbelief. M. de Laubardemont tried to prevent this test, by objecting to Duncan as an atheist, but as Duncan was greatly respected on account of his skill and probity, there was such an outcry at this interference from the entire audience that the commissioner was forced to let him have his way. The six porters were therefore dismissed, but instead of resuming their places among the spectators they left the church by the sacristy, while Duncan approaching the bed on which the superior had again lain down, seized her by the wrist, and making certain that he had a firm hold, he told the exorcists to begin. Never up to that time had it been so clearly shown that the conflict going on was between public opinion and the private aims of a few. A hush fell on the church; everyone stood motionless in silent expectancy. The moment Pere Lactance uttered the sacred words the convulsions of the superior recommenced; but it seemed as if Duncan had more strength than his six predecessors together, for twist and writhe and struggle as she would, the superior's wrist remained none the less firmly clasped in Duncan's hand. At length she fell back on her bed exhausted, exclaiming! "It's no use, it's no use! He's holding me!" "Release her arm!" shouted Pere Lactance in a rage. "How can the convulsions take place if you hold her that way?" "If she is really possessed by a demon," answered Duncan aloud, "he should be stronger than I; for it is stated in the ritual that among the symptoms of possession is strength beyond one's years, beyond one's condition, and beyond what is natural." "That is badly argued," said Lactance sharply: "a demon outside the body is indeed stronger than you, but when enclosed in a weak frame such as this it cannot show such strength, for its efforts are proportioned to the strength of the body it possesses." "Enough!" said M. de Laubardemont; "we did not come here to argue with philosophers, but to build up the faith of Christians." With that he rose up from his chair amidst a terrible uproar, and the assembly dispersed in the utmost disorder, as if they were leaving a theatre rather than a church. The ill success of this exhibition caused a cessation of events of interest for some days. The result was that a great number of noblemen and other people of quality who had come to Loudun expecting to see wonders and had been shown only commonplace transparent tricks, began to think it was not worth while remaining any longer, and went their several ways--a defection much bewailed by Pere Tranquille in a little work which he published on this affair. "Many," he says, "came to see miracles at Loudun, but finding the devils did not give them the signs they expected, they went away dissatisfied, and swelled the numbers of the unbelieving." It was determined, therefore, in order to keep the town full, to predict some great event which would revive curiosity and increase faith. Pere Lactance therefore announced that on the 20th of May three of the seven devils dwelling in the superior would come out, leaving three wounds in her left side, with corresponding holes in her chemise, bodice, and dress. The three parting devils were Asmodeus, Gresil des Trones, and Aman des Puissances. He added that the superior's hands would be bound behind her back at the time the wounds were given. On the appointed day the church of Sainte-Croix was filled to overflowing with sightseers curious to know if the devils would keep their promises better this time than the last. Physicians were invited to examine the superior's side and her clothes; and amongst those who came forward was Duncan, whose presence guaranteed the public against deception; but none of the exorcists ventured to exclude him, despite the hatred in which they held him--a hatred which they would have made him feel if he had not been under the special protection of Marshal Breze. The physicians having completed their examination, gave the following certificate:-- "We have found no wound in the patient's side, no rent in her vestments, and our search revealed no sharp instrument hidden in the folds of her dress." These preliminaries having been got through, Pere Lactance questioned her in French for nearly two hours, her answers being in the same language. Then he passed from questions to adjurations: on this, Duncan came forward, and said a promise had been given that the superior's hands should be tied behind her back, in order that there might be no room for suspicion of fraud, and that the moment had now arrived to keep that promise. Pere Lactance admitted the justice of the demand, but said as there were many present who had never seen the superior in convulsions such as afflicted the possessed, it would be only fair that she should be exorcised for their satisfaction before binding her. Accordingly he began to repeat the form of exorcism, and the superior was immediately attacked by frightful convulsions, which in a few minutes produced complete exhaustion, so that she fell on her face to the ground, and turning on her left arm and side, remained motionless some instants, after which she uttered a low cry, followed by a groan. The physicians approached her, and Duncan seeing her take away her hand from her left side, seized her arm, and found that the tips of her fingers were stained with blood. They then examined her clothing and body, and found her dress, bodice, and chemise cut through in three places, the cuts being less than an inch long. There were also three scratches beneath the left breast, so slight as to be scarcely more than skin deep, the middle one being a barleycorn in length; still, from all three a sufficient quantity of blood had oozed to stain the chemise above them. This time the fraud was so glaring that even de Laubardemont exhibited some signs of confusion because of the number and quality of the spectators. He would not, however, allow the doctors to include in their report their opinion as to the manner in which the wounds were inflicted; but Grandier protested against this in a Statement of Facts, which he drew up during the night, and which was distributed next day. It was as follows: "That if the superior had not groaned the physicians would not have removed her clothes, and would have suffered her to be bound, without having the least idea that the wounds were already made; that then the exorcists would have commanded the devils to come forth, leaving the traces they had promised; that the superior would then have gone through the most extraordinary contortions of which she was capable, and have had a long fit of, convulsions, at the end of which she would have been delivered from the three demons, and the wounds would have been found in her body; that her groans, which had betrayed her, had by God's will thwarted the best-laid plans of men and devils. Why do you suppose," he went on to ask, "that clean incised wounds, such as a sharp blade would make, 'were chosen for a token, seeing that the wounds left by devils resemble burns? Was it not because it was easier for the superior to conceal a lancet with which to wound herself slightly, than to conceal any instrument sufficiently heated to burn her? Why do you think the left side was chosen rather than the forehead and nose, if not because she could not give herself a wound in either of those places without being seen by all the spectators? Why was the left side rather than the right chosen, if it were not that it was easier for the superior to wound herself with her right hand, which she habitually used, in the left side than in the right? Why did she turn on her left side and arm and remain so long in that position, if it were not to hide from the bystanders the instrument with which she wounded herself? What do you think caused her to groan, in spite of all her resolution, if it were not the pain of the wound she gave herself? for the most courageous cannot repress a shudder when the surgeon opens a vein. Why were her finger-tips stained with blood, if it were not that the secreted blade was so small that the fingers which held it could not escape being reddened by the blood it caused to flow? How came it that the wounds were so superficial that they barely went deeper than the cuticle, while devils are known to rend and tear demoniacs when leaving them, if it were not that the superior did not hate herself enough to inflict deep and dangerous wounds?" Despite this logical protest from Grandier and the barefaced knavery of the exorcist, M. de Laubardemont prepared a report of the expulsion of the three devils, Asmodeus, Gresil, and Aman, from the body of sister Jeanne des Anges, through three wounds below the region of the heart; a report which was afterwards shamelessly used against Grandier, and of which the memorandum still exists, a monument, not so much of credulity and superstition, as of hatred and revenge. Pere Lactance, in order to allay the suspicions which the pretended miracle had aroused among the eye-witnesses, asked Balaam, one of the four demons who still remained in the superior's body, the following day, why Asmodeus and his two companions had gone out against their promise, while the superior's face and hands were hidden from the people. "To lengthen the incredulity of certain people," answered Balaam. As for Pere Tranquille, he published a little volume describing the whole affair, in which, with the irresponsible frivolity of a true Capuchin, he poked fun at those who could not swallow the miracles wholesale. "They had every reason to feel vexed," he said, "at the small courtesy or civility shown by the demons to persons of their merit and station; but if they had examined their consciences, perhaps they would have found the real reason of their discontent, and, turning their anger against themselves, would have done penance for having come to the exorcisms led by a depraved moral sense and a prying spirit." Nothing remarkable happened from the 20th May till the 13th June, a day which became noteworthy by reason of the superior's vomiting a quill a finger long. It was doubtless this last miracle which brought the Bishop of Poitiers to Loudun, "not," as he said to those who came to pay their respects to him, "to examine into the genuineness of the possession, but to force those to believe who still doubted, and to discover the classes which Urbain had founded to teach the black art to pupils of both sexes." Thereupon the opinion began to prevail among the people that it would be prudent to believe in the possession, since the king, the cardinal-duke, and the bishop believed in it, and that continued doubt would lay them open to the charges of disloyalty to their king and their Church, and of complicity in the crimes of Grandier, and thus draw down upon them the ruthless punishment of Laubardemont. "The reason we feel so certain that our work is pleasing to God is that it is also pleasing to the king," wrote Pere Lactance. The arrival of the bishop was followed by a new exorcism; and of this an eye-witness, who was a good Catholic and a firm believer in possession, has left us a written description, more interesting than any we could give. We shall present it to our readers, word for word, as it stands:-- "On Friday, 23rd June 1634, on the Eve of Saint John, about 3 p.m., the Lord Bishop of Poitiers and M. de Laubardemont being present in the church of Sainte-Croix of Loudun, to continue the exorcisms of the Ursuline nuns, by order of M, de Laubardemont, commissioner, Urbain Grandier, priest-in-charge, accused and denounced as a magician by the said possessed nuns, was brought from his prison to the said church. "There were produced by the said commissioner to the said Urbain Grandier four pacts mentioned several times by the said possessed nuns at the preceding exorcisms, which the devils who possessed the nuns declared they had made with the said Grandier on several occasions: there was one in especial which Leviathan gave up on Saturday the 17th inst., composed of an infant's heart procured at a witches' sabbath, held in Orleans in 1631; the ashes of a consecrated wafer, blood, etc., of the said Grandier, whereby Leviathan asserted he had entered the body of the sister, Jeanne des Anges, the superior of the said nuns, and took possession of her with his coadjutors Beherit, Eazas, and Balaam, on December 8th, 1632. Another such pact was composed of the pips of Grenada oranges, and was given up by Asmodeus and a number of other devils. It had been made to hinder Beherit from keeping his promise to lift the commissioner's hat two inches from his head and to hold it there the length of a Miseyere, as a sign that he had come out of the nun. On all these pacts being shown to the said Grandier, he said, without astonishment, but with much firmness and resolution, that he had no knowledge of them whatever, that he had never made them, and had not the skill by which to make them, that he had held no communication with devils, and knew nothing of what they were talking about. A report of all this being made and shown to him, he signed it. "This done, they brought all the possessed nuns, to the number of eleven or twelve, including three lay sisters, also possessed, into the choir of the said church, accompanied by a great many monks, Carmelites, Capuchins, and Franciscans; and by three physicians and a surgeon. The sisters on entering made some wanton remarks, calling Grandier their master, and exhibiting great delight at seeing him. "Thereupon Pere Lactance and Gabriel, a Franciscan brother, and one of the exorcists, exhorted all present with great fervour to lift up their hearts to God and to make an act of contrition for the offences committed against His divine majesty, and to pray that the number of their sins might not be an obstacle to the fulfilment of the plans which He in His providence had formed for the promotion of His glory on that occasion, and to give outward proof of their heartfelt grief by repeating the Confiteor as a preparation for the blessing of the Lord Bishop of Poitiers. This having been done, he went on to say that the matter in question was of such moment and so important in its relation to the great truths of the Roman Catholic Church, that this consideration alone ought to be sufficient to excite their devotion; and furthermore, that the affliction of these poor sisters was so peculiar and had lasted so long, that charity impelled all those who had the right to work for their deliverance and the expulsion of the devils, to employ the power entrusted to them with their office in accomplishing so worthy a task by the forms of exorcism prescribed by the Church to its ministers; then addressing Grandier, he said that he having been anointed as a priest belonged to this number, and that he ought to help with all his power and with all his energy, if the bishop were pleased to allow him to do so, and to remit his suspension from authority. The bishop having granted permission, the Franciscan friar offered a stole to Grandier, who, turning towards the prelate, asked him if he might take it. On receiving a reply in the affirmative, he passed it round his neck, and on being offered a copy of the ritual, he asked permission to accept it as before, and received the bishop's blessing, prostrating himself at his feet to kiss them; whereupon the Veni Creator Spiritus having been sung, he rose, and addressing the bishop, asked-- "'My lord, whom am I to exorcise?'" The said bishop having replied-- "'These maidens.' "Grandier again asked-- "'What maidens?' "'The possessed maidens,' was the answer. "'That is to say, my lord,' said he; 'that I am obliged to believe in the fact of possession. The Church believes in it, therefore I too believe; but I cannot believe that a sorcerer can cause a Christian to be possessed unless the Christian consent.' "Upon this, some of those present exclaimed that it was heretical to profess such a belief; that the contrary was indubitable, believed by the whole Church and approved by the Sorbonne. To which he replied that his mind on that point was not yet irrevocably made up, that what he had said was simply his own idea, and that in any case he submitted to the opinion of the whole body of which he was only a member; that nobody was declared a heretic for having doubts, but only for persisting in them, and that what he had advanced was only for the purpose of drawing an assurance from the bishop that in doing what he was about to do he would not be abusing the authority of the Church. Sister Catherine having been brought to him by the Franciscan as the most ignorant of all the nuns, and the least open to the suspicion of being acquainted with Latin, he began the exorcism in the form prescribed by the ritual. But as soon as he began to question her he was interrupted, for all the other nuns were attacked by devils, and uttered strange and terrible noises. Amongst the rest, Sister Claire came near, and reproached him for his blindness and obstinacy, so that he was forced to leave the nun with whom he had begun, and address his words to the said Sister Claire, who during the entire duration of the exorcism continued to talk at random, without paying any heed to Grandier's words, which were also interrupted by the mother superior, to whom he of last gave attention, leaving Sister Claire. But it is to be noted that before beginning to exorcise the superior, he said, speaking in Latin as heretofore, that knowing she understood Latin, he would question her in Greek. To which the devil replied by the mouth of the possessed: "'Ah! how clever you are! You know it was one of the first conditions of our pact that I was not to answer in Greek.' "Upon this, he cried, 'O pulchra illusio, egregica evasio!' ( O superb fraud, outrageous evasion!) "He was then told that he was permitted to exorcise in Greek, provided he first wrote down what he wished to say, and the superior hereupon said that he should be answered in what language he pleased; but it was impossible, for as soon as he opened his mouth all the nuns recommenced their shrieks and paroxysms, showing unexampled despair, and giving way to convulsions, which in each patient assumed a new form, and persisting in accusing Grandier of using magic and the black art to torment them; offering to wring his neck if they were allowed, and trying to outrage his feelings in every possible way. But this being against the prohibitions of the Church, the priests and monks present worked with the utmost zeal to calm the frenzy which had seized on the nuns. Grandier meanwhile remained calm and unmoved, gazing fixedly at the maniacs, protesting his innocence, and praying to God for protection. Then addressing himself to the bishop and M. de Laubardemont, he implored them by the ecclesiastical and royal authority of which they were the ministers to command these demons to wring his neck, or at least to put a mark in his forehead, if he were guilty of the crime of which they accused him, that the glory of God might be shown forth, the authority of the Church vindicated, and himself brought to confusion, provided that the nuns did not touch him with their hands. But to this the bishop and the commissioner would not consent, because they did not want to be responsible for what might happen to him, neither would they expose the authority of the Church to the wiles of the devils, who might have made some pact on that point with Grandier. Then the exorcists, to the number of eight, having commanded the devils to be silent and to cease their tumult, ordered a brazier to be brought, and into this they threw the pacts one by one, whereupon the convulsions returned with such awful violence and confused cries, rising into frenzied shrieks, and accompanied by such horrible contortions, that the scene might have been taken for an orgy of witches, were it not for the sanctity of the place and the character of those present, of whom Grandier, in outward seeming at least, was the least amazed of any, although he had the most reason. The devils continued their accusations, citing the places, the days, and the hours of their intercourse with him; the first spell he cast on them, his scandalous behaviour, his insensibility, his abjurations of God and the faith. To all this he calmly returned that these accusations were calumnies, and all the more unjust considering his profession; that he renounced Satan and all his fiends, having neither knowledge nor comprehension of them; that in spite of all he was a Christian, and what was more, an anointed priest; that though he knew himself to be a sinful man, yet his trust was in God and in His Christ; that he had never indulged in such abominations, end that it would be impossible to furnish any pertinent and convincing proof of his guilt. "At this point no words could express what the senses perceived; eyes and ears received an impression of being surrounded by furies such as had never been gathered together before; and unless accustomed to such ghastly scenes as those who sacrifice to demons, no one could keep his mind free from astonishment and horror in the midst of such a spectacle. Grandier alone remained unchanged through it all, seemingly insensible to the monstrous exhibitions, singing hymns to the Lord with the rest of the people, as confident as if he were guarded by legions of angels. One of the demons cried out that Beelzebub was standing between him and Pere Tranquille the Capuchin, upon which Grandier said to the demon-- "'Obmutescas!' (Hold thy peace). "Upon this the demon began to curse, and said that was their watchword; but they could not hold their peace, because God was infinitely powerful, and the powers of hell could not prevail against Him. Thereupon they all struggled to get at Grandier, threatening to tear him limb from limb, to point out his marks, to strangle him although he was their master; whereupon he seized a chance to say he was neither their master nor their servant, and that it was incredible that they should in the same breath acknowledge him for their master and express a desire to strangle him: on hearing this, the frenzy of the nuns reached its height, and they kicked their slippers into his face. "'Just look!' said he; 'the shoes drop from the hoofs of their own accord.' "At length, had it not been for the help and interposition of people in the choir, the nuns in their frenzy would have taken the life of the chief personage in this spectacle; so there was no choice but to take him away from the church and the furies who threatened his life. He was therefore brought back to prison about six o'clock in the evening, and the rest of the day the exorcists were employed in calming the poor sisters--a task of no small difficulty." Everyone did not regard the possessed sisters with the indulgent eye of the author of the above narrative, and many saw in this terrible exhibition of hysteria and convulsions an infamous and sacrilegious orgy, at which revenge ran riot. There was such difference of opinion about it that it was considered necessary to publish the following proclamation by means of placards on July 2nd: "All persons, of whatever rank or profession, are hereby expressly forbidden to traduce, or in any way malign, the nuns and other persons at Loudun possessed by evil spirits; or their exorcists; or those who accompany them either to the places appointed for exorcism or elsewhere; in any form or manner whatever, on pain of a fine of ten thousand livres, or a larger sum and corporal punishment should the case so require; and in order that no one may plead ignorance hereof, this proclamation will be read and published to-day from the pulpits of all the churches, and copies affixed to the church doors and in other suitable public places. "Done at Loudun, July 2nd, 1634." This order had great influence with worldly folk, and from that moment, whether their belief was strengthened or not, they no longer dared to express any incredulity. But in spite of that, the judges were put to shame, for the nuns themselves began to repent; and on the day following the impious scene above described, just as Pere Lactanee began to exorcise Sister Claire in the castle chapel, she rose, and turning towards the congregation, while tears ran down her cheeks, said in a voice that could be heard by all present, that she was going to speak the truth at last in the sight of Heaven. Thereupon she confessed that all that she had said during the last fortnight against Grandier was calumnious and false, and that all her actions had been done at the instigation of the Franciscan Pere Lactance, the director, Mignon, and the Carmelite brothers. Pere Lactance, not in the least taken aback, declared that her confession was a fresh wile of the devil to save her master Grandier. She then made an urgent appeal to the bishop and to M. de Laubardemont, asking to be sequestered and placed in charge of other priests than those who had destroyed her soul, by making her bear false witness against an innocent man; but they only laughed at the pranks the devil was playing, and ordered her to be at once taken back to the house in which she was then living. When she heard this order, she darted out of the choir, trying to escape through the church door, imploring those present to come to her assistance and save her from everlasting damnation. But such terrible fruit had the proclamation borne that noon dared respond, so she was recaptured and taken back to the house in which she was sequestered, never to leave it again. CHAPTER X The next day a still more extraordinary scene took place. While M. de Laubardemont was questioning one of the nuns, the superior came down into the court, barefooted; in her chemise, and a cord round her neck; and there she remained for two hours, in the midst of a fearful storm, not shrinking before lightning, thunder, or rain, but waiting till M. de Laubardemont and the other exorcists should come out. At length the door opened and the royal commissioner appeared, whereupon Sister Jeanne des Anges, throwing herself at his feet, declared she had not sufficient strength to play the horrible part they had made her learn any longer, and that before God and man she declared Urbain Grandier innocent, saying that all the hatred which she and her companions had felt against him arose from the baffled desires which his comeliness awoke--desires which the seclusion of conventional life made still more ardent. M. de Laubardemont threatened her with the full weight of his displeasure, but she answered, weeping bitterly, that all she now dreaded was her sin, for though the mercy of the Saviour was great, she felt that the crime she had committed could never be pardoned. M. de Laubardemont exclaimed that it was the demon who dwelt in her who was speaking, but she replied that the only demon by whom she had even been possessed was the spirit of vengeance, and that it was indulgence in her own evil thoughts, and not a pact with the devil, which had admitted him into her heart. With these words she withdrew slowly, still weeping, and going into the garden, attached one end of the cord round her neck to the branch of a tree, and hanged herself. But some of the sisters who had followed her cut her down before life was extinct. The same day an order for her strict seclusion was issued for her as for Sister Claire, and the circumstances that she was a relation of M. de Laubardemont did not avail to lessen her punishment in view of the gravity of her fault. It was impossible to continue the exorcisms other nuns might be tempted to follow the example, of the superior and Sister Claire, and in that case all would be lost. And besides, was not Urbain Grandier well and duly convicted? It was announced, therefore, that the examination had proceeded far enough, and that the judges would consider the evidence and deliver judgment. This long succession of violent and irregular breaches of law procedure, the repeated denials of his claim to justice, the refusal to let his witnesses appear, or to listen to his defence, all combined to convince Grandier that his ruin was determined on; for the case had gone so far and had attained such publicity that it was necessary either to punish him as a sorcerer and magician or to render a royal commissioner, a bishop, an entire community of nuns, several monks of various orders, many judges of high reputation, and laymen of birth and standing, liable to the penalties incurred by calumniators. But although, as this conviction grew, he confronted it with resignation, his courage did not fail,--and holding it to be his duty as a man and a Christian to defend his life and honour to the end, he drew up and published another memorandum, headed Reasons for Acquittal, and had copies laid before his judges. It was a weighty and, impartial summing up of the whole case, such as a stranger might have written, and began, with these words. "I entreat you in all humility to consider deliberately and with attention what the Psalmist says in Psalm 82, where he exhorts judges to fulfil their charge with absolute rectitude; they being themselves mere mortals who will one day have to appear before God, the sovereign judge of the universe, to give an account of their administration. The Lord's Anointed speaks to you to-day who are sitting in judgment, and says-- "'God standeth in the congregation of the mighty: He judgeth among the gods. "'How long will ye judge unjustly, and accept the persons of the wicked? "'Defend the poor and fatherless: do justice to the afflicted and needy. "'Deliver the poor and needy: rid them out of the hand of the wicked. "'I have said, Ye are gods; and all of you are children of the Most High. "'But ye shall die like men, and fall like one of the princes.'" But this appeal, although convincing and dignified, had no influence upon the commission; and on the 18th of August the following verdict and sentence was pronounced:-- "We have declared, and do hereby declare, Urbain Grandier duly accused and convicted of the crimes of magic and witchcraft, and of causing the persons of certain Ursuline nuns of this town and of other females to become possessed of evil spirits, wherefrom other crimes and offences have resulted. By way of reparation therefor, we have sentenced, and do hereby sentence, the said Grandier to make public apology, bareheaded, with a cord around his neck, holding a lighted torch of two pounds weight in his hand, before the west door of the church of Saint-Pierre in the Market Place and before--that of Sainte-Ursule, both of this town, and there on bended knee to ask pardon of God and the king and the law, and this done, to be taken to the public square of Sainte-Croix and there to be attached to a stake, set in the midst of a pile of wood, both of which to be prepared there for this purpose, and to be burnt alive, along with the pacts and spells which remain in the hands of the clerk and the manuscript of the book written by the said Grandier against a celibate priesthood, and his ashes, to be scattered to the four winds of heaven. And we have declared, and do hereby declare, all and every part of his property confiscate to the king, the sum of one hundred and fifty livres being first taken therefrom to be employed in the purchase of a copper plate whereon the substance of the present decree shall be engraved, the same to be exposed in a conspicuous place in the said church of Sainte-Ursule, there to remain in perpetuity; and before this sentence is carried out, we order the said Grandier to be put to the question ordinary and extraordinary, so that his accomplices may become known. "Pronounced at Loudun against the said Grandier this 18th day of August 1634." On the morning of the day on which this sentence was passed, M. de Laubardemont ordered the surgeon Francois Fourneau to be arrested at his own house and taken to Grandier's cell, although he was ready to go there of his own free will. In passing through the adjoining room he heard the voice of the accused saying:-- "What do you want with me, wretched executioner? Have you come to kill me? You know how cruelly you have already tortured my body. Well I am ready to die." On entering the room, Fourneau saw that these words had been addressed to the surgeon Mannouri. One of the officers of the 'grand privot de l'hotel', to whom M. de Laubardemont lent for the occasion the title of officer of the king's guard, ordered the new arrival to shave Grandier, and not leave a single hair on his whole body. This was a formality employed in cases of witchcraft, so that the devil should have no place to hide in; for it was the common belief that if a single hair were left, the devil could render the accused insensible to the pains of torture. From this Urbain understood that the verdict had gone against him and that he was condemned to death. Fourneau having saluted Grandier, proceeded to carry out his orders, whereupon a judge said it was not sufficient to shave the body of the prisoner, but that his nails must also be torn out, lest the devil should hide beneath them. Grandier looked at the speaker with an expression of unutterable pity, and held out his hands to Fourneau; but Forneau put them gently aside, and said he would do nothing of the kind, even were the order given by the cardinal-duke himself, and at the same time begged Grandier's pardon for shaving him. At, these words Grandier, who had for so long met with nothing but barbarous treatment from those with whom he came in contact, turned towards the surgeon with tears in his eyes, saying-- "So you are the only one who has any pity for me." "Ah, sir," replied Fourneau, "you don't see everybody." Grandier was then shaved, but only two marks found on him, one as we have said on the shoulder blade, and the other on the thigh. Both marks were very sensitive, the wounds which Mannouri had made not having yet healed. This point having been certified by Fourneau, Grandier was handed, not his own clothes, but some wretched garments which had probably belonged to some other condemned man. Then, although his sentence had been pronounced at the Carmelite convent, he was taken by the grand provost's officer, with two of his archers, accompanied by the provosts of Loudun and Chinon, to the town hall, where several ladies of quality, among them Madame de Laubardemont, led by curiosity, were sitting beside the judges, waiting to hear the sentence read. M. de Laubardemont was in the seat usually occupied by the clerk, and the clerk was standing before him. All the approaches were lined with soldiers. Before the accused was brought in, Pere Lactance and another Franciscan who had come with him exorcised him to oblige the devils to leave him; then entering the judgment hall, they exorcised the earth, the air, "and the other elements." Not till that was done was Grandier led in. At first he was kept at the far end of the hall, to allow time for the exorcisms to have their full effect, then he was brought forward to the bar and ordered to kneel down. Grandier obeyed, but could remove neither his hat nor his skull-cap, as his hands were bound behind his back, whereupon the clerk seized on the one and the provost's officer on the other, and flung them at de Laubardemont's feet. Seeing that the accused fixed his eyes on the commissioner as if waiting to see what he was about to do, the clerk said: "Turn your head, unhappy man, and adore the crucifix above the bench." Grandier obeyed without a murmur and with great humility, and remained sunk in silent prayer for about ten minutes; he then resumed his former attitude. The clerk then began to read the sentence in a trembling voice, while Grandier listened with unshaken firmness and wonderful tranquillity, although it was the most terrible sentence that could be passed, condemning the accused to be burnt alive the same day, after the infliction of ordinary and extraordinary torture. When the clerk had ended, Grandier said, with a voice unmoved from its usual calm-- "Messeigneurs, I aver in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, and the Blessed Virgin, my only hope, that I have never been a magician, that I have never committed sacrilege, that I know no other magic than that of the Holy Scriptures, which I have always preached, and that I have never held any other belief than that of our Holy Mother the Catholic Apostolic Church of Rome; I renounce the devil and all his works; I confess my Redeemer, and I pray to be saved through the blood of the Cross; and I beseech you, messeigneurs, to mitigate the rigour of my sentence, and not to drive my soul to despair." The concluding words led de Laubardemont to believe that he could obtain some admission from Grandier through fear of suffering, so he ordered the court to be cleared, and, being left alone with Maitre Houmain, criminal lieutenant of Orleans, and the Franciscans, he addressed Grandier in a stern voice, saying there was only one way to obtain any mitigation of his sentence, and that was to confess the names of his accomplices and to sign the confession. Grandier replied that having committed no crime he could have no accomplices, whereupon Laubardemont ordered the prisoner to be taken to the torture chamber, which adjoined the judgment hall--an order which was instantly obeyed. CHAPTER XI The mode of torture employed at Loudun was a variety of the boot, and one of the most painful of all. Each of the victim's legs below the knee was placed between two boards, the two pairs were then laid one above the other and bound together firmly at the ends; wedges were then driven in with a mallet between the two middle boards; four such wedges constituted ordinary and eight extraordinary torture; and this latter was seldom inflicted, except on those condemned to death, as almost no one ever survived it, the sufferer's legs being crushed to a pulp before he left the torturer's bands. In this case M. de Laubardemont on his own initiative, for it had never been done before, added two wedges to those of the extraordinary torture, so that instead of eight, ten were to be driven in. Nor was this all: the commissioner royal and the two Franciscans undertook to inflict the torture themselves. Laubardemont ordered Grandier to be bound in the usual manner, I and then saw his legs placed between the boards. He then dismissed the executioner and his assistants, and directed the keeper of the instruments to bring the wedges, which he complained of as being too small. Unluckily, there were no larger ones in stock, and in spite of threats the keeper persisted in saying he did not know where to procure others. M. de Laubardemont then asked how long it would take to make some, and was told two hours; finding that too long to wait, he was obliged to put up with those he had. Thereupon the torture began. Pere Lactance having exorcised the instruments, drove in the first wedge, but could not draw a murmur from Grandier, who was reciting a prayer in a low voice; a second was driven home, and this time the victim, despite his resolution, could not avoid interrupting his devotions by two groans, at each of which Pere Lactance struck harder, crying, "Dicas! dicas!" (Confess, confess!), a word which he repeated so often and so furiously, till all was over, that he was ever after popularly called "Pere Dicas." When the second wedge was in, de Laubardemont showed Grandier his manuscript against the celibacy of the priests, and asked if he acknowledged it to be in his own handwriting. Grandier answered in the affirmative. Asked what motive he had in writing it, he said it was an attempt to restore peace of mind to a poor girl whom he had loved, as was proved by the two lines written at the end-- "Si ton gentil esprit prend bien cette science, Tu mettras en repos ta bonne conscience." [If thy sensitive mind imbibe this teaching, It will give ease to thy tender conscience] Upon this, M. de Laubardemont demanded the girl's name; but Grandier assured him it should never pass his lips, none knowing it but himself and God. Thereupon M. de Laubardemont ordered Pere Lactance to insert the third wedge. While it was being driven in by the monk's lusty arm, each blow being accompanied by the word "'Dicas'!" Grandier exclaimed-- "My God! they are killing me, and yet I am neither a sorcerer nor sacrilegious!" At the fourth wedge Grandier fainted, muttering-- "Oh, Pere Lactance, is this charity?" Although his victim was unconscious, Pere Lactance continued to strike; so that, having lost consciousness through pain, pain soon brought him back to life. De Laubardemont took advantage of this revival to take his turn at demanding a confession of his crimes; but Grandier said-- "I have committed no crimes, sir, only errors. Being a man, I have often gone astray; but I have confessed and done penance, and believe that my prayers for pardon have been heard; but if not, I trust that God will grant me pardon now, for the sake of my sufferings." At the fifth wedge Grandier fainted once more, but they restored him to consciousness by dashing cold water in his face, whereupon he moaned, turning to M. de Laubardemont-- "In pity, sir, put me to death at once! I am only a man, and I cannot answer for myself that if you continue to torture me so I shall not give way to despair." "Then sign this, and the torture shall cease," answered the commissioner royal, offering him a paper. "My father," said Urbain, turning towards the Franciscan, "can you assure me on your conscience that it is permissible for a man, in order to escape suffering, to confess a crime he has never committed?" "No," replied the monk; "for if he die with a lie on his lips he dies in mortal sin." "Go on, then," said Grandier; "for having suffered so much in my body, I desire to save my soul." As Pere Lactance drove in the sixth wedge Grandier fainted anew. When he had been revived, Laubardemont called upon him to confess that a certain Elisabeth Blanchard had been his mistress, as well as the girl for whom he had written the treatise against celibacy; but Grandier replied that not only had no improper relations ever existed between them, but that the day he had been confronted with her at his trial was the first time he had ever seen her. At the seventh wedge Grandier's legs burst open, and the blood spurted into Pere Lactance's face; but he wiped it away with the sleeve of his gown. "O Lord my God, have mercy on me! I die!" cried Grandier, and fainted for the fourth time. Pere Lactance seized the opportunity to take a short rest, and sat down. When Grandier had once more come to himself, he began slowly to utter a prayer, so beautiful and so moving that the provost's lieutenant wrote it down; but de Laubardemont noticing this, forbade him ever to show it to anyone. At the eighth wedge the bones gave way, and the marrow oozed out of the wounds, and it became useless to drive in any more wedges, the legs being now as flat as the boards that compressed them, and moreover Pere Lactance was quite worn out. Grandier was unbound and laid upon the flagged floor, and while his eyes shone with fever and agony he prayed again a second prayer--a veritable martyr's prayer, overflowing with faith and enthusiasm; but as he ended his strength failed, and he again became unconscious. The provost's lieutenant forced a little wine between his lips, which brought him to; then he made an act of contrition, renounced Satan and all his works once again, and commended his soul to God. Four men entered, his legs were freed from the boards, and the crushed parts were found to be a mere inert mass, only attached to the knees by the sinews. He was then carried to the council chamber, and laid on a little straw before the fire. In a corner of the fireplace an Augustinian monk was seated. Urbain asked leave to confess to him, which de Laubardemont refused, holding out the paper he desired to have signed once more, at which Grandier said-- "If I would not sign to spare myself before, am I likely to give way now that only death remains?" "True," replied Laubardemont; "but the mode of your death is in our hands: it rests with us to make it slow or quick, painless or agonising; so take this paper and sign?" Grandier pushed the paper gently away, shaking his head in sign of refusal, whereupon de Laubardemont left the room in a fury, and ordered Peres Tranquille and Claude to be admitted, they being the confessors he had chosen for Urbain. When they came near to fulfil their office, Urbain recognised in them two of his torturers, so he said that, as it was only four days since he had confessed to Pere Grillau, and he did not believe he had committed any mortal sin since then, he would not trouble them, upon which they cried out at him as a heretic and infidel, but without any effect. At four o'clock the executioner's assistants came to fetch him; he was placed lying on a bier and carried out in that position. On the way he met the criminal lieutenant of Orleans, who once more exhorted him to confess his crimes openly; but Grandier replied-- "Alas, sir, I have avowed them all; I have kept nothing back." "Do you desire me to have masses said for you?" continued the lieutenant. "I not only desire it, but I beg for it as a great favour," said Urbain. A lighted torch was then placed in his hand: as the procession started he pressed the torch to his lips; he looked on all whom he met with modest confidence, and begged those whom he knew to intercede with God for him. On the threshold of the door his sentence was read to him, and he was then placed in a small cart and driven to the church of St. Pierre in the market-place. There he was awaited by M. de Laubardemont, who ordered him to alight. As he could not stand on his mangled limbs, he was pushed out, and fell first on his knees and then on his face. In this position he remained patiently waiting to be lifted. He was carried to the top of the steps and laid down, while his sentence was read to him once more, and just as it was finished, his confessor, who had not been allowed to see him for four days, forced a way through the crowd and threw himself into Grandier's arms. At first tears choked Pere Grillau's voice, but at last he said, "Remember, sir, that our Saviour Jesus Christ ascended to His Father through the agony of the Cross: you are a wise man, do not give way now and lose everything. I bring you your mother's blessing; she and I never cease to pray that God may have mercy on you and receive you into Paradise." These words seemed to inspire Grandier with new strength; he lifted his head, which pain had bowed, and raising his eyes to heaven, murmured a short prayer. Then turning towards the worthy, friar, he said-- "Be a son to my mother; pray to God for me constantly; ask all our good friars to pray for my soul; my one consolation is that I die innocent. I trust that God in His mercy may receive me into Paradise." "Is there nothing else I can do for you?" asked Pere Grillau. "Alas, my father!" replied Grandier, "I am condemned to die a most cruel death; ask the executioner if there is no way of shortening what I must undergo." "I go at once," said the friar; and giving him absolution in 'articulo mortis', he went down the steps, and while Grandier was making his confession aloud the good monk drew the executioner aside and asked if there were no possibility of alleviating the death-agony by means of a shirt dipped in brimstone. The executioner answered that as the sentence expressly stated that Grandier was to be burnt alive, he could not employ an expedient so sure to be discovered as that; but that if the friar would give him thirty crowns he would undertake to strangle Grandier while he was kindling the pile. Pere Grillau gave him the money, and the executioner provided himself with a rope. The Franciscan then placed himself where he could speak to his penitent as he passed, and as he embraced him for the last time, whispered to him what he had arranged with the executioner, whereupon Grandier turned towards the latter and said in a tone of deep gratitude-- "Thanks, my brother." At that moment, the archers having driven away Pere Grillau, by order of M. de Laubardemont, by beating him with their halberts, the procession resumed its march, to go through the same ceremony at the Ursuline church, and from there to proceed to the square of Sainte-Croix. On the way Urbain met and recognised Moussant, who was accompanied by his wife, and turning towards him, said-- "I die your debtor, and if I have ever said a word that could offend you I ask you to forgive me." When the place of execution was reached, the provost's lieutenant approached Grandier and asked his forgiveness. "You have not offended me," was the reply; "you have only done what your duty obliged you to do." The executioner then came forward and removed the back board of the cart, and ordered his assistants to carry Grandier to where the pile was prepared. As he was unable to stand, he was attached to the stake by an iron hoop passed round his body. At that moment a flock of pigeons seemed to fall from the sky, and, fearless of the crowd, which was so great that the archers could not succeed even by blows of their weapons in clearing a way for the magistrates, began to fly around Grandier, while one, as white as the driven snow, alighted on the summit of the stake, just above his head. Those who believed in possession exclaimed that they were only a band of devils come to seek their master, but there were many who muttered that devils were not wont to assume such a form, and who persisted in believing that the doves had come in default of men to bear witness to Grandier's innocence. In trying next day to combat this impression, a monk asserted that he had seen a huge fly buzzing round Grandier's head, and as Beelzebub meant in Hebrew, as he said, the god of flies, it was quite evident that it was that demon himself who, taking upon him the form of one of his subjects, had come to carry off the magician's soul. When everything was prepared, the executioner passed the rope by which he meant to strangle him round Grandier's neck; then the priests exorcised the earth, air, and wood, and again demanded of their victim if he would not publicly confess his crimes. Urbain replied that he had nothing to say, but that he hoped through the martyr's death he was about to die to be that day with Christ in Paradise. The clerk then read his sentence to him for the fourth time, and asked if he persisted in what he said under torture. "Most certainly I do," said Urbain; "for it was the exact truth." Upon this, the clerk withdrew, first informing Grandier that if he had anything to say to the people he was at liberty to speak. But this was just what the exorcists did not want: they knew Grandier's eloquence and courage, and a firm, unshaken denial at the moment of death would be most prejudicial to their interests. As soon, therefore, as Grandier opened his lips to speak, they dashed such a quantity of holy water in his face that it took away his breath. It was but for a moment, however, and he recovered himself, and again endeavoured to speak, a monk stooped down and stifled the words by kissing him on the lips. Grandier, guessing his intention, said loud enough for those next the pile to hear, "That was the kiss of Judas!" At these words the monks become so enraged that one of them struck Grandier three times in the face with a crucifix, while he appeared to be giving it him to kiss; but by the blood that flowed from his nose and lips at the third blow those standing near perceived the truth: all Grandier could do was to call out that he asked for a Salve Regina and an Ave Maria, which many began at once to repeat, whilst he with clasped hands and eyes raised to heaven commended himself to God and the Virgin. The exorcists then made one more effort to get him to confess publicly, but he exclaimed-- "My fathers, I have said all I had to say; I hope in God and in His mercy." At this refusal the anger of the exorcists surpassed all bounds, and Pere Lactance, taking a twist of straw, dipped it in a bucket of pitch which was standing beside the pile, and lighting it at a torch, thrust it into his face, crying-- "Miserable wretch! will nothing force you to confess your crimes and renounce the devil?" "I do not belong to the devil," said Grandier, pushing away the straw with his hands; "I have renounced the devil, I now renounce him and all his works again, and I pray that God may have mercy on me." At this, without waiting for the signal from the provost's lieutenant, Pere Lactance poured the bucket of pitch on one corner of the pile of wood and set fire to it, upon which Grandier called the executioner to his aid, who, hastening up, tried in vain to strangle him, while the flames spread apace. "Ah! my brother," said the sufferer, "is this the way you keep your promise?" "It's not my fault," answered the executioner; "the monks have knotted the cord, so that the noose cannot slip." "Oh, Father Lactance! Father Lactance! have you no charity?" cried Grandier. The executioner by this time was forced by the increasing heat to jump down from the pile, being indeed almost overcome; and seeing this, Grandier stretched forth a hand into the flames, and said-- "Pere Lactance, God in heaven will judge between thee and me; I summon thee to appear before Him in thirty days." Grandier was then seen to make attempts to strangle himself, but either because it was impossible, or because he felt it would be wrong to end his life by his own hands, he desisted, and clasping his hands, prayed aloud-- "Deus meus, ad te vigilo, miserere me." A Capuchin fearing that he would have time to say more, approached the pile from the side which had not yet caught fire, and dashed the remainder of the holy water in his face. This caused such smoke that Grandier was hidden for a moment from the eyes of the spectators; when it cleared away, it was seen that his clothes were now alight; his voice could still be heard from the midst of the flames raised in prayer; then three times, each time in a weaker voice, he pronounced the name of Jesus, and giving one cry, his head fell forward on his breast. At that moment the pigeons which had till then never ceased to circle round the stake, flew away, and were lost in the clouds. Urbain Grandier had given up the ghost. CHAPTER XII This time it was not the man who was executed who was guilty, but the executioners; consequently we feel sure that our readers will be anxious to learn something of their fate. Pere Lactance died in the most terrible agony on September 18th, 1634, exactly a month from the date of Grandier's death. His brother-monks considered that this was due to the vengeance of Satan; but others were not wanting who said, remembering the summons uttered by Grandier, that it was rather due to the justice of God. Several attendant circumstances seemed to favour the latter opinion. The author of the History of the Devils of Loudzin gives an account of one of these circumstances, for the authenticity of which he vouches, and from which we extract the following: "Some days after the execution of Grandier, Pere Lactance fell ill of the disease of which he died. Feeling that it was of supernatural origin, he determined to take a pilgrimage to Notre Dame des Andilliers de Saumur, where many miracles were wrought, and which was held in high estimation in the neighbourhood. A place in the carriage of the Sieur de Canaye was offered him for the journey; for this gentleman, accompanied by a large party on pleasure bent, was just then setting out for his estate of Grand Fonds, which lay in the same direction. The reason for the offer was that Canaye and his friends, having heard that the last words of Grandier had affected Pere Lactance's mind, expected to find a great deal of amusement in exciting the terrors of their travelling-companion. And in truth, for a day or two, the boon companions sharpened their wits at the expense of the worthy monk, when all at once, on a good road and without apparent cause, the carriage overturned. Though no one was hurt, the accident appeared so strange to the pleasure-seekers that it put an end to the jokes of even the boldest among them. Pere Lactance himself appeared melancholy and preoccupied, and that evening at supper refused to eat, repeating over and over again-- "'It was wrong of me to deny Grandier the confessor he asked for; God is punishing me, God is punishing me!' "On the following morning the journey was resumed, but the evident distress of mind under which Pere Lactance laboured had so damped the spirits of the party that all their gaiety had disappeared. Suddenly, just outside Fenet, where the road was in excellent condition and no obstacle to their progress apparent, the carriage upset for the second time. Although again no one was hurt, the travellers felt that there was among them someone against whom God's anger was turned, and their suspicions pointing to Pere Lactance, they went on their way, leaving him behind, and feeling very uncomfortable at the thought that they had spent two or three days in his society. "Pere Lactance at last reached Notre-Dame des Andilliers; but however numerous were the miracles there performed, the remission of the doom pronounced by the martyr on Pere Lactance was not added to their number; and at a quarter-past six on September 18th, exactly a month to the very minute after Grandier's death, Pere Lactance expired in excruciating agony." Pere Tranquille's turn came four years later. The malady which attacked him was so extraordinary that the physicians were quite at a loss, and forced to declare their ignorance of any remedy. His shrieks and blasphemies were so distinctly heard in the streets, that his brother Franciscans, fearing the effect they would have on his after-reputation, especially in the minds of those who had seen Grandier die with words of prayer on his lips, spread abroad the report that the devils whom he had expelled from the bodies of the nuns had entered into the body of the exorcist. He died shrieking-- "My God! how I suffer! Not all the devils and all the damned together endure what I endure!" His panegyrist, in whose book we find all the horrible details of his death employed to much purpose to illustrate the advantages of belonging to the true faith, remarks-- "Truly big generous heart must have been a hot hell for those fiends who entered his body to torment it." The following epitaph which was placed over his grave was interpreted, according to the prepossessions of those who read it, either as a testimony to his sanctity or as a proof of his punishment:-- "Here lies Pere Tranquille, of Saint-Remi; a humble Capuchin preacher. The demons no longer able to endure his fearlessly exercised power as an exorcist, and encouraged by sorcerers, tortured him to death, on May 31st, 1638." But a death about which there could be no doubt as to the cause was that of the surgeon Mannouri, the same who had, as the reader may recollect, been the first to torture Grandier. One evening about ten o'clock he was returning from a visit to a patient who lived on the outskirts of the town, accompanied by a colleague and preceded by his surgery attendant carrying a lantern. When they reached the centre of the town in the rue Grand-Pave, which passes between the walls of the castle grounds and the gardens of the Franciscan monastery, Mannouri suddenly stopped, and, staring fixedly at some object which was invisible to his companions, exclaimed with a start-- "Oh! there is Grandier! "Where? where?" cried the others. He pointed in the direction towards which his eyes were turned, and beginning to tremble violently, asked-- "What do you want with me, Grandier? What do you want?" A moment later he added "Yes-yes, I am coming." Immediately it seemed as if the vision vanished from before his eyes, but the effect remained. His brother-surgeon and the servant brought him home, but neither candles nor the light of day could allay his fears; his disordered brain showed him Grandier ever standing at the foot of his bed. A whole week he continued, as was known all over the town, in this condition of abject terror; then the spectre seemed to move from its place and gradually to draw nearer, for he kept on repeating, "He is coming! he is coming!" and at length, towards evening, at about the same hour at which Grandier expired, Surgeon Mannouri drew his last breath. We have still to tell of M. de Laubardemont. All we know is thus related in the letters of M. de Patin:-- "On the 9th inst., at nine o'clock in the evening, a carriage was attacked by robbers; on hearing the noise the townspeople ran to the spot, drawn thither as much by curiosity as by humanity. A few shots were exchanged and the robbers put to flight, with the exception of one man belonging to their band who was taken prisoner, and another who lay wounded on the paving-stones. This latter died next day without having spoken, and left no clue behind as to who he was. His identity was, however, at length made clear. He was the son of a high dignitary named de Laubardemont, who in 1634, as royal commissioner, condemned Urbain Grandier, a poor, priest of Loudun, to be burnt alive, under the pretence that he had caused several nuns of Loudun to be possessed by devils. These nuns he had so tutored as to their behaviour that many people foolishly believed them to be demoniacs. May we not regard the fate of his son as a chastisement inflicted by Heaven on this unjust judge--an expiation exacted for the pitilessly cruel death inflicted on his victim, whose blood still cries unto the Lord from the ground?" Naturally the persecution of Urbain Grandier attracted the attention not only of journalists but of poets. Among the many poems which were inspired by it, the following is one of the best. Urbain speaks:-- "From hell came the tidings that by horrible sanctions I had made a pact with the devil to have power over women: Though not one could be found to accuse me. In the trial which delivered me to torture and the stake, The demon who accused me invented and suggested the crime, And his testimony was the only proof against me. The English in their rage burnt the Maid alive; Like her, I too fell a victim to revenge; We were both accused falsely of the same crime; In Paris she is adored, in London abhorred; In Loudun some hold me guilty of witchcraft, Some believe me innocent; some halt between two minds. Like Hercules, I loved passionately; Like him, I was consumed by fire; But he by death became a god. The injustice of my death was so well concealed That no one can judge whether the flames saved or destroyed me; Whether they blackened me for hell, or purified me for heaven. In vain did I suffer torments with unshaken resolution; They said that I felt no pain, being a sorcerer died unrepentant; That the prayers I uttered were impious words; That in kissing the image on the cross I spat in its face; That casting my eyes to heaven I mocked the saints; That when I seemed to call on God, I invoked the devil Others, more charitable, say, in spite of their hatred of my crime, That my death may be admired although my life was not blameless; That my resignation showed that I died in hope and faith; That to forgive, to suffer without complaint or murmur, Is perfect love; and that the soul is purified From the sins of life by a death like mine." Publication Date: June 1st 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.dumas

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Michelle Kidd Timeless Moments Whispers of Lynchburg Series - Dedicated to all my friends that encouraged me along the way. Contents       Author's Note       Copyright © 2016 Michelle Kidd   This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.  All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.      Prologue     January 1975 ~ Lynchburg, VA   J ack pressed his nose against the car window. The chilled sensation made shivers race down his spine or maybe it was anticipation. He enjoyed the way the pale yellow sunlight streamed through the morning fog. The light shimmered across the damp street of Rivermont. How he loved the smell of wet pavement. He didn’t understand his excitement, he only knew it stirred him, this small feeling like the flutter of butterfly wings in his stomach. To his eight-year-old mind, the Victorian homes emerged from the mist and stood like ageless soldiers along the avenue. His house was coming into view—it wasn’t his house, he corrected himself, not yet, but someday.   Here, time stood still. He closed his eyes and pictured the horse-drawn carriages, imagined the clip-clop of their hooves against the street. But if he shut his eyes, he might miss something, and he loved to look at the grand houses.  He knew every stone, every window. His heart beat faster at the grandeur. His eyes locked on each feature, the steps, the porch, down to the black numbers nailed with precision to the side of the door. He loved each detail, including the massive oak whose branches stretched out a welcome. In autumn, the yellow-orange leaves lit the street with a peaceful glow. They fell by the hundreds, surrounding the base of the tree like a fancy dress worn long ago.  Sometimes when he squinted just so, it appeared to be a grand lady calling to him. Someday he’d answer, some day . . . Chapter 1   Present Day   J ACK VINES sat at the kitchen table, stroking the dark stubble on his unshaven chin. His Bible lay open in front of him, but his attention remained absorbed in the changing landscape outside his window. He noted pewter-colored skies and the way they embraced the earth with a sulky heaviness, their moisture permeating the air. Colors and shapes gradually materialized from the murkiness, revealing a stark, frigid morning. Despite its monotone simplicity, there was a particular beauty in the bleakness of January. Winter branches stretched upward into the marbled dawn. The snow forecast for tonight would add to that splendor, but more likely their precipitation would be in the form of freezing rain. He enjoyed a cup of coffee while the soft hues filtered in to define the shelves and cabinets in the Victorian kitchen. The room smelled of damp plaster and ancient wood. The dim light accentuated the crumbling brick. He took pleasure in the rustic feel of the room, thankful any attempts to renovate the kitchen over the years had at least left the original brickwork intact. All stood quiet save the tick-tock of the kitchen clock, which read 6:40 am. Jack loved this time of the morning. Such a shame the stillness had to fade. Soon the world outside his window and beyond the high garden walls would awaken. A faint noise caught his attention, but he dismissed it. Probably that crazy cat who’d shown up a few weeks ago. Several seconds later he heard it again. The noise came from outside, causing his brows to knot in concern. It sounded like someone crying. The garden walls stood six feet high and were made of stone. It wasn’t likely anyone would be trespassing, but he was sure it wasn’t a cat. Definitely crying—no mistake. His chair scraped the tile floor in his haste to move to the window. What he saw caused him to jerk back. Dear Lord . . . A young woman sat on the bench in the center of the garden, her head bowed, her shoulders racked with emotion. Only a thin gown provided protection from the harsh cold. “What on earth—” He stopped, too stunned to finish the thought. How had she gotten in, and what sane person would be outside in freezing weather wearing only a nightgown? Curiosity set his feet in motion. Jack left the window and opened the door leading into the garden. Bitter air blew through his thin t-shirt. “Ma’am?” His voice sounded harsh in the early morning. She scrambled to her feet. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders and clung to her tear-streaked cheeks. Wide eyes darted between him and the kitchen door. Even her disheveled state did not detract from her beauty. He noted the modest way she clutched her gown. He felt surprised and ashamed for startling her. “Stay away from me!” She took several steps backward. “ Culpeper .” She looked confused, calling out to some unknown person. Dark eyes flashed at him with accusation.  “How did you get in my garden?” Her garden ? She  is  delusional. Taking note of her bare feet and white gown, he thought of the hospital a few miles down the road. Could she have escaped from the mental ward? He dismissed the idea. On closer inspection, she appeared merely scared and doe-like. “Your garden?” He tried to speak in a soothing tone to calm her. “This is  my  garden.  You're obviously upset . . . confused. Why don’t you come inside where it’s warm, and I’ll call someone for you?” She shook her head, her expressive eyes wide. “Sir, I’m not sure how you got in, but Culpeper will be here any second— Culpeper !” She yelled again. “You’d better step away from the door or  else .” A spark in her eyes warned she wouldn’t hesitate to bring the entire neighborhood running. “O-o-k, lady. I don’t mean you any harm; I’m just trying to help you. You seem . . . upset. Let me—” “I said get away from the door!” “S-sure.” He took a few cautious steps back to placate her, watching her luminous eyes waver between him and the kitchen’s entrance. Every muscle looked poised for flight. She was a tiny thing, not much bigger than a child, with thick hair that tumbled past her waist. He longed to say something to put her at ease, but he feared the slightest movement could send her sprinting away. He stepped backward, losing his footing against a stone.   *****   J EWEL WILTSHIRE studied the medium-built man, taking in his wild, chestnut hair, unshaven face, and powerful brown eyes. He wore the most outlandish outfit; pants covered with yellow smiling faces. His eyes held a look of reproof as if he’d caught  her  trespassing. How had this vagrant wandered into the neighborhood and scaled the wall?  He appeared harmless enough, but you could never be too sure.  Besides, in her present state of dress, it was quite embarrassing and highly improper. What if Hunsdon should . . .  No , the thought was too frightening. She observed him closely, so that when he stumbled and lost his footing she took the opportunity. Making a mad dash for the house, she sailed passed him, and through the door, slamming it behind her. Inside, Jewel spotted Addie as she retrieved a hot pan from the oven. Light flooded the kitchen along with the warm, heady scent of freshly baked bread. Steam rose from several pots on the stove. Her stomach grumbled at the aroma of bacon and fresh-ground coffee.  “Land sake, miss!” Addie spun in fright, clapping a hand to her breast. “You give a body a scare. I just about dropped my pan.” The housekeeper’s sharp, blue eyes swept her tousled appearance, but Jewel cut her off before she could voice her disapproval. “Have you seen Culpeper—there’s a strange man outside.” She hurried on, anticipating Addie’s next question. “I don’t know how he got in the garden; he must be a drifter.” “A man, you say?” Addie looked alarmed, wiping her hands on her apron. Her ample figure hindered her as she rushed to peer out the window. Craning her neck, she stood searching on tiptoes. “There’s no one out there, miss.” “What? But I just—” Jewel blinked in confusion. “That can’t be, I just saw him.” “And you outside . . .” She shook her head. “You’ll catch your death.” Addie dismissed her young mistress and waddled back to the stove to continue stirring. If Addie noticed her tear-stained face, wisdom caused her to hold her tongue. “Where’s Mr. Wiltshire?” Something in the slight curl of Addie’s lip left no doubt concerning the housekeeper’s opinion of her husband. “He’s in the dining room, taking Culpeper to task, miss. The silverware did not meet with the master’s expectations.” Jewel opened her mouth to respond but caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “The stranger must still be out there. Fix him a plate, would you, Addie?” Jewel laid a delicate hand on Addie’s plump arm. Remembering the kindness in his voice, she regretted her flighty disappearance. Now safely on the other side of the door, she realized she might have overreacted. “I’m sure a hot meal would do him good.” Addie raised a wrinkled brow. “Indeed, miss. If you don’t mind me saying so, you’d do well to attend to your own appearance. What would Mr. Wiltshire say if he saw you running about in your bedclothes? I’d be taking the back stairs if I were you.” Jewel adjusted her gown and fidgeted. Heat colored her cheeks as she shuffled to hide her feet beneath the long material. “Yes, yes, I suppose you’re right. Thank you, Addie. You’re a love.” The housekeeper returned to her work, shaking her head and clucking to herself.   *****   Momentarily stunned, Jack watched the retreating figure fly past him and into his house. In her haste, he saw something flutter to the ground. He stopped to retrieve the fallen object—seconds later, his brain kicked into action and prompted him to give chase. He flew after her but careened to a halt when he realized there were no signs of her anywhere in the kitchen. “Hello?” His voice reverberated off the high ceiling and back again. He strained his ears, listening for the sound of footsteps in the house. Silence. How could she have disappeared? Uneasiness rippled down his spine. He didn't believe in ghosts. Obviously there had to be another explanation. His search of each room produced nothing. Had she gone out the front?  An eerie chill coursed through him, however, as his eyes caught sight of the still-bolted door. Just to prove to himself, he removed the chain, opened it, and searched one way and then another. Several cars drove by as he stooped for the newspaper. He shoved the  News Advance  under his arm and shut the door. Stunned and weak, he dropped into the crescent-shaped window seat in the foyer. The morning light fell through the stained-glass window, dappling the floor with ethereal shadows. He suddenly remembered the recovered object. Looking down to study the dainty handkerchief still in his hand, he noticed two initials neatly embroidered on the corner: JW. He brought it close to his face, inhaling the sweet fragrance of jasmine. To his surprise, the fabric felt damp. He frowned, not knowing what to think. One thing was for certain, he held proof this was no ghost. The lace hankie was real and so were the tears.   Chapter 2     J ewel dashed up the back steps, rationalizing the need as self-preservation, yet loathing the weakness that made her feel like a naughty child.  She reached her bedroom door and slipped inside. A cheery warmth welcomed her. The blaze from the fireplace glowed with a yellow-orange hue, its tranquil beauty reflected on the mahogany floor. A log settled, sending a spray of sparks flying to the hearth.  She rested her back against the door, gazing at the exquisitely adorned room. Her eyes avoided the lace-draped canopy, not wanting to remember the incident that had caused her early morning flight. Hadn't she always dreamed of sleeping in such a bed? Dreams were too often quenched in the reality of life, she thought with bitterness. The once eager to please bride now ached with hopelessness. There was no pleasing her husband.  While her friends giggled and swooned over silly schoolboys, she had been proud to catch the eye of a real man—the irony choked her. She blinked back tears, pushing the robe off her shoulder to examine her throbbing bruises. Gingerly, she fingered the large, bluish fingerprints that Hunsdon left that morning.  His savage attack had taken her by surprise, and she ran from him to the safety of the garden.  Her stomach contracted in fear when she thought of how she would pay for that moment of weakness.  It was out of character. She couldn’t explain the urge to flee. Jewel caught her reflection in the mirror.  Heavens . Who was this wild woman staring back at her?  Untamed curls snaked around her face. Her arms and chest were a mass of discolorations. She raked her fingers through the tangles, trying to restore a sense of order, before giving up. Jewel sat before her dressing table, picked up her brush, and worked the bristles through her long chestnut curls. The brush made a soothing sound as she pulled it through her mane, but thoughts of Hunsdon pushed away any sense of peace. Hunsdon stood tall, thin, and unyielding.  His sharply notched face resembled that of a stamped coin, with eyes so ice blue, Jewel felt sure the temperature dropped a degree when he walked into the room.  Always immaculate in his dress, he presented the air of correctness, right down to his hair—the same hair that took on a life of its own, betraying Hunsdon Wiltshire’s moods when he was about to go on a rampage. One defiant piece, refused to stay with the rest, having the audacity to defy his otherwise flawless appearance.  She dreaded that fallen lock with every fiber of her being. Her hand paused mid-stroke when she heard the door click behind her. Her eyes remained downcast. Fear kept her gaze bolted to the table. Footsteps landed precise and quiet across the floor and stopped behind her.   Please don’t be loose,  she pleaded .  Please don’t be loose.   Despite herself, her eyes were drawn to the mirror.  A sob caught in her throat at the sight of his reflection. His hair sprawled dangerously across his brow.  Before she had time to cry out, he grabbed her by the throat and slung her to the bed. He snagged the tie-back from the canopy and bound her hands, shoving her face-first into the mattress.  She tried to struggle, but his knee remained wedged in her back. She had no leverage.  Her lungs burned for air.  He seized her hair, jerking her head backwards. His hot breath hissed in her ears. “Why must you make me punish you?”  He released her long enough to fumble with his pants. She felt the tearing of her gown, the air cool on her exposed skin.  She tensed as she heard the jingle of his belt and braced herself.  Yet never fully prepared for the burning fire that spread across her back as leather cut into her soft flesh.  She bit hard on her lip to keep from crying out. The acrid taste of blood filled her mouth. She refused to give him that satisfaction. Time after time, his belt rained upon her, until she could no longer distinguish the blows.  Finally, he rolled off her, panting from his efforts.  He lay there spent, his chest heaving.  Without a word, he rose to return the belt to its proper place. She couldn’t see him from her position, but she’d watched him enough times to know he would be combing the hair off his brow and restoring order to his appearance. He needed to present a controlled façade to the world. The door closed behind him with a soft thud.  Now she could release the breath she’d been holding.  Now she could let the hot, scalding tears wash away her shame.  Her hands remained bound, yet she instinctively reached for the Bible and drew it to her, cradling it. Forgive me . . . I know it is wrong to hate—but I do, Father.  I do!  I don’t want to feel this way . . .  Please, help me.  As she lay there, another all-too-familiar ache arose: stiffness in her neck punctuated by a shooting pain over one eye. One of her headaches.   *****   Jack stared at the handkerchief in his hand, feeling nauseated. He held tangible proof that he wasn’t losing his mind, but it still didn’t explain how the woman had vanished. He ignored the tingle of sweat beneath his arms despite the icy foyer. The experience had left him shaken.   Get it together, Jack. You don’t have time to be chasing phantoms.    The economy had delivered his cabinetry business a hearty blow—money was tight.  He couldn’t afford to get distracted. The last thing he needed was to be late or make a bad impression this morning. Once, he had been particular about the jobs he accepted, but now he had to be grateful for what came his way.  He missed the passion that came from restoring the genteel giants of long ago, but those jobs were rare.  Today, he was scheduled to meet a couple in the historic district of Diamond Hill.  With any luck, it would lead to a bigger project. He’d have to do his best to forget the bizarre incident, he thought as he tucked the puzzling item in his pocket and dashed off to take a shower.  Although pressed for time, Jack couldn’t resist the temptation to admire the stunning work in the newly finished downstairs bathroom. His eyes traveled over the wainscoting trim and blue-gray Venetian plaster, a technique popular during the Victorian period. It worked beautifully in the room. The bathroom featured both a roomy pedestal tub and a more convenient period-style shower. He enjoyed the best of both worlds. But no time for a relaxing soak today, a quick hop in the shower would have to do. His cell rang as he emerged from the glass stall. He scooped it off the bathroom counter, hoping it wasn’t the client canceling. “Hello?” “Hi, honey,” came the soft voice of his mother.  “Oh, hi, Mom.”  He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. “How are you?” “We’re fine, Son.  How are you?” He pictured her tucking the short strands behind her ear, as was her habit when she was nervous.  “I’m a little worried about you.” “Me?”  He shifted the phone from one ear to the other as he applied deodorant.  “I’m fine. What’s wrong, Mom–” “Don’t laugh, Jack, but I had this crazy dream.”  She hesitated. “Honestly, I feel so silly now . . .” Jack lowered the deodorant and looked at himself in the mirror.  “What is it?” “I-I can’t explain it—I dreamed you were running through a mist, chasing something. I couldn’t tell.” Her voice cracked. “It isn’t so much  what  happened. It seemed so . . . so . . .  vivid.  I wanted to be sure you were all right.” The scene from earlier that morning flashed in his mind.  “Yeah, I’m fine, Mom, but I have to run. I have an appointment with a new client.” “Oh?  Well, okay, dear.  I’ll say a prayer for you.”  That was mom.  “Thanks.  Call you later, ‘kay?”  Jack shaved, dressed, all the while wondering about the timing of her dream.  He checked his watch—fifteen minutes until his appointment.  He would just make it. Chapter 3 J ewel’s lashes fluttered open, vaguely aware of something cool pressed against her back. She tried to move, but gentle hands pushed her back, keeping her from rising. “Lie still. I’ll get you cleaned up . . . don’t worry. It’s all going to be okay.” Tears pooled in her eyes brought on by kind words. She lay there feeling as if she was in a dream, the pain in her head so intense she felt nauseated. “Please,” she moaned. “I’m going to be sick.” She struggled to move, aware of the basin held beneath her chin. “Ah, love, another one of your headaches?” Before she could answer, her stomach lurched. The muscles repeatedly convulsed as the contents of her stomach emptied into the bowl. When the heaving subsided, she realized, Hunsdon was holding the hair back from her face and pressing the cool cloth to her lips. “Look at you. What a beautiful mess you are.” His voice broke with emotion. The pain of a headache made it hard to focus, but she didn’t need to see his face to know the contrite expression. Hunsdon smoothed her hair. “My beautiful, beautiful Jewel.” He rose and moved to her dresser, rummaging through the various bottles until he found the one he was looking for. He uncorked the flask, poured some into a glass of water, and handed her the reddish-brown liquid. She shook her head, the action causing the room to swim. “N-no, I can’t.” “Hush, of course you can.” The bed dipped beneath his weight as he sat beside her. “Here, you must. It will help you rest.” He eased the glass to her mouth and helped her drink. She shuddered as the bitterness touched the back of her throat, yet she knew she must obey. The liquid spilled down her chin and dribbled onto the sheet. When the last drop was gone, he eased her back and to her side, careful of her injuries. As he looked down at her, his gray eyes clouded with tears. He opened his mouth to speak, but he only mouthed the word, “Why?” Their eyes locked. A lump formed in her throat, making it hard to swallow. “I found your Bible—it pleases me that you turn to it for comfort. I know you don’t mean to be wicked.” He fondled a lock of her hair. “Beauty such as yours has been a curse to women since the days of Abraham.” The strand curled submissively under his touch. “Never fear, my darling, I will never let your soul be lost.” He eased closer and laid his head on her bare shoulder before continuing. “I struggled once, much as you do.” Hunsdon’s gaze traveled past her, staring at her, but not really seeing her. “Father said I was a wayward boy. Many times I thought he’d kill me before he taught me to master this sinful nature.” Tears coursed down his cheek, wet and cool against her skin. In some sad, strange way, she felt sorry for him. He was as much a victim as she, but she couldn’t bring herself to comfort him. “Mother was much like you. Beautiful, stubborn, defiant . . . but Father never gave up on her. Eventually, he broke her. In time, you’ll learn as well.” He continued to stroke her hair. Her heart twisted. Images filled her mind of abuse he had confided regarding his upbringing. She shuddered at atrocities his father had inflicted upon Hunsdon, his mother, and younger sister. In the beginning, she had tried to explain the violence his family had been exposed to was not love—indeed, not of God. But he turned on her, teaching her the first of many lessons. From that point on, she studied Hunsdon much as one studied a book. She learned each nuance, each twitch that might reflect disapproval. If Father could see her now, his heart would break. He’d be sadder still to see a soul so twisted by man’s interpretation of a loving God. Her father was the gentlest man, a faithful minister of the gospel. That was why she knew she could never leave Hunsdon. Father would welcome her back home, she knew. But the stigma of her divorce would tarnish his reputation—she couldn’t allow that. His congregation would be appalled; a woman did not leave her husband for any reason. She set her lips in a grim line and resolved to trust God. He promised to make a way when there seemed to be none. She would trust Him. The effects of the laudanum began to dull her senses. Her head leaned against the pillow, and her eyes grew heavy. Of all her aches and pains, none troubled her more than her heart. Soon, that pain too started to fade as she drifted off in a cloud of warmth . . . sweet sleep welcomed her weary body. ***** Beep. Beep. Beep. The microwave signaled Jack’s turkey dinner was ready. Reaching in, he grabbed it by the corner and tossed it to the counter before it could burn his fingers. He could never find the oven mitt when he needed it. He cracked open a Coke and slurped it as he rummaged through the drawer for a clean fork. Jack carried his dinner into the small downstairs area off the dining room that served as his office. Perhaps once, it may have been a servant’s quarters, but now it made a perfect place to store sketches, papers and such. While renovating, he lived on the bottom floor to keep down on the cost of heating. He made use of the formal dining room, converting it into a makeshift bedroom while the upstairs remained unused. Renovations were costly, even doing the work himself. It was a slow process, but well worth the effort. If this morning’s meeting was an indication, he might expect to begin work in the spring. The middle-age couple loved the pictures he’d shown from previous jobs. Jack did not often find clients enthusiastic when it came to restoration costs. They wanted to cut corners, take shortcuts. Most people did not want to pay for the high quality of his work. His quotes were often followed by the familiar eye-rolling and sharp whistles, as potential clients scratched their heads, and wrangled over the price. There had been no haggling over price today. Bill Wingfield had given free rein to his wife and her sincere desire to restore the historic home to its original glory. His new clients were the kind of people that it was a pleasure to work with. They knew exactly what they wanted. This made his job easier. Jack smiled when he thought of how the conversation had turned to the church. His mother would be happy to know they were Christians. They’d spent a great deal of time talking about church, especially the wife Brenda, who was rather chatty. In fact, they invited him to church this Sunday, First Baptist, on Court Street, where they were both members. He knew the magnificent church well, although he had never been there. It was built in 1886. He rode past it countless times with his mother, as a young boy. The church was a great contrast from the small Baptist church he attended as a boy. His Sunday school class contained a total of four, including himself and the teacher—a sweet gray-haired lady with a penchant for memory work. Jack smiled, wondering how many verses he’d memorized in Mrs. Schwartz’s class. The small, whitewashed church with its black wrought-iron railing suddenly came to mind. It was far from fancy, and yet a calmness washed over him when he thought of the colorful stained windows. It held more appeal than many larger, more elaborate churches he had attended in the years since. His family was present whenever those double doors opened, be it a covered dish, youth socials, or choir practice; it was all a part of his life and not a bit out of the ordinary. Jack peeled the lid back on the frozen entrée and tossed it into the trashcan beside his desk. He studied the unappealing glob of brown gravy and processed turkey. What kind of man still eats frozen dinners at your age? He thought of his best friend across town. Jeff was probably sitting down to a home-cooked dinner with his pretty wife, Cindy and the kids. He shoved the green and white container back. Maybe he’d just run out and grab something. He glanced at his watch. It was never too late for takeout at the Tea Room— maybe a Cheesy Western and a bowl of their famous chili. Now where did I lay those keys? He patted himself down and slid several things around on his desk. He was deep in thought when suddenly, the cat startled him by pouncing onto the desk. She rubbed her head along his arm and meowed in a raspy voice. “How’d you get in here?” He rubbed her ear. “Off my papers. You’re getting cat hair on everything.” He gently shooed the cat away as her attention turned from him to his dinner. “I see what you want—well, you’re welcome to it.” He laughed. He glanced out the window, noting the darkness of early winter night. Long shadows stretched across the room while he hunted for his keys. He reached for the lamp. The bulb washed the darkened corners of the room with a fluorescent light. He stopped short when he heard a shuffling noise overhead. He looked up, noticing a hairline crack in the ceiling that needed repair. There . . . there it was again. Footsteps! His heart pounded. Was it her? The chair creaked as he rose and closed his fingers tightly around the baseball bat that rested against his office desk. He abandoned the now-cold dinner and the cat and started up the staircase. Despite his efforts to remain quiet, the steps protested loudly, groaning with age and added weight. The sound seemed magnified in the otherwise still house. He stopped on the landing to listen, straining his ears so long that he was sure they had grown an inch. Then he heard the sound again. It was coming from one of the bedrooms—the one that overlooked the garden. With care, he eased up the remaining stairs and waited outside the closed door. The blood pounded in his temples as he opened the door. It was cool, cooler than the downstairs, and had that stale, musty smell of a room that had been shut-up for ages. Pale-peach streetlight spilled through the naked windows illuminating the scarred floor. Something else caught in the moonlight, something that made his heart thud painfully against his chest.   Chapter 4     J ewel felt woozy. She had awoken an hour or so earlier and found the sky ablaze with a stunning display of color. The clouds glowed in a swirl of gold and reds before diminishing into a deep indigo. Her arms and legs felt as if they were made of stone. Why couldn’t she think? She blinked, trying to clear her mind. Had she been asleep all day? How much laudanum had Hunsdon given her? She could see the fire burning in the grate, and a covered tray sat on the table. Hunsdon must have been back several times. The scent of roast beef made her mouth water. A light gown, something that wouldn’t irritate her wounds, had been thoughtfully draped across the back of her dressing table. She ignored it for the moment and tried to stand. The room swayed. She gave herself a second before taking a few awkward steps toward the tray. Perhaps, if she could eat something, it would clear her head. She pulled a small piece of cold beef off the platter, tasted it, then pinched off a larger piece, surprised by her appetite. The morsels were tender. She took several more, folding them into her mouth as she walked to the window. Outside, the moon rose and peeked from behind the trees, full and beautiful. Her movements were stiff and careful. She favored her back as she eased onto the cushioned window seat. This is where she spent countless hours overlooking the garden. The light from the window poured in during the day. It often cheered her, simply to watch the daylight stream through the sheer yellow curtains. The sun’s warmth upon her cheek gave her courage, strength. She frowned as her leg brushed up against something. A book— her class annual? What on earth could that be doing here! She retrieved it from the cushion. The leather-bound book felt cool and smooth on the backside, rough with ridged lettering on the front. She traced the year with her fingertips: 1915— brooding over the two years since graduation. Her trembling fingers flipped through the pages, stopping when she reached her own picture. The face that gazed back at her appeared young—naive. She closed her eyes. “If only . . .” A movement at the door startled her. She looked up, expecting to find Hunsdon, but was shocked to see the strange man from the garden standing just inside the door. He looked equally startled. The comical expression of surprise might have made her laugh, had he not been a total stranger standing in her bedroom door. He held out a hand, his eyes pleading with her. “Please, don’t scream.” He even dared to smile at her, revealing a slight dimple in his cheek. He was older than she first thought, tall, muscular, and dressed in much simpler clothes—denim pants, and a shirt with a buttoned-down collar. She’d never seen its like. “Don’t come any closer.” She pressed herself against the wall. The movement irritated the welts on her back, causing her to wince. His curious brown eyes regarded her openly, taking in her appearance. She found it unnerving. How dare he stare at her with such boldness! What made this man so presumptuous . . . forward? “I’m not going to hurt you, okay? You look like you’re in pain. Are you hurt?” he asked. Surprised and embarrassed by his uncanny perception, she noted the way his brows dipped. Was that concern? She wasn’t exactly sure why, but she sensed he wasn’t a danger. Still, it would never do to have Hunsdon find him here in her bedroom—worse, she had encouraged the staff to give him food. “Sir, I don’t know how you got in, but you need to leave at once. If my husband finds you, make no mistake, he will kill you.” Her chin tilted upward. “ R-i-g-h-t. ” He dragged the word out slowly. “Your husband? That sounds like a terrific idea. I’m sure he’s worried sick about you. You’re obviously not feeling yourself. You seem . . . hurt. Maybe a little confused . . . Let’s call him. I’m sure he's anxious to find you and take you home . . . or wherever it is you're staying.” Again, he regarded her, but she couldn’t read his thoughts. “This is my home, you imbecile! You are the one who is confused.” Their eyes locked—she refused to concede. With her jaw clenched, she hugged the book across her chest. Her cheeks burned with heat. “Lady, I’m not sure where you’ve been hiding all day, but this is my home.” He took note of the book. “What have you got there?” “None of your business.” She blinked hard and sat straighter. He moved closer as he spoke in soothing tones. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on. I do know I watched you run inside my house this morning. I searched all over for you, and you . . . you . . . somehow managed to disappear.” He waved his hands in an exaggerated circle. “I don’t believe in ghosts, but there is definitely something weird about you.” “ Ghosts ? I assure you, sir, I am quite real.” “Prove it,” he said, edging closer. “I’ll do no such thing. Why should I prove anything of a sort?” “Because you are in my house.” He was so close now she could almost touch him, and smell the scent of soap—hardly the vagrant she’d first thought him to be. She was more offended and curious than frightened at this point, especially when he seemed to find her anger amusing. She gave a rather undignified snort and her eyes flashed. “You are insane, sir.” “I’ve been called worse . . . and that’s probably true, but the fact remains, here you are, and you’re trespassing.” “For goodness sake, why do you keep saying that ? Are you daft?" “ Daft —who says daft?” “I do! Now you’re just making fun of me!” She dug her nails into her palms feeling frustration grow, yet oddly enjoying the banter. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d thrown off the burdensome mantle of submission and said exactly what she thought. It felt good! It wasn’t something she could explain, but she sensed that this man wasn’t going to strike her —wasn’t there to beat or hurt her in any way. Maybe it was the mischievous sparkle in his eyes, but it made her want to throw politeness to the wind and exercise a bit of spirit she thought had died. “You are making fun of me,” she challenged. “Absolutely not.” He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Just seems an odd choice—a little dated.” “ Dated ? How dare you!” But there was no anger in her voice. “Look, we’ve obviously gotten off on the wrong foot. I’ve offended you, and I’m sorry.” He extended his hand to her as if he expected her to take it. The breech in etiquette wasn’t particularly offensive, although a gentleman didn’t normally offer his hand to a lady first. Nevertheless, she ignored his outstretched hand. “ Friends ? We haven’t even been introduced—I don’t even know your name, sir.” He gave an exaggerated bow. “Jack Vines, at your service, ma’am.” “You are a highly unorthodox man, Jack Vines. I’ve a feeling I may be daft as well, as I’m still sitting here talking to you and not yelling for assistance.” “Oh we’re back to that again, are we? Pray, to whom would you be yelling to for assistance?” His tone took on an exaggerated air. “Why, my husband, of course.” The thought of Hunsdon sobered her a bit. That brought no response—it was clear he didn’t believe her. Instead, his eyes traveled back to the book she was still holding. “ May I see what you are reading?” Indecision seized her better judgment and twisted it. She knew she should urge him to leave, certainly not accommodate his request, yet despite herself; she turned the book around so he could read the cover. He reached for it, and in doing so, his hand passed right through hers. The look on his face was one of horror, a look she was sure was reflected on her own. He almost dropped the slim volume. His image rippled like a reflection in a pond. Like an illusion, he danced in front of her for a moment before the waves stilled. “What are you?” she whispered. “ Me ?” “Are you an angel?” He shook his head. “Definitely not an angel, and I’m not a ghost . . . I don’t think.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “I would hope that I would remember dying.” “So if you are not a ghost, and I’m not a ghost . . .” She faltered. She raised her palm extending it toward him. He mirrored her gesture until their palms met, sending the images flickering once more. They broke contact and waited for the shimmering to settle. “Astonishing,” she said. He looked down at the book in his hand, reading the title, “ The Crest 1915 . What is this?” “My yearbook.” “ Your yearbook? You mean it belongs to you . . . what school?” “ Lynchburg High School.” There was only one high school, yet she noticed his look of confusion as if he were waiting on her to clarify. “Is there another?” she asked. “Yes—eight to be exact.” Jewel laughed aloud at the absurd thought. “Ridiculous. You are mistaken, sir. There is only one, and that is, LHS.” “But how did you get this? It’s almost a hundred years old.” “What!” She laughed again. “No, silly, it’s mine—1915. Two years ago.” Then she sobered seeing he was serious. He flipped through the pages, not sure what he was looking for, but stopped abruptly. “This is you.” He studied the picture and then studied her. “But how . . . It can’t be. Why you’d be . . .” “I’d be what?” Her face had gone white, and she trembled. “You’d be over one hundred years old. Jewel . . . it says your name is, Jewel Boydoh. Is that right?” She nodded, too stunned for words. “Jewel, this is 2014.” “No?” She shrank back. “It isn’t possible. It simply isn’t possible.” “And yet somehow it is. Tell me . . . you say this is your home—what do you see when you look around?” “I . . . I see my room,” she answered. “No, I mean, describe it for me.” Jewel flushed, unable to find the words. “I don’t know . . . a bed, my dresser.” She flung her arm, indicating the room, “Chairs, fire in the grate . . . I’m not sure what you mean.” “That’s exactly what I mean. For me, this is an empty room. It’s freezing.” “No—no, there is a fire. Look over there. Surely, you can feel its warmth.” He ran his hands through his hair, shaking his head. She noted the particular way it stood up, and then smothered a ridiculous thought to smooth it back into place. He moved abruptly across the room toward the fire in the grate. Its flames danced around the room. She saw his intention— “No—wait!” she cried out. He stooped, hesitated, and then put his hand right into the flame before turning to stare at her calmly. “How’d you . . .” The words came out in a whisper. “You see . . . nothing.” He withdrew his hand and held it out for her inspection. Miraculously, it was unscathed. “I don’t understand.” “I’m sorry, Jewel. There’s just nothing here.” She felt as if the world was spinning around her. It didn’t make sense. How was it possible for him to be in the room and not see what she saw? Then it occurred to her. “You’re still holding the book. My book.” “So?” He stood and walked across the floor. “Isn’t it obvious? It is something we can both see—something that is exactly the same to both of us. I had the book, now you have the book. It is something that can be passed back and forth.” But rapidly approaching footsteps outside her bedroom brought further speculation and discussion to an abrupt halt. With a desperate signal, she gestured to silence him. Panic filled her. There was no place to hide. She watched helplessly as the door opened . . . This book is an excerpt. It is available @ Amazon.com  http://a.co/0s8Zg4i Text: Michelle Kidd Images: Kindle Press Cover: Kindle Press Editing: Kindle Press All rights reserved. Publication Date: September 8th 2018 https://www.bookrix.com/-mkidd6

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-raymond-beresford-hamilton-solomon-039-s-ring/

Raymond Beresford Hamilton Solomon's Ring Publication Date: March 6th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-raymondhamilton

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-redhead16-mlm-the-cheating-thief/

Redhead16 MLM The Cheating Thief Mistakes Gabby McFee leaned against the bleachers and listened to her best friend/cousin Stacy blabber to their friend Peter about some big sale going on all week. They'd already made plans to go to the mall for that reason on Saturday. Stacy had taken the liberty to invite everyone they were friends with. This was cool with Gabby; assembly was usually boring unless there was a huge game later or some other event. Stacy continued to chatter blissfully. Gabby studied her cousin. Stacy liked to wear pink skirts and dresses. Gabby liked pink, too, but she preferred ocean hues. At that moment, she wore a black tank top that said Queen in sequins, faded blue jeans that wore a bit too tight and an inch too long, and black sneakers. Her curly blond hair was pulled into a tight bun. Her brown eyes were surrounded with dark eyeliner and mascara that was really hard to find and costed hundreds of dollars. Her cheeks were bronzed and blushed, her lips were a light biege and perfectly glossed. Stacy's long brunette hair was crimped and loose. Shine serum had been added. Stacy's makeup was mostly except for her eyeliner and mascara. Stacy looked pretty good, but Gabby was hotter, and everyone knew it. The girls loved each other like sisters. Stacy had to admit, she did get jealous of Gabby frequently. Gabby hated admitting it, but she was a little bit jealous of Stacy, too. Stacy was smarter than her, and she intimidated boys less. She and Stacy had gotten into fights over boys that they both liked before. Being reminded that they were bloodkin, they always made up afterwards. (Their mothers are sisters.) "Pay attention, children!" Principal Nguey ordered. "This is important. Mrs. Fleeuy and I are proud to announce the winner of our annual Welcome Back to School Short Story Contest!"  Everyone got quiet and leaned forward a little bit, but not much. Everyone assumed it would be Marv Martin, the school know-it-all, or Greg Renut, the president of the student body and Mr. Perfect. "And the winner is..." the principal continued, "Gabby McFee!" Everyone gave polite applause, but they were also a bit shocked. So was Gabby. She strolled down casually, but she didn't smile or react. When she got the chance, she pulled the principal aside. "There has to be a mistake!" she said. "No mistake. This is yours, is it not?" Principal Nguey said, voice kept low. Gabby looked at the pieces of paper in his hand. "This is mine, but I never entered!" she said, beginning to freak out a bit. The principal turned to the congregation of students and faculty. "There has been a misunderstanding. Ms. McFee never entered the contest. However, this story was entered in her name, and it is in fact hers. Her story will be returned to her, and the story will be excluded. We will review the other stories to decide another winner. In the meantime, someone is in serious trouble. If you entered this story, please come forth and talk to me after assembly, especially if you meant no harm." He turned to Gabby. "You may return to your seat. And don't worry about the story contest issue, we will find out who sent it in." "Thank you." Gabby said, and walked back to her cousin. "That was weird." Stacy said. Gabby nodded in agreement. She noticed Marv Martin proceeding to give her an evil smile. More evil than usual. "She has something to do with it." Gabby told Stacy. The brunette nodded in agreement.     Gabby's ex-boyfriend Chad looked up at her. He missed her a bit, but she probably did not miss him at all. He had broken her heart. He could feel his senses heighten and he heard her talking to Stacy. Whatever had just happened was strange indeed. Indeed, he sensed someone looking at him now. He looked towards the source and saw Perry Tore looking at him. Perry was a science nerd. Everyone knew he had a crush on Gabby, he sent her flowers every Valentine's Day since high school started for them. They would make a cute couple. I wonder if he suspects me, Chad thought. Perry did. He did suspect Chad had entered it in Gabby's name. At least he hadn't taken her credit from her. Perry had read it, and had been the deciding factor. The entire school board, faculty, and student council had read Gabby's report/story. It was a sci-fi/drama about an alien girl being sucked into the media and becoming addicted to fame and fortune. It was quite entertaining, and it conveyed a message, a lesson that Gabby had learned not too long ago. He looked up at her, texting on her iPhone. She glanced at him before he looked away. He noticed Marv smirking at Gabby. She topped the list of suspects right away. On everyone's list. Life In General Gabby's house was so huge it was classified as a mansion. Gabby's parents both worked so hard that they barely saw her. Her dad had less rules than her mother, and he was usually in a better mood. If Gabby wanted something she knew her mother wouldn't let her have, she went to her dad. Like when she'd wanted a cute green top that everyone raved about, her dad bought it for her, but her mom practically had a conniption when she saw it on Gabby.   Now Gabby entered her room, a replica of Regina George's, but more books and electronics, and a tad more organized, Gabby had alphabetized every CD, every book, every DVD. She always put something back in it's specific spot when she was done with it. Her latest book, Elemental Passion, lay on her bed, half-read. Her grandmother, Ursula, had recommended it. Ursula was well-to-do as well. Actually, the entire family was, except for one uncle whom Gabby had heard plenty about but never actually met. She stared at the pink walls with ocean-blue stripes, and wondered who was the person who had turned in her story. Writing was okay, but her real passion was makeup. She had several kits, several drawers and organizers full of the fun stuff. She liked music, too. She played the keyboard and piano. She'd started that when she was five when her parents signed her up for lessons, and she wasn't stopping soon. Her makeup obsession had started when she was ten. She studied her latest cut-out from a Vogue magazine. Publication Date: August 30th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-redhead16

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Dreoilin Seven Sins Pracilla We are the richest people on the block. My father is a lawyer, and my mother is a model and an interior designer. I'm an only child, and I'm their pride and joy. My grades are always A's. In my family, anything less is unacceptable. I know people are jealous of me and everything I have. After all, I'm beautiful, smart, rich, and throw the best parties. Who wouldn't want to be me? The mornings are always amazing. My personal maid sets out the clothes I picked out the night before, and puts my school things together. I go take a shower in my own personal bathroom. My parents only buy the best shampoos and body washes for me. After some personal grooming, I get dressed, and breakfast is made for me and my parents. We make goals for the day and the maid writes them on a white board set up in the dining room, or out on the balcony depending on where we want to eat in the morning. Then father goes to work, mother goes to her home office, and I drive to work in my silver BMW Z4. I go to a mostly private school called Sierra Canyon in Los Angeles. I'm currently taking Government, calculus, orchestra, gym, literature, and chemistry. All of my classes are AP. I'm also on every sport team, in the drama club, on the ASB, in honor club, and in several miscellaneous clubs I joined just to be president of. I won every election. People call me a teachers pet or overachiever. That's only because anyone with standards lesser than mine are underachievers, and doomed to be failures in their own life. Like I said, everyone wants to be me, and those who claim they don't, secretly wish they were. I have six best friends, and several acquaintances who are almost always invited to my parties. It's the end of school, and I'm starting to collaborate for my annual summer bash. As I sit in my car, rummaging through my satchel making sure all my supplies are there, I become panicked. Alisa, my personal maid, hasn't packed my party binder. I look around for it in the rest of my car. Maybe I never brought it home. I find it sitting in the backseat, thick and organized like always. Quickly I stuff it in with my other binders and head toward a bright red mustang which belongs to my friend, Lucinda. She's the kind of girl who's been everywhere, but still has class. Girls who are jealous of her call her a slut, but she is the cleanest slut in the whole school. We both have Publication Date: December 15th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-killian2012

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-kareca-shadowless/

Kareca Shadowless Part 1 This is by far not finished... but thank you to the people who have read the first version... this is a revisation. Chapter 1: My Boyfriend is Evil The days seem to keep going by. No matter how much I pray for them to stop coming. No matter what I try to do... it is always hitting me in the face. Opening the wound even further. I feel as though I am at my breaking point.Even though three weeks have passed it feels as though it happened yesterday. They call it an accident and shove it off like it happens everyday. I guess if you live in a big city it might, but here it does not. I feel as though I am the only person who knows the truth. Or at least the only person willing to open their eyes to the truth. I can not even bear going back to school. I know he is there, waiting for me... He is waiting for me to act like nothing happened. He wants me to run into his arms crying asking him to protect me. I know he will not he is a monster. I could only wish that he was some supernatural force, or some monster like a vampire or werewolf, unfortunately he is pure human brute. I hate this depression. It is like a cloud cover has come over and darkness is all I can see. I am veiled from the sun, but I believe I have done this to myself. I could act like nothing happened. I could be like the countless other people who walk around pretending they are blind to inhumanity of people and nature. Yet I must be more of a person because I can not forget, nor can I pretend that it did not happen. I can not pretend that a part of me is missing. Deep down I wish that I could be happy like my usual self. Somehow I can not resurrect that part anymore. Even my usual sarcastic personality has deflated. The days turn into weeks and nothing changes. I am alone no one bothers to check up on me anymore. I feel detached from reality... who would not be with what is going on. I will not have a flash back of what happened. Instead I will have a flash forward into my future. Or at least what I thought my future was going to be. Instead of how messed up it is now. Here is how it went, I would be married happily so. I would be in a love that nothing could break. The world would be colorful and bright and I would always be smiling. My friends would always be with me. This is what I think it now is going to be. I will be standing in a graveyard looking down at all the people I knew. My best friend sleeps in the ground. I did not kill her do not worry... It is more terrible than that. I had a boyfriend which most girls my age have boyfriends. Since I am sixteen it is normal. My boyfriend was the best, we went everywhere together. Talked about everything and never kept any secrets... so I thought. He is evil, and psychotic that is the only words I can describe him as. Let me explain. He did some things to my best friend. Things that I can not even explain without getting sick at the thought. I came home one day after getting out of soccer practice. He usually waits for me at home so we can go out together. My best friend had told me earlier she was going to drop off something for my mothers birthday. The timing was to perfect. I came home looking around to see where everyone was. My mother had not came home from work yet so I figured my best friend may have laid the present somewhere to hide it. Our usual place to hide things was in the downstairs closet. It is part of a ritual we had since we were in elementary school. It was because we did not want her brother to find our letters. He was very meddlesome at the time. That is in the past though. So I walked around a little sat my bag down and went to the closet near the backdoor. There is one by the front door but people frequent ther a lot for their jackets. I heard something muffled and when I opened the door... Sorry I have to stop before I get sick. It is just that she was my best friend... I had trusted him. Then he did that and what happened after that made it worse. I need to breath for a moment. Okay let me try again. When I opened the door he was there with my best friend. He had her gagged so she could not scream. He... he was defiling her you could say. I am trying to make this as less vomit inducing as possible. When he noticed I was there he stopped, zipped his pants and pulled the gag out of her mouth. He did not seem scared, or shocked that I was there. He seemd to be expecting this. Then he smiled cruelly at me as if to say I could not do anything about this. He grabbed her by the wrist and spun past me. I felt dazed for a while but I had to follow after them. He coudl not do that, there had to be a way to stop him. I had not idea where he was going. I had to follow her screams to the bridge. He stopped by the edge and stood up on the ledge. I pleaded with him to leave her alone and let her live. I tried to bargain with him, it did not work. He threw her off letting her fall to the bottom of what is now called Dead Creek. He then jumped back down and watched me. Pleased with my reaction. That is how things turned out like this. Even after I ran to tell someone, I could not utter a word. It was like I was mute. So now this secret lies with me and Alex. That is his name... No one knows how she really died. They say it was an accident, since I had no proof I could not say anything. Her body was washed downstream and once they found it they could barely tell who it was. They only had half of her body... Fortunately it was the top half so they could see some of the features. They all say it was suicide. If you knew her you would know she is not the type to do that. She was always so happy, and carefree. She had no reason to jump off a bridge. Me on the other hand I have a few reasons now. I wonder how long that had been going on. If it was only a one day thing. If it had been a long term thing. That she did not tell anyone about. I knew she had a dislike for Alex beforehand. Was that the reason. I had always thought it was because she felt lonely. I feel like a horrible person, I was a horrible friend. I should have done something. I should have acted, told someone, tried to stop him. There may have been a way to save her. I feel as though it was all my fault. I do not want to go back to school. One because Alex is most definitely going to be there. He always hangs out after school waiting for me. I can imagine that he will be there like usual. Except it is not like usual... this is completely different. I can not go back to the way things were. I also do not want to go because my best friend will not be there. Never again will I see her again. We did everything together, I considered her my best friend. Now however it is like a part of me is missing. I am afraid of what may happen. What he may do... I begged my mom and dad to let me transfer schools. Even go for a foreign exchange student program. Of course they said no... which I think maybe they may let me if I persist a little more. Right now I am sitting by my window looking outside to the backyard. I thought about killing myself. I feel that I do not want to go to hell though. So if I am murdered at least that is better. I have a feeling I might be murdered. I should break up with Alex. I mean you know there are a lot of reasons. Then I think what will he do? Will he throw me off a bridge and pretend it was an accident? Or will he leave me somewhere dead on the side of the road. He is not afraid to kill. He acts like it is a hobby almost. I wish that I could disappear forever. I wish I could lie here and die, then go to heaven to be with God. I wish I was anywhere but here. If my Best Friend was here maybe I could get through this better. I know though my wishes are worthless... they will never come true, no matter how hard I hope. I locked my door afraid that he may come in. My parents would let him in thinking he is a good boy. I am not answering my cellphone, I shut it off. I thought about destroying it by smashing it. I am kind of angry right now but fear is what rules me right now. I pick my phone up and throw it at the wall. Why was things like this? The phone smacks against the wall and part of the plastic shatters off. I feel so dark and I want to be happy. I feel helpless and lost... without anyway out. This is pathetic, and this is my end. Chapter 2: Confrontation at Night I open my eyes as a light flashes on my face. I died didn't I? I am free! Wait this is to good to be true. 'Hey Sweetheart.' My heart stops beating and my blood runs cold. 'Are you not even going to say hi?' I do not move, I dare not breath. I can feel myself shivering though I have three sheets on my bed. He knows I am afraid of him, that is what he is feeding off of. He smiles at me still. 'Oh come on stop being a b***h.' 'Me?' 'Yes there got you to say something.' He leans down to my eye level. He is expecting me to be normal and smile. He must be expecting a kiss because I can see it in his eyes. I purse my lips and turn my head. I do not even care if he kills me now. Where did this confidence come from? 'Stop acting like this, talk to me or I may kill you.' 'Seriously?' I say it trying to say it sarcastically. Somehow it manages to still sound like a sqawk. He smiles and I can feel his breath hit my face. I admit he is handsome, but that makes no excuses for what he has done. 'Do you think I am kidding?' He laughs a little I can smell peppermint on his breath now. Why is he here is what I am wondering? How did he get in? Did he climb up the through my window? I live on the second floor though and there is nothing to get in with. Unless he had a rope or something. 'You killed my best friend. So if you kill me I would not be surprised.' 'And?' He asks that in the tone of not caring. What made him this way? 'You think I am going to be normal. I will not let myself be afraid of you, and I will not be near you. If you want to kill me get it over with already. If not then get your a** out of my house.' I am not sure how these words come out of my mouth. It is true I am not going to let myself be afraid of him. I want to be strong so that I can catch him... Or at least try... he stands up and leans back laughing and kind of raising his eyebrows trying to figure out what to say. I guess you could call that me breaking up with him. He points his finger down at me as he says the next thing. 'You know I did you a favor. You should be glad I got rid of her.' 'Really? I have been sitting here thinking you were the bad guy... wow I guess I was wrong about my best friend all these years whom I have known since I was seven. I guess I should trust the guy who was my boyfriend for a few months and did not see me for three weeks.' I am sitting up in my bed now. I stare at him fixatedly. I know that talking like this may get me killed I feel I have nothing more to lose. Somehow this feels as if it is going by to fast though. He shrugs his shoulders. 'I was busy.' 'Killing more people?' 'No, thinking actually.' I can not tell if he is telling the truth or not. 'Thinking about killing more people?' 'Shut up you and get over it you overgrown fat...' 'Why should I?' I cut him off before he could say anything else. I wonder what his answer will be. I bet some lame line. 'Because I mean more to you han she ever did.' I shake my head and stand up. Why does he act so arrogant? 'You are wrong, you are the worst person I could ever imagine being with. She was my best friend and I knew her longer than you. You are a pig who needs to keep his pants buckled. You are a homcidal maniac who I would never be with. How could you think I woudl ever want to be with you seeing as you murdered my best friend in front of my own eyes... Not that it would be any better if it was behind my back.' He walks over to the other side of my room. I see how that my window is broken, he must have gotten through there. He definitely does not care about hiding it. I wonder if he will kill me? I feel calm een thinking about it. Strange why do I feel as though I am fine with that? 'She asked me to do that to her. I told her if we were caught then I would have to kill her and she was fine with that. So don't blame me, blame your best friend who lied to you about it.' 'That makes it so much better. You lied to and how does that make you any better?' 'It doesn't...' 'Just go ahead and kill me if you want to, I am tired of standing around talking about crap.' 'If I kill you it will be unexpected... You should run though it makes it more exciting for me.' We switch subjects a lot... At least now he knows that I am not afraid if he is going to kill me. That is one escape from this misery. He puts one leg out the window and looks back at me. 'I will tell you though, I have not decided if I want to kill you or not.' 'That is so nice, please make a decision so I can be warned.' 'How do you know I will warn you?' He jumps out the window without saying anythign else. What is his problem? I want to know why he killed her in the first place. Why he targeted her? If she did ask him to do that to her. If so why in a closet, in the place where she knew I was bound to look. This makes no sense. I feel to confused to even think any further. I need to rest and maybe I will take this back up tomorrow. I know there is only one way to solve this, and that is for me to solve this. No one else can, since I am the only eyewitness surviving besides the killer. I can hear him snickering outside. I bet this is a game for him. Toying with his prey... you should not play with your food though. If I encourage him to kill me maybe he will not. Then again he might, since it is encouraging. I feel the anger in me rising. I should be more sad... how long should I be sad for? Until I forget that my best friend is gone? I wonder how her brother is doing... he is a year older than me. I could talk to him he may help... he is a computer genius as well so that could come in handy. You know the part of Alex that really makes me angry. I thought I had loved him and he had loved me. I believed for a while that things were good and happy. I should have known better.I hear the pattering of feet on the floor. Someone is coming down the hall towards my room. The creaks open and my mom's head pops in. 'Are you okay honey?' 'Yes mom. My window is just broken, I think one of the neigbor kids threw a rock in.' 'Oh, okay I'm going back to sleep then. Night.' 'Night.' She should be freaking out. I guess she was still half asleep. The morning should be interesting. I need my sleep. I take my blinds and put down then tie the curtains together to block anyone or anything from coming in. I no longer hear my moms footsteps in the hall. I guess I should go to sleep. Tomorrow I am starting investigating this... I will not be afraid, I will not be afraid, I will not be afraid...... Chapter 3: An English Death 'Oh Night my Love, I shall say as the death comes in my heart.' English class once my favorite class now well... let us leave it at that. Third period, not even half of the school day is over. I was tricked into coming today. I am glad that I made it through the first two classes safely. I am thankful I am sitting here alive. English well it is fun to read scripts. I hardly get up in front of the class. I am not to good at acting. 'Be still as I plunge thy knife in thee chest.' 'Why oh why my love do you say this in laughter? Shoudl I pray for thy sanity?' Or sometimes they make up their own scripts and stories. I am watching Julia and Chad act out something right now. They are the more active people around here. 'Can I but kiss thyn face bfore I send you to your fiery depths?' 'I shall accept they fate with honour.' I kind of understand what they are saying. Okay actually I do not. I know the basics, someone is dying by the hands of their lover. How weird that this goes along with the theme of my life. I hear the clap of the teachers hands. This means she is intervening and adding something. 'Okay Julia that was great, how about we let another young lady try out acting. Cherel would you like to come up front since you have been absent. If you act just a little I will count this as all of your grades.' A very tempting offer... this is embarrasing though. I nod my head as I give in. Her gaze can make you do that. I stand up and walk to the front of the class. Julia seems a little angry. I hope she does not take her anger out on me. 'Die in peace oh wonderful love of mine. See the stars and hold my heart.' I look at him almost rolling my eyes. Then I see a shadow in the doorway. When I notice who it is I start panicking. Why is he here... he never comes here during school. I look at Chad he is waiting for me to say something. My knees start to shake and I collapse onto the floor. Is this part of acting? I guess as long as I am feeling it I might as well act. This may get all of my feelings off of my chest. Tears start going down my face. I hope I am not laying it on to much. 'Oh please spare me, for I have not known what my wrongness has been.' I look up at Chad. He seems a little shocked that I actually decided to act. I am a little surprised as well. 'No I can not... because of that reason. If only you could know what you have done then may I spare your soul.' I shake my head. Then when he plunges his fake sword into my heart I make sputtering noises and fall over. Everyone claps at the display. I stand up and wipe away the tears. That made me feel so much better. I bow as the teacher walks up front. She says that I did a wonderful job and that I may sit down. Chad congratulates me on finally opening up. Everyone else says that I should audition for a part in the play. I sit down and for once I do not think about everything else. Not even the person standing in the doorway. I look back down at my notes. 'Okay so who is next?' 'I think Autumn is next.' I raise my head at the mention of the name. Then I remember Alex was in the doorway. The worst part he said my best friends name. 'Who are you young man?' He does not answer he simply turns around and walks away. I hear murmurs as people lean over whispering to eachother. Is he stalking me now? I guess you never know a person until they do this. The teacher then asks if anyone will go see who he is. No one budges. I raise my hand, everyone stares at me. 'I will go.' 'Cherel are you sure?' I nod my head. He can not kill me at school can he? I stand up and grab my purse. This is not very smart of me is it? I walk out the door into the hallway. The lights are out for some reason. He is trying to scare me. I start walking down the hallway towards the end of the hall. I can see some light ahead so maybe I can find my way out of here and find him. He is either in this hallway or ran away like usual. I do not see anyone... it is only cold and dark. Well it is early spring. I can feel the danger around me growing. Before I can find anything the bell rings. It startles me and makes me jump a little. The students start flowing out into the halls. You know I am never dating anyone ever again if it turns out like this all the time. Next time it could end up being a ax-murderer, instead of a homicidal maniac. I keep trying to think on the positive side, that I am still alive. You know he use to be sweet. We use to talk all the time and we had so much in common. I wonder if it was all a front. We never fought, so I guess I should have expected something was up. I should have saw all the pointers. I am guessing it all started the day I stayed after school. Autumn went to the bathroom and came back crying. She kept mumbling "he is so scary". I just thought she meant she saw a weird guy. I asked her what was wrong but she always said "nothing". Although every time I would say me and Alex were going on a date she would cringe and look as though she were going to cry. When he would pick me up from school she made excuses saying she needed to something else. I thought she was giving us privacy. I worried about her wondering what was the matter. I thought maybe she was feeling left out. Yet no matter how many times I invited her on a double date with us she never went. If it was just me and her it was okay. I was being nosy one day and watched her house. Alex walked in ten minutes later he would walk out. I know it must sound weird saying this. I finally decided to go in also as a surprise visit. Yet they were just studying. So I figured maybe the reason why she never went with us was because she needed to study or she actually had other plans. How could I have overlooked all those signs. I should have known something weird was going on. I walk down the hallway slowly in my own little world. I am heading to Chemistry now. 'Miss me sweetie?' I turn around to see Alex. Why is he following me now? He is getting annoying. I wonder what his problem is. Does he have multiple personality disorder or something. One of them is nice, the other mean, the other a murderer? 'No not now, not ever.' 'Oh harsh, so listen I just wondered when the best time to kill you would be?' I turn to see his face. He is smiling a big cheesy smile. I can not tell anymore if he is joking or not. 'Right now.' I look him straight in the eyes. I am serious and I want him to know that. He found that funny and started laughing. I kept walking, there is somethign seriously messed up with this. My fear for him has started to go away, in its place has grown anger towards him. 'Don't forget you would be nothing without me.' He whispers that in my ear. 'Yeah your wrong, I would be better than nothing.' I mostly just shot that out without thinking. I was hoping for a strong finish. So as to say I don't care. I do not care if he kills me, if he does then good. As long as he does not hurt my family. 'There you are Cherel I was just looking for you.' 'Sorry I was busy talking.' 'What were you talking about, you know becasue I just heard the most amazing rumor.' 'It is hard to explain Jessica.' 'I understand.' I look back to glare at Alex. I can not wait until she leaves... Why could he not kill her, I mean it would be a better choice. Also more believable that she seduced him. I start walking and Jessica walks beside me babbling on about some new rumor going around. I pay about three seconds worth of attention and zone out. I am leaving Alex behind, he must have understood he did not belong here. I hope he falls into a well and Lassie never comes. That was a strange reference but still. I wonder if I can act like normal. Notice the word act... which is precisely what I would do. I coiudl get close to him make him believe I am his friend, get some good evidence against him. Then I can ruin his plans, and turn him in. He could kill me beforehand though. There is one place I must go after school. The one place I have been trying to avoid for a few weeks now. 'SO Jessica how have you been?' 'Good oh you so missed it the other day in Math. Chris stood up and stared mooning the teacher. Oh and I would have told you but I could not get ahold of you. Jerry finally asked me out. I thought it was a miracle.' 'Aw I can not believe I missed that.' I half am hearing what she is saying but some of it seems to be blah, blah, blah, blah... Most of what Jessica relies on is rumors so it is hard to listen to her seriously. 'Oh and speaking of missing things. I forgot to ask who was that cute guy and what's his name?' 'That is Alex, he is my on again off again boyfriend.' I have to at least try pretending that I like him. He may be listening or watching. Which if I can act good enough then I can get more evidence. 'Wow I can not believe you have a boyfriend, how come I never knew? Oh his hair is so pretty how does he get it so shiny and dark black? He seems like a bad boy.' She has no idea how right she is about that last part. Other than that I am not sure how to respond. 'Well no one ever asked me.' Truth. 'As well I figured people might get crazy if they found out, you know the rumor mill.' Half truth. 'He is just so cute I did not want anyone else to steal him away as well.' Lie. 'That is so true, you know how the girls around here can be. Once they see a guy they try to set their fangs into him.' I think I might be sick. I can not believe I have to go along with this. Well if I want it to work. Oh and if you are wondering why I never told anyone that I was going out with him. It was becasue I did not want anyone to find out. There that simple, of course I told Autumn. She was my best friend and I could trust her. Only two other people knew, I just never liked Jessica that much enough to tell her. As well he is older than me and I knew it would set a riot out if they found out. At that moment someone walked over to where we were standing. It was a guy about three inches taller than me. He had dirty blonde hair and his eyes were a stone gray color. He looked very serious. 'Are you Cherel?' 'Yes I am, why do you ask?' 'Um some guy told me to tell you that he will be waiting.' I can already imagine who he was talking about. Why did he not tell me himself. Sending some poor messenger. I take a deep breath and shake my head. 'Are you okay?' 'Yeah.' In a way I want to curl up inside myself and go to sleep. Or disappear. 'You need to talk?' 'No I will be okay.' 'Kay bye then.' The guy turns around and walks away. He seemed very concerned, I was surprised. I look over at Jessica but she is picking at her nails. I should explain that Jessica is a very self-centered person. She prides herself in her beauty. i am not sure whether this is bad. In some instances it is, other times I just overlook it. She does not care for anyone but herself... I wish she could learn some compassion. 'Do you know who he was?' 'Who, who was?' 'Really you are that unobservant?' 'I did not see anyone of importance.' When she said this I knew why she was acting like this. She thought he was cute. She always tries to hide her feelings behind her snobbiness. What probably happened she asked him out, he turned her down and now he is her enemy. Or at least that it what I am guessing. She may just like him, like a normal person I guess. 'So... when did you start liking him? I thought you liked Jerry?' 'Well I guess around last week. How did you know I liked him?' 'I could tell by how you were acting. It was completely obvious.' 'Oh hm... Don't tell Jerry...' I shake my head at her disappointed. I can not believe I was right. She turns her head to the side and pouts a little. I shake my head even more. She will eventually get over herself. If she stands there forever then I guess there is a new statue at the school, called con artist in action. I do not need this extra drama. One day back and this is what happens. I can not even remember where I am going. What class I have right now or anything has fled my mind. 'Gotcha!' The next thing I know I see an arm flash around me. I try to squirm out of the way but the person has a tight grip.I try to keep breathing. Sometimes I have problems with confined areas. It just depends... which right now my breathing is hitching in my throat. So I may pass out in about five minutes if the person does not let go. I bet I know who it is as well... Chapter 4: Switch of Perspective There is no solution to my insanity. Most would disagree saying it sprouts from serious trauma. I guess they may be right there is no cure. I do not want to change because this is who I am. I have been this way since the beginning. My love of the hunt is what keeps me going. It is a game of survival. Maybe it is the adrenaline that I crave... or maybe it is them in general. Whenever I see something I want I always get it. Except for one person... who seems to defy me even though I threat to kill. It would be easier to kill her if she would be angry. Of course no it does not go that way. I could blame her death on suicide. She was so upset over her friends death that she could handle it. I have been working on this for a few weeks now. There are multiple scenarios that it could be. I just have to plant evidence where they will find it, of course not obvious. Then I sit back and watch as it unravels. I should buy some popcorn it may get interesting. There are other solutions to this. I could work her over to my side. That may take to long... all I need is someone to be the frontman. That way I am not caught. This is where some person stupid enough to listen to my lies comes into effect. You would be surprised how many people are like that. In this town it should be easier to find. So either she works with me... or I kill her. Either way is fine with me, now it is all about decisions. I do not plan to kill at the moment. I have a feeling there is someone else trying to work an angle. So first on my list is figuring out who it is. As well as making sure he does not get to my prey before I can. Chapter 5: Mirages The sounds are what I first notice. The pitter patter in my ear notifies me that I am not where I was earlier. I can smell lilies and roses nearby. Did I stumble into a garden? Wait what happened earlier? My brain is to foggy at the moment for me to decipher anything. I can smell rain that explains the pattering and sploshing sounds. I am outside definitely, otherwise these things would not be so strong. I try to move my arm but a sharp pain goes up to my shoulder. There is something sticking in my arm. I pull back a little but regret it instantly. I can feel my skin tear... With that I open my eyes and notice that my surroundings are strange. The pain dulls down as I look around to confused to think of anything else. I can see the raindrops coming down towards my face. The sky is filled with tree branches and leaves. There are few openings for the rain to fall through. The sight is mesmerizing but it makes my eyes twist around. I close my eyes to focus on something else. Then the pain comes back to me with twice as much force. I try sitting up but something stings my sides. I feel paralyzed I can barely move and when I do I am in pain. I open my eyes again but I do not focus on the rain. Instead I survey my surroundings. I am in the forest and there are various flowers surrounding me. It looks as though they were almost strategically placed here. The flowers have thorns on them... maybe that is what keeps sticking me. I feel as though I am in a coffin of flowers. I have to get out of here fast, even if that means getting stuck with more thorns. I quickly pull my hand up to my face. It was not thorns which were poking my skin. It was metal shaving, which some seem to still be stuck in my skin. I now see the blood trailing down my skin. The color is beautiful, especially when it pools in one area it turns into a deep crimson. Someone must have put me here on purpose then. This is not just by some freak accident. Someone was trying to kill me... maybe I am dying but I have to try to get out of here. I pull my other hand up to my face. It is less bloody but there is a note tied to my hand. I will look at that later. I try to pull myself up almost imagining the blood pouring out of my body. I am going to need a blood transfusion by the end of this. If I can find the right type. Or if I can get out of here in time. My body is slow to come up because of the pain mixed with weariness. I can see more clearly around me. I can see the dirt laying around which was freshly dug up. My legs are wound under vines, or something that looks like vines. I turn my head slowly to see behind me. There were metal blades lying around me. No wonder I was in so much pain. They really must had taken time to do this. I take a deep breath and start moving again. This is probably not good for the wounds I have. Yet I did not feel like getting more. So either it was stay there bleed more, or get up and hopefully bleed less. I wonder how far from town I am? Wait if I go to the hospital like this they will question me. Which may not be good under the current circumstances. Who could I go to though? I need to think of this after I get free. I move the vines aside to get a good look at the damage done to my feet and legs. A knife is protruding out from my ankle. How did I not feel that? Is it the you make yourself feel pain or things? Like delusions, except hm... I need to stop thinking so much. My head is starting to hurt, either from blood loss or thinking to much. Who had planned this? Was it Alex? He did say that he would give no warning. Yet the person who talked earlier to me with the "gotcha" was not him. That person's voice was higher pitched than his. Unless he can change his voice. I also wonder how I slept through all of that? Was there some sort knock out gas or antistetic? I pull the knife out of my leg... I can not feel it. There is no feeling in that leg. I touch the other leg which seems to have survived unharmed, I can feel my fingers on that leg. The other leg seems numb. Which I guess is a good thing. 'Cherel.' I look around to see who sait that. There is no one around. I must be dying... or going insane. I examine my body for any other injured places. So far it looks as though I found all of them. I push myself off the ground, not an easy task. I wobble a little but regain my balance when I slam into a tree. My feelings seem to blend together now. I can not tell what is pain and what is not. I must go forward. If I stop then what does that say about me? That I give up easily, that I am such a simple person to kill. Yeah that is not who I am. I have to at least get somewhere first to warn someone. After that if my body wants to shut down and die then it can. I keep walking through the trees. It seems that was the only place with flowers. Every other place looks like a normal forest, with brown ground and some dying greenery wilting. I push through all of this towards what I hope is town. Any sort of town will do. My feet give way under me and I slide down a slope. Where did that come from. I cough a little and try to catch my breath. I close my eyes for a little bit. Before I know it I am drifting off. I try to regain my consciousness but it seems to have ran away. Somehow when I thought of running away I thought of a nursery rhyme. The one where the cow jumped over the moon... I hear the crunching of shoes nearby... or at least what I imagine is someone with shoes. It may be a wild animal. At least let me pretend for a moment. For a moment I can believe that someone is here to rescue me. I tried being strong... somehow I knew I was not cut out for it. I am pathetic giving up so easily... Chapter 6: A New Predator It was my thing to kill others. Then someone comes in and takes that away. Someone who seems to be much better at this than I am. I can not believe they took my target. I crinkle my nose and lay back in my chair. I need to think more seriously about all of this. My only question now is what did he do with her. I also want to know who it is exactly. I believe it is someone after me, maybe a family member of someone I killed previously? I wonder if she was just as easy to kill as her best friend. I doubt, she had much more of a personality. Oh poor Cherel... she was kidnapped by some person not even I know. As you should remember I said previously that I liked the adrenaline rush... Well this is not what I meant by that. I am not really sure what I meant now. If Cherel is dead then I guess I will have to find a new target. I guess that friend of hers who has an annoying voice. I guess maybe it is what she says that is annoying. So now what is my next move. This reminds me of chess in some ways. Except extreme chess... which my pawns are the people around me. My Knights are probably the people I "hypnotize" into working for me. My Queen well, would have been Cherel I guess. So which pawn should I move first? I put my fingers into the shape of a temple. This needs a lot of extra thinking. Chapter 7: My Grasp on Insanity I open my eyes a little to see what has happened. The last thing I remembered I was dying in the woods. Before that I was being kidnapped you could say. So now where am I? This is really problematic because I was going to go over to visit Autumn's brother. This delays some things... I do not think I died. I mean if I had why would my surroundings look like this. Kind of dark but I can see out a window at the sunset. Which when I was in the forest it was mid-day I am guessing. Yet that does not mean much. I take a deep breath but that is when these voices start entering my head. 'Cherel, cherel, cherel, cherel...' I am insane that is it. I look around finally opening my eyes all the way but I see nothing. No one anywhere, maybe there is a speaker somewhere. I sit up but I lay back down because there is still pain. My body feels sore. I look at my hands and notice they are bandaged. So maybe that shoe like noise I heard was a person. Which if the person bandaged me up they can not be that bad right? I look at the walls, why does this place look familiar? I feel as though I have been here before. I know that not many people have a poster of a crazy monkey on their wall. 'Cherel are you feeling better?' I look around this time and see someone. Which once I recognize who it is I understand why this place looks familiar. It is Autumn's brother he is holding a bag of Frito's in one hand and a notebook in the other. I must have gotten lucky. Why was he in the forest though? 'Yeah...' I look around feeling lost. I need to sort this all out. Okay I was at school on my way to my fourth period class. Then someone comes up behind me and I loose consciousness. Then when I wake up I am in the process of dying. Or being tortured I guess you could say. After getting loose and walking around half dazed and insane I fall down this slope in the forest. I hear a noise which sounds like footsteps. Then when I wake up again I am in Benji's room. We always called him that, though that is not his name. I can understand as well now why I am bandaged so well. He is wanting to become a doctor... which he is going through some courses after school to help with that. He sits down in a chair by his computer. He swivels around and eyes me cautiously. 'How did I get here again?' He smirks and throws his folder onto the floor. I guess it was not that important. 'Okay well you don't remember anything then. Oh this is good. Well I was searching around the river for any clues as to what happened to my sister. I know that is probably not a smart idea but hey at least I was able to help one person. I had been walking around when I spotted someone walking through the woods. He was wearing all black and carrying something.' He stops to make sure I am following. I look at him admiring his strength. How can he go through this with this level of... well calmness? I would probably be running around in circles. Yet that is the difference between him and me. It is a secret that I act like that so it would be best not to tell anyone. I do not like having my faults and weaknesses out in the open. People tend to pounce on people if they have information on them. Thus the reason why I never really talk about myself. He leans back slightly and taps his fingers on the armrest of the chair. 'I figured the person was not disposing of their trash in the woods. Since well they would end up getting fined, of course there is the occasional idiot. I tried following him as best as I could. I ended up losing him for a few minutes.Then I noticed he was on his way back so quickly. It made me curious as to what he had left behind. Finding this a good opportunity to be nosy and get some dirt I hicked into the woods further. You would not believe how green everything was. I felt like I was in a maze more than once. Then the guy started to come back carrying more things. This time there was someone with him. Which I believe that guy actually goes to our school.' He stops to catch his breath. He seemed to be getting ahead of himself. He takes a deep breath then continues. Somehow this seems well to fixed. Like the guy wanted to be caught or seen. He could have been more cautious so that Benji did not see him. This seems all to weird. 'Sorry about that, I should explain further into this. The guy was hooded so I could not see his face. The other guy was younger and I know I have seen him at school before. There was something wrong with him, like he was dazed. He was carrying a shovel and a bag. The main guy was carrying well I do not know what he was carrying. It was big whatever it was, but it was some sort of material. I did not stop to think about what type. Which I tried following them again but got lost. By the time I decided to give up and walk back I heard something. Which I watched them leave and about ten minutes later of trying to sort out everything I heard another noise. I hid to make sure that it was not them coming back or something else.' I close my eyes and hear a pop. When I open my eyes again Benji is eating the Frito's. He points at the bag momentarily to ask me if I want any. I shake my head not feeling in the mood to eat. Right now I feel a little nauseous. 'You are serious Benji? There is no gotcha's involved, or just jokings?' 'Unfortunately No, but you did not let me finish. I heard a crash and then started to walk to see what it was. There you were passed out on the ground. Looking well horrible really, I mean more than usual.' He chuckles at that as I glower at him. Somehow after everything he seems so upbeat still. Maybe he is forcing himself to be so upbeat. I know I could not act like that in this situation. 'I thought about leaving you there. Yet since I figured you'd owe me I helped you out. I carried you from there to my car... which I had parked a long walk away to ensure no one found it. I was lucky about that. I had a feeling that the guy was not nice, and would not show any mercy. I came home in time that my parents were not here yet. I carried you up to my room. Then I bandaged you up, do not worry I disinfected all of your wounds. You have been out for at least an hour now. I was about to stick a frito up your nose but you woke up and ruined my fun.' He stops and sets the frito bag on the top of his desk. Then he leans over to grab the folder he threw on the ground. He flipped it open and drew out a pen. 'Which leaves us at what you know. Why you were there... Did that guy take you there? You do realize if a guy says to you hey let's go to the woods you should turn around and walk away. Why were you in such a bad condition. Was someone trying to kill you? What exactly do you know?' He stops and suddenly his face becomes serious. He is going to make notes, I understand now. I push myself up to where I am sitting. It hurts but I need to sit up for this. I look around and notice I was laying on his futon. Which now has a plain blue sheet on it. There is a poster stapled up above the bed. Which there is another poster underneath... I am guessing it is one of those posters. 'Okay you want the truth? Just know this is not a game, we are not playing cops. People are getting hurt, and you may end up hurt. People are dying... which is what I was trying to stop. That does not seem to have worked. This as well may cause you some pain. Since this is linked to another incident...' He nods his head and writes some things down. Maybe he is writing, patient is delusional. Who knows what he is writing down. He may even be drawing. 'Please continue. Do not be afraid to say anything. Even if this does concern my sister, I would rather know.' I take a deep breath... I should keep this shortened down. The best place is to start at the beginning. Of what I know and what has happened. 'This all started a few months ago I guess. When I met the persone everyone says is my boyfriend.' Benji interrupts me to comment that he did not know I had a boyfriend. After telling him he is no longer my boyfriend and trying to get him to stop making weird comments I continue. 'Back to subject Benji. It started on one of those nights where I had practice after school. I am not sure how long the thing that I witnessed had been going on. It was disgusting if I must say. I came home one day and it was the day that Autumn was coming over to drop a present off.' 'I remember that day, that was the last day I saw her.' I stop to breath before I crumble apart. 'I wish I had known what he was like. How he acted when I was not around.' I tried to explain what I had seen. Yet it came out gurgled and half strangled. After having a mental breakdown and having Benji comfort me I tried to continue. He should not be comforting me, I should be comforting him. Once I had told him what I had seen he seemed angry. He told me his anger was not at me, but at that guy. He also seemed sad but he was trying to hold that in. I expect he will probably break down after a while. 'Now you know what has been going on. As for the reason why I locked myself up in my room for about three weeks. Why your sister never came home. As well as what happened to her. I know they said it was accidental death... it was not. Yet I suppose it was better to think that it was. That way there was no place to blame, or no one to be angry at. That is not all of it though.' At this point Benji is sitting next to me. Somehow I do not even notice the pain in my sides. I guess it is the distractions. He seems to actually find what I am saying interesting. As for me I am glad that I am finally able to tell someone. After all this while knowing about that was about to make me burst. Of all the people to tell who would have thought it would be him. I wish that I could have found a guy with more qualities like him. I mean not that I would go for him... that would be weird. Since we are practically brother and sister... or at least he is my weird friend if anything. I just meant that he has better qualities than some people. This is not turning out to good in my mind. I am just stopping there... I need to focus. 'After that the guy said he might kill me. Which that was a few days ago when I finally came out of my killing myself... I mean as in my mind. He even broke into my house, he broke my window and woke me up. He was thinking that I would just act like how I had before. After arguing and deciding I did not care if I was killed but I would not let him get away with that he left. Well that was kind of how things went... Anyway then I went to school eventually after that. My time is perhaps off so forgive me for that. Which he showed up at my school, see no one had known I was with him before the whole... anyway he stopped me in the hallway to talk. Then I met Jessica, you know the annoying girl. He left and then we were walking. She invited me to some event. I told her I was not going. There was this guy who had said that Alex was going to meet me somewhere. He seemed to disappear after that for a few minutes. Then I was walking to third period this person came up behind. He put his hands around me and because I freaked out I hyperventilated and passed out. When I woke up I was in so much pain I was confused about where I was. Then I found out I was in forest. Which once I noticed that there were plants there that did not belong. As well as freshly dug ground. So you seeing that guy carrying a shovel makes sense. There was a knife in my leg and various other things. Once I got free I started to leave. I thought many times I was going to die. Then I slipped on this slope went down, I heard your footsteps. So I figured it was that guy... Then I woke up here. I think that maybe if I go to sleep I might wake up from this nightmare.' I stop because there is nothing else I can recall that has any significance. He pulls me closer to him and starts to pat my back. It is quite awkward he does not seem to notice. This is such a strange ending. I was not expecting this to happen at all. I figured he would have made some notes and went off to investigate something. I wonder how he is handling all of this in his mind. Chapter 8: Past and Present You could say this all started years ago. The whole part with me going around brutally murdering people. No one has found me of yet. That is because I killed the people before they got to it. There however is one person who knows... I do not see him being much of a problem. I have no family. It does not bother me anymore. I figured a family would get in my way. I had a family a long time ago. I had a elder brother, two sisters... and one other, who I do not mention. That is because he is my twin. I do not acknowledge him anymore... My elder brother went away to college. College must have really twisted him around. He pretended to kill himself, and convinced everyone that he had died. When he came back to kill all of us I was surprised. I had always looked up to him. My twin well who know what had happened to him. I am not sure if he had been killed in that massacre or not. I just never liked the idea that he might be out there. My elder brother killed my parents, and my sisters. Somehow I had escaped... though I did not want to. I would have rather died there with them than lived this life. I was four years old at that time. There was a large age gape between all of us. I am surprised my memory was so good from that time. Yet seeing your family killed does that to you. It imprints on your mind and never leaves. Only brings itself back up and haunts you. After that I lived on the streets. Mostly in garbage cans. I am still not sure to this day how I survived exactly. One night I awoke to a rustle outside my trashcan. That was the night someone had tried to kill me. Even through that I had escaped. I was a very lucky person. Yet after that I decided to get revenge on all humanity. Well at least the people who truly deserved it. I base that off of what I think. Analyzing a person for a while then I kill them. I was never able to stop once I started. It was a never ending trail. It started to seem that everyone was bad. I do not really want to stop at the moment. I am happier when I kill, I guess it is like putting a piece of my unhappiness somewhere else. Or maybe it is replacing it with that person. I have not found out who the other killer in this town is yet. Which I think they had killed Cherel. How sad I was actually thinking of letting her live. I mean eventually I would have killed her, but for the moment being I would have let her live. You are probably thinking I am a horrible person. Yet you do not realize there are worse killers out there. At least I sometimes show mercy for the people. I do not torture the person that much. I could be more cruel. As well as I could be killing more people. What makes me curious is who the other kill is. I have to eliminate the competition. Which this person seems more melodramatic, or more into drama and more cynical than I am. That could be a problem, that person could be an actor. For now I am just going to relax. I will eventually get around to inspecting this. Chapter 9: Hey so Um, its Me? I woke up this morning feeling as if I had been asleep for days. I felt half paralyzed and I could not move. I could not even remember what I had done yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that. It was like all of my memories were gone. Which I fell asleep again not thinking much on it. I finally woke up again... Which I am not as paralyzed. I still can not remember anything. 'I see you are awake finally.' I jerk uprightin my bed at the sound of someone else's voice. I look over at my chair which I can barely see. The darkness seems to mask the person's face. He is sitting in the chair. I am expecting it is a He. The voice sounds like a guys. Unless it is a very muscular or manly girl. I kind of want to know how the person got into my house. Why he is in my room. Why he also seems to be over familiar with me, when I have no idea who he or she is. 'Who are you?' 'You do not remember anything I presume. That is good for you. Since you did some horrible things that I do not think anyone would forgive you for.' 'Who are you?' 'Fine my name is Jeran Thomas.' I try to look closely. I do not know anyone by that name. I also have no idea what he means by horrible things. I could not have done anything that bad. I bet he has something to do with it. I am guessing with the name it is a guy. It sounds masculine at least. 'Why are you here?' 'To inform you of what you have done why else?' I shake my head but still do not understand. I can see his head movement just a little. I think he tilted his head. Why does that simple move seem to intensify things? 'You are a murderer now. Welcome to the club.' 'No I am not.' I scoff at what he has said. I do not remember killing anyone. You would figure I would. Unless this is like a Dr. Jekel and Mr. Hyde scenario. 'Oh yes, yes you are. You kind of killed Cherel Nickelson. Which if I must say it went over smoothly. I did not figure a person of such inexperience would be able to pull it off. Yet you surprised me.' 'The girl who's best friend was Autumn and killed herself?' He nods his head, I can tell that clearly. He must be joking, I would not kill her. I have known her for well a long time. Cherel was always so nice to me even if no one else was. I never really knew her, but I knew her well enough not to kill her. 'Why would I kill her?' 'I made you... of course you would not remember since I put you into a trance. You had to obey me and that was what I made you do.' I snort and roll my eyes. He seems to see that from over there. 'Do not roll your eyes. I am your only friend now. If you want me to tell everyone then please I dare you to go against me. For now you are my play toy, so get use to it.' 'What did you have against Cherel?' He stops for a little while. He must be thinking of a good answer? 'The same thing I had against Autumn. They never cared about me. They always left me filling in their shadows.' 'Did you kill Autumn?' I feel as if my heart is going to stop from the suspense. 'I am flattered you would think that. Though unfortunately no, someone else got to her before I could.' He stops there for the moment. What is going on? Chapter 10: Lying for the sake of Living We decided after a lot of talking it was better to let the person think I was dead. Which means lying to everyone. It was the only way we could thinkt that this all would work. That person would think they succeeded leave me alone. Then I can investigate things better. As well as the person will not target my family, hopefully. I may regret this later. Which I guess I could just tell my family that they should act like I am dead. Yet they are not very good at lying. Which I am not sure where I got my ability. Maybe it is something you loose once you get older. When morals start sounding good and rules seem to be a good idea then it must disappear. Which Benji said I can stay at his house. His parents never go to his room... even though I have a feeling this is going to be awkward for a while. I am grateful to him that he thought of this. I wish that there was someone else, yet pulling anyone else in on this is just a problem. The bad problem is finding clothes, I could not wear Autumn's clothes. That would feel wrong, and would make me think of everything. Even though I have it on my mind anyway, that would intensify the problem. I somehow feel like a detective. In a weird twisted story... definitely not like Sherlock Holmes. Or one of Agatha Christie's books. I wish it were more like a Nancy Drew mystery. I was very much into mystery books when I was younger. Lately it seems that I have not wanted to read anything. Right now it is ten at night... I am lying awake listening to Benji snoring. I told him I would take the floor. Yet he said we could both fit on his futon. Which now his feet are right beside my head. I would rather have slept on the floor. He needs some deodorizer for his feet, anti-fungis cream at least something would be good. I try to laugh at that but I can not. My mind is dead, it needs to be revived. Or it could be the fact I am hungry. Which there should be some sort of stash in Benji's room. Of course I am scared to eat anything he has put in here. It could be a day old to ten years old. I roll over onto my side away from Benji's feet. Something grabs my feet which startles me. When I look down there is a figure by the otherside of the bed. A light comes through the window from the street. When I see the face I feel as if I am in a distorted dream. The face is mangled beyond repair, and the muscles seem to be hanging out everywhere. The eyes are hollow and it seems mascara is streamed down the face. The hair looks like it was strangled with water. My eyes go slowly down to its hands. Which are bloody and with a lot less skin than the face. The light goes away and I feel as if I am going to pass out from lack of breath. Maybe it was the lighting... my eyes were playing tricks on me. Another light comes through the window and the figure is by my face. I can see clearly every line in the face. This time I can smell the stench of the breath, as if the inside of its body has rotted. The teeth are half white, half yellow and some of them look chipped. This time I can see the eyes... I had thought they were hollow eye sockets. They are not, it is only bloody eyes. My foot jerks and kicks Benji. He groans and tosses over half mumbling. The light goes away for a minute then another one returns. The figure is gone just as quickly as it had appeared. That was not there, that was not there. I try telling myself this but despite my efforts I know it was there. I am not sure what that was. It was not Benji playing tricks on me. His parents would never do that. They are so uptight sometimes I think they can not breath because of it. I can feel my body shaking. Which means that I am more scared than I am willing to admit. I try to be strong... but in this situation I do not think I can last long. Maybe that figure looked terrifying becasue of the lighting. It was the car lights which caused it to look like that. You know I did not even hear any movements. Unless maybe my hearing was off because of that thing. It looked like something from the grave. I hear the creak of a floorboard outside in the hallway and I jump. I end up turning the other way and grabbing Benji's legs. I wish it were a pillow but I do not want to move. That thing might be back... it may be outside. Or it could just be his parents. For some reason I can not reason with my mind. My eyes are clenched shut so tight there are tears coming out the sides. I can feel Benji stirring. After a while of mumbling and groaning he leans behind him to turn on his light. I can tell by the click of a switch. He is probably rubbing his eyes now. Sitting up and now noticing I am clutching onto his legs for my life. I feel pathetic and like a little kid scared; afraid of a haunted house. 'Cherel what are you doing?' I can tell he is still partially asleep. His voice sounds groggy and rough. 'Nothing.' The words rush out of my mouth coming out much louder than I expected. He grabs me by my shoulders and pulls me off. He is much stronger than he appears. I open my eyes now. He pulls me closer to face him. He looks concerned, annoyed, and tired. I am not sure which one is winning at the moment. 'Please tell me what is bothering you. If you do not then I will not be able to tease you with it later.' I squirm a little and pucker my lips. Then I decide to tell him no matter how weird it sounds. After telling him what I saw he sighs. 'You can see it then? I thought it was only me who could see it.' 'What do you mean?' He lets go of me and I flop down onto his legs. He grimaces while I move over so that I am not injuring his legs. He has a bruise on his one leg... he said it was from running into some metal railing. He pushes his hands through his hair quickly. It is a weird move I thought only existed in cheesy movies. 'Well to keep it simple it appeared after Autumn disappeared. I have been wondering if it was not Autumn... it would make sense with the timing and the appearance. Why she keeps coming into my room makes me puzzled. I thought I was just seeing things... it is good to know that it is not just me.' 'So what you are telling me is that you think it is your sister. She grabbed my leg... why would she do that? Unless she wants to lead us somewhere... show us some sort of clue. Does she appear every night?' He leans over against his wall. He closes his eyes and breaths for a minute or two. He seems so much nicer when he has his eyes closed. Or maybe it is the fact he is not talking. I am trying to joke a little there. When he replies it seems as though it is hard for him to say. He then tells me that she appears every night at the same time. He says that she usually does not grab him. 'Cherel can we continue this in the morning. I just want to get some rest before jumping into this again.' I nod my head and crawl back to the other side of the bed. He leans back and clicks off his light. I manage to go to sleep. Maybe it is just thinking that the figure may have been Autumn. I have a much better feeling if it was her instead of someone I do not know. When I wake up in the morning I hear birds chirping before I hear anything else. My body jumps a little and I am sitting up straight looking around. I almost forgot that I was in Benji's room. This is to strange, I am in my late best friend's brother's room. Whom I remember sharing a lot of jokes about. I feel a little out of place, even though I have known Benji for a long time. It is just strange, since well I am a girl in a guy's room for one. Not that Benji is much of a guy. I pull myself out of those thoughts. After looking around I notice that Benji is still asleep. As well as it is almost time for him to be going to school. This pushes me onto another problem. I need a disguise if I am going to be dead. Which I need another name as well. I will probably do some research today. I think if I can get some information on the internet that could help. A list of everyone in this town. That way I can keep track of who everyone is. Who may be targetted next. I am not sure really what to look up. That guy who I saw yesterday before passing out it would be helpful to know his name or anything about him. I barely remember who he was now. 'Ay Cheewel...' Benji yawns and stretches. I did not even notice that he sat up. 'So we should start investigating today I guess.' I wonder if he thinks he is going to be going with me. It would become suspicious if both of us were missing from school. 'Actually you should go to school I think... oh you can figure out that one guy's name and information about him. It would bring to much attention if both of us were missing today.' 'I guess you are right, but don't you need a disguise? I mean if people see you walking around town that would also draw attention.' He moves around a little and cracks his knuckles. Most people find that sound sickening, I guess I got use to that. That is one thing both him and Autumn had in common. 'Precisely, yet I have nothing to disguise myself with.' He crinkles his eyes a little like he is thinking. Sometimes he is thinking and other times he just makes that face. 'I think I have an outfit... and there is a wig in the closet. I think one of my Aunt's dropped it here when they were visiting.' I jump out of the futon with a light thud. Well I guess that works... I just hope the wig is not one of those old grandma wigs. He pushes himself to the edge of his bed. I wonder what I should be doing but there is nothing to do at the moment. He stands up slowly and goes to his closet which is hidden behind a dorito bag, three jackets, two shirts I think, a pair of pants and a can of spray cheese. I decide not to question why that stuff is there. He pushes the things aside, which I would have thought ate him. He opens the doors slowly and rummages through the bottom. 'Here is the outfit.' I almost cringe a little. An outfit which came out of the bottom of his closet. He pulls out a white box. Then he hands it over to me. 'That was for my girlfriend.' My one eyebrow goes up while the other seems to stay flat. It is a mixture of puzzled and questioning. I never knew he had a girlfriend. I do not remember him having one at least. 'We broke up over a week ago. She said I had to much drama going on.' 'So basically she got bored of you. People like that really make me want to just... hm... slap them on the head. Maybe revive a few braincells.' He shrugs his shoulders and walks out of his room. I guess the wig is in another closet. Should I get dressed now or wait until I know he is going to be gone for a few minutes. Well I really do not want him walking in on me. I stand there contemplating for a few minutes. Then he comes back in the room. He tosses me a blonde wig, it is a shoulder length cut with slightly spiked ends. What type of aunt did this belong to? 'So you can get dressed in here, I am going to get dressed in the bathroom. Oh and my parents are downstairs at the moment. They will probably leave in five minutes or so. If you need anything else it is probably in the bathroom.' He turns around grabs a shirt off of his dresser top then bends down to grab a pair of pants off of a table by his door. Then he is gone... leaving me to some peacefulness. I lay the wig down on his bed. I wonder what type of outfit he would buy for a girl? I open the white box and peek inside. I think there is a jean skirt, or capris. I give up waiting and I just open the box all the way. There is a skirt, but it is a black kind of shiny skirt. It comes down to about three inches above the knee. I never wear skirts usually... if I do they are not like this. Or I wear legging underneath. I will have to make and exception today. I pull the skirt out and lay it on the bed. The shirt underneath is actually kind of pretty. It is a purple color with two black stripes going up the sides. What type of shoes should I wear? I will figure that out later. I put the skirt on first and then go to put the shirt on. In the middle of getting the shirt I had on off and putting the other one on I hear something knock over. I whirl around to face the door. There is Benji holding a pair of shoes. His mouth is gapping wide open and I feel embarrassed beyond belief. I turn around to face the wall trying to hide myself. No guy has ever seen me in just my bra before. I can feel my face flaming red. It is probably blinking signaling out to any satellites in space saying look at my humiliation. 'I'm sorry.' He chokes the words out and runs out of the room. It is partially his fault for not knocking. That does not erase the fact that he walked in on me getting dressed. How long had he been standing there? I pull the shirt on quickly trying to figure out how it fits. It seems to want to suction cup to my curves. Which this outfit is not helping me at all. I hear a knock on the door. 'Cherel can I come in?' 'Yeah Benji you can come in.' He walks in with his head down. He walks over to me and holds out the shoes. I take them and put them by the wig. 'Sorry for um... coming in just then. I kind of forgot.' I pat him on the shoulder very robotic like. This made things a little weird between us. I turn around and grab the wig up... 'My parents are gone now, so you can come out.' 'Thank you, and it was not your fault so don't worry about that.' He nods his head and I walk out of his room. I have to pull my hair back which I need a brush. Which a brush would be in the bathroom I guess. It takes a few minutes to pull my hair up and hide my hair. Yet I eventually am able to pull it off. I slip the wig on and make sure it looks okay. There is one problem I need eyeliner. In the end of this whole process I am ready to go out. I have my shoes on now. Which they are heels actually, luckily it is only a one inch heel. Sometimes I have problems walking in heels. I try to forget what happened earlier. Maybe by this afternoon we both will have forgotten that incident. I seem to walk down the stairs first. I feel like a different person but the same person. I am not sure what I look like. Since I do not like judging myself. I am taking these extra steps to ensure that no one knows who I am. For one because normally I do not wear that much make-up. For two I do not dress like this ever, unless I am alone. I feel very self consious about myself. It is a problem that is deeply rooted from all that horrile childhood teasing. Which Jessica was never much help with. We use to be horrible enemies. Not just the name calling but sometimes she would sneak into my house and cut my hair. Then I would sneak over to her house and steal a lawn gnome... after that I would put it right by her nightstand. One of her childhood fears was lawn gnomes. She told me later on that she thought they were going to eat her. We are still not that great of friends, it was only in middle school that she started being nice to my face. I can still feel the daggers in my back though. I inspect my work, not bad for my first try. It still makes me question how Benji found all of this. I understand that the dress was for his now ex-girlfriend. Which if that is the case this is one of those outfits. The outfits that the guy thinks is hot... maybe I will just wait until he leaves. He was expecting to see his girlfriend wear this... that just makes it awkward. Now the wig may help calm me down. It was his aunts supposedly... I wonder what type of aunt she was? Why would she leave a wig here? I shrug my shoulders... I make sure the wig goes with everything and then I open the door. With that the humiliation comes back to me. Maybe I should just jump out the window. The feeling makes my chest hurt. Why I am not sure. Deep breath, just breathe calmly. Get through this day and it should be easier the next. You know I have known Benji for a long time. When I would have sleep overs with Autumn he would stay in there with us. Until around middle school when he started inviting his friends over. He made sure to stay clear from us. I guess we were embarassing to him. I will think of last night like a sleepover, for old times sake. This morning he was not there, it was just my imagination. If I believe like that then maybe it will stop haunting me. I am trying to block out any other thoughts that may creep up into my mind. Most of which I expect may make me want to lose my appetite. I peek my head out into the hallway. I hear nothing, I see nothing... but I think I smell something burnt. Ah, Benji is probably trying to cook. He was well, he's Benji. You know everytime we called him that in public people would look at us strange. Especially when we were little. I think it is because there is this dog in a movie with that name. I never watched it so that is why I have no memory of it. My steps make a slight ticking sound on the floor. At least it is not a clomping sound. When I get to the stairs I try to see how I am going to get down them. I think almost dying once in two days is enough for me. I grab the railing on the stairs and make slow steps. I never trusted myself in heels on stairs. It just seems like a disaster waiting to happen. I can almost imagine my crumpled body at the bottom. I bet Benji and Autumn's mom would have a fit. "Oh no not on my newly installed white but not white carpet. Ray hurry up and go get the steamer, before the stain sets in." Ray is her husband, I often heard her call him that so it was something I remembered. Her name on the other hand I am not really sure what it is. I make it to the bottom and sigh relieved that I have managed thus far. I hear some cursing coming from the kitchen. I was right Benji was trying to cook. Which if he stays here much longer he maybe late for school. This place seems so familiar to me, it was always like my second home. I make myself turn right and go into the kitchen. I can not avoid everything. 'Benji you need some help?' He throws down a slice of burnt toast onto the counter. You would figure a toaster would be easy to operate. He brushes off his fingers then looks up. My one eyebrow goes up in a questioning look. He looks at me then turns in another direction. I can tell that he is blushing his ears are turning pink. I wonder what he is thinking about? Wait no nevermind I do not want to know. 'Um... no I'm fine just trying to get something before I have to leave. Guess I'll just grab a poptart. Um... well... uh see ya later.' He dahses out of the kitchen without another word. Well that was a nice conversation. See you later to? What a weird guy. I am not going to think of it, not going to. I turn around and look out of the kitchen window. You can clearly see into the neighbors house from here. They usually leave their living room windows open. Not a good choice for them. There is no oen in there so what is the harm of looking into their house? Yes granted sometimes you see things you do not want to. I have heard horrible stories. Like the one where someone was looking through windows while taking a walk. She ended up seeing a more heavyset man in a speedo through a big bay window. That makes me afraid to look into houses. I wait to hear the front door open and close. Nothing oh well maybe he left something upstairs. Someone goes into their neighbors living room. It is a girl pretty young maybe a year or two younger than me. Someone else walks into the room. I blink once, then twice before it sets in who it is. 'Ah... ack...' I step back and bump into a table. I am blinded! Blinded I tell you! I turn to the otherside. Think of something else, happy place, happy place. 'What is it?' Benji comes rushing back into the room. I motion for him to turn around. He should not have to see that. 'Don't look over there, trust me.' He turns around and looks anyway. 'Oh my what is he doing over there? Here he is telling us to study for the exams this week and he's next door...' 'That just makes me sick. Who would have thought, isn't he like forty or something?' He turns around to face the other wall. We talk back and forth about this for a while. We narrow it down that he is over forty but not yet fifty. He is one of the English teachers at our school. Which what I saw and what he saw... yeah something you never want to see again. That type of relationship with a student could get him fired, and sent to jail or prison. That is definitely under pedofile, and felony. I just realized we are talking normally now. I guess one good thing came out of this. Some of the awkward tension has left. 'Okay I am going to school.You can leave through the back door. If someone were to see someone exiting this house like that there would be just something I do not want to explain.' I smile and we talk a little bit more. He leaves the kitchen walking very quickly. The door opens and then closes with a thud. It makes me jump a little. I thrum my fingers on the tabletop. I should leave where to now? I think I need some coffee to wake me up a little more. I will forget what I saw. First to the coffee shop, sometimes just by talking to people you find out things. Then to the library, I will research some things online. I think I have a plan now. Somehow I had made it out of the house undetected by any people in their houses. I make it to my favorite cafe and sit down inside. A double mocha cappuccino sounds pretty good. I observe the people in here. There is a guy by the window talking on a cellphone. He seems to be a little upset over something. A girl in a booth on the otherside of the door is talking very interested at a guy sitting across from her. The guy seems bored and is yawning. Three college guys are sitting in the back corner laughing and probably talking about fart jokes or sex. One of them seems more suspicious than the others. He resembles someone I have seen before. I try not to stare at him. I look around to the other side. Two girls are sitting on the other side of me talking about their current relationships. It suddenly hits me why the guy looks familiar. He looks like a older version of Alex. He seems more mature but there is one difference. The hair color, his is bleached and white. I look away quickly why am I looking at him that much. It could just be coincidence. Is there any explanation? He could be his brother, but why would his brother be in town? I never really knew much about Alex I guess. If he did tell me something it is probably good to assume it was a lie. I hear someone's footsteps coming closer. 'Um excuse me do you mind if I get your number?' I look around to face that guy. How did he get over here so fast? I have to make sure to change my voice. Luckly I have taken some extra classes afterschool for that. It was not my idea Autumn really wanted to be in those classes. Where am I from? France some foreign country? That is my safest one, I do impersonations better for that one than any of them. 'Why do you want my number?' He leans back and studies me a little. I look at him carefully... he is very suspicious. Not just because of who he resembles. But as well how he holds himself. It is the twitching in his face that makes it really noticeable. 'Ah so you are not from around here?' I close my eyes and then open them again. 'No I am not, and if you please I am in a hurry and have no time for idle chatting.' 'I must say your English is magnificent.' I think about this for a while. Not to long so that he will question me. 'I have taken classes while I was younger.' I set my coffee down and stand up. I bow my head a little to him and walk out the door. Do not look back, do not look back. I have this itching to look back to see his expression. Yet that will just make it worse for me. So much for having coffee. Who was that, and why was he there? Why did he come up to me like that? Why would he want my number. I walk along the sidewalk trying to make answers for these questions. Yet nothing comes to mind. Well I guess then to the library. There is no sense in worrying needlessly about this. I keep walking where am I heading to? What am I doing now? I walk up the steps of the library and start across the waxed marble floor. Well maybe I can find something? I have the feeling that I am being watched. Maybe it is the elderly gray haired woman behind the front desk. She looks over at me from behind her bifocals. 'Dear is there anything I can get you?' I shake my head no. No need to include other people in on my problems. I have a feeling this whole thing is like a strange virus... and if you tell someone about it, bam instantly they are killed. When you know to much I guess they cut you off. Reminds me of those really old shows were they had detectives on them. Except that was a show... and the people were paid to act like that. In real life no one would believe me, no they would think I was joking or under to much stress. Thus the reason why proof is needed. As long as I can find some sort of proof that it was indeed Alex that well you understand right? I wonder if he was the one who tried to "get rid" of me? In a way I expected it but not like that. The last person I remember seeing was that guy. So what do I do from here? I came to the library to look at what? I turn around to look at the door. At any moment someone could come through there... I am surprised no one has recognized me yet. Okay so the bottom half of the library is mostly books for the public. The top half has a children's section, and files... as well as every newspaper this town has ever made. Well excluding a few which were burnt by some vandal. I think the books would be no help. The newspapers however might just give me some information. Any small incidents, a picture something. The stairs going up are very waxy. I can feel the elderly woman stare's. She is probably curious over who I am. Most of the people in town are nosey. If you are not from around here then you usually get the third degree from them. If only this were one of those Nancy Drew Mystery books. It would be solved like that... with just a few small clues it would unravel. Unfortunately I am not Nancy, and this town cover's things up to well. I reach the top of the steps with one last breath. I never realized there were so many stairs. Down the hall I walk, children's room is first on the left, the first room on the right is locked. So it is probably private files. Then the next room on the left is the collection of newspapers. Finally I have made it... this is no time to start feeling like I accomplished something though. I have much more to finish, and much more to start. The room is a little dim but I feel as if there is something in here that at least will give me hope. Well I should take my first step into investigating. Deep breath, one, deep breath, two, deep breath, three. Through the entrance I walk into a fresh start... To BE Continued... *Have any problems with this please write a comment. If you find that you can not understand this then tell me what your problem is. If you problem is nonsensical I will be sure to tell you... If you skimmed this over well then it is your problem if you do not understand.* Publication Date: July 20th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-kareca94

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-angel-ortiz-the-disappearance/

Angel Ortiz The Disappearance Chapter 1      A 13 year old boy named Charlie was home alone in 153 Elm ave. Charlie was in his room watching T.V when he heard a big BOOM. He got up very slowly and coutiously. He walked to his room door and opened it to a little crack to see if anyone was coming up the stairs. Once he knew it was all clear he walked down stairs to look of what happen and noticed someone broke the door down. When he checked if somebody was outside he hears unparticular noise and suspects someone in the living room. After he suspects that someone is in the living room he quietly rushes upstairs to grab a bat. After he got a grip to the bat he went downstairs into the living room. Oncne he walks into the living room he notices two masked mens looking for something.  When one of the men turned around to look somewhere else he sees Charlie and pulls out a gun and says to his partner "Hey look what we have here." The other guy turns around and takes a slight look at Charlie. One of the guys said to the other guy "He might know for what we are looking for we should get him" when Charlie hears that he runs upstairs as fast as he can to his room and locks the door. The burglars followed him up there and noticed that he locked the door so they broke the door down and started to look for Charlie but they couldn't find him so they looked at the closet and noticed that the bat was on the bed so they checked the closet and found him. Once they found him he quickly screamed "HELP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" to the top of his tiny lungs. They quickly tied him up and put tape on his mouth and then put a bag on his head and carried him off to there black Toyata Van. Chapter 2      Charlie parents ended up coming home from there date in a salsa dancing place. When they pulled up through the driveway they ended up noticing that there front door was busted down. Charlies mom and dad look at each other and said "CHARLIE"!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Slam!!!!!!!!!!!!! (the car door slams) they run up to the front door with caution and notice that the house  was a total mess like someone was looking for somebody although there was nobody in the house. So they look for Charlie every where in the house inch by inch, and side by side. But they couldn't find him anywhere. What the mom immediately does is grabs her phone and calls the police. When the police come, Officer Carder was a relative of Charlie so he came right away and asked the parents "What the hell happened here and where the fuck is Charlie" he says in an scared and anxious voice. "I don't know" says the mom in a crying voice. After Charlies mom stopped talking to Officer Carder he had to ask them both questions about what they have seen but they didn't have any useful information. For example they couldnt find any type of fingerprints, or blood. All they had was a busted down door. So they had to call Special Detectives to try to solve this disappearance. but even the special detectives couldnt figure out a thing.. They now needed to seek even more special help they had to call.... the FBI. Chapter 3      While Charlies parents and his realative Officer Carder wait for the Speciaal Detectives to come they go back and look at the house again. They went to Charlies room to see if anything of his was broken or taken with the crooks. They noticed a note... BOOM!!!!!!!!!!!! The door shuts and the Charlie dad and Officer Carder jump back and look who slammed the door. Cautiously Charlies mom puts the note in her pocket and looks back very slowly. There was nobody there they look around the room and noticed there was somebody with a black jacket in the closet so Officer Carder quickly pulls out his gun and says "PUT YOUR HANDS UP WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!!!!" The guy doesnt listen so Charlies dad went up to him and saw his face it was the Special Detective. When Charlies Dad touched the Special Detective the Detective looked at him very angrily and was like "May i help you sir please take your hand of of me." Charlies dad was very uncoutious when he noticed that it was a Special Detective. "Sorry Detective i thought you were a burglar.." said Charlies Dad. "So Officer Carder have you asked neighbors if they seen anything suspicious or heard anything." ''No i havent asked any neighbors I had to see if my family was ok so i didnt have time to check." ''Officer Carder how can you not see if anyone has seen anything!!! That is your job to be investigating this case not to be lovey dovey with your family... You are on duty so get your ass downstairs and go ask the neighbors if they have  seen anything if you do not do that you will be FUCKING fired!!!!!'' '' Im sorry Detective but i cant do that my aunt needs me to confort her.. She needs all the confort that she can get.. Why cant you just tell theh FBI to ask the neighbors questions.''  '' The FBI,FBI oh hell naw!!!! What the hell do you think they look like. That is not there job that is your FUCKING JOB SO I ADVISE YOU TO GET YOUR REAR END DOWNSTAIRS TO SOLVE THIS MOTHERFUCKING CASE!!!!!!!!!!!'' Chapter 4 Charlies POV Oh my god. I cant see I cant even move. Am i moving. I finally open my eyes in disspair its pitch black. I feel something moist... I feel wet. I come to the relization I was buried alived in my own coffin. with sorts of things. Things that are unexplanable. There are two other bodies in this coffin. Why is this happening to me why cant it be my next door neighbor. Why does it have to be me.. What was those two burglars looking in my house... I cant be thinking about this right now I have to try and get out of this coffin with these two nasty dead bodies.. I can feel that im not that deep in the ground. I push up on the door of the caffin and notice that there is people holding down the coffin door. I managed to get my leg out of the wierd position i was put in. I kicked the coffin door as hard as i could and miracly the two people that were holding down the coffin door let go and fell on the floor. I quickly go the two dead bodies out of my way and i jumped out of that coffin and ran for my life.   Text: Angel Ortiz Editing: Angel Ortiz All rights reserved. Publication Date: June 7th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-bebo12425

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-by-k-f-dawson-criminal-love/

By K.F Dawson Criminal Love If you fell in love with the person you were sauposed to hunt down, what would you do? Publication Date: October 16th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-deepwriter13

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-megan-stringfellow-27-kills/

Megan Stringfellow 27 kills To my sister, Mallorie, keep rocking the clarinet! This is all too easy. The parents knocked out on the couch, the child in it's crib oblivious to the threat in it's house. I hurried to the couch, wearing all black, and a black long glove I slipped my butcher knife from my handle. I approached the sleeping parents cautiously, and slit their throats. Next for the child. I smiled evily as the moon cast a shadow in the room. I saw my bloody blade, and almost drooled at the sight of lucious blood. I'm no vampire, just a man with a blood desire. I climbed the old wooden steps finding my way to the little kid's bedroom. Toys littered the floor in a formation that resembled a train. I looked in the crib, and caught sight of the little child looking up at me with big eyes. It saw my knife, and immediatly felt danger spark inside of it. The baby cried, and cried. I heard the neighbors stirring in their houses. Lights popped on, and voices were muffled through the walls in the town house. I jumped out of the house leaving the door unlocked. I will find that kid later. Angry neighbors knocked in frustration, and the baby cried harder. A man tested the door knob, almost suprised it was unlocked he stormed in. That's when he saw my work. Blood puddled on the floor, and bodies slumped over lifeless. He didn't dare let out a scream he was scared I was there. He was lucky I wasn't. That's when they heard the child. They rushed up the stairs the blood that dripped from my knife guiding them. An elder woman rushed to the child's aid, and the others called the police. I watched all this unfold from the window. I couldn't hear their words considering a steel window was unfortunatly in between us, but I caught a few things. Like 'police are coming right away.' That's when I ran, shredding my black clothes. I tucked them into my napsack, and ran. I ran faster than I have ever in my life. I had to get away from the crime scene, knowing the police would search around the house. I can't be caught now, only twenty seven kills is not enough. The next day I saw the headlines. WOMAN AND MAN KILLED IN TOWN HOUSE Child found alive, 27 murders this month! Who is behind this? No one suspected that the man in a blue stripped shirt was the killer. That was my angle at least. I began reading the article curious what the newspaper would make out of this. The child was okay, almost like he avoided the child. We know it's a he know because of back ground knowlege, and the child said "Man, Man!" We know the baby will grow to remember this day. Which is ecaxtly what we need so we can put a stop to this man! Bull shit. That baby won't remember what happened before it's killed. By me. I will make an oath right here, right now. I will not kill anyone, nor anything untill that child is killed by me. If I have to sneak into it's coffin, and stab it's organs out I will. I will never be satisfiyed untill this child is gone. Fifteen years later: Still no sign of the girl. I have found out that the child I desire to kill is a female. Now fifteen she should be able to kill. If only I could find her. I know she stayed here, in Franchisten, but where is she staying. I have actually considered acting like a high schooler, just to find her. I wouldn't fit in, and I would be tempted to kill every snot infested child in the school. I am sticking to my oath. I mean I could pull it off though, only twenty nine. I know, I stared killing young. Tweleve is when I murdered my parents after they canceled our vacation. The rage filled me so quickly I couldn't help but slice their throats. I ran away after forcing my nanny to call 911. I killed her too. Three kills. I then killed my enemy, Francios, for taking all my money on my last day of school. I sliced his throat, took all his money, and ignored his parents who came home short after I left. Four kills. I then killed every person who annoyed me. Still twelve, I managed to find foster parents. Acting innocent I waited for something, anything to piss me off. Nothing happened, until foster mom got prenant. They got rid of me. I waited hoping they had some fun with their newborn, and killed them hoping to kill the child too. I still look on that night with disgust that I couldn't complete a job. twenty seven kills in a month. A new record. Things have calmed down though, with me not killing anymore. Right now i'm walking with my hands shoved in my pocket. I am in the plaza of our small town when the paper caught my eye. YOUNG GIRL REMEMBERS! The young girl who at age 0's parents who got murdered remembers! Rence, a young fifteen girl lives a normal life. Well as normal as it can be knowning your parents were killed, and you were spared. She says she remembers bits of that night. "There was a man in all black, with a knife. He had a black rubber glove, and had a creepy evil smile on his face. I knew he ws danger, so I cried scared for my short life. The neighbors came, and that's all I remember. He just dissapered." Is he a magican? A worlock? Reporting for you Jerry finsihelu! Wow, she actually remembers some. I am shocked no doubt, but now I got her name. One step closer. Then Im killing this Jerry dude who writes this crap. Seriously, A magican? A worlock? Who actually beleives this stuff. I dropped the newspaper down, and a girl glared at me. "What?" I asked innocently. "Put it back up on the stand." She ordered me. "No." "Yes." "Why?" I bust my butt for people, and you can't bend down, and freaking pick up a newspaper." She was freaking out. "God, Rence...sorry." I hurridly picked up the paper. "Thanks." She huffed out. "You know your mighty attractive, and I want to tell my buddies at the bar about this, can I have a picture as proof?" "Sure?" I grabbed my camera, and snapped one leaving me out of it. I moved on not bothering to say thanks. I heard foot steps behind me, and I swirled around. It was Rence. "Yes?" "The newspaper is ruined. I want 3.95 on the dot." She demanded angrily. I shoved my hands in my pocket, and reluctantly pulled out the exact change. She nodded, and ran back. I continued walking. Yet again footsteps fell behind me. I twirled around nostrails falring. "WHAT!" I screamed at the timid Rence. "You look familier. Im not leaving until I find out how." Text: I'd rather you not take this as your own, but if you want to I won't stop you. All rights reserved. Publication Date: July 5th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-booknerd4655

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-dan-hardy-eye-of-the-destroyer/

Dan Hardy Eye of The Destroyer A Jack Kilbourne Adventure Publication Date: April 5th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-danhardy

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-jk-irving-mystic-flower/

JK irving Mystic Flower I was sitting at my chair in the kitchen watching my daughter play outside. She was only three bubbly. And in my eyes very angelic, she was playing on her slide, up and down she went, laughing and giggling as she played. My mind wandered back before she was born, I met her dad whose name was David at my karate class, he was doing his moves and I remember thinking he was hopeless at it, he looked over to me and smiled I thought how nice he looked, he walked over to me and said “hello my names David and I saw you looking over were you admiring my moves”, I smiled at him and said “ you have a lot to learn”. We started to chat about the class and he said that he had not been going for long. I smiled at him and asked him if he would like a coffee, he agreed and we went into the cafe. I remember thinking how handsome he was and very soft spoken, he seemed very gentle and kind I liked him already and did not know much about him. I intended to find out a lot more about him. We sat and talked for hours, I found out he had just started the class and had not learnt very much I told him I had been going for y ear and was a black belt as far as I could go in this class, I would have to go to advanced class to learn more. He looked at me and seemed very impressed. We said our goodbyes and arranged to see each other at a later date, he was going to phone me and plan a date. I went home thinking how nice he was and I was looking forward to him ringing.The next day I was all on edge waiting for him to ring. Eventually he rang and we arranged a day and time to meet,,we were meeting at the local pub, it was not far from were I lived it was about two roads over. I did not know how far it was for David to go I had totally forgot to ask where he lived, I thought I would find out everything about him . I arrived at the pub first and sat in a corner of the pub not wanting to seem really keen,I got my drink and waited for David. I glanced around the pub and thought how dark and dingy it was it had been a long time since I was there , it seemed years ago since I was there, I was looking at the decor and it was all nicotine stained walls and the bar, the varnish was peeling off. The barmaid looked fed up and overworked, she was sat at the end of the bar wating to serve someone. I could not help but feel sorry for her. Just then in walked David I was pleased to see him I felt a bit awkard sitting there on my own David walked in with a big smile on his face, he sat down beside me and planted a kiss on my cheek, he seemed ever so pleased to see me. He asked me if I would like a drink and I said yes, he brought over the drinks and we sat and talked for ages and had a great night. I could not believe how late it was,David said "I will take you home, it is late for you to be walking home yourself".He walked me home and we stood talking what seemed like hours. I never thought about inviting him inside my flat I thought it was a bit soon,we eventually said our goodbyes with a long lingering kiss. We arranged to meet the following weekend and I was quite looking forward to it. I worked in a office selling insurance, it was pretty boring but I had lots of friends there, Nancy and Betty sat opposite me in the office I could not wait to tell her about David they were both amazed when I began to tell them about him they wanted to know everthing about him. We had to be careful as our boss often walked around the office and if she caught you messing around you would be in deep ,her name was Ann and she was a force to be reckoned with if you got in her bad books you stopped there, we were having a good natter when low and behold there she was standing right next to us , we jumped back on the computer and dropped our heads down and got on with our work. We decided we would meet after work for a quick drink and knowing them the topic of the conversation would be me and David, Nancy said "where did you meet him I need to know everything about him " You know when I thought about him Italked to him alot but did not know much about him, I had to find out We walked backhome hand in hand, I just knew we were destined to be together.We got to my home and we kissed for what seemed like hours but he had to go to work the next day , so we said our goodbyes and he left , I felt a great ache in my stomach as he left, we had not discussed meeting again so I was quite worried that he would not ring. My doubts were unfounded, he rang the next day,We arranged to meet the following weekend, he had booked us into a hotel. I thought that was a bit presumptious but I was excited anyway.Friday night I was running around getting things ready my mum was laughimg at me and said "you would think you had not been on a date before".I said mam he is special"she got stuck in and helped me pack. David picked me up the following morning and we had the most beautiful weekend. We had been going out for a few months when David popped the question and asked me to marry him , both sets of parents were thrilled whem we told them. We planned our wedding it was to be a small affair but very tasteful, the day came and everything went smooth, we went to Benidorm for a week after the wedding and had a fabulous time, it was pretty cold but that did not stop us enjoying every minute.We arrived back home and immediately started looking for a home of our own.We found a lovely little house with a small back garden Ihad always loved gardens, I got it all decorated from top to bottom and I could not wait for David to come home and see it He arrived home from work and was amazed at the changes,I had made a lovely meal for the both of us and we sat down at the table in my newly decorated dining room, David could see I was dead chuffed at my work. He said "you should be very pleased with yourself you have done a fabulous job I can see there is going to be nothing for me to do". Davids job took him away a lot he was a buyer for a large pharmacy company it was a great job but I missed him a lot,we made the most of the weekend and went out most of the weekend and spent the rest of it in bed . My mother often said "I see you most of the week but you disapear at the weekend, but I understand you want to be by yourselves.David went away the Monday morning I was missing him already, I went to work and arranged a night out with my friends, we went to the local night club and my mates were a in a boisteres mood The guy who owned the nightclub was hanging around us alnight and my mates thought he was quite fancying me , I must admit he was a good laugh, he had me in stitches all night.I t was a great night I had not enjoyed myself like that for a long time, I said goodbye to my mates and went for the taxi, I was waiting my turn to be picked up when I heard this voice say"come on I will give you a lift home, I am finished now". I was a bit wary but he was going my way and he had been great fun all night, I got in the car feeling guilty but excited after all I was doing nothing wrong, so why did I have those butterfly feelings in my stomach, it felt weird like your first sexual encounter.We talked all the way home and he was still exciting me god I hated thinking those thoughts in my head, I wanted him to touch me, place his lips on mine. I had to stop thinking like this I loved David. just in time we arrived at my home I said goodnight and thanked him for the lift, He looked up at me and let out a beautiful smile and said it was his pleasure, my legs went like jelly it took all my strengh to stand up ,I could not believe what I said "come in for a coffee if you like"." that would be great" We walked inside and I put the kettle on I told him to sit down I would not be long ,i brought him coffee all the time thinking this was wrong but I could not stop myself. I sat down opposite him and we started talking about this and that I felt it was all trevia, I that it would be gracious to ask his name ,"I never asked your name mines Emma,"mines Tony and i have had a fabulous night you have been great fun" "thanks I feel the same way", I had to tell him I was married but the words would not come out . Why was I feeling this way I hardly knew this man but I was very attracted to him ,nothing could happen I could not betray David I loved him to much. Where was my friends when I needed them, Tony came over and sat beside me and we carried on talking for what seemed like hours he was great to talk to I felt as if I could tell him anything, before we knew it was getting light and I had to be up for work ,fat chance off me going to bed the thoughts running through my mind about Tony. He said goodbye and "I hope to see you anthother time maybe when you pop in the club. I went to work the next day and could not wait to tell my mates what happened , when I finished telling them Betty said "Emma your playing with fire be careful what you do this Tony does not seem the type to take no for an answer someone is going to get hurt here I can just feel it". I just shook my head and said "nothing is going to happen I wont see him again" I went to bed that night thinking about David , I woke up the next morning with a terrible hangover thinking I will never drink again. I got off to work and got through the day with a terrible headache, all the girls were on top of the world it must have been just me I must have had a lot to drink last night. Got home and slipped straight into the bath, I lay there and soaked for what seemrf like hours, I must have fell asleep because I woke with a start someone was ringing the doorbell, I shouted "wont be a minute"as I slipped on my dressing gown . I went to the door and opened it to find Tony standing there, I could not believe he had turned up.I stood looking at him until he said " have I called at a bad time I can come back later"no I said come in " Tony came in and sat down, [ should have known I was tempting fate., now was the time to tell him to go . Something inside of me was saying god I really fancy you and I could tell he felt the same, I offered him coffee and we sat next to each other I kept thinking I was doing nothing wrong I was just having a drink with a friend . Why was I feeling so guilty.we talked for what seemed hours and he was great company with David been away so much, I was doing nothing wrong he was a friend so I kept telling myself but deep down I knew there was an attraction between us , the way he kept looking at me he had a lovely twinkle in his eyes he was so sexy, He was a lot taller than David and bigger, he certainly worked out,I thought it was about time he went home I had to get up for work the next day, I turned to him and said "I think it is getting a bit late I have to get up early", sorry he said I have kept you up I hope to see you later, he left giving me a peck on the cheek. I was wondering if I had been reading the signs wrong maybe he thought of me as a friend and that was all, never mind I had nothing to feel guilty about nothing had happened, I went to work the next morning and decided not to tell my mates about Tony coming over, I just felt a bit akward if they started asking me questions I could not answer he did not come on to me but deep down inside I think I wanted him to. Iwas not with it all day I was pleased when it was time to go home I had just got in and mum rang saying she was ging to pop over god I could not wait I just wanted to be on my own, There I go again feeling guilty about not seeing mum, she only came over once a week. She came over and I put the kettle on mum loved her tea, she said I feel as if I havent seen you for ages, I just looked at her and thought how careing she was, she had always looked after me and my brother Reece, he was a couple of years older than me he was happily married to Angie they had two kids four and six the boy josh and issy .were darlings and I absoultely adored them, my brother was a manager of a big store and he liked his job a lot he was always talking sbout it. Getting back to mum she said " you look as if you have got something on your mind tell your mam whats troubling you" before I knew what was happening I was blurting out everthing about Tony it was a load of my mind I needed to tell someone I knew my mam would not judge me. she just sat and looked at me and shook her head "dont see this Tony anymore he is going to break your heart I know its exciting but you have to think about David and what kind of life you would have if you had an affair with this man" " mam he excites me when I am with him I tingle all over when he is talking to me , I cant ever feeling this way abbout David maybe I did but I cant remember". "You are not seeing enough of David maybe you should ask him to get a job nearer home and that way you can see him all the time" maybe" I said , mum went home and I felt a bit better after talking to her I knew she would understand. I went to bed feeling much better. The next day was Saturday and I thought I would go shopping with mum David was not getting back till late, I met her outside the carpark and decided to go for something to eat first, we went into a small cafe and ordered our snack we were busy talking when ther was a tap on my shoulder and when I turned to my amazement it was Tony he was standing there in a white jumper and black trousers he looked very tanned, his hair was sleeked back and I thought how gorgeous he was , I looked straight over to mum who immediately said "this must be Tony I am pleased to meet you I have heard a lot about you" Tony said he was pleased to meet her then looked at me and said" it was great bumping into you I might see you later" "mum jumped back and said her husband is due home tonight so I doubt you will see her". Tony just looked at me and said "I did not know you were married never mind you never know what happens in the future" he smiled at me and gave mum a anxious look. mum said "that man is one to be watched there is something about him he looks troubled. I told mam she was being silly and she just shook her head and said "watch out for that man he will break your heart. We finished our shopping and mum kept looking at me I asked her what was she looking at and she said"I can see what you see in Tony he is very appealing to any woman but you have got David who is safe and you know he will always be faithful to you with Tony you will have excitement but for how long", " okay mum I get the message be safe and secure with David. I got home and sorted through what I had bought that day and was thinking about David comeing home that night, I prepared him a lovely dinner and got changed into my pyjamas. It was about six when he arrived, we cuddled and kissed, then he said he was starving and did I have anything to eat or we could order in ." you know I always have something cooked for you, god I have missed you" We had our meal and settled down to watch tv he told me all about his week and asked me if my week was alright I just nodded and said nothing happened this week it was boring. I asked David if he fancied getting a job closer home as I was missing him. David said"I could earn the same kind of money I am earning now we have a nice life and you dont even have to work if you dont want to, what you need is a baby, someone to look after while I am away". God I could not believe what he was saying I had never thought about haveing a family. We went to bed and it was beautiful, he was so careing, soft and tender. Tony had gone out of my mind, David was so attentive where making love was concerned, he made sure you were happy at the end of it. We had a great sunday, visited mam and she made Sunday lunch for us. It was nearly time for David to leave for another week I would miss him more for some reason I wanted him to stay but I knew he was right he had to go to work and ha ha keep me in the style I had been used to. I saw him of on the Monday morning , I waved to him until his car was out of sight.Went to work and listened to all the gossip in the office and seriously thought about what David had said about finishing work and starting a family. I went round the corner to my local deli for my usual coffee and sandwhich, I was sitting there thinking about things, how the deli was decorated and the lovely smells , all the cakes were to die for all the different colours the counter looked like a work of art. I was aware of somene looking at me when I looked up it was Tony he asked if he could sit and I said yes I said "dont tell me you frequent this place as well" " no I followed you from work, actually I saw you wave your husband off this morning" this was not good anymore it was getting pretty scary," I would not like to think you were stalking me." he just smiled and ran his hands through his hair, he looked like a small boy that had just been caught in the cookie jar,I could not resist his boyish charm, he looked so cocky amd sexy.He asked if I fancied going for a walk I really should be getting back to work but he looked at me in a certain way and I could not resist. We walked down through the park he talked and talked half the time I did not know what he was saying , he was talking about his business but I was not that interested I think he knew he said "am I boring you" no I said my mind was else where, I was thinking about David and I could have a child with him, I did not tell Tony what I was thinking." penny for your thoughts" I just looked over to him and smiled he was not husband material but he was great for an affair not for me I was going to start a family with David, I tried really hard to get rid of Tony that day , I felt as if I was betraying David in some way I was not doing anything wrong but I knew if it was left to Tony he would try to make things happen. I was noy going to give him the chance I said "you will have to go now I have an appointment later and I have to go home to change "I could come with you and keep you company if you like", I shuddered at the thought of it I said no I would be alright on my own. I walked home. thinking this was not the end I had gotten in to a situation that was going to be hard to get out of, nevertheless I went home and got cosy for the night, I was watching tv and there was a knock at the door for one moment I thought it would be Tony when I answered the door it was my mum, she had decided to pop over for a cuppa, "hows things going sweetheart hope you have not heard from Tony" "no I havent heard from him dont think I will". We had a good natter and she left for home, it was a nice surprise mum dropping in.I settled down in bed when the phone rang it was Tony asking if he could pop over I told him not to bother me anymore I was happily married and intended to stay that way there was a long pause I thought he had hung up the phone then he said in a weird voice he would stop away if thats what I wanted, I put down the phone and felt very uneasy. I did not get much sleep that night.I decided to give work a miss and have a relaxing day at home and catch up with some of my chores. I got most of my work done and then I started hoovering when I felt a prescence at the doorway when I turned there was Tony standing there with a weird smile on his face, I screamed at him" what the hell are you doing in my home and how did you get in" he just looked at me and said "the door was unlocked you want to be careful anyone could get in" I asked him to leave he just stood there he turned to the door and locked it ,I asked him what he was doing but he just took my hand as I tried to pull away he glared at me and pushed me down on the sofa. I could not believe what was happening this was not good I had to try and talk to him or get help.He sat next to and said "we have something special cant you feel it I have felt it from the moment we met there is noway anybody else was going to get you, you belong to me. He started to stroke my hair and rub my head, was I dreaming this I was in a nightmare and I could not get out. His hands started to carress my shoulders, then my breasts, he started undressing me and instead of feeling scared it was weird I felt excited, this cant be normal I should not be feeling like this, he lay me back on the sofa and was touching my thighs slowly rubbing his hands up and down, it felt great in the background I could hear Tina Turner singing simply the best, I was getting washed away by the song and what was happening, he rolled on top of me and started kissing me with so much passion my head was swimming he was taking me to heights I had never been before, I thought it would never end he kept me lingering in ectasy for what seemed like hours, when we eventually stopped I could not breathe, Tony just stared down at me and smiled nothing was spoken he just got up and got dressed and went out of the door closeing it quietly behind him. I got in the shower and thought was this man real I had never felt like this before, I was still aching all over just thinking about him, I was already wondering when he would get in touch with me. I did not have to wait long the phone rang and it was Tony he aked if everything was alright and how I was feeling about what had happened. I told him it was wrong what we had done but I did not regret it for a minute. He asked to see me again and take me out for a meal. I agreed to meet him the next day at a restaurant in the town, after the phone call I sat and thought I did not know much about him, he owned nightclubs all over I knew that much but I did not know where he lived did he have family did he have a girlfriend. I thought I would find out a lot more when I met him the next day. Did not get a wink of sleep that night, knew I was doing wrong but found it so exciting. Went into the restaurant, I hated the thought that I had turned up early but nevertheless I did not wait long before Tony came walking in, god he liked his-self he walked over to me and sat down and said "hope you have not been waiting long " I just shrugged and said"no I got here just minutes before you",we ordered lunch and had a glass of wine which I never did drink on the afternoon, after a couple of drinks I told him I wont have anymore I was feeling a bit whoozy. I started asking him about family and his job and I asked him where he lived, he was a bit coy with his answers but I found out he had no family here they lived in Spain they had been out there a long time they preferred the warm climate, he had both his parents and one sister, he said he lived at the canary wharf he had an apartment there.I thought god he must be loaded with money, I found out he had a good few nightclubs. I asked if he had a girlfriend he just smiled and said" only you" I smiled back then he beckoned for the waiter and paid the bill, we sat in my car for a while talking then he said should we go back to your place and I nodded. We drove back to my house and just as we arrived in the drive I noticed Davids car was there the panic I felt was unbearable, I just looked at Tony and I think he knew what was happening, the door opened and David walked out, "Emma sorry i am home early " we both got out of the car and Tony just stood there glaring at David , I hated the way he was looking at David this was my husband how dare he."this is my workmateTony we were going to have a coffee I blurted out, David immediately went to shake Tonys hand "nice to meet you"he said why dont you come in for a coffee dont mind me ". The three of us went inside ,I fully expected Tony to decline the offer but he did not. We sat at the table and I could see David seemed very excited I was wanting to ask him what the good news was because judging from his actions it could not be bad. I looked at Tony and suggested it was time for him to be going or he would miss his train, he just stood up and said"it has been nice meeting you David hope to see you again" then he left, After Tony left I could see David was brimming over with excitment I said "come on why are you back early and what is the news you have" He turned to me , cupped my face in his hands and said "I have been made manager of the year and they have gave me a holiday for a week in Rome to take now how are you fixed for time of work"." I will make time i have always wanted to go to Rome god the Vatican and all those sites to see when can we go" He had booked it for the next day so I got packed in a hurry I hoped I had taken everthing I phoned my mum and explained what was happening and she was thrilled she said she would keep an eye on the house. I ran upstairs and started to pack for both of us it took me a couple of hours but I was there all finished, then I remembered shampoo we had none there was a corner shop at the bottom of our street, I told David I would not be long I grabbed my coat and went to the shop, got the shampoo and was walking up the street when I was grabbed from behind and when I turned it was Tony."we got away with that it could have been nasty but he did not relise anything was going on did he".I was startled I could not believe he had hung around all that time he was getting scary. I walked up the back alley with him I thought the least I could do is to explain what was happeneing i told him David and I were going away to Rome for a week.I could not believe the look on his face you would have thought I had told him someone had died suddenly I felt so sad for Tony I put my arms around him and said how sorry I was "sorry does not cut it babe you just cannot go, the thought of you sleeping with him makes my blood curdle" I will have to go David wll be waiting for me" please dont go stay with me he said, I pulled away and I could hear him crying as I ran down the street. I got home and David was waiting for me ,"where have you been I was going to look for you", I told him I had got carried away talking to the neighbours. "I am so excited about tomorrow I dont think I will get any sleep"," just try we have a long day tomorrow". We got up t he next day and we were all packed, we got into the taxi and off we went to the airport, we had a quick drink and something to eat and we were on the plane . David was a bit nervous about flying but he coped well, we got thrugh the customs at the other end and boarderd the coach to the hotel. When we arrived at the hotel it looked great from the outside, in we went and it was just as nice inside we were all inclusive so there was no cooking just sunbathing and sightseeing. The room was very nice and the bed was cosy, we unpacked and went down for dinner, we decided to go sightseeing after dinner and off we went David and I decided to stay close to the hotel for the first day and go on a organised tour the next day.We had a great sleep and got ready for the tour ,they were picking us up at ten we were there eager and waiting ,we were going to see the vatican, when we arrived I could not believe it , it was like something out of a story book, the big square and the soldiers guarding the pope, everything was clean and white and there was men selling there goods all around, there was handbags everything under the sun for sale. We had a fantastic day and were really tired by the end of the day, we decided to go back to the room and have a nap before going out on the night. We got ready after having a great sleep and went to the nearest club, I had a lot to drink that night and was feeling a bit whoozy,David decided to take me back to our room, he put me into bed after taking my clothes off, I was feeling a bit fruity and pulled him into bed with me we made love like never before, he was so good at fulfilling my needs ,carressing me all over taking me to dizzy heights. I thought this was a different man I was with, god it lasted what seemed like hours I was completely exhausted by the time he was finished, Ifell straight to sleep without going in the shower I was so tired. The next morning I could not keep my hands of him, I think he was a bit embarrased when I said it was wonderful last night,"I thought i was wonderful every time",David said, I just smiled at him and said "you are great every time".The rest of the holiday was fantastic and I never gave Tony a second thought I was enjoying my time with David. We arrived back home and boy was I pleased I was totally wrecked my mum had got milk and bread in for us and left us a meal ready for the micky, she was so thoughtful at times like this. We had the lovely meal and retired to bed , the next morning we decided to have a lazy day before we went back to work the next day,we both had said we had a fantastic time in Rome a holiday we will not forget. The next day I waved David off to work and got for the office, I was on flexy time so I could please myself when I went in I decided to get in for ten that way I could finish early and catch up with my washing and unpacking.I told all the girls about the holiday they said they were jealous but pleased for me ,David would be away for a couple of days so I had plenty of time to catch up, I was having a couple of minutes on the phone to my mum telling her all about the holiday she was really pleased I had enjoyed it I think she had been a bit worried about me seeing Tony. I had just sat down for a cup of coffee when the doorbell went, I opened the door and standing there was Tony I could not believe it he had took no notice of anything I had said, at the same time I felt sorry for him he had a childlike look on his face I asked him what he wanted he just said "you I want you so much we belong together". I was flabbergasted I had to explain to him I loved David and after the holiday we were closer than ever, the look of pain on his face was awful but there was no other way to tell him, he just looked at me and walked away I got the feeling that was not the last I would see of him I put Tony out of my mind and got on with a normal life just me and David. Weeks went by and we were both enjoying our time together, going to work and odd days out when Monday morning I did not feel to well I booked an appointment for the doctors and he asked me for a blood test and a water sample. I felt terrible all week on the Friday I phoned the docs and asked for my resulta , she said you have to come down to see the doctor so I popped straight down I sat down and he said" Emma I am pleased to tell you there is nothing wrong with you ,you are pregnant about two months are you pleased". I just stared at him I could not believe it I just told him thank-you and walked out. I went straight round to mums and told her she was thrilled , she kept hugging me and crying. "I will have to start knitting just like grandmas do", I just started to laugh more with excitment I could not wait to tell David,I had to wait a couple of days before he came home. Iwent to see the nurse and she gave me all the details of booking in hospital and appointments to be kept, god I could not stop thinking about it I felt like a real woman, hands were rolling around my stomach, feeling very protective about my tummy. David came home and I had prepared a meal and a bottle of wine, he came into the dining room and asked what was the occasion, when I told him he stared for a moment then he jumped for joy "I am thrilled to bits how far are you" two months I said ,"god that was just before our holiday or it could have been then"."maybe who cares when and where I am pregnant and I am thrilled to bits.David agreed and said he was thrilled to bits , we decided for me to stop work and concentrate on my pregnancy. I would be a lady of lesiure for the next seven months The months went by. and I got fatter and fatter. I spent the months being pampered by David and my mum, my mates were great they would meet me for a pub lunch and take the micky out of my swollen ankles and my fat belly we always had a good laugh, I always went home feeling loads better. Anyway the time arrived and I had a beautiful baby girl, she was fabulous so small and petite, David was thrilled to bits I just knew she was going to be spoilt by all my friends and family.A few weeks later when the weatherwas fine I decided to take my gorgeous baby girl who we named Emma after me, I was walking through the town and I met loads of people who I had not seen for years they were all gooing over Emma Ifelt so proud ,I know everyone thinks there baby is the best but Emma was so cute she had been born with black curly hair and great big blue eyes, anyway I eventualy got on my way when I got the shock of my life I look up from the pram and standing there was Tony. I just stood there looking at him and he was doing the same, we eventualy smiled at each other and he said"hello Emma how are you doing are you babysitting for someone" "no this is Emma my baby she is a month old" his expression changed his face went ashen white I did not relizse at the time what was wrong with him, he bent over the pram and said" what do you think Emma she could be mine, and smiled ". Do you know I never gave it a thought, but I know she is David . He just smiled again and walked away, I felt a bit uneasy and could not get it out of my mind all night. I put Emma to bed and sat with a coffee and reflected on when I was with Tony I got out a pencil and paper and worked out the dates of my pregnancy and sure enough it was probaly more Tonys rather than Davids ,I could not believe I had never thought about it before, Tony must never know there is the slightest chance she could be his . The years just flew by and me and David and of course Emma just got on with family life, I often wondered how we coped wihout haveing Emma she had brought such joy into our life. She was playing in the garden and of course me being the protective mother never let her out of my sight, she was giggling comeing down the slide , just then the phone rang I looked at Emma playing and the phone was only in the hallway I could see Emma so I ran in and took the call ,it was mum asking how Emma was I said she is busy on the slide you bought her and enjoying it , she promised to come over later to let me go shopping. I put down the phone and turned to walk into the garden, I could not hear her laughter. I panicked and ran straight into the garden, she was gone there was noway she could have got out the fence was to tall . Someone must have lifted her over the fence,every thought was passing through my mind. I immediatly rang the police they came straight away, I tokd them what had happened. They started to write things down and I was screaming "should you not be out looking for her she could be anywhere." he told me to calm down and asked for a photo of her and they would make house to house inquiries someone must have seen something. When I calmed down I rang my mum who came straight over, she kept saying they would find her but deep in the back of my mind I knew they would not , maybe they thought that she had stolen to order.David came straight home and was devasted, I am sure he was blaming me for her being taken.I could not blame him I was in charge of her, never mind I had to concentrate on finding Emma, I would find her if it was the last thing I did. Weeks went by and the police were doing there best but getting nowhere, I decided the next day I would go further afield and try to find her ,someone must know something. I told David what I was going to do and he said I was wasting my time if the police could not find her what chance have I got.The next day I was bright and early ,the first thing I did was throw the tablets down the loo, the doctor daid I was in a bad way so he gave me tablets to calm me down I needed all my wits about me now .I did not have David on my side so I would go it alone, I thought I would start by asking Ada next door if she had seen anybody, I rang her doorbell and she opened the door "I havent seen you for ages ,I have been away for a month to Spain did you miss me" I explained what had happened to Emma she was devasted ,she asked what day and date it was because just before she had gone away she had noticed a man hanging around the garden, I begged her to remember what he looked like and she started telling me, I must have went a funny colour because she said "you alright Emma" I told her I was ,but I was thinking she was describing Tony, I had never gave him a thought but when I thought about it that time I had met him in town he really believed Emma was his, I had to find him to find Emma, how was I going to explain this to David. I was walking home trying to think what to say to David he would be heartbroken if I told him the truth, there was no way out of it I would tell him it was something I had regreted and I was so sorry he had to forgive me , I needed his help to find Emma I could not do it on my own. I arrived at home and looked at Davids face and I could see the pain,"the police will find Emma David said you dont have to worry I know that is a lot to ask but they will find her". I nodded and looked at him , how was I going to explain to him what I thought had happened. I sat down beside him and said "I have something to tell you, I think I know who took Emma". He just looked at me and said " spill the beans then tell me what you think you know". I held his hand and told him everything about Tony and everything about the affair, when I had finished he just sat there staring at me in a odd manner. "Please forgive me it would never happen again I dont know how it happened, please forgive me please", he just looked at me and shook his head and said " I could never forgive you never ever I dont even know if Emma is my child its more likely to be this Tonys". I could not believe what he was saying "I need you to help me find her please help me ,he just shrugged his shoulders and said leave it to the police", I just looked at him and said I would find her myself, how I was going to find her, where to begin. I knew he had owned a couple of night clubs in the town I would start there, I went round to mums and explained everything she just sat and looked at me" I just knew no good would become of this I knew he was a bad sort the minute I saw him"."O mam please dont say I told you so I could not bear it". I was determined to find her without anybodys help it would probably be easier and quicker. I thought I would stay at mums that night and start fresh in the morning also I dont think I could have faced David just yet. I got up nice and early deterined to get some answers at the night club. I got the taxi down town and found the nightclub was shut it didnot open till night -time I thought I would busy myself in the town to kill a bit time. I went to the pub and had lunch and a couple of coffees.I was sitting at the table just thinking about Emma she would be missing me , she would be with strangers not knowing anybody she would be scared ,my heart was breaking I needed her back now, just then sitting next to me were a couple of girls talking about her shift on the night it was the same club I was going to that night. I leaned over and said "excuse me I could not help but overhear you saying where you worked I was wondering if there was any jobs going ", she said ther might be she was in charge and asked me to pop down that night for a interview I said I would be there and thanked her. Iwas getting closer to Tony if I got the job, luky for me I did a stint of bar work in my uncles pub when we went there on holiday. I went for the interview and got the job I told her I could start straight away in fact that night, I thought I could find out about Tony from the girls I would be working with,I had put a few weeks holiday in with my job I was pleased to have them in hand I went to work the next day I had to go in early to get to know the pub ,Tracy was there to greet me and show me the ropes .I looked around the pub and it was very trendy, everything was marble and gold the cleaners must have done a great job it was spotless. I started getting the knack of the till it was a piece of cake it was the same one I had been useing in my uncles pub.I was introduced to Lorna and Debbie they were great so helpful. Deb brought out a uniform and said I could change in the back room, I changed and looked at myself in the mirror it was a bit skimpy. short black skirt and white shirt it did not leave much to the imagination but this was a means to an end. I started to ask deb about Tony where he lived a nd did he have a partner, she said "Tony lives a coulple of miles away in that posh place where all the footballers live, he is living with a girl called Lindahe is such a nice lady she often pops i she is absolutely gorgeous, tall and slim, fantastic figure, he has been with her for a long time they are not married but I think they will eventually. She is a great lady she often pops in to make sure we are coping, the only problem she has is she cant havk and make him suffe any children but I heard they are ready to adopt a little girl at any time. I could not believe what I was hearing he just used me to have a child , God was I going to make him pay I dont care how it gets done but I will get my child back and make him suffer. How could a man take away another persons child, granted he might think its his but I would have made sure first and gone through the right channels., anyway getting back to the job in hand how was I going to do this. I had got into the pub now I had to find a way through his minders to get to him. I started work that night and it was very busy , mind I liked it like that it kept my mind occupied, just as I was serving I heard two men talking about Tony, he was expected to be in that night , I could not let him see me that would give the game away. I got much closer to those two men and found out that they were a sort of minders men who looked after Tony, he must be much bigger than I thought, from what I could gather from listening to them Tony was here for a meeting with the brewery, they were going to extend his lease on the pub, I kept thinking about David ,how he had changed about me ,he never had two words to say to me , granted I had an affair but I thought we could get through this, Emma could still be his how was he going to react when I got back Emma, would he resent her, I would have to prove she was his.Just as I was serving a drink I glanced at the door and in walked Tony, he was still as handsome, looking at him this time he looked very sure of himself, he walked with a swagger and really thought a lot of himself.Iwent to the end of the bar and tried to hide myself, I was just waiting for my chance to approach him on his own , he sat down at a table with some men and they looked deep in conversation, I sat in the corner hopeing no one would want serving. I sat there for a while and saw Tony stand up and go towards the toilet, this was my chance to catch him , I followed him in hopeing no one would come in .When he came out I was standing there,right in front of him. I just stood there looking at him and words would not come out of my mouth , I noticed Tony face was a picture he looked quite put out I was standing there,"I want my daughter backTony or I go to the police and let them deal with you, you will be charged with kidnapping my daughter and god knows what else", he looked at me and said" she is my daughter and I have every right to have her I will fight you in the courts, she is well looked after by my patner and me , dont cause any trouble or you will regret it.". "I am taking her back Tony", just then the door opened and in walked the two men who were his minders, he walked over to them and said something to them and they immediately turned around and one of them put his hand over my mouth and the other one grabbed my hands and carried me ot of the pub out the back way, I rember hearing Tonys last words ringing in my ears " I did warn you". I was bound and gagged and bundled in the back of a car and they drove away ,I could hear one of them on the phone I presume to Tony, I did not relise how important he was amongest people you dont want to know.We drove for quite a long time and eventually stopped, I presumed they were just going to drop me off in the middle of nowhere how wrong I was, me they dragged me out of the car into a large building which looked like a wharehouse, they pulled me into an office type building and pushed me onto a sofa type thing. Theypulled of my gag and I shouted" you have had your fun now lads its time to let me go, The biggest of the blokes turned and looked at me , next thing I knew his fist was across my face, I screamed and fell back. The other one shouted" okay thats enough we were told to rough her up and thats all", "Tony told us to make sure she did not bother him anymore she does not look very scared to me". The other bloke grabbed me by the shoulders and started shaking me, I felt as if my head was falling off. I felt as if I was going to pass out, I did the next thing I saw was the door closeing and the key going in the lock. I kept thinking this is serious they are going to teach me a lesson, funny enough I was not scared, I should have been but I just kept thinking how desperate Tony must feel to do this to me. I was going to show him I could beat him at his own game, I could look after myself and get Emma back and teach him a lesson he would never forget, I was going to hurt his family and see what he felt like. It felt like days I was stuck there I lost all track of time, I was beginning to despair when aia heard noises comeing from the other side of the door I had managed to loosen the rope around my hands but kept them behind me. The door opened and two different men came in and they just kept smiling,they were looking at me really weird and I must admit I was not scared before but these two were making me feel uneasy. the tallest one and looked meanest walked over to me and said "would you like a bit fun before you go, I certainly. would, lets have a bit of fun hey darling". He started stroking my hair and he slid his hands down my neck, he was grinning all the time he was doing it. his mate was behind him laughing and egging him on. I knew what was going to happen but I just wished they would do it and get it over with, there was no way I could fight the two of them, the best way to go was to let it happen . They looked the type that enjoy a struggle, they were not going to enjoy it that much. He Started to unfasten his fly, he bent over me and ripped open my blouse, of came my bra, he was breathing really heavy and the smell of body odour was terrible. He slid down his pants and lay on top of me, he was sqeezing my breasts hard and slipped his hands down below, he kept saying "are you enjoying this as much as me darling". I could have been sick, he put in his penis and started moving up and down on me, his breath was heavy, I thought he would pass out before he was finished but he managed to the end , he just flopped on top of me, all this time his mate was dribbling from the mouth and asking when was his turn. I tryed to push him off but he was so fat and heavy, I could feel him still inside of me I thought any longer and I would have been sick all over him. to I could not stand the thought of the other one doing the same, lucky enough the phone rang and the other one said "we have to get rid of now Tony is comeing over now we will be in dip shit if he finds out what we have done. The fat one stood up and they both grabbed me by the neck and started kicking me and slapping me, I fell to the floor and they carried on kicking me, I got to the point I could not take anymore, just at the moment they stopped and flung me on the sofa, they said they had to stop there till Tony arrived he wanted to make sure I had taken notice of his warning because there would not be a next time "Tony must really have it in for you I have never known him to be this mean you must have done something really bad". I just shook my head and thought you dont knowmean by the time I was finished he would know what mean really is that included fat man and his mate. I noticed the fat man had a bulge in his shirt I presumed it was some kind of gun, I was looking at his shirt and it was not there, I glanced around the room and he had placed it on the shelf. I asked the other one if I could go to the toilet and he said yes as long as he could watch, I did not feel at ease with this but he looked a bit thick and I thought this would be the only chance I would get before Tony came.I got up and walked with this moron to the toilet I went inside and sat on the loo, he was standing there watching me with that stupid grin on his face,"we could have made some sweet music together maybe later after Tony has been hey sweetheart". I sat on the loo and asked him for some loo roll, I said there was some on top of the cuboard would he get it for me . He looked at me and smiled "its the least I can do I wont be a minute dont go anywhere". He left me on my own this was my chance, I stood up and could see the gun I just had to stretch and I would have it . I did not know if it was loaded but I had to take the chance, he awas stretching up for the loo roll at the same time I grabbed the gun , I slipped down my pants and stood up ," I thought you wanted the loo roll It was a false alarm" I said.he took me back to the sofa and sat me down they were both laughing at me it cut though me like a knife. I waited till they were both sitting down haveing a ciggy, I slipped the gun out of my pants walked towards them and pointed the gun at them, they both looked a bit shocked, fat boy just looked at me and smiled "you have not got the bottle to shoot" I just smiled at him and slowly lowered the gun pointed at his fly and said " what you did to me you wont be doing to anybody else I pulled back the trigger and fired, it had the desired effect he was screaming like a pig the blood was pouring down his legs, it would not be long before he bled to death , his mate was shouting for someone to help him. I felt as cold as ice. , I walked over to him and shot both his kneecaps out. They were both writhing in pain and all I could do is smile there was only Tony to deal with, you know I thought you would not leave a dog in that kind of pain, so I shot them dead, hid them in the back of the office and waited. You know I was sitting waiting for Tony and thinking David should have been doing this, I had lost all respect for him he could have got tests to see if Emma had been his but no he thought about the affair thats all, she could be his child, but when this was all finished I dont think I could ever go back to him. I needed a new start somewhere abroad maybe while Emma was still young enough,Tony was taking his time I thought he would be in a hurry to see what they had done to put the frightners on me. I waited a couple of hours and relized he was not comeing, I heard a phone going and relized it was fat boys, I could not answer it so I just left it . I took the keys for the car and decided to find him myself. I put the gun in the boot of the car in case I got stopped by police and went back to the pub.Deb was busy serving when I went in she looked round and said "you are a fine one leaving us in the lurch last night, Tony has said I have to sack you, I feel awful about it but I have to let you go ".I said "Deb I need my wages straight away can you give me his address so I can collect them"," I am not supposed to but dont say I gave you his home address, she wtote it down and I thanked her.I arrived at the place he lived and got out of the car, I had a look around and noticed he had minders walking around the grounds, this was going to be tricky. I noticed the gates were electric so I climbed over the wall I landed not far from the house and crept up to the window I had the gun in my pocket and relizes there was a silencer with it I screwed it on I seemed to have adapted to useing a gun with no remorse about useing it .I could see a man walking through the grounds and he did not look very friendly, I thought iI am going to sort him out before I can get into the house. I picked up a large branch which had fell of the tree lucky for me I crept up behind him and hammered it across his head , he went down like a bag of hammers, really heavy. I grabbed him by the shoulders , how I pulled him I will never know. I pulled him into the green house and tied him up with garden twine, that really took it out of me he was a big bloke . I still had to deal with the other one I had lost sightof him for the moment, I had to find him. I looked through the widow and thought it was pretty great , they had a beautifulhome from what I could see, I jumped down and hid behind the bushes, there was movement inside the room I could see a woman moveing around the room , I thought it would be Tonys partner. Still had to find the other bloke before I could get in the house, just as I was thinking where to look he walked straight past me , I pulled out my gun and poked it into his back , he just froze and asked if that was what he thought it was I said yes and beckoned him to go in the house, he did as he was told and went inside . When we got inside a woman came straight in and confronted us I told her to shut up and sit down, I asked her where Tony was and to get him here very quick and not to mention I was here ." make some excuse to get him back or else and by the way where is my daughter Emma", "I dont know what you are talking about that is my daughter we adopted her" "you liarTony took her from me, we had an affair and he thought she was his" "yes I know Tony told me all about it we planned it from the beginning when we found out you were pregnant she was going to be mine" "How could you be so selfish to take a child away from her mother she could easy be Davids" You will never get her back Tony and me will not allow it to happen what happened to you earlier will be twice as bad when Tony comes back" She started to smile and asked if I had enjoyed the company of my two companions in the wharehouse. "Did you know what was happening to me " She just shrugged her shoulders and smirked again,who did she think this Tony was and god was she going to pay for what she had done to me.I told the two of them to sit together till Tony arrived, I did not have to wait long he walked into the hall, big strides,as if he was king of the jungle. He asked if I thought I was clever and how I had got away and where was his men. "Did you know what was happening to me and were they carrying out your orders". Listen you are not getting away with this and you are not getting Emma I can give her everything she needs you cant," "Have your own child or is she barren, she cant have kids can she" "sort it Tony she said get her out of here, the minder was sitting very quiet, I told him to get the garden twine I had brought in and tie Tony up , he did as he was told and you could see if I did not have the gun it would be a different matter, I was starting to gloat a bit now it was time for me to get a bit of my own back. I looked at the big fellow and told him to strip naked which he did straight away, Tony was giving me strange looks he could not understand was happening.I looked at Tony and said . " I had an audience when I was getting raped you can watch your girlfriend go through the same thing, how do you feel Tony" H was screaming and swearing and threating to kill me "how you have changed, you cried for me to stay with you" I said. I asked the man "what is your name I cant expect you to have sex with Tonys girlfriend without knowing your name" " I am Ken " "now Ken I would like you to have sex with this lady otherwise I will shoot you, so get on with it " Poor Ken got on top of I later found out Lisa was her name and started to undress her, Tony started to shout at poor Ken that he would kill him if he touched Lisa, he was in a rock and hard place he either did the deed and Tony would get him or I would shoot him if he did not. Anyway he started to have sex with Lisa she starteinished andd to struggle , I told her not to struggle men liked that, I could not take my eyes of Tony while it was happeningthe look of pain was great to see after all I had been through he was haveing a taste of his own medicine. The look of hate was a sight to behold on Tonys face, "I am going to kill youTony said there wont be a place for you to hide, I will find you". Ken was finished and was shaking with fear, I think he was wondering what was going to happen to him. I felt so sorry for him ,so I told him to go and not come back, the look of relief on his face as he ran out of the house. I looked at Tony and the hatein his face was scary Tony looked at me and said kill me now or you will regret it, I looked at Lisa and she was pulling on her clothes and sobbing , so what she had put Tony up to this she was just getting payback. I knew looking at Tony I had to let him know I was not scared of him , without thinking the gun just rose from my hand and I pulled the trigger ,it hit the back of his chair and he did not even flinch. He smiled at me and said " you have not got the bottle to shoot me , something snapped inside of me I raised the gun again and pointed at his chest and fired his face changed to an ashen colour and he slumped forward in his chair, it was not a fatal shot I got him in the shoulder.Lisa screamed and I told her to shut up, I tied her up she was hestrical but I had not gone through all of this to lose my child. "Dont come looking for me Tony or I will kill you, next time find your own baby you are not haveing mine". I left them both tied up and went upstairs, I heard laughter in the middle room and went inside, there she was Emma sitting there with teddy playing happily . She had no idea what mummy had gone through to get her back, she looked at me and gave me a big smile I was thrilled I picked her up and got out of the house quick, I jumped into the car and headed home. When I arrived at the house my mum was there she said how worried she had been I did not have time to tell her everything but she got the idea what had been happening. I ran upstairs to pack while mum organised a flight to Benidorm, she booked me on a package holiday to give me time to find an apartment to buy , I decided to live there , the flight was ont he evening so I had to be quick. We took my mums carand headed for the airport, there was plenty of tears there and I told mum what ever happens not to tell anyone anything as far as she was concerned I had vanished with Emma including family and David ,I told her I dont trust anyone, I would phone her and let her know how I was getting on . I told her I had got rid of all evidence that linked me with Tony, the gun had gone in the river. I said my goodbyes to mum and boarded the plane with Emma for new start. the end Publication Date: February 3rd 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-juneirving

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-tennistar-unforgettable-images/

Tennistar Unforgettable Images A person who remebers everything? To all my teachers, bffs, and family! Chapter 1 Kristy, her older sister, Chelsie, and their dad got into the car, a red Volvo at 12:30. They had just been told that their mom, Carly, was murdered. Carly was a lawyer and often had to work late. Kristy’s dad, Josh, parked the Volvo on Judd Street. They were here, where Carly’s mom was murdered. “Do you kids wanna stay here?” Josh asked. “You are kidding, right? We might get murdered too!” Chelsie said, getting out of the car as Kristy followed silently. Chelsie and Kristy got out of the car as they followed their dad towards the police officers. Images began to flow into Kristy’s mind. A lot of people have been murdered here, Kristy thought, recognizing the street from the news. But why would mom go here?...Oh. That’s why. Kristy eyes fell upon a sign that had SHORTCUT written on it. Was totally fake and was with written with sharpie, Kristy analyzed, remembering the time she used sharpie to make her “Save the Oceans” poster in first grade. The police officers haven’t even noticed the sign. They were too busy analyzing the dead body of her mom. No offense, but stupid, Kristy thought. Kristy noticed her dad and Chelsie crying over Carly. Kristy wanted to go comfort them, but first she had to tell the police the pure evidence. Kristy walked over to a police man and instantly recognized him. Officer Barley. Same intense blue eyes, bushy mustache, and that big nose that stuck out. “Officer Barley?” Kristy asked. “Yes? Wait, are you Kristy Stewart?” Officer Barley asked. Kristy had no time to gloat over how well everyone knew her. “Uh, yes? But I think I found some evidence,” Kristy replied, pointing at the sign. “Why thank you!” “Can I look at the body for a moment?” Kristy asked. Officer Barley hesitated, but nodded slowly. Kristy walked under the yellow tape surrounding her mom’s body. She examined the knife that killed Carly. That knife looked so familiar. Then it struck her. That knife was the same exact knife from the National History Museum. Kristy saw it in fourth grade when her class went on a field trip. The next year that same knife was stolen from the museum. So the Carly’s murder was the same person who stole the knife. But the knife was a pair…so the murder had the other knife. But why did he kill my mom? Why not any other person? Why my mom? Murders are so stupid…unless the murder has something against my family, . Kristy shook her head with disbelief and went to report the news to the officers. Suddenly, Kristy heard someone calling her name. Her eyes rolled back . Kristy screamed herself awake. She was having a flashback of the past. Chelsie rushed in, followed by her dad. “Kristy?! Are you ok?!” Chelsie asked. “Yeah, just had a nightmare,” Kristy replied. “Are you sure sweetie?” Josh, her dad, asked. Kristy nodded. Josh yawned as he went back to bed. “What was the nightmare about?” Chelsie asked, after their dad left. “Mom,” Kristy replied. “I’m such a baby,” Kristy muttered. “No you’re not! I’m seventeen and I still have nightmares about that night. You’re only thirteen, much younger than I am,” Chelsie said, laughing a little. There was long pause. “I still can’t believe those police people haven’t found the murder yet,” Chelsie said. “I told you, they need my help! Those police people don’t have the memory and brains to solve this case. They didn’t even notice the fake sign,” Kristy said. “It was a Friday! I think in June. They probably wanted to go home,” Chelsie protested. “Actually, it was a Saturday the twenty-first and it was in August, not June,” Kristy said, gloating over her brilliance. “Oh shut up you smart-aleck!” Chelsie said, jokingly pushing Kristy. “Not my fault I’m smarter than my older sister!” Kristy said. Chelsie rolled her eyes. “Well, get a goodnight sleep,” Chelsie said, getting up from Kristy’s bed. A streak of light came through Kristy's window, waking up Kristy. It was Thursday. Kristy got up and picked out shorts and a t-shirt. She quickly brushed her teeth and quickly ate went downstairs to eat breakfast. When she got downstairs, Chelsie was already eating. "Where's Dad?" Kristy asked Chelsie. "Today he has to work very late today. Coming back around 1:00 in the morning. But after you finish your homework, I couls drive you around," Chelsie suggested. "'Kay," Kristy said. Since Dad was a lawyer too, he worked late. At first he was doctor but he took over Mom's job. "Well, I'm off to school. Aren't you going to school?" Kristy asked. "No. Day off," Chelsie said. Kristy headed out the door and began her walk to school. Soon, she walked past her friend, Liberty, house. As usual,Liberty was on the porch waiting for Kristy. "Have you heard?" Liberty asked excitedly, when they began walking. "Uh, no?" Kristy said unsurly. "Wake up! The school dance is coming up!" Liberty said. Kristy sighed. "I'm not going," Kristy muttered. "No one is gonna ask me." Liberty rolled her eyes. "Whatever you say, smart aleck!" Liberty said in a silvery voice. Chapter 2 Soon the first the first period was over. Kristy went over to her locker and began getting her stuff for the second period. "Kristy!" Liberty shouted, as she ran towards Kristy. "What?!" Liberty breathed deeply. "Who do you like?" Liberty asked. "Why do you want to know?" Kristy asked suspisiously. "Just asking,"Liberty said as a smile appeared on her face. "I'm not going to the prom! I going to work extra hard these two weeks to figure out...you know what," Kristy muttered. "This doesn't have anything to do with the prom! Just tell me because...uh, just tell me!" Liberty begged. "Jason Connors," Kristy muttered. "The fourth cutest guy in school?Ok. Have a great day! See you in math!" Liberty said. Kristy sighed. "Whatever," she muttered. As Kristy walked to writing, Mr.Carter, the teacher, greeted her. "Hello Miss Stewart. Today I will give you an assign seat because of the class' last week behaior. You will sit next to...Mr Connors," Mr.Carter said pointing towards Jason. Jason Connors? Crap! Kristy's stomach was filled with butterflies. Her legs were stiff, but she managed to move them towards the seat next to Jason. "Hi Jason," Kristy said, trying to sound cool. "Hey Kristy!" Jason said as if they had been friends since they were in kindergarten. "Are you going to the prom?" Kristy shook her head. No. "That sucks. What are you going to do?" Jason asked. "Just gonna work on the mystery of my mother's death," Kristy said. Kristy was surprised that she let that out. "Oh. I'm sorry that happened. I was really looking forward to seeing you," Jason said. "Why?" Jason smiled. "I was planning on asking...you," Jason said. "But if you're busy, I'll just take Lauryn," Jason said, sympathetically. "I'll...think about it," Kristy said, smiling. After the second period was over, Kristy went to find Liberty in the cafeteria. She found her waiting with a seat saved for her. "Liberty, I need your advice," Kristy said urgently. "What happened? Did you get raped?!" Liberty asked. Kristy stared in Liberty in shock. What the hell? "Are you drunk?" Kristy asked. "Oh sorry. No, I was just reading a really good book about this girl who got raped. So what's up?" Liberty asked. "Jason asked me to the prom and I didn't know to either say.." "Say yes missy!! This is like awesome! Jason asked you?! Say yes! Go walk your ass over to his table and say yes!" Liberty said. This why she is my friend. She always bribes me by swearing. Kristy walked over to Jason's table. He sat with his posse, which made Kristy nervous. "Hey Jason?" I asked. His posse and him looked up. "Yeah Kristy?" he said. "I was just going to say I have agreed to go the prom with you." she said, then walked away. Publication Date: October 5th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-tennistar

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-danielle-white-hidden/

Danielle white Hidden It was an early Saturday morning when I came home and found my mother on the bathroom tile floor. She had two gunshot holes through her chest and one through her neck. I stared at her for nearly five minutes in shock. Blood was everywhere, on the sink, walls, and puddles of it were on the floor. I finally pulled myself together long enough to get the phone. I dialed 911 and waited for someone to pick up. "Hello,911 whats the emergency?" A woman said with a reassuring voice. " HELP! HURRY! I-I-I JUST FOUND MY MOM SHE HAS BEEN SHOT THREE TIMES AND-AND SHES DEAD SHES NOT BREATHING!" Tears were running constantly down my face, as i stared at her limp body just lying there. "Ok ma'am stay calm is there any one else in the house?" the officer asked. "NO, I live 213 north 8th street, please hurry." I said. "Ma'am we have officers on there way, just stay in a safe area until they get there k, and don't hang up!" "Alright please hurry." I whispered emotionless. chapter 2 The cops arrived and took me to the police station. They asked me all kinds of questions like "was you there when the murder ac-cured, or were was at the time it happened?" Well for one of course i wasn't there or i would have called the cops way earlier, and i was at the park for my mourning jog. They did a background check and realized i was telling the truth. They let me go home after they let me stay at a hotel for free wile my home got cleaned. Of course they had a cop car outside the hotel just in case if them pricks come back. the next mourning i woke up thinking it was all a bad dream, until i woke up to reality. I sat on that lumpy uncomfortable hotel bed and cried so hard i made myself sick. I heard a light knock on the door and got terrified. "It's me, officer Dave, let me in i have some news you need to no." officer Dave was a very handsome man. He had a rock solid body and a beautiful tan, with a gorgeous smile, and his hair was black with Edward Cullans hair style. I walked to the door and let him in. He looked at me with those beautiful brown eyes and smiled. I smiled back at him and blushed. He grabbed my hand and lead me to an old rugged up chair that was sitting next to the bed. He sat me in the chair and he sat on the bed, his face was completely serious. "You are in great danger, Candis.The people who killed your mother, their after you. And if they find you their going to torture you until you give them what they want. And then their going to kill you. Candis they want the money you invested off your mother, which is over like $500,000,000."He was shaking when he told me that, and i was crying. "Well w-w-what am i supposed to do? I'm only on person i can't be tortured for very long i will automatically die." at that point i was crying. Dave cupped his hands and cradled my head in them. He looked at me with burning eyes and kept telling me everything's gonna be alright. He pulled me into his chest and held me there for a moment, then he gently kissed the crown of my head. "The sheriff wants you to be as safe as possible, i offered to have you to stay with me, but the sheriff said it was to dangerous, he wants you to move to America, and live in Tennessee. Can you cooperate with that?"he asked. "Of course, just as long as your with me."i said. "I will have to see what the sheriff will say, but you no i will anyways." he said. Chapter 3 The next day, Dave came and got me so i could get on the plain to America. "Why does the plain have to take off so early?" i groaned. "Because we will never get there in time?" he giggled. "Oh. So did the sheriff say you could stay with me when we get to Tennessee?" I asked. "yea about that, He said yes, just as long as were good and stay undercover." He said.I had a smile on my face the whole way there after that. I awoke when the sun was shining in my eyes making it hard to relax. I looked over and Dave was still sleeping so i didn't make any sudden moves so i wouldn't wake him. He looks so cute when he is sleeping.He turned his head and slowly opened his eyes. He looked at me and a big grin stretched across his face. He looked at his watch and then stretched as far as he could to loosen up his bones."its 9:30, were going to be in America in 15 minutes, Are you excited?"he asked "Yea kinda, iv never been." I said with a smile stretched across my face." After we got there we got into a car and drove all the way to Tennessee.That drive was like eight hours, but i stayed awake the whole drive there because i didn't want to miss the great adventurous drive to America the land of the free. We finally got to Tennessee It was so beautiful. All the mountains and the green, it was truly amazing. The best part of it was getting to spend it with Dave. We drove all the way to the building we were going to live in until they found them pricks who killed my mother. chapter 4 Life is so short on its on. So why do we have to have pricks among us to make it Evan shorter? I dreamed about the world, where only peace exist. It was so amazing, it was indescribable. if we had peace like that i wouldn't be in this mess.i wouldn't be hiding from monsters that want to eat me.All i no is I'm scared, and i want things to go back to normal. I wanna be a little girl again, chasing butterflies, until i got wore out,than droop into my mothers lap. I wanna do all those things again. as i snap back to reality, I realize that I've been hidden for almost a month now, and they still haven't found the killers. After that thought i began to become more terrified and paranoid with every silent breath i would take. I looked over my shoulder only to find Dave slobbering all over his pillow looking like a goofed up puppy. After thinking that I couldn't help but to giggle. The phone rang, with a loud billowing pitch, And i almost peed all over my pajamas and tripped over the yellow blanket I had slapped over my lap the whole time, in a panic to get to the phone. "Hello.?"I asked. "Hello.?" a mysterious sounding man said on the other line. His voice was kinda deep with a little scratchy ending every time he spoke. "Who is this.?" I asked with confidence in my voice. "oh i think you know just who this is, And why I am calling you."the man said with a sarcastic but serious tone in his voice. "I'm gonna hunt you down and bury you under neath my home, that away no one will find you." He was dead serious. At that point i turned the phone off and ran over to Dave. My breathing was unsteady and tears were flooding my face so fast. Dave turned toward me real slowly and smiled, then he looked deep into my eyes and realized that I was about to have a heart attack or something. He sat up very fast and pulled me into his arms. He rocked me and slowly slurred at the words "they found us, didn't they.?" I nodded and started to breath Evan harder and faster. "Why is it, when it seems like everything that's right in my life, turns out screwed up?" I screamed with tears falling irregularly. Dave just stared in space for a long second. Then he violently scurried for the phone and dialed a number without blinking an eye. "Hello, detective john? Uhmm yes, I think they may have found us.!" He said without one blink of an eye. All i heard was mumbling on the other line and then Dave hung up. "Are we gonna be okay.?" I asked coutusly "No." He stated bluntly. "Didn't you hear me when I was talking to john.?" He said, getting louder with every word. I just gave him an apologetic look and starred at my nails. They looked crappy. they were bitten and cracked. I was thinking about a lot. About me and Dave, if i will be alive much longer and just thinking about random stuff that wasn't Evan important. I was to lost in my thoughts to realize i walked all the way to the car with Dave and we drove to detective johns. I probably still would be day dreaming if detective john wouldn't have interrupted my thinking bye asking me some question i didn't get. I asked him if he could repeat what it was he was asking. "can you tell me exactly what they told you.?" Detective john asked. "uhmm, y-yea I t-think I can d-do that." I was stuttering with nervousness. "First thing first. the phone rang and I answered it because I didn't want to wake Dave. Then as normal I asked hello. A man with a deep scratchy voice asked the same thing. Than I asked who it was. All they said was that I new who it was and threaten me by saying ,' I'm gonna hunt you down and bury you under neath my home, that away no one will find you.' Then i just hung up the phone and woke Dave and then he called you and now we are here." I said everything calmly all the way up till the end where i started to just say it all in one sentence. Text: hidden All rights reserved. Publication Date: June 23rd 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-izreella

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-soumya-sarkar-the-film/

Soumya Sarkar The Film Nirmal Sen was, as usual, going past Anjanpara bazaar, bag in hand, a cigarette placed firmly in his mouth. He also bore that angry and tense expression that reminded the locals of him whenever they encountered him. Today was another day of hard work at office, ending with a phenomenon now common at his office – a fight between him and Adrik Mitra. “Hey! Hey you!” someone whispered coarsely from behind. Nirmal stopped in his tracks and looked at him inquisitively. “What do you want?” he barked. “Do you believe in ghosts?” the other fellow asked. This was Nirmal’s firm belief that ghosts never did exist – or even if they ever did, then they ceased to do so before he was born. So accordingly he nodded his head. “Do you want to see one?” “It’s not possible,” declared Nirmal. “I’ll show you. I promise you’ll see it. Just go there,” said the man, pointing to the nearby graveyard, and subsequently to a man wandering about its perimeters, phone in hand, “and tell that fellow that you want to do this job. Say exactly as I say. Then he will tell you that alright, you go there and walk around. You do so, and then the ghost will come.” “How do you know for so sure?” “I’ve been there, done that.” Nirmal saw no logic in following the stranger’s words. But somehow the idea of his challenge attracted him. “Okay. I’ll do it. I’m going now, “Nirmal declared and was about to leave. “Wait!” “What?” “Tell them after all is done – can you tell me more about Palash Datta? He instructed me to come here. He is waiting for you.” “So your name is Palash Datta?” “Yes. Go Quick! They’re waiting.” Nirmal approached the wandering man at the graveyard gates. “Hey! I want to do this job,” said Nirmal. “Sure?” said the man, putting down his phone. “Absolutely,” declared Nirmal. The man called out to another man, an old man, by the name Chandrasekhar, who came stealthily. He whispered something in his ears. “Alright! Go there and walk around,” declared Chandrasekhar. Nirmal entered the graveyard and started strolling around in a rather carefree manner. Then there was a noise. This was followed by a low creak and a hooting owl. Suddenly the paraphernalia of horror moves became a fragment of reality. But the main cause of fright generally associated with horror movies was nowhere to be seen – at least not in front of Nirmal. Lo! There arose behind him the stuff of horror dreams – a lady with a candle, in a white flowing gown, her tress dirty with neglect yet hanging menacingly from her creased forehead. Her lips were extremely black; her eyes bore the tenor of one without life. She howled in a frighteningly disarming tone, “Hello!” Nirmal stood stone still, and for a moment it seemed that any momentary passerby would fail to recognise which was the ghost and which the real victim. Both were white – one white by nature, and the other by circumstance. “All right! Cut!” came a shout from behind the bushes. Then came the director and his crew – how smartly they were nestled behind a bush, creeping and filming a gullible passerby who had been lulled in to act in a scene from a film – obviously a horror movie - of theirs by the very Palash Datta. Nirmal went to the director and complained about the fright he received. “Of course!” roared the director in laughter. “When you are into your role, you need to be completely in it. I don’t blame you for the scare.” “Well, still you could have informed me,” complained Nirmal. “Very well. Here is your 5000 rupees for this scene. And I say again – I’m sincerely sorry. By the way, you are a fine actor,” said the director handing him the money. “Not more?” asked Nirmal. “No.” At this point of time Nirmal had started counting his money. Chandrasekhar had come in by this time. “Say, I was never really acting you know. I really thought that she was a ghost,” murmured Nirmal. “What do you mean? You did not read the advertisement properly, did you?” asked the director. “What advertisement?” Chandrasekhar and the director seemed surprised. “Why? The Ghost House ad in the bazaar, from where you came!” they told in unison. “No! This man, Palash Datta told me about this. He is still standing by the closed paan shop.” The director and Chandrasekhar looked at each other, visibly puzzled. “Is there a problem?” Nirmal asked. “No problem really, unless you fix your head, young man. Palash Datta has been dead for 2 weeks now – his grave is just beside that big banyan tree where you got your scare. What the hell are you talking, huh?” asked Chandrasekhar. Nirmal failed to hear the last part of Chandrasekhar’s question, for he was running to the tree. And there it lay. “Palash Datta 1978-2012 Died while acting in the film ‘Ghost House’ R.I.P” Publication Date: October 27th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-souma.sarkar

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-kyler-james-grimshaw-mysteries-2/

Kyler James Grimshaw Mysteries Haven Homocides Book 3 Chapter 1: The Rook Heel, toe, a trouser leg brushes past another. Heel, toe, the same brushing sound follows again. And again.  Rhythmatic, like the constant ticking of a clock hidden somewhere the room. The clicking of polished shoes on a tiled hallway floor. Heel, toe, a scuffing sound, then the clicking continues. I hear her coming from down the hall, how could I not. The only other sound in the room besides my own thoughts is the damned I.V drip. It's strange how your senses become hightened when you're waiting on bad news. The world around you slows, each breath a defining moment, a milestone you feel overwhelmed to have reached. And as far as bad news goes, it doesn't get much worse than this. Each moment a unique snowflake in the calm before the winter storm. Horror has always carried a strange feeling of euphoria for me, like I'm just glad I can still feel anything. The beautiful moments of dread settle around my room and blanket me in glistening white. The rhythim of the clicking changes as her pace slows with each step that brings her closer to my door, I guess waiting on giving bad news has the same effect. The door opens wide throwing blinding light across the winter wonderland in my room. She steps in and surpresses a shudder. Who can blame her. She draws closer, clutching it to herself enveloped in her arms against her chest, her nurses uniform wrinkled beneath. I can feel her eyes, her anxiety, her fear. She places it on the table next to my bed. I pretend to be asleep, it's easier for us both if I do. She turns and scurries back through the door and the clicking of heel, toe fall back into rhythim as she retreats back down the hall.   I roll over and lift the case file to read, my arms almost unable to lift it. Has it gotten this heavy, a thousand clues that point to nothing. A ghost. A terror sent to haunt my dreams. Or am I this weak, a thousand deaths weighing heavily on worn shoulders. More ghosts than this old soul can grieve.The pages shake uncontrolably, either my vision or my strength failing me. Lucky I've never been one for heavy reading. As the file jumps around, throwing my eyes from one random word to the next, I peace the story together good enough.  Blonde ; always blonde. 19 years of age ; always so young, some poor bastards baby. Warren street ; another alley. Chess piece ....... The Rook. They always look the same. Always beautiful. Posed as though they'd drifted off while reading, head gently restiing on an arm, extended, clutching a chess piece. The piece they're found with holds the reason he took them. I just don't know what the reasons are. The pieces have no pattern. Some pieces show up more than one or twice, some not at all. I rub my eyes and try to focus.   It's not long before I find what I'm looking for. Bishop . Why the Bishop? I've never been able to make sense of these damned pieces. I know they're the key to undestanding him, I just don't know why. Stupid old man! Can pull a jacket, a strap, a gun and a trigger in one fluent movement without a moments thought or hesitaion. But try using your mind for something that might be worth something. I can feel it though, like a splinter in the back of my mind, reaching outwards, wearing a groove into my skull waiting to be birthed. A messy birth if born of my mind, but the answer none the less.  I have the Bishop, now I need the next piece of the puzzle. His puzzle, it's the same game everytime and I know the rules well enough by now. The trembling intensifies, "Come on old man, you're not dead yet." I find it. Perfidy . The word falls thickly, dumbly, ignorantly from my lips. He always carves something into their forearms. Normally a word to explain why he took them. Normally one of the seven deadly sins, gluttony, sloth, envy.   The game was supposed to be finished, he'd taken he's last and with her, completed his work. Perfidy? The words he'd left before were simple, singular answers for the heavy minded, for me. Incase I wasn't able to figure out on my own why he'd done it. But perfidy? Doesn't seem to fit. It just seems off, like a puzzle piece with a different egde to the rest. I say it again aloud and the word sounds clumsy, like a deaf person trying to say a word he'd read on loved ones lips enough times to try for himself. "Perfidy . " Why?.... "It means 'An act of deliberate treachery or deceit'." Wilson marches over, takes the case file from Grimshaws weakend grip and replaces it with a glass of water. "Did you know it was him?" "Of course not!" Barks Wilson. "Would you have if you did?" "I would have thrown the fucking file into the trash, lit a match and watched the flames swollow it up." "We couldn't stop him before. How are two cops, too long in the tooth, going to stop him now?" "We won't." "But we'll try..." "... But we'll try." Text: James Cocklin Editing: James Cocklin All rights reserved. Publication Date: September 5th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-kylerjames

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Sir Arthur Conan Doyle The Adventure of Bruce-Partington Plans In the third week of November, in the year 1895, a dense yellow fog settled down upon London. From the Monday to the Thursday I doubt whether it was ever possible from our windows in Baker Street to see the loom of the opposite houses. The first day Holmes had spent in cross-indexing his huge book of references. The second and third had been patiently occupied upon a subject which he had recently made his hobby--the music of the Middle Ages. But when, for the fourth time, after pushing back our chairs from breakfast we saw the greasy, heavy brown swirl still drifting past us and condensing in oily drops upon the window-panes, my comrade's impatient and active nature could endure this drab existence no longer. He paced restlessly about our sitting-room in a fever of suppressed energy, biting his nails, tapping the furniture, and chafing against inaction. "Nothing of interest in the paper, Watson?" he said. I was aware that by anything of interest, Holmes meant anything of criminal interest. There was the news of a revolution, of a possible war, and of an impending change of government; but these did not come within the horizon of my companion. I could see nothing recorded in the shape of crime which was not commonplace and futile. Holmes groaned and resumed his restless meanderings. "The London criminal is certainly a dull fellow," said he in the querulous voice of the sportsman whose game has failed him. "Look out this window, Watson. See how the figures loom up, are dimly seen, and then blend once more into the cloud-bank. The thief or the murderer could roam London on such a day as the tiger does the jungle, unseen until he pounces, and then evident only to his victim." "There have," said I, "been numerous petty thefts." Holmes snorted his contempt. "This great and sombre stage is set for something more worthy than that," said he. "It is fortunate for this community that I am not a criminal." "It is, indeed!" said I heartily. "Suppose that I were Brooks or Woodhouse, or any of the fifty men who have good reason for taking my life, how long could I survive against my own pursuit? A summons, a bogus appointment, and all would be over. It is well they don't have days of fog in the Latin countries--the countries of assassination. By Jove! here comes something at last to break our dead monotony." It was the maid with a telegram. Holmes tore it open and burst out laughing. "Well, well! What next?" said he. "Brother Mycroft is coming round." "Why not?" I asked. "Why not? It is as if you met a tram-car coming down a country lane. Mycroft has his rails and he runs on them. His Pall Mall lodgings, the Diogenes Club, Whitehall--that is his cycle. Once, and only once, he has been here. What upheaval can possibly have derailed him?" "Does he not explain?" Holmes handed me his brother's telegram. Must see you over Cadogen West. Coming at once. Mycroft. "Cadogen West? I have heard the name." "It recalls nothing to my mind. But that Mycroft should break out in this erratic fashion! A planet might as well leave its orbit. By the way, do you know what Mycroft is?" I had some vague recollection of an explanation at the time of the Adventure of the Greek Interpreter. "You told me that he had some small office under the British government." Holmes chuckled. "I did not know you quite so well in those days. One has to be discreet when one talks of high matters of state. You are right in thinking that he under the British government. You would also be right in a sense if you said that occasionally he IS the British government." "My dear Holmes!" "I thought I might surprise you. Mycroft draws four hundred and fifty pounds a year, remains a subordinate, has no ambitions of any kind, will receive neither honour nor title, but remains the most indispensable man in the country." "But how?" "Well, his position is unique. He has made it for himself. There has never been anything like it before, nor will be again. He has the tidiest and most orderly brain, with the greatest capacity for storing facts, of any man living. The same great powers which I have turned to the detection of crime he has used for this particular business. The conclusions of every department are passed to him, and he is the central exchange, the clearinghouse, which makes out the balance. All other men are specialists, but his specialism is omniscience. We will suppose that a minister needs information as to a point which involves the Navy, India, Canada and the bimetallic question; he could get his separate advices from various departments upon each, but only Mycroft can focus them all, and say offhand how each factor would affect the other. They began by using him as a short-cut, a convenience; now he has made himself an essential. In that great brain of his everything is pigeon-holed and can be handed out in an instant. Again and again his word has decided the national policy. He lives in it. He thinks of nothing else save when, as an intellectual exercise, he unbends if I call upon him and ask him to advise me on one of my little problems. But Jupiter is descending to-day. What on earth can it mean? Who is Cadogan West, and what is he to Mycroft?" "I have it," I cried, and plunged among the litter of papers upon the sofa. "Yes, yes, here he is, sure enough! Cadogen West was the young man who was found dead on the Underground on Tuesday morning." Holmes sat up at attention, his pipe halfway to his lips. "This must be serious, Watson. A death which has caused my brother to alter his habits can be no ordinary one. What in the world can he have to do with it? The case was featureless as I remember it. The young man had apparently fallen out of the train and killed himself. He had not been robbed, and there was no particular reason to suspect violence. Is that not so?" "There has been an inquest," said I, "and a good many fresh facts have come out. Looked at more closely, I should certainly say that it was a curious case." "Judging by its effect upon my brother, I should think it must be a most extraordinary one." He snuggled down in his armchair. "Now, Watson, let us have the facts." "The man's name was Arthur Cadogan West. He was twenty-seven years of age, unmarried, and a clerk at Woolwich Arsenal." "Government employ. Behold the link with Brother Mycroft!" "He left Woolwich suddenly on Monday night. Was last seen by his fiancee, Miss Violet Westbury, whom he left abruptly in the fog about 7:30 that evening. There was no quarrel between them and she can give no motive for his action. The next thing heard of him was when his dead body was discovered by a plate-layer named Mason, just outside Aldgate Station on the Underground system in London." "When?" "The body was found at six on Tuesday morning. It was lying wide of the metals upon the left hand of the track as one goes eastward, at a point close to the station, where the line emerges from the tunnel in which it runs. The head was badly crushed--an injury which might well have been caused by a fall from the train. The body could only have come on the line in that way. Had it been carried down from any neighbouring street, it must have passed the station barriers, where a collector is always standing. This point seems absolutely certain." "Very good. The case is definite enough. The man, dead or alive, either fell or was precipitated from a train. So much is clear to me. Continue." "The trains which traverse the lines of rail beside which the body was found are those which run from west to east, some being purely Metropolitan, and some from Willesden and outlying junctions. It can be stated for certain that this young man, when he met his death, was travelling in this direction at some late hour of the night, but at what point he entered the train it is impossible to state." "His ticket, of course, would show that." "There was no ticket in his pockets." "No ticket! Dear me, Watson, this is really very singular. According to my experience it is not possible to reach the platform of a Metropolitan train without exhibiting one's ticket. Presumably, then, the young man had one. Was it taken from him in order to conceal the station from which he came? It is possible. Or did he drop it in the carriage? That is also possible. But the point is of curious interest. I understand that there was no sign of robbery?" "Apparently not. There is a list here of his possessions. His purse contained two pounds fifteen. He had also a check-book on the Woolwich branch of the Capital and Counties Bank. Through this his identity was established. There were also two dress-circle tickets for the Woolwich Theatre, dated for that very evening. Also a small packet of technical papers." Holmes gave an exclamation of satisfaction. "There we have it at last, Watson! British government--Woolwich. Arsenal--technical papers--Brother Mycroft, the chain is complete. But here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to speak for himself." A moment later the tall and portly form of Mycroft Holmes was ushered into the room. Heavily built and massive, there was a suggestion of uncouth physical inertia in the figure, but above this unwieldy frame there was perched a head so masterful in its brow, so alert in its steel-gray, deep-set eyes, so firm in its lips, and so subtle in its play of expression, that after the first glance one forgot the gross body and remembered only the dominant mind. At his heels came our old friend Lestrade, of Scotland Yard--thin and austere. The gravity of both their faces foretold some weighty quest. The detective shook hands without a word. Mycroft Holmes struggled out of his overcoat and subsided into an armchair. "A most annoying business, Sherlock," said he. "I extremely dislike altering my habits, but the powers that be would take no denial. In the present state of Siam it is most awkward that I should be away from the office. But it is a real crisis. I have never seen the Prime Minister so upset. As to the Admiralty--it is buzzing like an overturned bee-hive. Have you read up the case?" "We have just done so. What were the technical papers?" "Ah, there's the point! Fortunately, it has not come out. The press would be furious if it did. The papers which this wretched youth had in his pocket were the plans of the Bruce-Partington submarine." Mycroft Holmes spoke with a solemnity which showed his sense of the importance of the subject. His brother and I sat expectant. "Surely you have heard of it? I thought everyone had heard of it." "Only as a name." "Its importance can hardly be exaggerated. It has been the most jealously guarded of all government secrets. You may take it from me that naval warfare becomes impossible withing the radius of a Bruce-Partington's operation. Two years ago a very large sum was smuggled through the Estimates and was expended in acquiring a monopoly of the invention. Every effort has been made to keep the secret. The plans, which are exceedingly intricate, comprising some thirty separate patents, each essential to the working of the whole, are kept in an elaborate safe in a confidential office adjoining the arsenal, with burglar-proof doors and windows. Under no conceivable circumstances were the plans to be taken from the office. If the chief constructor of the Navy desired to consult them, even he was forced to go to the Woolwich office for the purpose. And yet here we find them in the pocket of a dead junior clerk in the heart of London. From an official point of view it's simply awful." "But you have recovered them?" "No, Sherlock, no! That's the pinch. We have not. Ten papers were taken from Woolwich. There were seven in the pocket of Cadogan West. The three most essential are gone--stolen, vanished. You must drop everything, Sherlock. Never mind your usual petty puzzles of the police-court. It's a vital international problem that you have to solve. Why did Cadogan West take the papers, where are the missing ones, how did he die, how came his body where it was found, how can the evil be set right? Find an answer to all these questions, and you will have done good service for your country." "Why do you not solve it yourself, Mycroft? You can see as far as I." "Possibly, Sherlock. But it is a question of getting details. Give me your details, and from an armchair I will return you an excellent expert opinion. But to run here and run there, to cross-question railway guards, and lie on my face with a lens to my eye--it is not my metier. No, you are the one man who can clear the matter up. If you have a fancy to see your name in the next honours list--" My friend smiled and shook his head. "I play the game for the game's own sake," said he. "But the problem certainly presents some points of interest, and I shall be very pleased to look into it. Some more facts, please." "I have jotted down the more essential ones upon this sheet of paper, together with a few addresses which you will find of service. The actual official guardian of the papers is the famous government expert, Sir James Walter, whose decorations and sub-titles fill two lines of a book of reference. He has grown gray in the service, is a gentleman, a favoured guest in the most exalted houses, and, above all, a man whose patriotism is beyond suspicion. He is one of two who have a key of the safe. I may add that the papers were undoubtedly in the office during working hours on Monday, and that Sir James left for London about three o'clock taking his key with him. He was at the house of Admiral Sinclair at Barclay Square during the whole of the evening when this incident occurred." "Has the fact been verified?" "Yes; his brother, Colonel Valentine Walter, has testified to his departure from Woolwich, and Admiral Sinclair to his arrival in London; so Sir James is no longer a direct factor in the problem." "Who was the other man with a key?" "The senior clerk and draughtsman, Mr. Sidney Johnson. He is a man of forty, married, with five children. He is a silent, morose man, but he has, on the whole, an excellent record in the public service. He is unpopular with his colleagues, but a hard worker. According to his own account, corroborated only by the word of his wife, he was at home the whole of Monday evening after office hours, and his key has never left the watch-chain upon which it hangs." "Tell us about Cadogan West." "He has been ten years in the service and has done good work. He has the reputation of being hot-headed and imperious, but a straight, honest man. We have nothing against him. He was next Sidney Johnson in the office. His duties brought him into daily, personal contact with the plans. No one else had the handling of them." "Who locked up the plans that night?" "Mr. Sidney Johnson, the senior clerk." "Well, it is surely perfectly clear who took them away. They are actually found upon the person of this junior clerk, Cadogan West. That seems final, does it not?" "It does, Sherlock, and yet it leaves so much unexplained. In the first place, why did he take them?" "I presume they were of value?" "He could have got several thousands for them very easily." "Can you suggest any possible motive for taking the papers to London except to sell them?" "No, I cannot." "Then we must take that as our working hypothesis. Young West took the papers. Now this could only be done by having a false key--" "Several false keys. He had to open the building and the room." "He had, then, several false keys. He took the papers to London to sell the secret, intending, no doubt, to have the plans themselves back in the safe next morning before they were missed. While in London on this treasonable mission he met his end." "How?" "We will suppose that he was travelling back to Woolwich when he was killed and thrown out of the compartment." "Aldgate, where the body was found, is considerably past the station London Bridge, which would be his route to Woolwich." "Many circumstances could be imagined under which he would pass London Bridge. There was someone in the carriage, for example, with whom he was having an absorbing interview. This interview led to a violent scene in which he lost his life. Possibly he tried to leave the carriage, fell out on the line, and so met his end. The other closed the door. There was a thick fog, and nothing could be seen." "No better explanation can be given with our present knowledge; and yet consider, Sherlock, how much you leave untouched. We will suppose, for argument's sake, that young Cadogan West HAD determined to convey these papers to London. He would naturally have made an appointment with the foreign agent and kept his evening clear. Instead of that he took two tickets for the theatre, escorted his fiancee halfway there, and then suddenly disappeared." "A blind," said Lestrade, who had sat listening with some impatience to the conversation. "A very singular one. That is objection No. 1. Objection No. 2: We will suppose that he reaches London and sees the foreign agent. He must bring back the papers before morning or the loss will be discovered. He took away ten. Only seven were in his pocket. What had become of the other three? He certainly would not leave them of his own free will. Then, again, where is the price of his treason? Once would have expected to find a large sum of money in his pocket." "It seems to me perfectly clear," said Lestrade. "I have no doubt at all as to what occurred. He took the papers to sell them. He saw the agent. They could not agree as to price. He started home again, but the agent went with him. In the train the agent murdered him, took the more essential papers, and threw his body from the carriage. That would account for everything, would it not?" "Why had he no ticket?" "The ticket would have shown which station was nearest the agent's house. Therefore he took it from the murdered man's pocket." "Good, Lestrade, very good," said Holmes. "Your theory holds together. But if this is true, then the case is at an end. On the one hand, the traitor is dead. On the other, the plans of the Bruce-Partington submarine are presumably already on the Continent. What is there for us to do?" "To act, Sherlock--to act!" cried Mycroft, springing to his feet. "All my instincts are against this explanation. Use your powers! Go to the scene of the crime! See the people concerned! Leave no stone unturned! In all your career you have never had so great a chance of serving your country." "Well, well!" said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders. "Come, Watson! And you, Lestrade, could you favour us with your company for an hour or two? We will begin our investigation by a visit to Aldgate Station. Good-bye, Mycroft. I shall let you have a report before evening, but I warn you in advance that you have little to expect." An hour later Holmes, Lestrade and I stood upon the Underground railroad at the point where it emerges from the tunnel immediately before Aldgate Station. A courteous red-faced old gentleman represented the railway company. "This is where the young man's body lay," said he, indicating a spot about three feet from the metals. "It could not have fallen from above, for these, as you see, are all blank walls. Therefore, it could only have come from a train, and that train, so far as we can trace it, must have passed about midnight on Monday." "Have the carriages been examined for any sign of violence?" "There are no such signs, and no ticket has been found." "No record of a door being found open?" "None." "We have had some fresh evidence this morning," said Lestrade. "A passenger who passed Aldgate in an ordinary Metropolitan train about 11:40 on Monday night declares that he heard a heavy thud, as of a body striking the line, just before the train reached the station. There was dense fog, however, and nothing could be seen. He made no report of it at the time. Why, whatever is the matter with Mr. Holmes?" My friend was standing with an expression of strained intensity upon his face, staring at the railway metals where they curved out of the tunnel. Aldgate is a junction, and there was a network of points. On these his eager, questioning eyes were fixed, and I saw on his keen, alert face that tightening of the lips, that quiver of the nostrils, and concentration of the heavy, tufted brows which I knew so well. "Points," he muttered; "the points." "What of it? What do you mean?" "I suppose there are no great number of points on a system such as this?" "No; they are very few." "And a curve, too. Points, and a curve. By Jove! if it were only so." "What is it, Mr. Holmes? Have you a clue?" "An idea--an indication, no more. But the case certainly grows in interest. Unique, perfectly unique, and yet why not? I do not see any indications of bleeding on the line." "There were hardly any." "But I understand that there was a considerable wound." "The bone was crushed, but there was no great external injury." "And yet one would have expected some bleeding. Would it be possible for me to inspect the train which contained the passenger who heard the thud of a fall in the fog?" "I fear not, Mr. Holmes. The train has been broken up before now, and the carriages redistributed." "I can assure you, Mr. Holmes," said Lestrade, "that every carriage has been carefully examined. I saw to it myself." It was one of my friend's most obvious weaknesses that he was impatient with less alert intelligences than his own. "Very likely," said he, turning away. "As it happens, it was not the carriages which I desired to examine. Watson, we have done all we can here. We need not trouble you any further, Mr. Lestrade. I think our investigations must now carry us to Woolwich." At London Bridge, Holmes wrote a telegram to his brother, which he handed to me before dispatching it. It ran thus: See some light in the darkness, but it may possibly flicker out. Meanwhile, please send by messenger, to await return at Baker Street, a complete list of all foreign spies or international agents known to be in England, with full address. Sherlock. "That should be helpful, Watson," he remarked as we took our seats in the Woolwich train. "We certainly owe Brother Mycroft a debt for having introduced us to what promises to be a really very remarkable case." His eager face still wore that expression of intense and high-strung energy, which showed me that some novel and suggestive circumstance had opened up a stimulating line of thought. See the foxhound with hanging ears and drooping tail as it lolls about the kennels, and compare it with the same hound as, with gleaming eyes and straining muscles, it runs upon a breast-high scent--such was the change in Holmes since the morning. He was a different man from the limp and lounging figure in the mouse-coloured dressing-gown who had prowled so restlessly only a few hours before round the fog-girt room. "There is material here. There is scope," said he. "I am dull indeed not to have understood its possibilities." "Even now they are dark to me." "The end is dark to me also, but I have hold of one idea which may lead us far. The man met his death elsewhere, and his body was on the ROOF of a carriage." "On the roof!" "Remarkable, is it not? But consider the facts. Is it a coincidence that it is found at the very point where the train pitches and sways as it comes round on the points? Is not that the place where an object upon the roof might be expected to fall off? The points would affect no object inside the train. Either the body fell from the roof, or a very curious coincidence has occurred. But now consider the question of the blood. Of course, there was no bleeding on the line if the body had bled elsewhere. Each fact is suggestive in itself. Together they have a cumulative force." "And the ticket, too!" I cried. "Exactly. We could not explain the absence of a ticket. This would explain it. Everything fits together." "But suppose it were so, we are still as far as ever from unravelling the mystery of his death. Indeed, it becomes not simpler but stranger." "Perhaps," said Holmes, thoughtfully, "perhaps." He relapsed into a silent reverie, which lasted until the slow train drew up at last in Woolwich Station. There he called a cab and drew Mycroft's paper from his pocket. "We have quite a little round of afternoon calls to make," said he. "I think that Sir James Walter claims our first attention." The house of the famous official was a fine villa with green lawns stretching down to the Thames. As we reached it the fog was lifting, and a thin, watery sunshine was breaking through. A butler answered our ring. "Sir James, sir!" said he with solemn face. "Sir James died this morning." "Good heavens!" cried Holmes in amazement. "How did he die?" "Perhaps you would care to step in, sir, and see his brother, Colonel Valentine?" "Yes, we had best do so." We were ushered into a dim-lit drawing-room, where an instant later we were joined by a very tall, handsome, light-beared man of fifty, the younger brother of the dead scientist. His wild eyes, stained cheeks, and unkempt hair all spoke of the sudden blow which had fallen upon the household. He was hardly articulate as he spoke of it. "It was this horrible scandal," said he. "My brother, Sir James, was a man of very sensitive honour, and he could not survive such an affair. It broke his heart. He was always so proud of the efficiency of his department, and this was a crushing blow." "We had hoped that he might have given us some indications which would have helped us to clear the matter up." "I assure you that it was all a mystery to him as it is to you and to all of us. He had already put all his knowledge at the disposal of the police. Naturally he had no doubt that Cadogan West was guilty. But all the rest was inconceivable." "You cannot throw any new light upon the affair?" "I know nothing myself save what I have read or heard. I have no desire to be discourteous, but you can understand, Mr. Holmes, that we are much disturbed at present, and I must ask you to hasten this interview to an end." "This is indeed an unexpected development," said my friend when we had regained the cab. "I wonder if the death was natural, or whether the poor old fellow killed himself! If the latter, may it be taken as some sign of self-reproach for duty neglected? We must leave that question to the future. Now we shall turn to the Cadogan Wests." A small but well-kept house in the outskirts of the town sheltered the bereaved mother. The old lady was too dazed with grief to be of any use to us, but at her side was a white-faced young lady, who introduced herself as Miss Violet Westbury, the fiancee of the dead man, and the last to see him upon that fatal night. "I cannot explain it, Mr. Holmes," she said. "I have not shut an eye since the tragedy, thinking, thinking, thinking, night and day, what the true meaning of it can be. Arthur was the most single-minded, chivalrous, patriotic man upon earth. He would have cut his right hand off before he would sell a State secret confided to his keeping. It is absurd, impossible, preposterous to anyone who knew him." "But the facts, Miss Westbury?" "Yes, yes; I admit I cannot explain them." "Was he in any want of money?" "No; his needs were very simple and his salary ample. He had saved a few hundreds, and we were to marry at the New Year." "No signs of any mental excitement? Come, Miss Westbury, be absolutely frank with us." The quick eye of my companion had noted some change in her manner. She coloured and hesitated. "Yes," she said at last, "I had a feeling that there was something on his mind." "For long?" "Only for the last week or so. He was thoughtful and worried. Once I pressed him about it. He admitted that there was something, and that it was concerned with his official life. 'It is too serious for me to speak about, even to you,' said he. I could get nothing more." Holmes looked grave. "Go on, Miss Westbury. Even if it seems to tell against him, go on. We cannot say what it may lead to." "Indeed, I have nothing more to tell. Once or twice it seemed to me that he was on the point of telling me something. He spoke one evening of the importance of the secret, and I have some recollection that he said that no doubt foreign spies would pay a great deal to have it." My friend's face grew graver still. "Anything else?" "He said that we were slack about such matters--that it would be easy for a traitor to get the plans." "Was it only recently that he made such remarks?" "Yes, quite recently." "Now tell us of that last evening." "We were to go to the theatre. The fog was so thick that a cab was useless. We walked, and our way took us close to the office. Suddenly he darted away into the fog." "Without a word?" "He gave an exclamation; that was all. I waited but he never returned. Then I walked home. Next morning, after the office opened, they came to inquire. About twelve o'clock we heard the terrible news. Oh, Mr. Holmes, if you could only, only save his honour! It was so much to him." Holmes shook his head sadly. "Come, Watson," said he, "our ways lie elsewhere. Our next station must be the office from which the papers were taken. "It was black enough before against this young man, but our inquiries make it blacker," he remarked as the cab lumbered off. "His coming marriage gives a motive for the crime. He naturally wanted money. The idea was in his head, since he spoke about it. He nearly made the girl an accomplice in the treason by telling her his plans. It is all very bad." "But surely, Holmes, character goes for something? Then, again, why should he leave the girl in the street and dart away to commit a felony?" "Exactly! There are certainly objections. But it is a formidable case which they have to meet." Mr. Sidney Johnson, the senior clerk, met us at the office and received us with that respect which my companion's card always commanded. He was a thin, gruff, bespectacled man of middle age, his cheeks haggard, and his hands twitching from the nervous strain to which he had been subjected. "It is bad, Mr. Holmes, very bad! Have you heard of the death of the chief?" "We have just come from his house." "The place is disorganized. The chief dead, Cadogan West dead, our papers stolen. And yet, when we closed our door on Monday evening, we were as efficient an office as any in the government service. Good God, it's dreadful to think of! That West, of all men, should have done such a thing!" "You are sure of his guilt, then?" "I can see no other way out of it. And yet I would have trusted him as I trust myself." "At what hour was the office closed on Monday?" "At five." "Did you close it?" "I am always the last man out." "Where were the plans?" "In that safe. I put them there myself." "Is there no watchman to the building?" "There is, but he has other departments to look after as well. He is an old soldier and a most trustworthy man. He saw nothing that evening. Of course the fog was very thick." "Suppose that Cadogan West wished to make his way into the building after hours; he would need three keys, would he not, before he could reach the papers?" "Yes, he would. The key of the outer door, the key of the office, and the key of the safe." "Only Sir James Walter and you had those keys?" "I had no keys of the doors--only of the safe." "Was Sir James a man who was orderly in his habits?" "Yes, I think he was. I know that so far as those three keys are concerned he kept them on the same ring. I have often seen them there." "And that ring went with him to London?" "He said so." "And your key never left your possession?" "Never." "Then West, if he is the culprit, must have had a duplicate. And yet none was found upon his body. One other point: if a clerk in this office desired to sell the plans, would it not be simply to copy the plans for himself than to take the originals, as was actually done?" "It would take considerable technical knowledge to copy the plans in an effective way." "But I suppose either Sir James, or you, or West has that technical knowledge?" "No doubt we had, but I beg you won't try to drag me into the matter, Mr. Holmes. What is the use of our speculating in this way when the original plans were actually found on West?" "Well, it is certainly singular that he should run the risk of taking originals if he could safely have taken copies, which would have equally served his turn." "Singular, no doubt--and yet he did so." "Every inquiry in this case reveals something inexplicable. Now there are three papers still missing. They are, as I understand, the vital ones." "Yes, that is so." "Do you mean to say that anyone holding these three papers, and without the seven others, could construct a Bruce-Partington submarine?" "I reported to that effect to the Admiralty. But to-day I have been over the drawings again, and I am not so sure of it. The double valves with the automatic self-adjusting slots are drawn in one of the papers which have been returned. Until the foreigners had invented that for themselves they could not make the boat. Of course they might soon get over the difficulty." "But the three missing drawings are the most important?" "Undoubtedly." "I think, with your permission, I will now take a stroll round the premises. I do not recall any other question which I desired to ask." He examined the lock of the safe, the door of the room, and finally the iron shutters of the window. It was only when we were on the lawn outside that his interest was strongly excited. There was a laurel bush outside the window, and several of the branches bore signs of having been twisted or snapped. He examined them carefully with his lens, and then some dim and vague marks upon the earth beneath. Finally he asked the chief clerk to close the iron shutters, and he pointed out to me that they hardly met in the centre, and that it would be possible for anyone outside to see what was going on within the room. "The indications are ruined by three days' delay. They may mean something or nothing. Well, Watson, I do not think that Woolwich can help us further. It is a small crop which we have gathered. Let us see if we can do better in London." Yet we added one more sheaf to our harvest before we left Woolwich Station. The clerk in the ticket office was able to say with confidence that he saw Cadogan West--whom he knew well by sight--upon the Monday night, and that he went to London by the 8:15 to London Bridge. He was alone and took a single third-class ticket. The clerk was struck at the time by his excited and nervous manner. So shaky was he that he could hardly pick up his change, and the clerk had helped him with it. A reference to the timetable showed that the 8:15 was the first train which it was possible for West to take after he had left the lady about 7:30. "Let us reconstruct, Watson," said Holmes after half an hour of silence. "I am not aware that in all our joint researches we have ever had a case which was more difficult to get at. Every fresh advance which we make only reveals a fresh ridge beyond. And yet we have surely made some appreciable progress. "The effect of our inquiries at Woolwich has in the main been against young Cadogan West; but the indications at the window would lend themselves to a more favourable hypothesis. Let us suppose, for example, that he had been approached by some foreign agent. It might have been done under such pledges as would have prevented him from speaking of it, and yet would have affected his thoughts in the direction indicated by his remarks to his fiancee. Very good. We will now suppose that as he went to the theatre with the young lady he suddenly, in the fog, caught a glimpse of this same agent going in the direction of the office. He was an impetuous man, quick in his decisions. Everything gave way to his duty. He followed the man, reached the window, saw the abstraction of the documents, and pursued the thief. In this way we get over the objection that no one would take originals when he could make copies. This outsider had to take originals. So far it holds together." "What is the next step?" "Then we come into difficulties. One would imagine that under such circumstances the first act of young Cadogan West would be to seize the villain and raise the alarm. Why did he not do so? Could it have been an official superior who took the papers? That would explain West's conduct. Or could the chief have given West the slip in the fog, and West started at once to London to head him off from his own rooms, presuming that he knew where the rooms were? The call must have been very pressing, since he left his girl standing in the fog and made no effort to communicate with her. Our scent runs cold here, and there is a vast gap between either hypothesis and the laying of West's body, with seven papers in his pocket, on the roof of a Metropolitan train. My instinct now is to work form the other end. If Mycroft has given us the list of addresses we may be able to pick our man and follow two tracks instead of one." Surely enough, a note awaited us at Baker Street. A government messenger had brought it post-haste. Holmes glanced at it and threw it over to me. There are numerous small fry, but few who would handle so big an affair. The only men worth considering are Adolph Mayer, of 13 Great George Street, Westminster; Louis La Rothiere, of Campden Mansions, Notting Hill; and Hugo Oberstein, 13 Caulfield Gardens, Kensington. The latter was known to be in town on Monday and is now reported as having left. Glad to hear you have seen some light. The Cabinet awaits your final report with the utmost anxiety. Urgent representations have arrived from the very highest quarter. The whole force of the State is at your back if you should need it. Mycroft. "I'm afraid," said Holmes, smiling, "that all the queen's horses and all the queen's men cannot avail in this matter." He had spread out his big map of London and leaned eagerly over it. "Well, well," said he presently with an exclamation of satisfaction, "things are turning a little in our direction at last. Why, Watson, I do honestly believe that we are going to pull it off, after all." He slapped me on the shoulder with a sudden burst of hilarity. "I am going out now. It is only a reconnaissance. I will do nothing serious without my trusted comrade and biographer at my elbow. Do you stay here, and the odds are that you will see me again in an hour or two. If time hangs heavy get foolscap and a pen, and begin your narrative of how we saved the State." I felt some reflection of his elation in my own mind, for I knew well that he would not depart so far from his usual austerity of demeanour unless there was good cause for exultation. All the long November evening I waited, filled with impatience for his return. At last, shortly after nine o'clock, there arrived a messenger with a note: Am dining at Goldini's Restaurant, Gloucester Road, Kensington. Please come at once and join me there. Bring with you a jemmy, a dark lantern, a chisel, and a revolver. S.H. It was a nice equipment for a respectable citizen to carry through the dim, fog-draped streets. I stowed them all discreetly away in my overcoat and drove straight to the address given. There sat my friend at a little round table near the door of the garish Italian restaurant. "Have you had something to eat? Then join me in a coffee and curacao. Try one of the proprietor's cigars. They are less poisonous than one would expect. Have you the tools?" "They are here, in my overcoat." "Excellent. Let me give you a short sketch of what I have done, with some indication of what we are about to do. Now it must be evident to you, Watson, that this young man's body was PLACED on the roof of the train. That was clear from the instant that I determined the fact that it was from the roof, and not from a carriage, that he had fallen." "Could it not have been dropped from a bridge?" "I should say it was impossible. If you examine the roofs you will find that they are slightly rounded, and there is no railing round them. Therefore, we can say for certain that young Cadogan West was placed on it." "How could he be placed there?" "That was the question which we had to answer. There is only one possible way. You are aware that the Underground runs clear of tunnels at some points in the West End. I had a vague memory that as I have travelled by it I have occasionally seen windows just above my head. Now, suppose that a train halted under such a window, would there be any difficulty in laying a body upon the roof?" "It seems most improbable." "We must fall back upon the old axiom that when all other contingencies fail, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Here all other contingencies HAVE failed. When I found that the leading international agent, who had just left London, lived in a row of houses which abutted upon the Underground, I was so pleased that you were a little astonished at my sudden frivolity." "Oh, that was it, was it?" "Yes, that was it. Mr. Hugo Oberstein, of 13 Caulfield Gardens, had become my objective. I began my operations at Gloucester Road Station, where a very helpful official walked with me along the track and allowed me to satisfy myself not only that the back-stair windows of Caulfield Gardens open on the line but the even more essential fact that, owing to the intersection of one of the larger railways, the Underground trains are frequently held motionless for some minutes at that very spot." "Splendid, Holmes! You have got it!" "So far--so far, Watson. We advance, but the goal is afar. Well, having seen the back of Caulfield Gardens, I visited the front and satisfied myself that the bird was indeed flown. It is a considerable house, unfurnished, so far as I could judge, in the upper rooms. Oberstein lived there with a single valet, who was probably a confederate entirely in his confidence. We must bear in mind that Oberstein has gone to the Continent to dispose of his booty, but not with any idea of flight; for he had no reason to fear a warrant, and the idea of an amateur domiciliary visit would certainly never occur to him. Yet that is precisely what we are about to make." "Could we not get a warrant and legalize it?" "Hardly on the evidence." "What can we hope to do?" "We cannot tell what correspondence may be there." "I don't like it, Holmes." "My dear fellow, you shall keep watch in the street. I'll do the criminal part. It's not a time to stick at trifles. Think of Mycroft's note, of the Admiralty, the Cabinet, the exalted person who waits for news. We are bound to go." My answer was to rise from the table. "You are right, Holmes. We are bound to go." He sprang up and shook me by the hand. "I knew you would not shrink at the last," said he, and for a moment I saw something in his eyes which was nearer to tenderness than I had ever seen. The next instant he was his masterful, practical self once more. "It is nearly half a mile, but there is no hurry. Let us walk," said he. "Don't drop the instruments, I beg. Your arrest as a suspicious character would be a most unfortunate complication." Caulfield Gardens was one of those lines of flat-faced pillared, and porticoed houses which are so prominent a product of the middle Victorian epoch in the West End of London. Next door there appeared to be a children's party, for the merry buzz of young voices and the clatter of a piano resounded through the night. The fog still hung about and screened us with its friendly shade. Holmes had lit his lantern and flashed it upon the massive door. "This is a serious proposition," said he. "It is certainly bolted as well as locked. We would do better in the area. There is an excellent archway down yonder in case a too zealous policeman should intrude. Give me a hand, Watson, and I'll do the same for you." A minute later we were both in the area. Hardly had we reached the dark shadows before the step of the policeman was heard in the fog above. As its soft rhythm died away, Holmes set to work upon the lower door. I saw him stoop and strain until with a sharp crash it flew open. We sprang through into the dark passage, closing the area door behind us. Holmes let the way up the curving, uncarpeted stair. His little fan of yellow light shone upon a low window. "Here we are, Watson--this must be the one." He threw it open, and as he did so there was a low, harsh murmur, growing steadily into a loud roar as a train dashed past us in the darkness. Holmes swept his light along the window-sill. It was thickly coated with soot from the passing engines, but the black surface was blurred and rubbed in places. "You can see where they rested the body. Halloa, Watson! what is this? There can be no doubt that it is a blood mark." He was pointing to faint discolourations along the woodwork of the window. "Here it is on the stone of the stair also. The demonstration is complete. Let us stay here until a train stops." We had not long to wait. The very next train roared from the tunnel as before, but slowed in the open, and then, with a creaking of brakes, pulled up immediately beneath us. It was not four feet from the window-ledge to the roof of the carriages. Holmes softly closed the window. "So far we are justified," said he. "What do you think of it, Watson?" "A masterpiece. You have never risen to a greater height." "I cannot agree with you there. From the moment that I conceived the idea of the body being upon the roof, which surely was not a very abstruse one, all the rest was inevitable. If it were not for the grave interests involved the affair up to this point would be insignificant. Our difficulties are still before us. But perhaps we may find something here which may help us." We had ascended the kitchen stair and entered the suite of rooms upon the first floor. One was a dining-room, severely furnished and containing nothing of interest. A second was a bedroom, which also drew blank. The remaining room appeared more promising, and my companion settled down to a systematic examination. It was littered with books and papers, and was evidently used as a study. Swiftly and methodically Holmes turned over the contents of drawer after drawer and cupboard after cupboard, but no gleam of success came to brighten his austere face. At the end of an hour he was no further than when he started. "The cunning dog has covered his tracks," said he. "He has left nothing to incriminate him. His dangerous correspondence has been destroyed or removed. This is our last chance." It was a small tin cash-box which stood upon the writing-desk. Holmes pried it open with his chisel. Several rolls of paper were within, covered with figures and calculations, without any note to show to what they referred. The recurring words, "water pressure" and "pressure to the square inch" suggested some possible relation to a submarine. Holmes tossed them all impatiently aside. There only remained an envelope with some small newspaper slips inside it. He shook them out on the table, and at once I saw by his eager face that his hopes had been raised. "What's this, Watson? Eh? What's this? Record of a series of messages in the advertisements of a paper. Daily Telegraph agony column by the print and paper. Right-hand top corner of a page. No dates--but messages arrange themselves. This must be the first: "Hoped to hear sooner. Terms agreed to. Write fully to address given on card. "Pierrot. "Next comes: "Too complex for description. Must have full report, Stuff awaits you when goods delivered. "Pierrot. "Then comes: "Matter presses. Must withdraw offer unless contract completed. Make appointment by letter. Will confirm by advertisement. "Pierrot. "Finally: "Monday night after nine. Two taps. Only ourselves. Do not be so suspicious. Payment in hard cash when goods delivered. "Pierrot. "A fairly complete record, Watson! If we could only get at the man at the other end!" He sat lost in thought, tapping his fingers on the table. Finally he sprang to his feet. "Well, perhaps it won't be so difficult, after all. There is nothing more to be done here, Watson. I think we might drive round to the offices of the Daily Telegraph, and so bring a good day's work to a conclusion." Mycroft Holmes and Lestrade had come round by appointment after breakfast next day and Sherlock Holmes had recounted to them our proceedings of the day before. The professional shook his head over our confessed burglary. "We can't do these things in the force, Mr. Holmes," said he. "No wonder you get results that are beyond us. But some of these days you'll go too far, and you'll find yourself and your friend in trouble." "For England, home and beauty--eh, Watson? Martyrs on the altar of our country. But what do you think of it, Mycroft?" "Excellent, Sherlock! Admirable! But what use will you make of it?" Holmes picked up the Daily Telegraph which lay upon the table. "Have you seen Pierrot's advertisement to-day?" "What? Another one?" "Yes, here it is: "To-night. Same hour. Same place. Two taps. Most vitally important. Your own safety at stake. "Pierrot. "By George!" cried Lestrade. "If he answers that we've got him!" "That was my idea when I put it in. I think if you could both make it convenient to come with us about eight o'clock to Caulfield Gardens we might possibly get a little nearer to a solution." One of the most remarkable characteristics of Sherlock Holmes was his power of throwing his brain out of action and switching all his thoughts on to lighter things whenever he had convinced himself that he could no longer work to advantage. I remember that during the whole of that memorable day he lost himself in a monograph which he had undertaken upon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus. For my own part I had none of this power of detachment, and the day, in consequence, appeared to be interminable. The great national importance of the issue, the suspense in high quarters, the direct nature of the experiment which we were trying--all combined to work upon my nerve. It was a relief to me when at last, after a light dinner, we set out upon our expedition. Lestrade and Mycroft met us by appointment at the outside of Gloucester Road Station. The area door of Oberstein's house had been left open the night before, and it was necessary for me, as Mycroft Holmes absolutely and indignantly declined to climb the railings, to pass in and open the hall door. By nine o'clock we were all seated in the study, waiting patently for our man. An hour passed and yet another. When eleven struck, the measured beat of the great church clock seemed to sound the dirge of our hopes. Lestrade and Mycroft were fidgeting in their seats and looking twice a minute at their watches. Holmes sat silent and composed, his eyelids half shut, but every sense on the alert. He raised his head with a sudden jerk. "He is coming," said he. There had been a furtive step past the door. Now it returned. We heard a shuffling sound outside, and then two sharp taps with the knocker. Holmes rose, motioning us to remain seated. The gas in the hall was a mere point of light. He opened the outer door, and then as a dark figure slipped past him he closed and fastened it. "This way!" we heard him say, and a moment later our man stood before us. Holmes had followed him closely, and as the man turned with a cry of surprise and alarm he caught him by the collar and threw him back into the room. Before our prisoner had recovered his balance the door was shut and Holmes standing with his back against it. The man glared round him, staggered, and fell senseless upon the floor. With the shock, his broad-brimmed hat flew from his head, his cravat slipped sown from his lips, and there were the long light beard and the soft, handsome delicate features of Colonel Valentine Walter. Holmes gave a whistle of surprise. "You can write me down an ass this time, Watson," said he. "This was not the bird that I was looking for." "Who is he?" asked Mycroft eagerly. "The younger brother of the late Sir James Walter, the head of the Submarine Department. Yes, yes; I see the fall of the cards. He is coming to. I think that you had best leave his examination to me." We had carried the prostrate body to the sofa. Now our prisoner sat up, looked round him with a horror-stricken face, and passed his hand over his forehead, like one who cannot believe his own senses. "What is this?" he asked. "I came here to visit Mr. Oberstein." "Everything is known, Colonel Walter," said Holmes. "How an English gentleman could behave in such a manner is beyond my comprehension. But your whole correspondence and relations with Oberstein are within our knowledge. So also are the circumstances connected with the death of young Cadogan West. Let me advise you to gain at least the small credit for repentance and confession, since there are still some details which we can only learn from your lips." The man groaned and sank his face in his hands. We waited, but he was silent. "I can assure you," said Holmes, "that every essential is already known. We know that you were pressed for money; that you took an impress of the keys which your brother held; and that you entered into a correspondence with Oberstein, who answered your letters through the advertisement columns of the Daily Telegraph. We are aware that you went down to the office in the fog on Monday night, but that you were seen and followed by young Cadogan West, who had probably some previous reason to suspect you. He saw your theft, but could not give the alarm, as it was just possible that you were taking the papers to your brother in London. Leaving all his private concerns, like the good citizen that he was, he followed you closely in the fog and kept at your heels until you reached this very house. There he intervened, and then it was, Colonel Walter, that to treason you added the more terrible crime of murder." "I did not! I did not! Before God I swear that I did not!" cried our wretched prisoner. "Tell us, then, how Cadogan West met his end before you laid him upon the roof of a railway carriage." "I will. I swear to you that I will. I did the rest. I confess it. It was just as you say. A Stock Exchange debt had to be paid. I needed the money badly. Oberstein offered me five thousand. It was to save myself from ruin. But as to murder, I am as innocent as you." "What happened, then?" "He had his suspicions before, and he followed me as you describe. I never knew it until I was at the very door. It was thick fog, and one could not see three yards. I had given two taps and Oberstein had come to the door. The young man rushed up and demanded to know what we were about to do with the papers. Oberstein had a short life-preserver. He always carried it with him. As West forced his way after us into the house Oberstein struck him on the head. The blow was a fatal one. He was dead within five minutes. There he lay in the hall, and we were at our wit's end what to do. Then Oberstein had this idea about the trains which halted under his back window. But first he examined the papers which I had brought. He said that three of them were essential, and that he must keep them. 'You cannot keep them,' said I. 'There will be a dreadful row at Woolwich if they are not returned.' 'I must keep them,' said he, 'for they are so technical that it is impossible in the time to make copies.' 'Then they must all go back together to-night,' said I. He thought for a little, and then he cried out that he had it. 'Three I will keep,' said he. 'The others we will stuff into the pocket of this young man. When he is found the whole business will assuredly be put to his account.' I could see no other way out of it, so we did as he suggested. We waited half an hour at the window before a train stopped. It was so thick that nothing could be seen, and we had no difficulty in lowering West's body on to the train. That was the end of the matter so far as I was concerned." "And your brother?" "He said nothing, but he had caught me once with his keys, and I think that he suspected. I read in his eyes that he suspected. As you know, he never held up his head again." There was silence in the room. It was broken by Mycroft Holmes. "Can you not make reparation? It would ease your conscience, and possibly your punishment." "What reparation can I make?" "Where is Oberstein with the papers?" "I do not know." "Did he give you no address?" "He said that letters to the Hotel du Louvre, Paris, would eventually reach him." "Then reparation is still within your power," said Sherlock Holmes. "I will do anything I can. I owe this fellow no particular good-will. He has been my ruin and my downfall." "Here are paper and pen. Sit at this desk and write to my dictation. Direct the envelope to the address given. That is right. Now the letter: "Dear Sir: "With regard to our transaction, you will no doubt have observed by now that one essential detail is missing. I have a tracing which will make it complete. This has involved me in extra trouble, however, and I must ask you for a further advance of five hundred pounds. I will not trust it to the post, nor will I take anything but gold or notes. I would come to you abroad, but it would excite remark if I left the country at present. Therefore I shall expect to meet you in the smoking-room of the Charing Cross Hotel at noon on Saturday. Remember that only English notes, or gold, will be taken. "That will do very well. I shall be very much surprised if it does not fetch our man." And it did! It is a matter of history--that secret history of a nation which is often so much more intimate and interesting than its public chronicles--that Oberstein, eager to complete the coup of his lifetime, came to the lure and was safely engulfed for fifteen years in a British prison. In his trunk were found the invaluable Bruce-Partington plans, which he had put up for auction in all the naval centres of Europe. Colonel Walter died in prison towards the end of the second year of his sentence. As to Holmes, he returned refreshed to his monograph upon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus, which has since been printed for private circulation, and is said by experts to be the last word upon the subject. Some weeks afterwards I learned incidentally that my friend spent a day at Windsor, whence he returned with a remarkably fine emerald tie-pin. When I asked him if he had bought it, he answered that it was a present from a certain gracious lady in whose interests he had once been fortunate enough to carry out a small commission. He said no more; but I fancy that I could guess at that lady's august name, and I have little doubt that the emerald pin will forever recall to my friend's memory the adventure of the Bruce-Partington plans. Publication Date: February 11th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.doyle

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Michael Pennington Zhena (Sample Chapters) Prologue: The old bureaucrat walked through the dimly lit halls. He didn’t know what was in the majority of the folders he carried, nor did he care. He only knew it was his job to put them back in their storage space. The modern world had long since gone to electronic records. However, no one had the time or resources to digitize these moldy old files. Nearly all of them still had letterhead from agencies that no longer existed, KGB, GRU, whatever. Most of the people he worked for neither knew, nor even cared that he or the files existed. The one thing he did know was, bosses were all the same. No matter what political masters they answered to, his life hadn’t really changed. Whether they called themselves communists or democrats, they were still the same corrupt fools who took the money. At least in the old days, his pension may have been worth something. Now, with prices going crazy, he feared he would probably have to work until he fell over. When he did, it was possible no one would notice for days. For all he knew, they would find him in some storage room half-rotted. Hardly anyone wanted to see the information stored in these ancient archives anymore. He’d heard a rumor about wanting to fill the whole complex with concrete, similar to what had been done in Romania. But like most things, it had probably fallen off some higher person’s to do list. On the other hand, maybe someone actually decided the information could be useful someday. Although he believed that was about as likely as being given a dacha in the country when he retired. No, it was more likely the records, like he, had been forgotten. At least he still got his paycheck. He had been there so long; no one else understood the ancient filing system. Occasionally some fool would request an old manuscript and they would need him to search through rooms of cabinets looking for the one that was needed. When they were returned, he would generally wait until a pile of them built up and then just make one trip. The documents requested were always from the unclassified section. No one was crazy enough to request information from the classified side. If anyone did request a classified document, he was required to notify security personnel immediately. “Ah, this is where most of these go,” he said, stopping in front of a non-descript door, one of many on this level. He started jingling through a large ring of keys looking for the right one. Then he noticed the light in the stairwell. Someone was down in the lower levels, the classified section. He himself hadn’t been down there for years. He had no reason to go. Most of those files were from defunct programs or agencies that no longer existed. He didn’t even think anyone else was in the complex. Who comes three floors underground if they don’t have to? Maybe he should go notify his supervisor? No, the fool would probably not even know who the old bureaucrat was. He would have to take hours just explaining to him who he was and why he worked for him. The name of his boss had changed four times in the last eight months. Once when he tried to contact his boss to discuss a holiday, it took him six hours just to find the right person. He considered just walking away and ignoring the light. No, then if something came up missing, he would be investigated and that was the last thing he needed. Hopefully it was just some idiot who didn’t know the system and had come in and gotten lost looking for a file. The door to the stairwell was locked. However the light being on made him certain someone was down there. He looked through his keys and found the right one. He passed through the door and started trudging down the metal stairs. The sounds his feet made as they landed on the steps seemed ominously cold. Maybe the concrete would have been a good idea. When he reached the bottom of the stairs he entered another corridor that looked identical to the one he had left previously. He knew it was different though. These rooms contained files dating back over fifty years. These were files no one wanted released, but were afraid to destroy. As he began walking down the hall, he peered under each door trying to see if a light was on. If he was lucky, the person had already left and he’d be able to get back to his lunch and forget coming down here. None of the doors had identifying markings other than nondescript numbers. Each carried the standard disclaimer about severe penalties and prosecution for disclosure of state secrets. As he turned a corner at the end of the hall, he saw light coming from under a door. From the moment he saw it he wished he hadn’t. He had no idea what was in that particular room. He had only been in there once, and it was several years ago. In the past, someone from one of the more classified agencies would come them self and retrieve or file the information stored in there. Today, all the agencies associated with that room had been replaced or renamed and now retained their own records. No one had come asking about the files in that room for what, eight years, ten? The bureaucrat had only been shown the inside of the room once in case he had to enter in an emergency. He kept a key to the room, but he had certainly never used it. As he stared at the key he had never used, contemplating what to do, someone exited the room. He was at least thirty years younger than the bureaucrat. He wore a nice suit and was very well groomed. He had a non-descriptive folder in his hand, which had no markings on it. The old man thought he was most likely one of the new capitalists who had recently gotten rich. The young man was obviously surprised to see him. As he turned around after shutting and locking the door quietly, he almost ran into the old bureaucrat. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.” “What were you doing in there?” “Oh, just gathering some old files for my boss.” “What files?” “I’m really not sure, he just gave me this key and told me to come to this room and retrieve some things.” “I’ll need to verify this. Do you even have clearance to go in there?” “Of course I do, my superior, a high level official I’m sure you’ve never heard of, wouldn’t have given me the key if I didn’t have the proper clearance.” “Listen, I need authorization for anything removed from this facility, particularly from this floor, particularly from that room.” He said emphasizing the last portion. “I see. Well, I’m obviously taking valuable time away from your lunch. If we go through all the trouble of verifying this, neither of us will get anything else accomplished today. My boss only needs to see these files for a few hours. He’s a very impatient man who hates to be kept waiting. I promise to have them back before the end of the day. Perhaps you could go out for lunch and let me pay for it, as an apology for your trouble.” As the young man said this, he held out his hand as if he wanted the old bureaucrat to shake it. He could see the money inside the young man’s hand. It was more than enough to buy his lunch. It looked to be enough to buy a month of lunches. In the old days, he would have walked away and turned the young man in immediately. This could be a test, or a trap. At one time, he knew these halls were continuously monitored. Today, most of the cameras were broken and no one bothered to fix them. The guard upstairs was a friend of his and was probably asleep anyways. “All right, but I need them back here before the end of the day, like you promised.” He shook the young man’s hand and quickly pocketed the money. “Certainly, my friend. After all, we are both just hard working employees answering to our idiotic masters aren’t we?” “I do understand that” said the old man sourly. “Fine, fine. I won’t wait for you. The sooner I get out of here, the sooner I’ll get these back.” He quickly turned around and hurried up the stairs. The old man watched him go with deep suspicion. “If he’s a low level employee, I’m Vladimir Putin,” Even if he never brought the files back, no one had been in that room for years. He doubted anyone even had an accurate inventory anymore. As the young man exited the complex, the guards questioned him. His ID immediately ceased them from asking any further questions and let him leave. Visitors were normally searched. He was an exception. His car was waiting for him outside. After getting in the back, he dialed his cell phone as the car pulled away. “Yes?” said a deep but powerful voice. “It exists.” “And do you have the information we need?” “Yes, and it’s more than we imagined.” “Excellent, were there any problems?” “Possibly, I ran into some old man while leaving the storage room. I was able to bribe him, but he could be a liability.” “I know this man,” pondered the deep voice. “Perhaps it’s time for his retirement.” “I understand. I can have it taken care of, and no one will suspect anything.” “Good. Make sure it is painless, he has always been a loyal servant, despite taking bribes from corrupt officials.” “I don’t find that the least bit amusing,” snapped the young man. “Sergei, if you can’t laugh at yourself, you have no place in this organization.” CH 1 Susan knew someone was sneaking up behind her. She also had a pretty good idea who it was. That was a gift she had always seemed to have, among others. Whenever someone entered the room, she could almost “sense” it. She wasn’t psychic. Instead, it seemed that no matter how quiet someone was, they were never able to sneak up on her. She could hear the person slowly moving toward her. She continued intently working on her task, waiting until the last possible moment. Then, when she knew they were right behind her, she struck. She wheeled around and wrapped her arms around the attacker. “Mommy!!” screamed the little girl. “I almost had you that time.” “Yes you did” she lied. “Now what are you up to you silly goose?” “I wanted a snack.” “Michelle, you know dinner will be ready soon. Can’t you see mommy’s making it?” she said pointing to the vegetables she had been cutting on the counter. “I know mommy, but Janet went home and now I’m bored.” “Where’s your brother?” “That’s a silly question, he’s on his computer.” “Okay,” she sighed. “Go tell him I said he needs some time away from that machine and that he should play outside with you until dinner’s ready.” “But Mommy, Tommy’s boring to play with.” “Just do it young lady. He needs time in the sun and I need you out of my kitchen.” “Okay Mommy. Tommy!” she screamed as she ran out of the kitchen. Well that ought to keep them busy for at least a few minutes. As she went back to her chopping, she could practically count down to the inevitable argument. “Mom!” yelled her twelve-year-old son. “Do I have to take the brat outside?” “I am not a brat!” “Don’t call your sister a brat. Now both of you go outside and play quietly until dinner or there’ll be no computer or TV for either of you!” The inevitable groans ensued, but she knew the argument was over. On only a few occasions had her children tested her to see if she was serious. They had quickly learned that she always was. “Mommy, when’s daddy coming home?” asked her youngest as she and her brother walked past her towards the backyard. “Sweetie, you know the answer, just look at the calendar.” “I like to count the days left with you Mommy” she giggled. “Oh brother,” moaned Tommy as he trudged out the back door. “Oh well,” Susan thought, “He is almost a teenager.” Tommy was just starting to hit puberty. He had grown several inches while Bill had been gone. Bill probably wouldn’t recognize him. Tommy had brown hair and blue eyes like his mother but he would definitely have his father’s thin build along with his extremely good memory and ability to reason. “All right sweetie, let’s look at the calendar. What is today?” “There!” she said pointing at the date. “Yes, which makes today what?” “Tuesday, the 26th of September?” “Very good, and what day is Daddy coming home?” “Monday the 8th of October.” Her six-year-old daughter had memorized the day as soon as her father had left. “That’s right honey. Now, how many days are in between?” “Fourteen?” “Try counting on the calendar.” “Oh, twelve,” she said after counting out the days. “That’s right. Now go and play with your brother.” “Only twelve days to Daddy!” she screamed as she ran out the door. Unlike Tommy, Michelle took after her mother. She had brown hair and brown eyes and similar facial features to Susan. There was no doubt she was her daughter in spirit and appearance. She also had Susan’s personality and agility. She was very outgoing and had a lot of friends. She had also recently shown an interest in gymnastics and her coach said she had a lot of potential. Although she was still a child, Susan already knew what a handful she would be when she became a teenager. Yes, just twelve days until Bill gets home. This was part of the life of being married to a submariner. Six-month deployments were something you had to deal with. Although she was used to them, she certainly didn’t like them. At least this would be his last one for a while as he was nearly done with his XO or second in command tour on the USS Hartford. After returning, Bill would be on the phone with his detailer. They had recently learned he had been selected for promotion to Commander as well as command of his own submarine. Although that would be a few years off, it did set his career path for quite a while. He first had to negotiate a shore duty for the next two years. It would probably be something around Washington DC. Neither of them wanted to go there, but it was a necessary evil. The traffic and the housing prices just did not appeal to her. She’d definitely miss living in Groton, Connecticut. During the whole time they had been married, she had never considered any other life. While she hated for her husband to be away, this just seemed so natural. Even when they met, she just knew he was the man for her. They had both attended Purdue University as engineering students and met at a party. Bill however was also enrolled in the ROTC program, which stood for Reserve Officers Training Corps, and as a result, he would become a naval officer after graduation. After they were married she followed him around the world and never really got to use her degree. She had grown up in an orphanage so she had no family tying her to any one location. It didn’t bother her though; she knew this was what she was meant to do. It was funny how that always seemed like a mantra. As she continued preparing dinner, she looked out the window and waved to her friend Lois Arlington. Lois was also a navy wife. Susan lived in government housing, so everyone was somehow connected to the military. Lois’ husband, Al, was on a different submarine and unlike Bill had spent most of his time in the shipyard. Susan had always encouraged her husband to stay operational to help his career. It just seemed like the natural thing to do. Submarines were supposed to be at sea right? “Hey Susan, I hope Janet wasn’t too much trouble,” said Lois and she walked by. “Of course not. She kept Michelle busy and let me get some housework done. I even got in a workout.” Susan always worked hard to stay in shape. For a thirty-eight year old who had two kids, she felt she looked pretty good. She was five-feet nine with dark brown hair that she normally kept stylish but short. She could run five miles while barely breaking a sweat and also lifted weights a few days a week. She had blue eyes and was often told she had a pretty face. She wasn’t gorgeous, just pretty. Bill always told her she was the most beautiful woman in the world, which was fine with her, but she never liked to stand out. She preferred to look nice but blend in with the crowd. She always felt comfortable dressing as the stereotypical soccer mom but she knew with a little work and makeup she could turn herself into one of the hottest women in the room, though she rarely did. “I wish I had your figure,” said Lois. Lois was a few years older than Susan. Her husband had started as an enlisted man before becoming an officer so they had more time in the Navy even though Bill was a higher rank. Lois was by no means overweight but she was never able to stay in as good a shape as Susan. She was five-eight with red hair and brown eyes and wore glasses. Sometimes she tried to give herself a makeover but always seemed to end up looking like what she was, an ordinary woman trying to look like a supermodel. On more than one occasion she commented on how Susan seemed to look right for any occasion but she herself always seemed to look the same. She wasn’t really jealous. They had been friends too long for that. Instead she was just a little envious of Susan’s inherent ability to know what to wear and how to act in any situation. However, since they spent most of their time shuttling kids around and seeing other Navy wives their situation rarely changed. “Say, do you want to go and get a coffee later?” “Sure. Do you think Alison can baby sit?” “Sure she will. She won’t like it, but she’ll do it.” Alison was Lois’ older daughter of sixteen. It was Tuesday night so she most likely wouldn’t have something keeping her busy. “Should I pick you up around seven-thirty?” “Sounds good, see you then.” Iosef knew the time was right. He had spent several days conducting reconnaissance and reviewing procedures. There was a bottle of vodka and a blank folder on his desk. He knew which one he wanted to reach for, but he also knew which one he should reach for. He thought for a few moments about his father and his grandfather and how proud they would be once he succeeded. This allowed him to force down the urge and reach for the folder. It had taken several days to track down the first three subjects. He had spent several days in Washington at the embassy conducting research. Officially he was there as a data miner on American demographics. This allowed him to use their database of names and addresses to look for the people he needed to find. It had taken three weeks but he found the location of all the original members. Luckily, two of the first three lived near each other. He then decided to shift his base of operations to Connecticut. He had decided to contact Sasha first. Her file said she was designated to be the lead primary. If something went wrong one of the other two could take over, but the preference was for her to take charge. After spending several days observing her and monitoring her communications he was convinced enemy agents weren’t monitoring her. It appeared the cover had held all these years. He opened the folder and reviewed the procedure again. He had read it at least a dozen times in the last few days. He wished he had someone else to back him and double check the procedure. That is what he had always been taught, never trust yourself, and rely on your comrades to ensure success. Only through teamwork and a relinquishment of individuality could true success be achieved. However he was alone. The importance and covertness of the mission required this. When he was convinced he could recite the procedure forward and backward he knew he was ready. He didn’t want to admit it even to himself but he was nervous. He told himself the shaking in his hands as he reached for the phone was excitement not fear. He glanced at the vodka bottle again, but quickly dismissed the idea. After he dialed the number he attached the handset to a device and picked up a stopwatch. It was finally beginning. Susan returned to preparing dinner. Just before she was ready to call the children, the phone rang. The caller id showed it as an unknown number. It was probably a telemarketer. They didn’t get very many because they were on the national do not call list. Normally she would simply ignore such a call and let the machine answer it. However, she was getting tired of them so she intended to let these people know their calls were not welcome and make sure they didn’t bother her anymore. “Hello.” The person didn’t answer right away. It was definitely a telemarketer. The computers normally dialed several different homes at once and connected to whoever answered first. That caused a few seconds delay in them answering. She waited to hear some unknown voice say they were looking for Mr. or Mrs. Anderson along with the low hum of numerous other people talking in the background. Instead, she began hearing a strange series of clicks and whistles. It was similar to a fax machine, but somehow different. At first she was sure someone’s machine had simply dialed the wrong number. But then, she began to feel strange. It was as if a veil was being pulled away from her eyes. The room began to spin and it was all she could do to stand. She wanted to pull the phone away from her ear, but somehow her arm felt locked. She used her other hand to brace herself on the counter. And then suddenly, the line went dead. It was as if she had been released from a vice. She fell to the floor and the phone fell away. She had an image of a man standing in front of her. She was strapped to a chair. He was wearing a white coat and speaking in a language she didn’t understand. Yet somehow she knew what he was saying. “Are you prepared for this?” “I am prepared to do anything for my country.” The voice was hers, but it was again speaking in a language she didn’t understand. “You are the best, you are the primary. Without you, none of this will succeed.” The man reached towards her and began to place some sort of mask over her face. Iosef looked at the stopwatch. He was unsure what to do. The call had ended six seconds too early and he didn’t know why. He checked the equipment and verified it. It appeared to be working properly. Somehow the call had been cut off on the other end. He wasn’t sure how the subject would respond in this case. He checked his notes. The procedure didn’t say anything about what to do if a call ended early. He checked some of the original research. It took some time but he found the notes used when the procedure was created. It was determined twenty-three seconds was the optimal time period for recovery. Different period of time could result in “unusual outcomes.” He threw the page with disgust. It would have been nice if they had mentioned that in the original procedure. Moreover, he couldn’t find anything about what to do in the event of these “unusual outcomes”. The original notes were still very disorganized. He had spent some time trying to put them together in a usable format but his resources were limited. If he had someone to help he could’ve used them to organize all this. His only choice now was to approach the subject and determine what was meant by “unusual outcomes.” He reached for the vodka bottle and wished he had started there anyways. “Mommy!” A voice was yelling for her. It was a voice Susan knew but suddenly somehow didn’t seem right. Reality began to collapse back into place. She was being pulled back into her kitchen from a faraway place. And yet, part of her didn’t want to go back. Part wanted to stay in the room with the man in the white coat as if that was where she really belonged. “Mommy, I hurt myself,” yelled the voice. Now the pull back to her kitchen was even stronger. Someone needed her, someone she cared for. The kitchen came back into focus. “Hey Mom, the brat fell down and… whoa are you okay?” Susan was still lying on the floor with the phone next to her. As her vision cleared, she saw Tommy coming in the back door. “Mom what happened?” He ran up and knelt next to her. “I’m not sure, I got this weird phone call, and then I felt dizzy, and don’t call your sister a brat.” “Do you need me to call the ambulance?” “No sweetie, I’ll be fine. What happened to your sister?” “She just tripped and skinned her knee on a rock. Are you sure you’re okay?” “Yes I’m fine.” She started to get up. Her strength was quickly returning but something was different. She felt more acute, more aware of her surroundings. It was like someone had flipped a switch and turned on parts of her senses she wasn’t previously aware of. She walked out the back door and saw her daughter lying on the ground. Michelle was crying and her knee was bloody. Susan immediately focused on the blood. As she ran to her daughter her brain was working at breakneck speed. Assess the damage, determine the liability, and determine if she can continue the mission. Wait, what mission? She shook her head to clear it. “Honey, are you okay? What happened?” “Tommy pushed me down on a rock.” “Did not! We were just playing tag and you tripped.” “After you pushed me!” “I was tagging you!” "All right enough, let’s look at this.” The cut was long, but not deep. There was some dirt around it, but nothing serious. Some soap and water, a bandage, and a kiss should fix both the physical and psychological damage. “All right, let’s head inside and get this cleaned up.” “Cool!” said Tommy as he ran back toward the house. She knew where he was going. He spent way too much time on that damn computer. She was worried about his social skills. “Where do you think you’re going? With your sister hurt I need your help with dinner.” “Ahh Mom,” he sighed. “Get inside and finish making the salads. I’ve got pasta on the stove and it’ll be done soon.” As she walked back toward her house she heard Lois yelling out her window. “Hey Susan, did your phone stop working?” “Actually yes, it went dead in the middle of a call.” She didn’t mention what a strange call it was, or the strange results. Stay focused on the task, minimize the damage, don’t divulge unnecessary information. She had no idea where these strange thoughts coming from. “Maybe it was that construction up the street?” said Lois. “You could be right. Now we don’t even have phones to complain with.” “Oh I’ve got my cell phone and I’m using it. Say, are you okay? You look a little frazzled.” “I’m fine. Michelle just skinned her knee pretty bad.” Stay on target. The mission comes first. She had to get these thoughts out of head and tried shaking it again. “Okay, are we still on for seven-thirty?” “See you then.” She soon had her daughter in the bathroom and was washing the cut. Superficial wound, minor damage, no direct impact on mission. This wasn’t making any sense. She needed to clear these thoughts from her head, so she decided the current mission was dinner. That seemed to quiet the voice. While she certainly didn’t understand what was going on, it somehow seemed natural, which did concern her. “I need to figure this out,” she thought aloud. “Figure what out Mommy?” “Nothing sweetie.” She put a bandage on the knee and gave her daughter a kiss. “Thanks Mommy” “Good, now can you go be a big girl and set the table?” “Okay.” As she went back to preparing dinner, she focused on what had just happened. It was probably just someone’s computer trying to contact Tommy. But they had DSL. Hardly anyone used dial up anymore. It may have just been a fax machine. She had heard of people responding strangely to different combinations of light and sounds but those people usually had epilepsy or some kind of neurological disorder. Maybe she needed to schedule an appointment at the base hospital? “Mom, the salads are ready, what kind of dressing should I put out?” “The usual dear.” “I’ll deal with this later,” she said to herself. “Right now I need to focus on the current mission, dinner.” Publication Date: July 7th 2009 https://www.bookrix.com/-submarine670

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-redhead16-mlm-mysterious/

Redhead16 MLM Mysterious To everyone with a secret. Mysterious   Prologue No one understood why she had changed her look. Kennedy Harding had changed her look from Popular to Goth. Only Trian Laurents knew why, but it was a secret between him and her. Trian was a drop dead gorgeous Heath Ledger look-alike. Kennedy had dyed her long blond curly hair to black with bubblegum pink stripes. She wore dark blue eyeshadow, something she never did outside of dates or Halloween. She wore black lipstick and red blush, another thing she never did outside of dances or Halloween. Her outfits were risque. Like her secrets.________________________________________________________________________ Chapter 1: Right Now Trian walked down the hall, black backpack slung over his shoulder. He was sure everyone was staring at him. After all, he'd been accused of raping Kennedy Harding, the most popular girl in school. Truth be told, that was a false report. Kennedy had been so afraid of losing her status, she told a false report to the police. Trian made his way to his favorite class, Literature and Language Arts. He felt like he could actually speak his mind in that class. The downside was, it was a class with Alison Hastings, the new Popular girl. Indeed, she was sitting in the center, surrounded by a gaggle of girls with Dooney & Bourke bags. Her boyfriend Sam was surrounded by his own cronies. Samuel Youher, Trian's longtime arch rival. The only other man Kennedy had ever cared about. Trian tried to ignore him as he sat in his seat in the back corner. He ran his hand through his long, wavy brown hair. Like said before, a drop-dead gorgeous Heath Ledger look-alike. Trian knew this, but he didn't use it to his advantage like some men would. He was sure that Mr. Gammer was staring at him. Mr. Gammer had recently come out and admitted he was attracted to several male students. Trian knew he was one of them. He just knew. It was true that Matthew Gammer was attracted to his students, Trian especially. Thirty three years old, and in love with a sixteen year old, Matthew thought gloomily. Whether Trian felt the same way or not was anybody's guess. Trian had a mysterious vibe to him; like he was full of secrets. Important secrets. Matthew watched Trian as he leaned back and stretched his arms. He looked tired. His abdomen muscles were noticeable when he stretched his back. His eyebrows were perfect; eyelashes long and dark. He was the epitome of "hot and mysterious". Trian glanced over at Matthew, who quickly looked away. Elena Uniper walked through the door at that moment, looking as slutty as ever. Her dress was way too short, way too low cut. It was the type of dress meant to be worn with a tank top or undershirt underneath. Her wedge heels were super high as usual. Cylan Everly followed close behind. Trian quickly looked away. Elena was typical, but Cylan was something else. She was a gorgeous Native American, hair long, shiny, and black. Her voice was like bells chiming through a hollow room. Her lips were naturally like Angelina Jolie's, her eyes a gorgeous emerald green. She wore blue denim shorts with the middle bleached. It was a nice contrast against her smooth, tanned skin. Her tank top was blue with ruffles. She looked exquisite today. Her makeup was simple, black mascara and eyeliner with red lip gloss. Elena sat on Trian's desk. He didn't even notice her until she cleared her throat and moved his chin upward. "That's creepy." Trian said out loud. "Are you sure?" Elena said, batting her false eyelashes. Trian could see blond in those lashes. "Yes, please go away." Trian said next. Elena frowned and moved onto Sam. Trian grabbed Cylan's arm just as she moved. "Why do you hang out with her?"Cylan shrugged and popped her gum. "I don't know, honestly. She flirts with all my crushes. She's tasteless, especially in music." "Flirts with your crushes? Like who?" Trian urged her to go on. "Like Andrew Wren." Trian's heart stopped."I know he was weird and he committed suicide, but there was something about him that intrigued me. Something...mysterious." she continued."What kind of music do you like?" Trian asked, desperate to change the subject. Cylan looked surprised, but quickly suppressed her shock. "Ellie Goulding, Breaking Benjamin, 12 Stones, Alesandra, Blessthefall, bands like that. Evanescence."She looked desperate to get away now. Whoops. Trian hadn't meant to upset her. He touched her hand. "Look, I'm sorry. Would you like to eat lunch with me today?" he asked. Cylan looked surprised again, but hopefully the good kind this time. "Sure." she said, adjusting her purse straps on her shoulder. She walked to her own desk. Trian felt his heart explode. He  bent forward a bit just as the bell rang and the last stragglers came in late. Bale, the biggest boy slut in school, gave Elena a "I want you to fuck me" look. She proceeded to ignore him. Bale just shrugged, like he didn't understand why any girl wouldn't want him, and took his place beside Trian. "Hey, Goth-boy. Seen the moon lately? It's beautiful." "Fuck off, bastard." Bale made a face at that jab and turned toward Mr. Gammer. Gammer just frowned at Bale and started his lecture on similarities between Romeo & Juliet and The Scarlet Letter. He went onto YouTube for the Romeo & Juliet prologue. Trian paid close attention. He wanted to do something romantic for Cylan, and this was perfect. The ONLY reason why he had agreed to have sex with Kennedy was because he wanted to make Cylan envious. It had turned out to be a terrible idea for five big reasons: 1. He didn't like Kennedy Harding that much as a person, let alone a lover. 2. Cylan didn't get jealous easily. 3. Cylan loved a man who had committed suicide. 4. Kennedy almost got him in legal trouble. 5. Trian loved  Cylan like Romeo loved Juliet. ________________________________________________________________________ Chapter 2: A Pair of Star-Crossed Lovers Cylan glanced at Trian. It was strange. She'd always loved Andrew, but lately Trian Laurents occupied her fantasies. SHe wasn't sure if Andrew ever felt the same way about her, but she knew that Trian liked her. She'd seen the signs. She secretly didn't care what Elena thought. Well, not secretly, just really. Cylan knew she needed to get a thicker skin. She had to dump Elena. Not because of what everyone else thought, but because of what Cylan thought. Cylan was a girl who did things for herself. She cared about others, what others thought, but not as much as other girls cared about what others thought. That was one of her most likable traits. Elena was already questioning her friendship with Cylan. Which was a good thing, considering she was talking to her number one crush. Whore. Elena tried to ignore her feelings for now and focus on Mr. Gammer. Gammer continued chattering on and on about nothing, and Elena fell asleep. Adair, Andrew's twin, sat by himself in his own little world. He was a curly-haired jock who never got in trouble no matter what he did. He wrote or doodled in his notebook, neither girl could tell. It didn't really matter. Elena, who was closer, saw that he was writing a mellow poem. About Andrew, no doubt. Mr. Gammer looked slightly intrigued, but he kept talking. He said nothing about it. Trian noticed it, too. He felt confused. He'd never known Adair to be a poet or writer. Adair never wrote anything until Andrew died. Adair felt eyes on him, but he didn't care. He had read his brother's diary a bit, and suspected that he had been dating someone when he died. He didn't know who or what to think of it. He knew that his brother was the type that was either loved or hated. Most people didn't know what to think of him. Andrew was popular, with plenty of girls and boys crushing on him. He was deep, with secrets even Adair didn't know. He glanced up briefly and noticed Elena, Cylan, Trian, and Mr. Gammer glancing or looking at him. Mr. Gammer's eyebrows raised before he looked away. Adair immediately felt uncomfortable.   He could feel everyone glancing at him. After all, people were still talking about Andrew's death. This was a big school, but word got around fast. Trian knew this well. Everyone was also talking about Kennedy Harding and Trian Laurents. Adair used to be Trian's friend until last year, when they suddenly grew apart, and neither one knew why. Perhaps it was because they belonged to different cliques. Trian caught Cylan when the bell rang. "I'm really sorry about earlier," he began. "Are we-" "Yes!" Cylan said sharply. Trian was caught off guard. He hadn't expected that. He was going to say "Are we still on for lunch?" and she had said yes without even knowing what he was going to say! Or did she? he watched her pick a book out of her locker with pink and green squiggly lines. Trian just turned to avoid catching her eye. He walked to his own locker and grabbed his Sociology book. He happened to have that class with Cylan, too. In fact, every single class he had, he had Cylan in it. He pondered whether that meant they were meant to be and if she noticed it too when he saw Elena. She had snuck into the janitor's closet. She looked to see if anyone was watching her. Not seeing Trian, she ducked into the closet and closed it, leaving it a crack open. I wonder what she's planning, Trian said, going into the closet and doing the same thing. Not seeing Adair see him go into the closet, he went in, leaving it a knuckle open. He followed the sound of high heels clicking on a plastic tile floor. Soon, he realized he'd never been in this part of the school before. He was in a hidden tunnel. Stomach churning, he made his way further into the tunnel. He wasn't sure what to do when he came across a pile of money on top of a card playing table. He turned at the sound of someone following him. He looked up, and saw Adair walking towards him. "What the hell are you doing here?" Trian asked Adair. "I was following you. What are you doing here?" "I was following Elena. I saw her duck in here. She looked suspicious." "What are you, a detective?" Trian didn't say anything. "Shit, you are a detective, aren't you?" Adair said. Trian nodded. "I help the police force and the FBI. I have an extra sense that allows me to sense body heat, and to see recently dead bodies. I do get paid for it. I can project my soul out of my body as well. That's called astral projection. I shouldn't be telling you all of this, but as of now I have no choice. I do-" he was cut off by a loud noise heard by both boys. Trian carefully walked towards the sound, trusting his instincts. He adjusted his eyesight. Using heat vision, he saw a female figure and a male figure that appeared to be arguing. Indeed, the closer he got, the more he heard them. "It's not my fault!" "Fuck that! It is too!" the female figure screamed. She made a quick hand movement towards the male.   Twisted Organs Trian hurried up to the figures. He hid behind a curtain, peering over at them. Adair followed close behind, placing his hand on Trian's side.   "I'm not to blame for Andrew's death. I swear, I loved him. I fell in love with him the moment I saw him. He was The One, he was going to be mine." the male figure said. The female figure raised her hand to slap him.   "Stop!" Trian said. "What's going on?" To his surprise, it was Elena...and Mr. Gammer.   "You're his secret lover?" Adair asked, inching forward. Mr. Gammer looked stunned.   "How did you know?" he asked.   "He was so secretive before he died. He talked about loving someone, but he wouldn't say who." Adair raised his eyebrow. "Or even if it was a guy; a guy teacher at that."   Matthew stepped back, feeling his stomach acid swirl around inside him. He felt like he was going to throw up.   "The only reason Elena is here is because she knows. I've been paying her to keep it a secret," he blurted. Adair raised both his eyebrows at Elena.   "Is this true?" he asked, offense in his voice. Elena smiled an evil smile.   "Yes, it's true. My parents think I found a part-time job at Macy's. They don't have a clue what's really going on!" What a...I'm not gonna say it. At least my parents know about my job and they trust me, Trian thought. Elena raised an eyebrow.   "I heard that, Trian." she said. Trian was shocked.   "You can read minds?" he asked. Elena nodded. "It has benefits." "So does finding dead bodies," Tri muttered under his breath. Now it was Elena's turn to be shocked. " You're the one who found that dead girl a few months ago?" Trian nodded. "I'm also the one that found Andrew dead," he said. "I'm sorry, Adair. I messed things up and made them seem like a bigger deal than they were." Adair's face turned red. "Are you freaking kidding me? My twin brother is dead and you're saying it's no big deal?" Adair got so close to Trian he could tell that Adair had recently eaten a chocolate donut. "It's a big deal to me. Andrew didn't deserve to die. He had plenty of reason to live. No, it wasn't suicide. It was homicide. Andrew has enemies, and one of them killed him. You and Elena are going to help me find his killer. You need to get the autopsy report. The police are not being forthcoming. My brother needs justice. You have no idea what it's like without him." Trian just stared at him. Finally he said, "You're right, I don't. I'm an only child. I was a baby when my sister died, and I never knew her. I don't even remember her. I don't know what it's like to lose someone you love, but I know what it's like to lose someone you could have known if they hadn't passed. You're absolutely right, something isn't right. I don't know what it is. I wish I did, I wish I could sense it, but I can't. I'm already in trouble because of Kennedy, and I could lose my job. If I'm found not guilty, I will help you. If I am, then I'll still do what I can. I'll talk to some friends and do some research. I promise you this." Adair stared at him. "I trust you." he told Trian. "I don't trust her. " he added, gesturing toward Elena with his head. Trian nodded his head, and the pact was made between them.     Trian walked into the lab with a heavy heart. Andrew's pale body lay on a slab. His wound was still visible. He knew inside that it wasn't a good idea to bring Adair here, but he had anyway. Adair had insisted on it, plus he gave him $200 to see his brother's body. It was a good amount as any. Trian's stomach took a dive as Adair looked at his brother. Andrew's handsome face was pale with death and scarred. His hair stuck up and was messed up. Adair laid his head on his brother's clean chest and cried. Trian let him do his thing until he was done. Trian looked for medical files while Adair finished. He held them close to his chest, hidden under his lab coat so Adair would not see them. "What the hell happened?" Adair demanded. "We know that he was poisoned. We're still not sure if it was by him, accidental, or a homicide." "What does your instinct tell you? What does your gut say?" "My gut tells me to be patient and to let the M.E. do her business. Ava Emerson is very reliant, Adair. Her novice Yosha is doing his best, too. I'm doing all I can. I need more evidence to figure out who killed your brother."   "What kind of poison was in him?"   "A mix of nitroglycerin and bleach. Not household bleach, hair bleach."   "Hair bleach? He was dying his hair?" Trian nodded.   "He also was full of blood. Not his blood, someone else's. And we found more chemicals and body fluids in him."   "Body fluids? Like urine?"   "Not urine, thank God. But sperm. And vaginal secretions. Like he'd had sex with both a man and a woman the night he died."     Publication Date: February 11th 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-redhead16

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-radia-al-rashid-eyes-like-ice/

Radia Al Rashid Eyes Like Ice My Family and Friends who keep supporting me no matter what! I do need to mention one name in particular, Bush! You always make me feel like I already am a NY Times Bestselling Author... Chapter One The blipping of the machines becomes absolutely deafening at one point. I am shifting on each side restlessly while lying on the bed for God knows how long. The flickering light is peeking through the tiny slit created by the slightly open door. I keep staring at the light with something inside of my heart. I don’t really know what is it that I am looking for, but I just cannot keep my eyes away from the door. Suddenly the vision gets immensely blurry and I can no longer move my head. A huge mountain seems to come over the eyes. I open my mouth to call after Julia, but it is too hard to even find my voice. I feel the sweat dripping over my brows. The vision keeps getting blurrier and blurrier. I give the last shot to make a sound out of my mouth but fail again. To my greatest surprise, I find my right hand reaching out to the pillow beside me. My eyes are expanded with astonishment as I clearly am not the one who is moving it. As soon as I feel the pillow under my palm, the nurse rushes into my room. She calls for the doctor with a sharp terror in her voice. My face feels the pressure of a pillow and I black out. “Eve? You okay darl?” Julia shakes me by my shoulder. I struggle to open my eyes. Her face comes into my vision but I fail to recognize it for a couple of minutes. It takes me some more minutes to sense the reality. I mutter something that I even do not quite comprehend. I look up and let out a deep breath. “I-I think so.” I manage to reply in a cracked voice which sounds unreal to my own ears. “Thank God! I cannot afford to lose anyone of the family anymore Eve, in future don’t freak me out like this. Please, stay alive and get well real soon. Promise me you’ll live.” Just when Julia pauses after saying it, I notice the tears streaming down her face. She is shaking as she intertwines her fingers with mine. I try to smile in reply but it ends up in tears and I nod at her. “What actually happened, Jules? I cannot clearly remember anything... um, was I fainting or, someone else wanted to choke me with a pillow or something...?” I squint at my sister as the bright light is falling on my blinking eyes. “Eve, it’s... I mean it’s you” she suddenly swallows the lump in her throat as she looks at William, her fiancé. “Me? Me what, Jules? Spit it out.” “Calm, Calm down, Eve! You just had a brain surgery only a few days back, it’s more like suicide to get excited at this point. Jules didn’t mean anything, trust me. It’s nothing serious. You were drained off of energy so you fainted, as simple as that. No worries at all. You really need to give your brain a bit of rest now. Try to sleep maybe, we’ll be right here.” William puts his palm on my temple and grins. I am not in the state of deciphering any of what is going on now. I attempt to remember the exact incident from earlier when my eyes freeze at my right hand. Is it really mine? Something about it does not feel right. My head spins the moment I try to dig deeper into my thoughts. The darn surgery certainly takes a good deal of a toll on me. I look at Julia again with a hope to get the undercurrent going on here. “When will I return home, Jules?” I struggle to breathe. “You’re yet to get stabilized hon, you need to completely heal first, then you can go home. Stop worrying about anything right now. Try to sleep, okay?” she squeezes my hand. Nodding at her, I close my eyes. Every nerve of my head keeps throbbing with intense pain. I cannot remember having anything close to this pain ever before. Sweat begins to drip down my forehead. I am restless, not for nothing. The ghastly accident is haunting me 24/7. The apparitions of my parents are constantly pushing me towards the psychological downward spiral of mine. I can neither cry nor digest the excruciating feeling. The darkened world of closed vision turns into sort of a greyish and reddish pit. More like a devilish hue takes over the entire world. The heavy thud deafens my ears. Suddenly the broken pieces of glass float over my head and something incredibly sharp hits the back of my skull. The indistinct sounds of ambulance-siren fill the air. I try so hard to keep my eyes open although the vision keeps getting blurrier. I hear Mom’s voice, “Honey! Watch out...”  the voice sounds ethereal, and unusually distant. After that, everything becomes dead silent. Just like scene transitions in a drama, the whole scene becomes blank, then an unearthly light blinds my sight. I find myself standing in the middle of a huge yard which I never saw before in my life. Mom comes out from behind a bunch of bushy trees wearing an eerily white cloth. She smiles at me with an untold sorrow in her eyes. She points at something behind me. I turn back to find out the bridge where the accident seemed to take place. Instead of a pile of broken glass and distorted body of Dad’s car, I see only blood, ocean of blood bubbling disgustingly on the bridge. I swallow hard to halt throwing up and turn to face Mom immediately. She is nowhere to be found. I look for her like crazy. I open my mouth to yell her name but nothing comes out. I feel the warm tears flooding down my cheeks yet I cannot afford to make any sound out of my mouth. I pant sharply before feeling a touch on my throat. I spin my head instantly to face the person standing beside me. I see something moving enveloped with grey fog. I inhale deeply as my lungs are dying for air. I feel the pressure of the hand on my throat deepened gradually. I try to brush it off but fail. I start panting aggressively and scratch the hand with all my energy left in the body. A ting of pain spreads down my right side. I managed to finally let some sort of a sound out of my paralyzed mouth. I push myself out of the horrible sleep and sit straight on the bed. Julia runs towards me with her eyes filled with horror and worries. I keep panting while tears flood down my face. “Holy freaking molly! You’re bleeding, Evelyn. Your arm is bruised and... it’s bleeding.” Julia screams. The doctor thoroughly checks me and assures that it’s absolutely normal to experience some of these weird symptoms after such a major surgery in brain. He explains it to be something called Alien Hand Syndrome, which he believes to go away within 2-3 days. Julia lets out a huge sigh of relief. Though everything seemed to be out of control just a while back, I somehow begin to feel lighter and the agonizing fear starts to fade out. I lift my eyes and stare at the ceiling with the thought, I need to go on, no matter how worse it gets although I honestly don’t know how things can get any worse after losing my parents. The ticking of the clock lingers monotonously... sometimes synching with the droplets of my tears.                                 ……………………………………………….     “Welcome home Eve! The house has been the gloomiest without you.” Serena smiles at me with the side of her eyes wrinkled. She has been the housemaid ever since I learnt to talk. Her Hispanic accent has some sort of magical healing power. I actually am feeling much better after hearing the familiar, homely voice. “How are you doing, Serena? I’ve missed you a lot in the past few months. Why didn’t you go check on me?” I hug her. “You know mija, how overwhelmed I become in time of distress and my panic just makes things worse. This is why Jules told me not to visit you at hospital. I’ve missed you more.” She softly brushes a kiss on my forehead. “Let’s not linger any longer here ha? You need ABSOLUTE rest for at least two more weeks missy.” Julia pretends to sound mad. “Two more weeks? You kidding…” “No! no more excuses, you need that, sweetheart. Do not be even a little careless that can cause any further problems, ok?” Julia cuts me off. I nod like a 3-years-old and go upstairs. The smell of the room arises a mixed emotion inside of me. It feels immensely cozy and homely but at the same time it makes all the memories rush through my mind. The reckless laughter of dad and the sweet yet enraged voice of mom fill my ears. I struggle not to give in and my heart starts to pound heavily while my eyes beginning to flood with tears, again. My breaths are shakily leaving my lungs while I keep looking at nothing amidst the room filled with furniture. The trauma is being too much for me to handle. This is the bone crashing agony that makes my wish for death take over all the time. It’d be better to lie down in the grave rather than living a life filled with darkness. “You haven’t changed yet?” Julia’s voice catches me off-guard. I turn to face her. “You-you’re crying again, Eve! Don’t you remember Dr. Gerard strictly forbade you to cry. It’s not good for you right now girl, try to understand.” “I know Julia! Do you think I’m a little kid not to get it right? I just can’t take these anymore. It’s impossible for me to stand here and not think about mom and dad. It is impossible not to cry after having that big of an accident, Julia! You don’t understand because you didn’t have to go through what I experienced.” The pitch of my voice suddenly becomes sharp. Julia pauses for a while. Nearing me, she puts a hand on my arm, “I can understand the pain that is killing you every single moment, Eve. Yet-yet you need to at least try to calm down. Just like Doc Gerard said, try to think about a whole new world, start imagining a new life there. Try to come up with anything…anything you want, but you need to keep your mind out of the mess for some days. Please, Eve, don’t give up already cos I know how strong a girl you are. You can do it, you got this, okay?” she looks at me with glistened eyes. “Yah! I’m sorry for reacting like a complete bitch, I will try, and I know I can do this.” I purse my lips and squeeze her hand resting on my arm. Chapter Two   The first four or five days are spent with a lot more relapses and terrible episodes of elongating and shrinking of objects around me, also my right hand going out of control and trying to kill myself occurred several times. I contacted Doctor Gerard following the incidents and he, with his ever-calm tone said, “No worries Miss Lawrence, for some, it takes a whole month to recover from the symptoms. Not to worry about anything at all.” It did sound lame but thankfully on the sixth day, things begin to fall in places. It doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad at all or feel like crying my eyes out not for at least thrice, but I can gradually feel the control of mine by taking over the distress. After finishing the breakfast, I sit by my window with a cup of coffee. Who moved in the house next door after Mr. Brown’s death? Is anyone here yet? The clean lawn and perfectly arranged flower vases before the door say that someone very organized and clean-freak has moved in this house. I keep wondering until the blinds of the window right in front of mine are drawn. Being startled, I look for the person. A guy with large squarish specs catches my sight. He looks me right in my eyes for a split of a second before he turns away and leaves the room. He has dark brown hair, not so bushy nor so light but perfectly set. He does not look so hunky but rather a bit skinny. His movements seem very calm and calculative.   That icy cold stare keeps my eyes stuck to the window for a while even after he vanishes from there. He is by no means the type of guy I’d look at with interest but... but for some weird reason, I want to see him again. “Jules, do you know who’s the new guy moved in the next door?” I ask while washing the coffee cup. Julia rushes towards me with a Cheetah-speed and snatches the cup from me, “What exactly should I do to keep you from doing chores? Girl! You gotta take rest, alright?” “What the hell, Jules?” I chuckle, “Am I still looking like a bed-ridden? Let me do these tiny whiny chores at least, or else I’m gonna die of boredom.” I pout. Julia rolls her eyes and makes a face, which makes me laugh so hard for a good amount of time. “Anyway, who is the guy, Jules?” I wipe off the tears that showed up because of the laughter. “Who? What guy?” she seems to be totally clueless. “Err… I just asked you, no? the guy next door?” I scratch my head. “Woosh! I missed out your previous question somehow, um… not so sure about the new neighbors, honestly. He moved in probably around the time I and Will went to the trip and you guys...” she pulls herself together and continues, “anyway, I think some guy named Ted or something is there now. What is it, you’re so excited about? Why do you ask?” Julia furrows her brows. “Ted? Ted Bundy the serial killer?” I giggle at my own little joke. Julia’s eyes get expanded even more and she crosses the arms across her chest while inspecting me with caution. “Um...what? O God! Nothing serious, it’s just, I saw some guy... kinda skinny, with perfectly combed hair and icy-cold stare behind some squarish specs. I don’t know, the very look of him just gravitated me, somehow.” I shrug. “Wow! You actually observed all the little details about him, didn’t you?” she quirks up a brow. “Ah noooo!! Don’t make it look like something juicy, because it’s not, for your kind information Miss Julia Lawrence.” I say with a smirk. “Your face is saying another story, missy! You better not be attracted to some mysterious, serial killer guy.” She grins. “Yeah, right!” I roll my eyes with a pretentious anger on my face. Yet, to my surprise, I find my heart pounding with the thought of seeing him once again. What the fuck? Is it another side-effect of brain surgery? But… he doesn’t look bad though! There is something about his calm face that can melt ice, or, ignite fire maybe! I snap myself out of the strange fanaticism of mine. What came over me? I don’t know the guy, not even a bit and am I trying to make a Greek God out of him? I shake my head and go down the corridor.  I am not allowed to attend the classes for another month. I do not feel intensely sick in limbs but psychologically, I am riding on a roller-coaster. Tears rush toward my eyes just a moment after a good laugh. I feel like losing control over my mind. Still, I decide to get myself engrossed in psychologically calming videos, blog posts and articles to survive. I sit with my laptop to begin the YouTube marathon. The corners of my eyes are still wet. I cannot honestly recall for how many times I’ve cried, laughed, sighed, smiled and numbed since morning.  Am I being bi-polar? Who knows... maybe? A crick sound leads my glance towards my window. Holy shit! That guy again...yes, the very same guy. Should I close the window? Should I show myself or just keep watching being hid under the blanket? Who am I kidding? He’s just another guy. What’s the point of this fiasco around him? Yet, I cannot ease with the situation. Somehow, his presence is disturbing me, malfunctioning my mind, but in a weirdly good way. Not actually good but not bad either. My mouth goes dry as I am looking at him very soothingly while he’s digging in a pile of papers on his table. The scene seems to be astoundingly calming to me. I have never been near to ordered in my life but the Ted guy is terribly organized and collected. I keep staring at him with my lips parted, as if some exquisite piece of art was presented in front of me. I stare and savor the moment completely failing to catch the time does he stare back at me. Gosh! Is he gazing back? I mean looking back at me? O God! O God! I’m going to be swallowed up by the ground now. Shoot! He’ll think me as a weirdo who has never seen any guy in her sad little life. Shit! Damn it, Evelyn. You are screwed. I quickly shift my eyes to my laptop screen and start panting shakily. I don’t know if he is still seeing me or not but I so want to check that. No! I cannot look at him again, not after gazing at him like a hungry fricking tiger drooling over its prey. How embarrassing! I keep looking at the screen not typing a single word. After about 10 minutes of visions and revisions, I gather all the courage together and look up at the window. Mr. about-to-explode-the-world-in-a-calmly-wholesome-way is doing the paper-works with a poker face. Whoosh! Thank God he did not close the window threatened by a gauche weirdo gawking at him at 9 pm. Boy! Ain’t I horrible with guys! Never been the head turner for guys and clearly, never will be one. I click on one of Jay Shetty’s podcasts and insert the ear-pods in my ears. With a synched interval, I keep checking him out. I am utterly clueless and weirded out at how his presence gives off an overwhelming tranquility. How he seems to be so wholesome although I haven’t even heard his voice. More importantly, I do not even know whether he is just a guy or, those still and icy-cold eyes have seen a whole different history. The next morning, I wake up with a bleeding nose and a ton weighed head which keeps spinning to exacerbate the entire scenario. I rush to the washroom to splash water on my face. I quickly take the medicines and bury my head in the pile of pillows on my bed. I don’t really want to sustain the delaying period of attending university by being sick. I have to be sound by any means. I just want to go out to breathe in the fresh air and most importantly, to hang out with the bunch of weirdos... My weirdos. Raising the head, I dial the number of Anna, my best girl. We’ve been friends since middle school. Nobody understands me like her but when it comes to any argument we are not agreeing on, well, we become the worst possible enemies and begin calling each other by all types of shitty names. The immune period stays usually for half an hour and then all those “fuck you bitch, I’m missing you” texts start to hit both the phones. “Hey Crackpot! Done with gawking at the 1000 years old alchemist?” she chuckles. “Seriously? Look who’s talking! the one that stores all her desires for guys over 60.” I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right! It’s totally legal to get crush on slightly older guys with drop dead hotness. I mean, it’s far better than drooling over some mysterious, emotionally dead guy, who cannot do anything except for giving cold stares time to time apart from his awe-inspiringly organized works.” She continues laughing. “Who’s drooling over who? Quit talking trash you Muppet!” I roll my eyes again. “Yaha! You’re the one to talk. You’ve always been the weirdo-magnet, I can’t really complain. And, stop rolling your eyes girl! the post-surgery effects can make those beautiful brown eyes fall down from the sockets.” She teases me as usual. “Pfft! You suck, bitch.” I laughed “anyway! How are the courses going on this semester?” “Umm! Not bad, but I’m in LOVE with Counselling and Psychology. That banging Mike makes the class tenfold interesting.” “Ew! Anna! He’s a freaking old divorcee. How can you call him attractive in the first place?” I huff. “Oh, come on, grandma! I’m not you who makes a mythic creature out of some pre-historic thing living next door. Mike is a real hotty and he can do a lot of sexy moves, of course excluding that cold staring stuff.” “Pre-historic? Yo, missy, Ted is a young guy, maybe in his late 20s. if anyone is pre-historic here, that’s your sexy old hag, Mike.” “Keep saying whatever you want. I’m not gonna backfire as you’re not feeling good, bitch. Wait till you return to the classes.” She snickers. “O yeah! We’ll see. So, isn’t there any core course this term? I so hate to waste time on some so-not-interesting side courses.” “Yeah! There are Communication Arts and Creative Arts from the core courses. The faculty members are not so appealing though. Miss Hawking takes away the attention of all the guys in the class with her slutty aura. The Creative Arts could have been better only if Mr. Stone didn’t step in to ruin the entire semester.” She clicks her tongue. “You kidding me? Mr. Stone is the Most awesome teacher I’ve come across in the entire life of mine. You have such a peculiar preference that I can’t comprehend. Sometimes, I wonder how came we be friends with such dissimilarities in the first place?” “I know right? The worst thing ever.” Anna chuckles. “enough with studies and shits. Now tell me, how’s your health. Those strange symptoms went away, no?” “Yes! Thank God, I probably gained back the control over my right hand. It felt too bizarre to live with, in those past few days. Boov! So, I was planning to be done with the registration for the coming semester.” I sniff. “You sure about that? Honestly, you still don’t sound good yet. Your voice is still cranky and those sniffing every now and then tells you should be in your bed for at least two to three months. Relax Nerdy! Take it easy on you. Skipping one semester won’t throw you out of the university. You have a freaking brilliant CGPA already. Give yourself some time to heal completely. Please, Eve! Don’t do anything rash and stupid that can further deteriorate your health, alright?” “Aye, aye Ma’am! I’ll think it through.” I grin. “Okay! Don’t make me come over to send you to some sort of temporary coma for preventing you to rush towards the university, ha?” “Ha-ha! That’d be iconic though. I actually love to know about your method of doing so.” “If it’s needed, you’ll be the first one to know.” She laughs, “gotta hang up Crackpot, Alvin puked again. Mom’s not home, so it is me to clean up the mess. “Alvin?” “Ha, my annoying baby brother. Oh, forgot to tell you, I changed his name from Bob to Alvin. Doesn’t Alvin sound cooler?” I laugh at her always-so-out-of-the-box nature, “Yeah, no doubt! Now, hang up and clean up the mess. Don’t forget to drop by as planned, ok?” “Yes, I’ll be there on time, no worries. You sure you will be okay hanging out now? Just double-checking, don’t get me wrong.” “I PROMISE I’ll be okay, more than okay.”  “Alrighty then see ya! Bye for now! Love you.” “Love you too. Bye!” “Mija, you up already?” Serena peeks into the room. “O yeah! Good Morning, Serena come on in.” I give her a pretending-to-be-perfectly-fit smile. “Are you feeling okay, dear? You don’t look that good. What’s with those eyebags and dried out lips? Are you feeling sick again? Should I call Julia to take you to the hospital?” her voice gives off that anxious vibe that instantly reminds me of mom. I let out a big sigh, “Nah, Serena! Relax, I’m fine, it’s just probably another post-surgery crap.” “You really sure about this, mija?” the worry does not get brushed off from her voice. “Yes, I am sure, like 1000% sure. Will it do?” I beam. Serena grins at me, “alright, I’m bringing the breakfast now, have it quickly before taking the morning meds.” crap! I already had them with the heat of the moment. Anyway! How worse can it be, I’m still open to dying.   Chapter Three   “I’m going out with Anna, will be back within 5 hopefully.” I head towards the front door. “Holy hell, you’re going out already? I’m telling you Mija, Julia’s gonna be SOOO mad when she’ll figure you’re out in this physical condition.” Serena comes to me running. “Relaaax, it’ll keep worsening if you don’t allow me to hang out a little, please, Serena! You’re the best, don’t say it to Julia, it’s a little secret between you and me like the chocolate stealing from 2nd grade.” I hug her tight. She rolls her eyes, “You’re terribly good at convincing, okay, you can go but do not extend the time further. Julia will be home at 6 sharps.” She gives me a serious glare. “Sure thing, don’t you worry about anything. I’ll be here before you can start panicking officially. Goodbye!” I wave at her and step out. She grins and waves back. The fresh air hits my face with a serene calmness. I inhale sharply and try to shove off all the negative memories trying to make their way to my mind. “Hallow Crackpot! Look at you, all glowing with smile and I don’t know what else.” Anna pulls me in for a long never-let-you-go hug. “Nothing else is there, you dirty-minded prick.” I grin. “So, let’s go pick Sarah up from work and bring back the banging session of endless crappy entertainment.” She winks. I chuckle and clamber in her sports car. Anna has always been the most reckless while driving a car. Still, I always enjoy the adventure of riding the car with her bizarre, action movie’s way of overtaking and pulling the gears. Taylor Swift’s ME perfectly syncs with her wild driving. I’m enjoying today’s ride more than ever. It does not take long for us to reach the name-dropping, posh office building where Sarah the rich girl works. Apart from being her own father’s Company, Sarah does have astounding qualifications to be employed in the popular White Swan Inc. I eye the huge building awe-inspiringly. Sophistication lingers from top to bottom of it. The blue glasses look clearer than my bedroom window. And the thought of the window brings back the icy gazes. I shake off my head and turn to Anna. She is dialing Sarah’s number without caring to gawk at the office like I just did. I actually am awkward; gawking has become a thing for me lately. Gosh! I need to be more nonchalant, in a cool way obviously. “She’s not picking.” Anna shrugs. “Ow! Should we wait or go inside?” I ask. “Um! I won’t go, I can’t stand the sight of that stupid colleague of her.” She scoffs. “Who, David? The one who asks you out every time he sees you?” I tease her. “Shut it! That one is a real A-hole,” she gives that purely-Anna eye-roll. I laugh, “okay, calm! I’m going then, what’s the floor?” “It’s on the 11th floor. Will you be okay going alone?” “I mean, come on. I know I’m a little weird but I am no kid.” I turn to her dramatically parting my lips apart. She smirks, “I didn’t mean that dumbo. Alright go then, I’m waiting right here. Gimme a call if any other jerk like David tries to hit on you. I’ll smash the face and cut off his...” “Don’t go down there, I can manage that.” I smirk. She winks in reply. I tap on the 11th button of the elevator and stand there silently waiting. Two immaculately dressed up Blond girls were discussing something about projects in a totally professional tone. I actually feel like some middle-school kid with no style whatsoever. I self-consciously stare down at my outfit to find the floral blouse and my go to blue jeans. Suddenly, I start feeling out of place and my ever-present existential crisis creeps in. I try to wear the power-pose while straightening my posture. In the 5th floor, the elevator halts and someone gets in. I do not bother checking out the person as I am so occupied being presented as a perfectly confident adult. “How’s the preparation going on?” a deep, sexy voice floats into my ears. “Yes, Sir! We’re almost done...” one of the sophisticated blondies answers. I immediately turn on my heels to face them and as a matter of fact, I’m back to my jaw-dropping awe. The guy in impeccable grey suit is staring at me through the specs. Holy shit! What is Ted Bundy doing here? Is he stalking me? Blah! Course not. Those blondies are calling him Sir, O my! What can he be? like, someone in a bossy position or something? Hmm… Sarah must know him then, argh! What do I do now? I need to play it cool, right, it’s time to show him how cool can I stay after seeing him. I’m not actually that gawking weirdo but… what should I do now? He’s looking at my way... A ghost of a smile appears on his lips as he’s nodding to the blondies while giving me a side glance. I don’t know what comes over me when I take my phone and start dialing Anna’s number. Not after a full ring, she picks up, “What is it, Eve? Any a-hole alert? I’m coming right away.” She scowls. “um… no, no listen! It’s not like that...” at the very moment, all the discussions end with a snap and all three of them stand silently. I can hear my heart hammering in the pin-drop silence. Though Mr. Serial killer is not eyeing me right now but I can tell he’s interested in hearing what I have to say to my friend. “What? Evelyn? What is it? Are you okay? Are you fainting, or, is any of those shitty symptoms making its way back to you?” Anna sounds anxious. “Nah, relax! It’s just T...” I was this close to say out his name loud. Gosh! Am I gonna fuck myself up! Such a nonsense I can be! “I mean, I think I forgot the...um in the car.” “What?” her voice tells how confusing I’m making the situation for her. “that... my phone.” I am nervously glancing at Ted standing calmly threeish feet apart from me. The elevator halts at the seventh floor and two more urbane guys step in. “Your phone? How are you calling me then, weirdo? What happened to you? Are you possessed?” Anna’s voice gets sharper in pitch. “Well, no! that’s not what I mean, it’s just the 1000 years old alchemist here, remember?” The one blondie standing next to me seems to be a bit weirded out at my strange wording. She sneaks a quick glance at me before returning to her extremely impeccable standing position. “Wait, Ted? What the freaking pre-historic show is going on there?” Anna chuckles. “I don’t know. I’m just as confused as you are.” “So, you’re admitting that he’s prehistoric, ha? Atta girl!” she teases me. In reply I just roll my eyes, “Right! Talk to you later.” I hang up. My palms are sweating like crazy. Finally, the 11th floor comes and I feel like already spending 1000 years inside with that collected Alchemist. I hurry in stepping out of the elevator and trip on my own foot almost falling on my face like a complete loser. I hear a slight gasp from behind. Without turning back, I quickly duck out and start walking at Usain Bolt speed. I feel ashamed of my clumsiness and idiocy. Why should I always make a freaking fool out of me whenever I’m before... well, any guy? “Hey, Eve! Is that you? O my word! The accident got you really drained, didn’t it?” Sarah advances to give me a hug. “Hey! How have you been? Long time no see. Such a busy, responsive human!” I grin hugging her. “You know Dad! He just wants to create a xerox copy of himself out of me” she shrugs, “anyway, let’s get going. We’re getting late, no?” “Yeah! Sure, um... let’s just take the stairs, I am in a mood of moving a little, you know standing in elevators is not my thing.” “Um...ok! if you can then it’s fine, but are you sure? It’s 11th floor, so it’ll take quite some time to reach the ground floor.” She looks puzzled. What the fuck is wrong with me! Obviously, he is not still in the elevator. Just calm down, you don’t need to make a big deal out of nothing. There is high possibility he didn’t even recognize me! “Shoot! I completely forgot that, pfft! What a shame! Yeah, let’s catch the elevator then.” Anna is pacing back and forth in front of the office building. As soon as she notices us coming down, she rushes towards us. “EVELYN CAYLEN LAWRENCE, tell me about your Ted Bundy. What the fuck is he doing here? Or, maybe you’re just having hallucinations from overthinking about him?” she narrows her gaze. “What did I miss, guys?” Sarah alternatingly glances at both of us. “Argh! It’s nothing about nobody! Let’s get into the car then I’m telling you.” “Come on! Just out with-it girl!” Anna scoffs. “We’re getting late missy! I need to be at home within 5, remember?” I grunt. “Alright, guys! Let’s not make a scene here. Just get in the car and we’ll hear about whatever you guys are speaking of.” Sarah intervenes with her ever-peaceful attitude. Anna stomps her foot and heads towards the car. I begin on my own after settling down on the seat, “Okay, so I saw him in the elevator while going to meet Sarah.” “Okay! But why did you call me then? Did anything more happen? You could just wait until getting in the car. No?” Anna gives me a side eye. “I-I know but I kinda messed up back there.” “Wait, wait! Can someone please tell me what’s going on? Who’s this he? Who called who?” Sarah shifts from left to right side of the passenger seat. Anna waves her off, “Later, Sarah!” she turns to me, “What did you do exactly to mess things up, dumbo?” her brows furrowed. “I pretended to talk to someone to avoid his gaze and I don’t know why it needed to be you I called then, and you started to panic. In reply, I began to act all foolish and you know the rest of it.” I sink into the seat, despaired. “Tsk, tsk! You need to shake off that weirdo of your head and focus on your health now. No offence intended but you’ve always been so not-at-all-natural around guys.” She giggles. “If nobody tells me what’s going on, I’m gonna get out of the car RIGHT NOW.” Sarah is mad, it’s clear in her voice. “Oops! Sorry, I was so caught up in Annabelle Gaston’s inquisition that I didn’t get a chance to explain.” I turn back to face her.   Chapter Four   “Hmm, it can be Mr. Richard Miller, the new CLO of the Company. I mean, your description says the person to be him though I have no idea about his nick name, Ted or whatever.” Sarah pulls a string of hair and tucks it behind her ear. I nod at her while waiting for Anna to arrive with our drinks. I’ve always been a non-alcoholic, childish nerd, so it’s being easy for me to deal with the restriction against drinking. “Is there any possibility he’s hiding his actual identity?” I scratch the back of my wrist. “Nah! Why should he? He’s very talented and qualified. In fact, Dad himself appointed him in that post, not for nothing. I think you’re just messing up all those tons of mystery novels’ plots with reality.” Sarah grins. “What did I miss, bitches?” Anna sounds ten times louder and more cheerful, this is how she lights up every time we come to this bar. “Blah! Forget it, let’s finish the drinks fast to go skating!” I’m actually feeling excited to finally go for skating after so long. I decide to totally cut Ted off from my mind and for the rest of the day, not a single word reminds me of him. It’s almost 5, God! let Jules outside for some more time, I’m not ready to ruin my really good mood right now. She’ll be super mad if she can once figure I went out. I gasp and quicken my pace. As soon as the front door comes into view and no car is seen being parked in the parking area, I let out a sigh of relief. “Serena?” I call out cautiously after stepping inside of the house. Nobody responds. Well, maybe she’s upstairs already started freaking out officially. I grin and head towards the stairs. I call her again, this time louder than before. My worries start to swell in my throat as I gulp hard. “Serena? Where are you? Julia? Anybody home?” I become tensed. Yet nobody answers. Is it some prank or, a new way of Jules to freak the hell out of me? So that I won’t go out in such physical condition again? O God! you can make it as bad of a chide as possible but only keep them alive. I start sweating and my head begin spinning at a slow pace which will exacerbate in no time. I cannot imagine anything bad happen to anyone around me after that accident. “Please, out with it! Don’t freak me out any further, I promise I will not go out again.” My mouth wide opens to inhale more air. Still, nobody says a word. The silence is becoming too much for me to tackle with. I quickly search all the rooms upstairs. Then come back downstairs to double check every room, but to worsen my fear, nobody is there to be seen. Suddenly, I think about calling Julia. I check my bag with shaky hand and wow! I can’t find my phone. I upend the bag to let out everything inside it. All the stuffs drop one by one on the floor except for my phone. I start freaking out like crazy, I’m shaking to the core. O my God! Where the fuck did, I leave my mobile? Did I? No! did I forget it at the ice rink? Holy shit! What do I do now? How should I react! A sudden ringing of the doorbell startles me all over. I try to calm down when I hear Anna’s voice from outside. “Eve! Open the door, you forgot your phone at the car.” A rush of hope passes through me as I run towards the door. “Hey! Thanks a lot Anna, I was this close to die.” I swallow. “What is it? You’re looking like a dead-body. What happened?” Anna expands her eyes. “I-I can’t say what is it, it’s just I can’t find anyone here. Nobody’s answering me, even Serena is not here.” Tears start welling up in my eyes. “What! What are you saying? Where are they?” Anna pushes me slightly aside to step in. I look at my mobile and my heart leaps up to sit in my throat. 22 missed calls! My God! why am I always so freaking callous to silence the phone? Why did I do it? What just happened? “It’s, it’s silent, Annie! I totally missed the calls, it is saying, it is fucking saying 22 missed calls!” I begin to shout at the height of my voice. The entire world blacks out before me. Anna rushes to me and grabs the phone. She quickly taps on the screen. “It’s Serena and... and Julia! Jesus!” she murmurs. I feel like fainting, “Please, call them back, now!” I mumble, trying hard to be stable. “Serena’s not picking up the phone! Fuck! I’m trying Julia’s number; you just try to calm down.” Anna is pacing across the living room. “It’s switched off! What do I do now! Hey, look at me” she sits on her knees beside me. “Breath Eve, breath. You can’t be sick again. Look at me, everything’s just fine, okay? Now, tell me who else to call?” “Will, Will… call him, he might know.” I let out the words shakily. “Right! How could I forget.” She leaps on her feet and dials William’s number instantly. “Fuck! Jesus, why did they need to switch the shits off!” she clenches her jaw. “What happened, Anna? What happened to them? Did they...” I start crying like a baby. She wraps her arms around me, “I don’t get it, but please, don’t think of anything bad! It’s gonna be alright, trust me!” she tries to sound reliable but the doubt is apparent in her voice. For another 10 minutes, she dials and re-dials the numbers. “Ted! Can he say anything about it?” suddenly she stands on her heels and heads towards the door. Before I can say anything, she’s already out of the house. I struggle to stand up, my knees are shaking like never before. My lungs are dying for air even though I continue inhaling. Gripping the corner of the stair-railing, I stand on my feet. I reach out to grip the table by my side to halt from falling. Something touches my palm and I shoot a glance at it. It’s a piece of paper, kept there intentionally to pass on something, maybe! I abruptly reach out and grab the paper to hold it before my eyes. Mija! I called you for at least 20 times, maybe it’s silent. I’m going to the RTG hospital now. Jules had an accident. The universe crashes in my ears. I stiff at the words on the paper. I keep staring at them mindlessly. I am feeling extremely guilty and totally dead inside. Is Jules going to leave me too? Are they planning to stab me over and over with their harsh deaths? I can’t anymore! This time, I won’t go through the pain again! I will end everything. “Eve! Ted is not home. I hammered on the door for the last 5 minutes at stretch. What is this you’re holding? Hey! Lemme see.” Anna snatches the paper away from me. “Okay! Let’s go, let’s go to the hospital then. Now we at least know, where to find them, right? What are you waiting for, Evelyn? Let’s go.” She pulls me by my hand. “I am not ready to face another death, Anna!” I let the words out mechanically. “You kidding me? She’s going to be alright, dumbo! No worries. Let’s not kill anymore second, we need to go NOW!”                              ******************************************   It’s been almost two weeks now I’ve been spending more than half of my days in hospital, by the side of Julia. To say in a more appropriate way, the ever-sleeping Julia. God has taken my parents away but couldn’t take away my sister. So, He just put her in coma and at the same time, left my life totally meaningless. The more I look for a way to start living, the more darkness invades my surrounding. I put on a pair of leggings and my go to white T-shirt before taking the morning meds for the first time after Julia’s accident. Each second passes and I can feel my body is falling apart inch by inch. “I’m leaving Serena. Be done with your dinner without me, it’ll be late as usual.” I slightly raise my voice to reach her as she is working in the kitchen. “Did you take your breakfast Mija?” Serena’s pace is getting near. “Yeah, I did! Don’t forget to have yours.” I lie and quickly duck out of the door. I don’t have any energy or patience to face her interrogation, I’m just too tired. All I can remember is the day I got the paper with the news about Julia’s accident. Everything happened too fast to process. Before even reaching the hospital that day, I was entirely drained out of the hope of seeing Jules again. When Serena rushed towards me saying what happened to her, I felt a flicker of hope to see Julia again, although she wouldn’t be conscious. I don’t want to recall any of these but my mind keeps wandering about the darkness, the screaming of mom, the gurgling sound emitted from dad’s mouth before giving up on his life, the wailing of Serena in the hospital corridor... Chapter Five   “Hey, Neighbor!” that deep, alluring voice calls out from behind. I spin around. Ted Bundy slash Richard Miller is standing in a pair of grey sweatpants and black T-shirt, the calm eyes are staring at me through the large specs, his aura is collected as ever. I scan him abruptly before finding my voice, “H-hello!” I mutter. “How’s your sister doing? You’re not looking quite alright. Are you feeling okay?” his voice nonchalant. “Um yeah! I-I think I’m doing okay. Julia is still in coma, it’s never too late to wake up, I believe.” I struggle to halt my tears. He slightly cocks his head to one side. I break the eye contact and look away from him. How time can change people, I sigh . If this similar conversation took place two weeks back, I’d be on cloud nine. My adrenaline rush would make me do every possible stupidity in response to Mr. Alluring. “Right! Are you going to hospital now? I can give you a ride if you want.” He says keeping his eyes stuck on my face. I think he is not attracting me like crazy right now but somehow his voice moves something inside me. “I’ll be fine taking the bus, it’s just, doesn’t matter anymore. I think I’m becoming somewhat frigid after these sinister accidents.” I smile dryly without looking at his eyes. “I am sorry Miss Lawrence at your parents’ death. This is the first time I get the chance to talk to you. I think I should’ve conveyed my condolence earlier.” He shoves the hands in his pockets. “It’s ok Mr.?” I am confused as to call him Ted or Richard. I stare up at his perfect face. “Richard, it’s Richard Miller.” He holds out a hand to me. I shake the hand after a brief pause. “Pleasure talking to you finally, Miss Lawrence.” he says sternly. Finally! What does that mean? Again, how can he know a lot about me! Pfft! Of course, he is well aware of his neighbors. I purse my lips to give him a grin, which ends up in a plain expression. “And, I can understand the hard time you’re going through right now. I hope things will get easier for you Miss Lawrence. Human life is tough, I’ve been through worse.” He leaves the hold on my hand in a chivalrous manner before giving me a little nod. I nod back and start walking towards the bus stop. I’ve been through worse! Did he mean he faced worse or made other people face worse! Whatever! I don’t think I’m in any position to be threatened by anything anymore. Only if William did not vanish all of a sudden, I would’ve ended my life after Jules’ accident. I am just surviving as I feel my sister needs me, WILL NEED me when she’ll wake up. I head to the cabin with a flickering light of hope inside my heart that the nurse will give me the good news today. The smell, the neat and bland view of hospital churn my stomach every single time. It brings in all the hurtful experiences from before. I get in the cabin after inhaling deeply. Julia is sleeping like a dead person. Suddenly, I’m not feeling desperate to get her back anymore. My eyes are not brimming with tears like before. I cannot quite understand what just came over me as it was less than an hour back when I struggled hard to stop tears from streaming down my face while talking with Richard Miller. Maybe finally I’m actually losing all emotions, maybe finally, I’m becoming complete numb. I take Jules’ phone to check if anyone called and as usual, no call, no message! I don’t understand where the hell did William dive into? I mean, since after Jules’ accident, he is nowhere to be found. How can a person get lost out of the thin air? What actually is wrong with our family! Are we chronics? Are we prone to all possible dangers of the world? if yes, why us? Why it should be me who is there to witness every tragedy while being wrecked bit by bit inside? but seriously! Where the hell did Will go? Doesn’t he know about his fiancé’s accident? I tried to connect with him over phone thousands of times since then. It’s switched off every single time. Argh! I am tired...really tired. I decided to take this semester off as it is impossible to study apart from having so much on my plate right now. My nose has been bleeding with brief pauses since this morning. I silently wipe off the blood as if it’s nothing to worry about. My breaths have become much shakier, my knees feel extremely weak after only standing for 5 minutes max, I’m becoming skinnier day by day. Everything about my appearance is screaming the end of me but unfortunately, I’m still stuck in the rut, SURVIVING! “Hey, honey! how are you doing? How is she now?” a familiar voice catches my attention to the door. My aunt Kate is standing there with a sullen expression on her face. “Kate! O my God! when did you come? Who told you we’re here? I’m so sorry I didn’t even have the thought of letting you know.” I let out all the words rapidly with a single breath. “It’s okay sweetie! I know how hard it’s been for you since your accident.” She advances to pull me in for a hug. I stiffly rest my head on her shoulder. I feel like crying my eyes out but not a single droplet comes out. My aunt brushes her fingers through my hair when I clasp her arms tight as the fear of losing the near ones gets the hold of me. “You’re not looking quite right Eve! Are you taking your meds and meals regularly? I don’t think so!” she asks holding me at arm’s length, she looks dead anxious. “No worries, Kate! I’m fine, it’s just the worries got over my being. I sigh sharply to gather tears in my eyes but fail. Tell me about you, how have you been? How’s your job going on? How’s Rob?” I try to sound genuine. “Everything’s going okay! And...um... about Rob, we just broke up last month.” She shrugs. “Oh why? Did anything bad happen?” I stare at her. “Nah! Nothing bad, it’s just not so easy to maintain a long-distance relationship. Ever since he moved to London, I couldn’t feel the connection or spark anymore. I mean, come to think of it, the distance between London and LA is not nothing, right?” she waves off the matter. “Right! Hope you are not struggling to get over the 5 years old relationship. Anyway, for how long are you planning to stay here?” I change the topic to shake off the tension growing on Kate’s face at mentioning the name of Rob. “I was thinking for a month, but now looking at you I think I’ll be staying longer than that. Eve, darling, you need proper rest. You really are wearing out.” She put her arm around my shoulder. In reply, I put a hand on the hand of hers resting on my arm and purse my lips.   Kate is staying here with me and Serena for two days now. She is being very caring but somehow it is bothering me a little. I’m not sure whether it’s her being away from us for long or the stress, her constant concern about my physical condition is not feeling quite right to me. Still I try to shove the irritation off of my face as she is being genuine in her concern. “Eve, honey! did you take the night meds? Did you finish your dinner?” Kate’s voice floats across the hallway. “Yes, Kate, I just had the dinner. I think I’ll walk outside a little before taking the night meds.” “Why? Are you feeling suffocated? O God! What is it that triggered the irritation? Is it Broccoli?” she rushes towards my room. “Ow No! no, no! Kate, I think you’re overthinking a lot. I really don’t need that much supervision, I’m not a cancer patient or something!” I blurt out before even giving it a second thought. Her face suddenly turns dark as she gets hurt clearly at my words. “I mean, I’m sorry Kate! I didn’t mean to sound too bitchy! I just am too distressed to behave normally. I shouldn’t have told you all these.” I wring my hands. “No Evelyn, it’s completely fine. You’re going through a lot, I just wanted to make sure you’re doing okay in this depressing situation.” She gives a dry smile before silently leaving the room. Holy shit! What did I just do? Why did I react in such a way when she was just trying to be good to me? Evelyn! You are such a mean, ungrateful bitch! I cover my face with both hands. My breathing quickens. I cannot even recognize my own self as all my reactions and emotions are getting so messed up lately. I leap on my feet from the bed and the door starts to shrink to a little point. I widen my gaze and shake my head hoping to get the normal view back. To my horror, I see all the furniture around me start to move and distort like a Surrealistic artwork. I rub my eyes firmly when I feel the loss of control over my RIGHT hand again! The hand falls involuntarily to my side. I struggle to move the hand with my left one as it already begins to move on its own. To worsen the scene, I don’t even have a clear vision of my surrounding. Everything seems to flow like waves of an ocean. I part my lips to inhale but instead, my tongue comes in contact with a tangy tasted liquid. It takes a while for me to realize my nose is bleeding like crazy. My head is feeling extremely light at this point. Suddenly, in the right thigh, I feel a ting of pain. Soon the pain spreads to the entire body. I can feel the cold sweat rolling down my cheeks and a chill going down my spine. My knees feel too weak to stand anymore and I fall down on my face. I squint at the door as my head is throbbing with the excruciating pang. “What happened?” two voices ask at the same time after opening the door wide open. “I-I fell down...” I murmur. “Jesus! Serena, please, bring the ice-bag NOW!” Kate sits down by my side. “Holy freaking moly! What did you do to your...?” she slaps her hands on her mouth. My vision starts being cleared out a little. The horror in her eyes is apparent. “what?” my voice is slowly trailing off. “It’s a fucking knife! It’s inside... inside the... Jesus!” she starts dialing the phone. I cannot understand anything until my eyes catch the knife sticking out of my right thigh. The white trousers are crimson now, totally soaked up in blood. My breathing becomes heavier and heavier until I cannot feel anything. When I wake up, I find myself on my bed surrounded by Kate, Serena and what? Is it Mr. Miller? What the heck is he doing here? “How are you feeling hon?” Kate gently brushes her fingers through my hair. I nod in response; the pain cannot be felt right now as probably some kind of painkilling med has been injected. I look at Ted Bundy with the side of my eyes. He is staring in this way with as usual no expressions whatsoever. I am feeling a little uncomfortable lying before an almost unknown guy, and in this case, it’s the TED who was the center of my fascination few days back and well, I still have some unknown reason to feel a bit gravitated to him. To my relief, Ted slash Richard moves from his stern position. “So, I think Miss Lawrence is out of danger now. If anything, further happens, do not hesitate to let me know,” he looks at Kate, “Miss Smith” he nods. “Thank you so much, Mr. Miller. It’s been a really huge help at that moment of fright. You’re such a good soul.” Kate pours all the sweetness in her tone. “It’s my pleasure. Miss Smith. What are neighbors for if they can’t be useful in time of needs.” His collected voice sounds even sexier. I keep waiting impatiently underneath my breath to know what exactly happened after my so not pleasant episode. He steals a quick gaze at me before leaving the room. “Serena? What was he doing here?” I whisper uneasily. “Who? Mr. Miller? Oh Mija! He’s such a good one. Kate was trying to get the family doctor over the phone but the line was constantly busy. So, she was to call the ambulance when Mr. Miller rang the doorbell.” “What? Why?” I blurt out. “He wanted to talk to you. Maybe you met before? Anyway, seeing Kate’s frightened face, he called his personal doc and just within 5-7 minutes, he reached our house. Otherwise, the bleeding did not look good, Eve! It would’ve been worse if the doc didn’t arrive on time.” Serena sounds very grateful... grateful to the mysterious man, Mr. Miller. I let her words sink in and mindlessly ask her, “Do you know if he has another name or not?” “What? The doctor? I can’t remember what he said.” She scratches her temple. “No! I mean... never mind. Where is Kate?” I crane my neck towards the door. “She should be here in no time. What is it, Mija? You need something?” Serena gets up. “Nah! It’s just, I was wondering what is taking her so long!” I let out the words without paying much attention. I am somehow being dubious about Kate’s a little extra excitement towards Ted. Seriously, Evelyn! You really are a freaking ungrateful witch. She is being grateful to the guy only because he just helped you out to avoid a ginormous amount of blood-loss. She is being extra nice to him because of you. Now quit thinking trash. “Feeling better, sweetie?” Kate’s calming voice brings in a lot of comfort inside me. I smile at her, “Yeah! Thank you so much Kate! I reacted like a complete jerk just before the incident. I’m really sorry.” “You kidding me? That was totally fine. Your mental state is entirely messed up right now. I can understand how it feels losing family members.” She gives a little squeeze on my hand. “Um... was the injury too bad?” I quirk my eye-brows. “No, darling! Thankfully, it was not that bad. Somehow, the tip of the knife just got inside of your right thigh. Did you tip over it?” she stares down at me. “I-I think so!” I do not want to talk about those weird symptoms with her. “Doc Wilson told to take full rest for at least a week. Maybe your anxiety just got worse at this point. Trust me, Jules will be alright. Everything’s gonna be just as okay as before.” She grins. “We can hope, Kate!” my own voice sounds too pessimistic to accept. “It will be fine, Kate. I know I WILL BE ALRIGHT; JULES WILL WAKE UP TODAY OR TOMORROW.” I put extra emphasis on every word I utter as if it’d validate them. He came to talk to ME! What could possibly be going on inside his mind then! Should I ask him in person tomorrow? Is it only a coincidence or, there is something more to it? Why did he have to show up just the moment I blacked out?   Chapter Six   The next morning, I get up from the bed with a fresh mind and feeling stronger than ever since the accident. After having breakfast with Kate and Serena at the dining table instead of my room, I decide to go out for a walk and at the same time, give Ted a knock to ask about whatever he needed to talk with me on, the previous night. “Kate, are you joining me in visiting Jules?” I bite on the pancake. “I was thinking of going alone today, Eve. Thought it’d be good for you to stay home for couple of days after what happened last night.” She put the smoothie glass on the table. “Ah no! Kate, don’t you worry at all. It just happened as I skipped meals a couple of times while being totally occupied with Jules’ accident. I can’t skip a single day visiting her, Kate. God knows, maybe today is the day she’ll wake up.” My voice trails off. “O darling! She’ll be alright, I’m telling you.” Her eyes glisten. “She must be, Kate! I don’t want to; I cannot afford to lose anyone anymore.” I breathe out deeply. “So, I think I’ll walk out a little before heading towards the hospital.” I scoot back the chair. “Sure, hon! Be careful. If you feel even a little dizzy, just call me immediately.” she commands. I nod before stepping out of the door. I gaze at the house before me. Should I go knock the door? Will it be some kind of intrusion? No! he probably has something important to tell me. It can even be any information related to Will’s sudden disappearance. Why should he know about that? Only because I doubt him as a serial killer doesn’t mean he’ll be aware of every possible mishap out there. I halt there for another couple of minutes, then begin walking down to his house. What’s up with his name? he prefers to be called by Miller. Sara also told his name to be Richard Miller but why did Jules tell me he is Ted? I mean, is there any possibility that he took this name only to perform the infamous actions? Is he really somebody else living under the shell of brilliant and sexy CLO of White Swan Inc.? What matter can be there about which, HE wants to talk through with ME? A bunch of questions keep hitting my conscious mind while nearing his door. Without thinking for another second, I knock on the door, immediately after reaching before it. Few seconds later, I hear footsteps coming this way. I exhale deeply as suddenly my body starts to stiff. I shake my head and try to ease my posture. “Miss Lawrence? What a pleasant surprise!” the alluring voice slaps my body back to the stiffen state I’ve tried hard to come out of. I stare at him hesitantly. “Are you feeling alright? How’s the cut?” he quickly takes a glance down at my right leg. I instantly put my hand over the wounded spot, God knows why. Consequently, the tingling pain starts to come back. Maybe, by seeing my uneasy and no doubt, stupid movements, he takes his eyes off of my thighs and looks back at my eyes. That similar, old icy-cold stare. My heart pumps a little more blood than usual. “Um... come on in, Miss Lawrence.” He seems to be a little timid for the first time. O boy! Is my period coming? Why is this guy looking so darn attractive to me! I clear out my throat before saying, “No, no, Mr. Ted... I mean Mr. Miller I just came over to ask you what was the reason of your visit last night.” I chew on my lip at my callousness. His lips give off a ghost of a smile, “Interesting! So, do you want to take a walk?” “What’s so interesting?” I blurt out. “Calling me by the name I don’t remember of telling you earlier.” He quirks up his lips. “I-I just... learned that um...” I start mumbling for no reason. “It’s fine, Miss Lawrence, I am amused to hear the name from you, honestly. So, shall we?” he motions forward with his hand. I quickly nod and tip on my feet while trying to move. Fuck! I mutter. “You good? It seems like you need to be a little more careful while walking.” The corner of his lips quirks a little into a grin. He is undoubtedly indicating to the elevator incident, but I pretend to not getting it. “Yeah! Seems to be.” I utter underneath my breath. “So, you want to know why I went to your house yesterday, ha?” his voice calm and lack of emotion. “Yes! I thought... I think it’s something important. So, I need to know, and again, I’m feeling much better to walk today, so...” I sound like a little kid explaining everything to its mother. He grins, a complete smile. He looks even better with a perfect smile. I gape at him for a while. Damn! He’s beautiful! “Alright! The thing is, I committed a crime which might be not worth the apology from your side.” He gives me a blank stare. “Crime!” I gasp. He is ACTUALLY a serial killer, isn’t he? O my God! I should’ve been more careful. Wait! Did he kill William? Did he make the incident of killing Jules look like an accident? I’m so gonna murder this guy, no matter how attractive he might look! “Well, Miss Lawrence, I think looking at a lady without her consent is indeed a crime. I did not actually mean to look but when I felt some unusual movement through the open window, I just had to check on what was happening.” His voice contains same amount of calmness. “Movement? When?” I sound confused. “Last night, Miss Lawrence. You were losing the control over your limbs’ usual movements, and not to hide, your right hand was not quite listening to your command. Correct me if I’m wrong.” I inhale sharply, “No, you are totally right but I don’t know what to say.” I pause a little before letting out the words with much anger, “I really do not appreciate anyone intruding in MY personal space. I mean, I don’t even know you yet. Don’t you think it’s a little too nosiness to look at some stranger’s vulnerable condition without knowing about any of her background stories?” “I am extremely sorry, Miss Lawrence. I very well know I’ve done wrong by secretively peering at you but I thought you needed immediate help then. This is why I rushed to your house but it’d sound really inappropriate if I told your aunt about my sneaking a peek at your personal matter. To minimize the possibility of any unwanted outcome, I told that I needed to talk to you. I am by no means, undermining your case or considering it as abnormal. I know how hard it can be to cope with Alien Hand’s Syndrome. I am once again begging your apology.” His words flow smoothly. “Gosh! I-I’m sorry, Mr. Miller, I shouldn’t have reacted like you murdered my sister or something. You were just trying to help and I’m here being completely irrational to you. It’s totally okay, Mr. Miller. You don’t need to apologize, it’s actually my bad I couldn’t understand.” I purse my lips. “I’m glad, you don’t mind. I think it’s almost the time to visit your sister.” He looks down at his watch. “stay safe, Miss Lawrence.” He nods. “Um, it’s Evelyn. I prefer to be called by Evelyn.” I nervously wring my hands. “Well then, goodbye Evelyn. Until next time.” He gently taps on my arm and heads down to his door. His voice makes my name sound hundred times better. I keep staring at him until he opens the door and turns back at me. I quickly look away and turning to my house, start walking. My ears get heated as I recall my way of behaving with him . Holy shit! I need to understand things better. I feel like a total douchebag. I don’t know should I be happy or angry at my luck. I have been piling up all the things that happened since Jules had this accident with the flickering hope that I’ll tell her everything as soon as she’ll wake up. Now, she’s awake but in no position to listen to my babblings. The doctor’s words keep echoing in my ears like a poisonous wave of sounds, “She is not going to be able to process any information for approximately 6 months. She’s awake alright, but her brain will function like a new born for a limited period of time. Not to worry! She’s not completely brain-dead which is a good sign.” Really! A good sign? My eyes start aching while a drop of tear fights its way down my face. My heart is burning, eyes are throbbing intensely, my head is swimming with thoughts yet I am unable to draw any connection among them. Once I used to believe being emotional to be a bad thing. Now I can understand how necessary it is to let out the griefs by letting down stream of tears. I’ve been a total crying-machine throughout my life and I was disappointed in myself for not having the power to control tearing up in public. But now? I JUST WANT TO CRY SEVERAL HOURS AT STRECTH FOR ONCE... ONLY ONCE FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE! “Eve? You okay? Ain’t you happy now that Jules is awake?” Kate’s voice slaps me back into reality. “She can’t fathom us, Kate! She is... she is just lying over there like an object. Is there any possible thing to be happy about?” I keep staring down at my feet. “Don’t say that Evelyn! At least she’s awake now. She will be alright in less than 6 months, mark my words.” She sounds a little mad. Maybe she has the right to be mad at me right now. Maybe, I am actually being irrational and ungrateful. Still isn’t it pretty normal for a broken girl who just lost her parents less than three months back, to react in such a way when her sister wakes up from coma to only be a mere object? God knows why nothing is going right. “I don’t know!” I can’t say anything more before moving out of the hospital. I don’t even wait for Kate to join me while I begin walking to catch the bus. “Evelyn, wait!” Kate yelps from behind. I halt without turning to her. I don’t know why am I letting out my anger on her? She didn’t do anything wrong here, nor does she have the control over Jules’ physical condition. I really am not quite sure whether I’m angry or just too frustrated of my life. Sometimes all we can do is, to be irrationally mad at near ones to minimize the excruciatingly unknown feeling that haunts us down. “Eve, what are you doing? You’re literally running into moving cars. Why are you being so cold at this point? You’re angry because you’re not gonna have the opportunity to share your long-awaited events with her. I understand, why it is feeling so bad not being able to do so, don’t you wanna think about Jules’ condition? Do you think she’s feeling better by being almost brain-dead and doing it on purpose to devastate you? Evelyn, please, try to realize the intensity of the matter on her side. It’s already worse; just don’t be inconsiderate to make it the worst.” The pitch of her voice seems to cut through my core. I stand there for another couple of minutes. “Right! I’m sorry. Let’s go back and ask the doc when can we take her home.” I utter calmly. Kate’s eyes soften as she reaches out to hug me. My brain keeps throbbing inside the skull reminding me of the stab-myself-anytime-unwittingly incident. I take a deep breath while picturing all kinds of positive events in my head. I recently figured no imagined happy or, glamorous moments can flip my bleak state of mind but a flicker of Mr. Mysterious neighbor can. This absolutely is beyond just I’m-so-smitten-by-him thing, I feel some weird yet blissful feeling whenever he crosses me in person as well as inside my stupid head. “Eve? EVELYN?” Kate’s sharp voice slaps me back in the hospital.. “Hu?” I blush a little seeing the doctor looking suspiciously toward my way. Shoot! He must be thinking of me as a psychopath or something, did I say anything out loud? “What’s up with the neighbor? What were you murmuring about, honey?” Kate looks anxious. “Um... nothing, it’s just I-I ran into Mr. Miller this morning, and um... and he told that he would like to visit Jules.” I cannot make anything out of my own words. “Really? That’s amazing! He’s such an incredible person, isn’t he?” her voice sounds a bit louder mingled with excitement. I forcedly stop myself from rolling my eyes at her not-so-hidden interest in Mr. Miller AKA 1000 years old Alchemist AKA only guy who makes my heart stop. O boy! Isn’t she planning to begin dating him! It would be freaking messed up. “So, darling, Doc just told that Jules can go home within a week.” Her eyes shine. “Oh really! How could I miss it? Must be my sinking-in-thinking-ocean nature. I am happy, Kate!” I grin. “I know you are. Trust me, everything will be just alright.” She squeezes my shoulder. Kate pulls her minivan into the parking lot. “You okay?” she eyes me. “Yeah, course! Why do you ask?” “Nothing, just checking in.” her lips quirk up into a grin. “Hold on, are you guys somehow thinking I’m insane?” I blurt out. “What? No, no, no! honey, we’re just making sure nothing goes wrong with you anymore after what you’ve been through already.” She glares at me. “Oh! Thanks a lot Kate, but it makes me a little uncomfortable when you guys treat me... well a bit more specially.” I wring my hands. “Sure, sweetie. Whatever you like. So, any plan for tonight?” “Tonight? No, why?” I open the car door. “I was thinking about going out for dinner, what do you say?” “I don’t know! Serena must’ve finished cooking by now.” I look at my watch. “It’s fine, she can come with us too and the foods can be good in the fridge until tomorrow.” She quirks up a brow at me. “Sounds pretty cool, then. Dinner outside!” I grin and start walking towards the house. She winks at me and hops out of the car. “O hey, Mr. Miller! What a pleasant surprise!” I halt at Kate’s high-pitched voice. Seriously! She’s seriously into him. Rolling my eyes, I continue walking without turning back to find some stupid flirtation. “Miss Smith? Good to see you, how are you doing?” that voice again weakens my knees. I quicken my paces. O wow! He even remembers her surname. Maybe they already exchanged numbers and chat on daily basis. Awesome! I cannot keep myself from frowning. “I’m doing great, actually! What about you? How’s life?” her over friendly mode has been activated. “Yeah, I-I’m good, thank you for asking. Um... Miss Lawrence? Is that you?” his voice weakens my knees further as well as freezes my body at this point. I feel like straightly walking to the house and not look back but at the same time, my heart begins to pump gallons of blood which successfully stops me from moving any forward. “Ah yeah, she is my niece, Evelyn. Eve? Mr. Miller is calling you.” Kate calls out to me. Wait, he is back to calling me Miss Lawrence! Wow! I made such a stupid out of myself telling him the other day to call me Evelyn. Argh! I Slowly spin around and try to smile, “Hi! I didn’t see you.” Course I’m being the dumbest in the history of dumbness. “Obviously you could not, Miss Lawrence. You were facing the other way and I’m afraid you, like any normal human being, cannot turn your head in 180-degree angle.” A ghost of a smile quirks up his lips a bit. “I-I meant, I know, I just was going...” I start mumbling like an idiot. Kate snickers, “Wow! Quite a sense of humor, ha?” her flirtatious look is not to be mistaken. To add salt to the wound, Ted gives her that marvelous smile. I feel so sad and ashamed simultaneously. Course he likes Kate. She is funny, smart, witty, knows where to say what and no doubt, drop dead gorgeous. They’re meant to date and marry and have whole bunch of beautiful children and whatnot. I am such a disappointment. Or you know what, Eve? You are better off without him. What if he turns out to be somebody dangerous? You better start avoiding him from now on. “So, how’s your sister, Miss Lawrence?” Holy Moly! I’m not avoiding him. He’s too much to avoid. “She’s good, I mean, she is out of coma now, which is greattt! And she’s gonna be home within a week, isn’t it wonderful?” I manage to let out an entire sentence without umming, pretty impressive on my end. “This is indeed, a wonderful news, Miss Lawrence. I’m very happy to hear that and I hope she will be totally healed in no time.” His voice calm and collected as usual. “Yeah, I hope so too.” I sigh. “Well, ladies, I’ll have to attend a meeting after a while, hope to meet you again.” He nods at Kate, implying that whatever he just said is entirely intended for her, not me. “Sure, Mr. Miller, and it’ll be great if you call me just Kate.” her eyes flush. “I’m sure, with time, it’ll get easier to call you by your first name, Ma’am! Goodbye.” He smiles at her AGAIN. “Bye, Miss Lawrence.” His chivalry does not allow him to not say goodbye to me. This time, no smile, no FUCKING SMILE. “Bye!” I cut it short before pacing towards the house. Chapter Seven It’s been almost two and half months I haven’t gone out of the house after Jules came back from hospital. All day and night I try to stay close to her. She cannot speak, she hardly moves her limbs but deep down inside, I feel satisfied, I feel a ting of relief getting her back to life. it feels like she’s there watching me, listening to me and secretly smiling at my crazy babblings. Meanwhile, Kate has gone out several times with the excuse of meeting up with friends. Well, I easily understood the undercurrent going on between Kate and Mr. Ted Bundy. I’m pretty sure they’re already dating which has bothered me a lot lately but I think remaining close to Jules matters to me more now. And one more thing I should remember is, that Greek God slash Rich businessman is not even a bit interested in me, so it’s next to useless to grieve over him. “Evelyn, did you see my tab?” Kate flips over the pillow on the sofa next to Jules. “No, how would I?” I try not to be mean towards her as my mind starts battering me as soon as Kate comes into my view. “Oh! That’s weird. I think I left it here somewhere.” She chews on her lower lip. “well, maybe you took it upstairs and forgot.” I shrug. “I don’t know, maybe!” she quirks up her lips. “Anyway, how is she doing now?” her eyes soften with the words. “She’s doing good, look at her face.” I smile at Jules. “I know right? We missed this face so much.” She brushes her fingers through Jules’ hair. “So, having dinner with us tonight, or?” I steady my glance on her sparky blue eyes. “Ye-yeah, course, why?” she seems surprised. “Nah, you have been having dinner out lately. Just thought to check in.” I wave my hands. “Ow, yeah, so many outdoors in a week! I’m sorry honey, you must’ve been bored staying home.” “What? No. I was not alone, Kate! Serena has been here, and above all, Jules is always with me. How do you say I’ve been alone?” my voice becomes a bit shrill. “O God! please, don’t take it otherwise, Eve. I didn’t mean anything bad, seriously. You know, I just wanted to...” she starts mumbling. “It’s okay, Kate. Quit trying to explain things, I think you’re right. I do need a little walk outside, maybe.” I clench my jaw. “Can you please be by her side for five minutes?” “Gosh! Eve, course I can, I can be here the rest of the night. You just go ahead have a walk if you want to.” Her motherly concern jerks something inside of my heart. “Thanks, Kate. Thanks for being with us at this moment. You do remind me of mom every time.” I reach out to squeeze her hand. “Mom! Why can’t I grow mustache like dad?” I held out two grass-leaves onto my lips to fake having mustache. “Cos Missy, you are a girl and girls can’t grow mustache like guys do.” Mom told me laughing at my weird question. “No, no! look at her honey, she already grew super heroic, green mustaches! Can’t you see? My baby girl is extra ordinary.” Dad gave off his ever-bright laughter. “Come on, Eve! Why do you always want to have everything dad has? You cannot be like dad.” Julia teased me. “No... I want to be like dad. Mom! Why is she saying I can’t...? my whining got submerged under a huge wave of laughter. I let out a big sigh. The same place, the same grass, the same sky and the same me. Only those three cheerful, amazing people are no more like before. A drop of tear slips across my cheek. I keep looking at the backyard silently sitting on a bench. They say we cannot relive the past, but why the past is always there to haunt us down? Why do they say live in the moment when the present is a burning hell for me? Silent rolling of tears quickly turns into sobbing. I struggle to halt scream from coming out of my mouth. I seriously feel like crying my heart out. “Everything is falling apart” I murmured. “EVERYTHING.IS.FALLING. APART” I suddenly shout out loud. “Not if you can put yourself together. World can break down into pieces but you can choose not to collapse.” That knee-weakening voice floats in from behind. I don’t become startled, instead I become really embarrassed to cry in front of an outsider. So, I remain put on the bench without turning back. “Are you doing okay, Miss Lawrence?” a firm hand touches my shoulder. I try not to look at him, “Yeah! Sure, I’m totally alright.” “Your voice doesn’t quite say the same thing, I’m afraid.” “I-I think I got to get going, Mr. Miller. Um, Jules must be hungry.” I grin a little and get up on my heels. “Miss Lawrence, I’m so sorry for what you are going through right now, but I must say, your swollen eyes don’t quite go with you.” He looks calmly at my face while sticking the hands in his trouser pockets. “Well, thanks for your concern, really! Means a lot.” I cannot help more tears rolling down my cheeks. I look away abruptly trying in vain to hide it from the guy, who doesn’t show any sign to leave. Not quite yet. So, I turn quickly to pace toward the house. “If you are feeling broken because of your parents’ death and your sister’s condition right now, I won’t blame you for that. But, Miss Lawrence, in case it’ll help you a little, I lost all of my family members at once, and worse, I’ve been blamed for their death. And look at me, I have not let the world around break me.” Does his voice just shake a bit? My eyes expand at his words, my body jerks a little, slowly sending a chill down my spine. “Go, get some sleep, Miss Lawrence. I genuinely hope you’ll feel better very soon.” He gives me a warm smile that touches my core. I never saw such a smile on his face. I’m very overwhelmed at what just happened that I completely forgot to reflect on how sacrilegiously gorgeous he looked with that smile. I nod a little at him being unable to look away even after he’s long gone.  O boy! He does have hell loads of mysteries hidden behind that collected and handsome face. Do I want to dig any deeper? Do I NEED to know any further than what he wants everyone else to know about? Maybe he wants me to know a bit more or why would he give off bits and pieces of his mysteries every once in a while? After being assured of Julia’s being in sound sleep, I head down to my room after a long week of staying beside Jules at her bed. A single week certainly made an unease and little discomfort in my favorite space, which is weird cos I haven’t felt any different after getting home after almost 3 months during that horrible accident. Taking a deep breath, I push open the window when a wave of cold, pleasant air whooshes against my face. I stare up to find the window closed in front of me. Maybe he’s already enjoying his 5th dream where he’s onto killing someone choking or whatever the hell ways his head is filled with. Nah! I really need to stop altogether aching my head over him. He is probably dating my Aunt, so he’s more like my uncle now, not someone I’d think about before sleep. I let out a little laughter at my weird thoughts at this hour. My phone starts ringing before letting me detour to another crazy path inside my mind. “Anna? What’s up? Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping by now?” I blurt out. “Yeah, I know I must be sleeping right now but guess what happened.” Her voice sounds a little tensed up. “You okay? Anna, did anyone break in? O my God! are you guys held hostage now? should I call 911?” my voice becomes so shrill that it starts bothering my own eardrums. “Relaaaaax, you crazy! It’s just, I’m doing it again.” She swallows. “Doing what? You’re not at a stranger’s house after getting drunk as hell, are you?” “EVELYN! I did that only once for God’s sake.” I can sense she’s rolling her eyes even over the phone. “Well, I’m sorry, now tell me what is it you’re doing again?” “I’m sleepwalking again, Eve. I almost got myself killed yesterday and I’m freaking out to think about sleeping now.” her voice grows heavy with fear and anticipation. “O my! Anna! What are you saying! Did you tell your mom and dad? Did they see it and rescue you? What exactly did you do to murder yourself? Jesus!” I gasp. “No, Eve, nobody knows. I mean, I haven’t told anybody yet cos I’m afraid they’ll start locking me down in my room and remove everything from here except for only a mattress. I can’t let that happen to me AGAIN.” Her voice trails off. “But...but Anna! You need to tell them for your own sake. Do not wait until some serious incident takes place. God! you okay now? I mean, you aren’t hurt, are you?” cold sweat rolls down my temple. “No... A-yes, I mean I’m just a little hurt. I figured I sleepwalked to the kitchen and tried to slice off my wrist, but thankfully, Alvin was there on his walker and screamed loudly enough to wake me up.” “Holy Moly! It’s being that same, old suicidal again this time. Please, Anny! Tell your parents, please, do not let it go any further. I’m telling you; I CANNOT AFFORD TO LOSE ANYONE ANYMORE. Am I clear to you?” I start shaking head to toe. “Ye-yeah, I will. I mean, let’s wait till tomorrow, maybe it just happened because of the 4 extra glasses of wine I downed at the bar...” “What? You did what? Come on, Anna! You cannot forget what doctor warned you about excessive alcohol intake.” I cut her off. “I do remember that, but ugh! I was so frustrated. I couldn’t help taking some extra.” She growls. “Anyway, I’ll be okay, no worries! My wrist is Band-Aided perfectly to cover up the cut from mom’s eagle eye! Hopefully. How’s Julia? Is she doing ok?” she changes the topic. “I don’t know, she’s doing, um she’s just getting by, actually.” I stop before inviting the tears out. “I’m so sorry, Eve! I genuinely hope she’ll be okay, and you remain strong, ha? You can get through this shit. I know you will, sweetie.” “Hope so too! But I’m warning you, seriously, do not hide that sleepwalking thing from your parents if something is up tonight.” I scoff. “Aye, Aye Ma’am! Go get some sleep and keep your ears awake in case I call again.” She chuckles. “Yeah, right!” I roll my eyes. “Good night, Muppet! Sleep tight, don’t let the sleepwalking bite.” “O wow! Good night, Crackpot! Try to sleep rather than gawking at the Alchemist.” She laughs. “O shut it, bitch! Bye.” I hang up the phone. Smiling at the screen I recheck the window of Ted’s room. O wow! It’s open. Did he open it while I was talking on the phone? God! was he keeping an eye on my movement the whole time? Shoot! I need to go back to Jules’ room. This guy is kinda freaking me out at this point. Or, maybe he just opened it to let some fresh air in. why it always has to be about me? Pfft! I’m such a freaking overthinker. Chapter Eight    “Serena, can you make your DELICIOUS Chicken Perm for dinner, tonight?” Kate’s voice floats across the hall. I stop midway feeding Julia. Something must be up with her demand. Is she asking Ted over for dinner? That’d be total disaster to tolerate their romance silently . I continue feeding Jules her favorite oatmeal soup. “Sure! I’ll be glad to.” Serena’s ever-cheerful voice replies. “Cool! One of my friends is coming over tonight and he’s obsessed with Chicken Perm. So, I was thinking about surprising him with the one of its kind.” She beams. For some reason, I fail to keep myself from poking my nose into the topic. “Who’s coming for dinner, Kate?” I try to sound excited. “Oh! You know, that friend of mine, he insisted on checking on Jules. So, I just couldn’t say no.” she wrings her hands. O wow! It cannot be anyone but Ted. Say it out, Kate! why don’t you just blurt out the name? “Who? Mr. Miller?” Oops! That’s not what I intended to do. Shit. “What? No! not him. I mean, he’s not my friend yet. Pfft! Just an acquaintance and neighbor. He seems really nice but again, a little uptight.” She shrugs. “Yeah, that’s what he is... uptight.” I murmur. “So, is this friend some special one?” I wink at Kate. “Hey, knock it off! Don’t get naughty here.” She smiles at me. “Cool! I think that smile speaks louder than your words, Miss Smith.” I grin. “Nothing yet but trust me, you guys are gonna love him. He’s amazing.” She pours water in a glass. “Of course! My future uncle is bound to be amazing.” She gives me a bright grin sparkling her already sparkly blue eyes. You suck big time, Evelyn! Shame on you for doubting this innocent lady for nothing. You can be really judgy at times! Just quit thinking trash about your own aunt from now on! I wince at my own stupidity.                                                                     “I’m registering for the next semester, Jules. I’m already lagging behind and probably won’t get any course with my buddies.” I frown at the laptop screen while Julia is silently staring my way. “Gosh! Jules, when will you be able to roast the hell out of me like before? When will I have to be breathless laughing so hard again at your stop-for-God’s-sake jokes? I know you’re listening to everything I’m babbling about now, cos Doc told me you’d hear everything, you’d know everything but couldn’t respond. It’s so harsh Jules, don’t you think? Plus, I’m still in the dark about your accident. Who was the owner of the car that pushed you out of the road? Where the hell is Will right now? You’re gonna be so sad but you need to know that we’ve not heard of him since your accident. Sometimes, things like these overwhelm me a lot that I just want to quit, quit from life.” I blink off the irritating tear that attempted to roll down. “Eve! It’s Anna.” Serena’s voice floats across the corridor. “Where? Is she here?” I crane my neck. “Surprise!” Anna shows up at the door holding out her hands in a V. “You kidding? You didn’t say anything about coming.” I push to my feet and clumsily head to pull her in for a hug. “Yeah, well! Didn’t plan it actually, but guessed it’d be fun stopping by.” She swings her long flowing hair to a side. “Cool! You didn’t sleepwalk last night, did you?” I lower my voice a little. “You don’t want to hear it but yeah, I did.” She presses her lips in a firm line. “And you told your parents about it.” My gaze steadies on her face. “Yeah, I did, they seemed to take it pretty normally, Thank God! then Mom made me call Doc Kevin, told him everything in details. So, he told me to... well since it’s semester break, he told me to change the place, stay outside the house for a month or so.” She wrings her hands nervously. “So, you came to stay? That’s crazy, Anna! It’s gonna be so much fun. I can’t remember how long it’s been since we two stayed at my place for sleepovers.” I start hopping and clapping my hands like a baby. “You okay with it? God! I thought you’d be a little upset as you’d already got a lot on your plate. Hell! we’re gonna have a blast.” She singsongs with a full-faced grin, then hugs me again. “Is it Anna? Woah, long time no see.” Kate puts her hands on her hips. She is looking 100 times more gorgeous in her skintight black velvet dress. “Kate? look at you! Are you aging backwards? Such a sinful beauty.” Anna flies across the room to reach her. “Well, well! Complement from the Beauty-queen herself.” Kate hugs Anna tight. “Seriously, Kate! you’re looking astoundingly gorgeous. Woah! That guy is real lucky.” I smile. “Guy? What guy?” Anna quirks up her brows playfully. “He’s just a friend, nothing else. You better not tangle things up missy.” Kate gives me an I’m-getting-mad-at-you glance. “Not buying it.” I giggle waving off my hand. “Get her a guy quickly, Anna. Then we can tease the hell out of her too.” Kate smirks. “She’s got that 1000 years old Alchemist already, don’t you know?” Anna winks at me. “Alchemist? Haven’t heard of it. Tell me, tell me...” a sudden doorbell cut her off. “Go, go, open the door for him.” I shove Kate with a laugh. “You’re telling me all about that Alchemist thing when we’re done with dinner.” Kate tells Anna before ducking out of the room. “She’s a sweetheart.” Anna smiles. “I know right?” I agree with her while getting embarrassed at my stupid anticipations about her and Ted just a few days back. “Oi, Anna, I forgot to ask you about your adventure last night, sorry, I mean...” “Shut it, bitch.” She tugs my arm slightly. “I’m sorry, it’s no joke, seriously! What happened? Was it... as bad as the one from before?” “Hmm, well, it was a bit weird, I’ll tell you after dinner.” She motions towards Kate’s voice. “Yeah, right! We should get acquainted with her man. I’ll be right back, Jules.” I squat to brush a kiss on her cheek. “This is Eve, my other niece I told you about.” Kate cheerfully introduces me to a sharp-featured, undoubtedly good-looking guy in black shirt and dark blue jeans. “It’s an absolute pleasure meeting you Evelyn. Zachary Jones.” He shakes my hand. “Likewise. Thanks for caring to come by to see Julia. It’s so kind of you Mr. Jones.” I try to give my sweetest grin. “Zac, please. Getting so formal isn’t my thing.” He grins back.  His ocean blue eyes look so full of life and can ease any stranger in an instant. It doesn’t take much time to like the guy. He is well-built almost sculpted, attractive faced and needless to mention, extremely easy-going. Within five minutes, his joking remarks and eloquence make the environment so happy and lively. “Why don’t you bring Julia here? She can eat with all of us. Trust me, she’ll feel good about it.” Zac pulls out a chair to sit. “I-I was thinking about feeding her first at her room, then I could have dinner.” I sense the confusion in my tone. “No way, Eve! Just bring her over here. She’ll be alright having dinner together with all of us.” He nods at me. “Sure thing! I’m going then.” I push to my feet. “I’m also coming with you, Crackpot.” Anna ducks out of the room following me. Quite a personality. I like it when people are easily understandable rather than twisting and mysterious, like that weird neighbor of ours. Kate is a sweetheart and she deserves a sweet guy like Zac... I smile inwardly. “You guys look a lot alike.” Zac gives a little nod at me. “Nah, Jules is much more beautiful than me, no doubt.” I smile. “Well, well, maybe it’s kind of a strategy ladies use to get more complements.” He shrugs with a playful wink.  Kate rolls her eyes, “We ladies already know well how beautiful we are! Your complements are not needed, mister!” Me and Anna agree in unison, “So freaking true.” “Apologies! Not taking any risk of being outnumbered here!” Zac hold up his hands with a smile. Dinner is spent with a full dose of entertainment and loads of laughter, after a long time. Somehow, I can feel Jules’ eyes gleaming with joy too. My heart flutters at it, I couldn’t be happier at the moment. “O wow, your surname is Jones, ha?” Anna turns back while helping me in doing dishes. “Yeah, why?” Zac sinks into a sofa with a glass half-filled with red wine. “I-I mean, Julia’s fiancé, Will... his surname is also Jones.” Anna swallows realizing the inappropriacy of the topic right at this situation. “Ow, Julia is engaged! I didn’t know that.” Zac blurts out before scratching his head nervously. His blue eyes shift quickly to find some other topic to burry this one. I keep washing the dishes silently when I hear Kate gasp. “Um, you guys! Do you like having pets around? Not seeing one here.” He takes a quick glance around. “I actually am Cynophobic, so no dog for me. I don’t mind cats though.” I shrug. “No, no cats! I’m allergic to these little monsters. “Since when?” I frown. “Like forever!” Anna rolls her eyes, but dogs are so cute, I had one until... well until I didn’t have her anymore.” she sighs. “Guess we get to bail on this topic, so, ladies! Not into alcohol, I think?” he raises his glass a little. “No, not really. I have medically prohibition, you know.” I air quote with my hands. “Shit! That’s a shame.” His voice filled with condolence. “It’s fine, never been a huge fan of wine anyway.” “I do want to take a sip or two, but I think I’m gonna pass for tonight.” Anna pouts. “It’s only me then, as your aunt is going sober.” he shrugs. “Oh! Are you?” I turn to Kate. “Nothing’s wrong with trying, I believe.” She grins. “Course!” Zac gives a smirk indicating the infamous drinking nature of Kate. We silently laugh without making Kate go mad. Chapter Nine “I think Julia was trying to say something.” Anna tugs a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t know, her eyes seemed gleaming a bit while we were laughing over dinner. I mean, she hasn’t given off any expression since coming home. Do you think she’s progressing? Ah wait, is it the laughter and joyous environment that will help her get well soon?” “I was thinking the same, you know? I think she liked it; she liked the fuss. Maybe, we should start taking her out, do some more fun stuff.” She puts her hand on my arm. “I think so too.” I squeeze her hand. “O boy! Isn’t Zac so darn sexy!” Anna chews on her lower lip. “Shut it! He is dating my aunt for God’s sake.” “I am just telling the truth, Crackpot! Well, what can I say if sexy aunt’s boyfriend is another darn hottie?” she snickers. “Can’t deny!” “Netflix or, sleep?” she raises a brow. “Um, Netflix, babe!” “That’s why I love you, bitch.” “I think Jules is all set, right?” I take a look over my shoulder. “She is in deep sleep already, Eve! No worries. You do have that alarm set up in your room. If anything happens, God forbid, we’ll be the first ones to know. “Ya, right!” I take a last look at Jules before closing the door. “I’m not taking the charge if I fall asleep amidst watching the show. You know I can’t compromise my sleep for anything.” I give a side-eye to Anna. “I know! You’re excused, I’ll enjoy the show by myself, and yes, I’ll finish as many episodes as I can.” She smirks. “You suck, bitch.” I roll my eyes. When we’re so engrossed in keeping our eyes glued on the TV screen, I sense a shadow moving somewhere near the window. I cannot help jumping a little. “Woah, woah! What is it?” “Didn’t you see that? Something, I mean, someone is there outside the window.” “Really! You were hallucinating, maybe.” Anna furrows her brows at me. “Maybe! It’s nothing unusual for me now.” I lie back but my mind keeps wandering through all the possibilities that could be happening right now outside the window. Obviously, Mr. Miller is the very first one to cross my mind at this point. The sound of police siren wakes me up. I squint at the bright day light coming through the half-closed window. Police siren... that shadow moving about somewhere near this window... I swallow back the heart that has instantly crept up to my throat at the thought of some danger... maybe a murder. “God! Eve, are you not gonna go check on Jules, or what?” Anna’s voice cracks down as she’s still half-asleep. “What? Why?” “Can’t you hear the alarm? She might be in a darn problem, you, crackpot!” her voice clears off a little as she sits up. “Is it... is it the Goddam alarm? Holy moly! I thought it to be ambulance siren. O no! what happened to her?” I abruptly push to my feet and almost instantly hold on to a corner of the table beside my bed. My head begin spinning like crazy. I squeeze my eyes before shaking it off. “Relax, Eve! I’m going check on her, you sit for a while. Shit! Your nose is bleeding, you want me to grab the ice first?” Anna’s voice filled with shock and worry. “No, no! it’s fine, let’s just go quickly. This darn alarm never rang till date.” I fly across the corridor towards Julia’s room without looking around. Anna’s worried voice keeps floating from behind saying me to slow down. I whoosh out my long-stuck breath after opening the door to the room. She is sleeping like a baby giving off the least frightening vibe all about. Seeing her alright lets the tight grip loose free that has been chaining my lungs heavily for the last few minutes. I look over my shoulder and mouth to Anna, “She is alright!” “Thank God!” she puts an arm around my still-shaking shoulder. “But...but Anna! The alarm is still ringing. You see? It’s only supposed to ring if something falls on the ground or hits the wall” my breath immediately wears off. “Eh? Maybe there’s a glitch in the system. You know, things like this happen in the Modern tech stuff. Stop worrying too much, will you?” she squeezes my arm. “Um... but I got it checked it all right the day before yesterday. It can’t be bugs or something.” “Evelyn! What really matters at this point is Jules is fine. She is sleeping totally fine.” She jerks me by my shoulder. “Guess so...” murmuring mindlessly I flick another glance around the room to spot anything... abnormal. But nothing seems wrong so far. “What are you doing over there?” I look at Anna who’s standing by the window. “Ha? Nah! Nothing, you know, just checking if the window is closed alright. And it is locked tight.” She nods at me nervously. “Is it really? Why are you becoming so nervous?” “I’m not, Evelyn. I just got a little worried about the suddenness of everything.” “Ha! Cool then. I think I’m gonna stay beside Jules till she wakes up. You go get some sleep.” I sit on the side of the bed. “You sure? I think you also need some rest. I think I can stay here instead cos it’s not good to mess up with your health right now.” she gives me a stern glance. “It’s okay Anna! I’m going to stay, that’s been said already. Close the door silently before you leave the room Ma’am.” I smile wryly at her. “If you say so.” Her shoulders hunch a little before ducking out of the room. Am I missing something? It’s highly unlikely to be caused by a bug in the system. Who am I kidding! My mind is wandering back to the look on Anna’s face. God! she’d never do anything bad to Jules. I can trust her more than myself in that case. But... something should be wrong, because it is not quite right. Suddenly my eyes shift to that red dot on Julia’s right wrist. I shift on the bed to inspect it closely. Holding her hand gingerly, I inspect the dot, no, more of a scar now that I am looking at it more closely than before. My heart misses a beat, palms start sweating. This scar was absolutely not here last night when I put her to sleep. Just like I supposed something is not going right. Damn it! Why didn’t I stay right here last night! Why did I have to watch fricking Netflix then? Who did this to you? Who came here to hurt you Julia? Did the person really hurt you bad? My guilt and worries start melting down my cheeks as hot tears. I’m struggling to breath, struggling to talk and feeling so much guilty to look at the sleeping Julia, who is not even in the state of telling whether she is hurt or not. I feel devastated as I limp across the room to call out to Kate. My mind is going a thousand miles to scavenge all types of awful things that could happen to Julia, my disabled sister. Stream of tears blurs my vision as I wobble across the corridor. “Katie? Katie, you awake?” I shout out. I turn back hearing a door clicking open. “What’s wrong? What is it, Eve?” Anna’s half-Latin grace seems to fade away. She looks more like freaked out rather than anxious. “Julia... what did they do to her? What’s that scar? Trust me it wasn’t there last night.” My head starts throbbing at this point. “What scar? Who did hurt her? What are you trying to say, Evelyn? You need to calm down first then tell me clearly.” Anna rushes to me to hold me by my shoulders before I fall to the ground. “What’s going on, girls? What happened to her again? Jesus!” Kate’s eyes get ginormous and instantly filled with concern as she looks towards this way. “I don’t know Kate, something must’ve happened to Julia, I guess. Eve is freaking out.” Anna takes a glance at Kate before looking down at my pale face. “Holy Moly! It can’t be true, I mean... we haven’t encountered anything dangerous since she’s got home. Well, you take it easy, Eve! Breathe, okay? You’re not letting that evil syndrome take over you again, right? Take a deep, long breath and stay here. I’m going to check on Jules. Believe it, it’s nothing bad, okay? I’m going now.” Kate hurries across the corridor pulling her glowing blonde hair into a messy bun. “Anna, did I just overreact? I think I can’t think of witnessing anymore mishaps to my family. She’s the only one left from the family, from that awesome four we’ve been since my birth. I -I am really sorry for giving you guys very hard times every now and then. It’s just, I’m feeling so out of control lately.” As my breaths ease a little, I start mulling over the matter logically. “It’s totally fine, Eve. You’re going through a lot, more than a person at your age can take without a sweat. You’re not overreacting, you’re doing fine. Everything is fine, okay?” Anna looks into my eyes, “Just you calm down now. Katie will be back any minute.” Giving her a little nod, I try to calm my mind slowly inhaling and exhaling. “Um... guys? Did you by any chance, leave the window open last night?” Kate pinches on her lower lip. “What? No, why? I triple checked it before leaving the room, seriously!” I blurt out in a breath. “Why do you ask?” Anna looks blank. “I don’t know, you know I just found a little slit on one side of the window, probably for not being careful enough to close it.” Kate waves off her hands. “Is it not locked?” my eyes start expanding. “No, it is... I mean, it is now, I locked it. I just doubt it wasn’t till a while back.” “It cannot be...” I look shockingly at Anna; she shrugs with unease on her face. “O wait, did I? did I actually forget to lock the window? Shit! Anna, it’s been unlocked all night. Weren’t you there by the side of the window this morning to hide it from me? Why didn’t you tell me then, so that I could lock it? God! Anna, someone must’ve sneaked in there, there in her room through that Goddam window.” I start panting. “Remember? Remember I was freaking out a little sensing a movement near the window last night? When we were watching that darn show?” Anna quivers a bit, opens her mouth to say something, then stops. I turn to Kate, “Did you see that scar on her wrist? Do you think whoever sneaked in, hurt her?” my eyes start brimming. She puts a hand around my shoulder, pats my arm channeling ease and comfort towards my way, “I did, honey! I saw the scar but I don’t think someone else did it, or maybe someone was there but couldn’t do her any harm whatsoever. It’s okay Eve, she’s alright. I’ve called Doctor Rogers already, he’ll be here soon and if he recommends, we’ll take her to the hospital to run the necessary tests. We won’t leave her alone anymore from now on, we just need to be a bit more careful.” Her face looks gloomy giving off the doubt brewing underneath her own words. “O God! Hurting a woman who can’t say a word, who can’t even express any bodily feeling? Seriously? How brutal can one be!” my eyes instantly go cold. “Wait, the shadow! That bastard! Is it that serial-killer jerk who did it to her? I will kill him. I swear I’ll shoot the crap out of the bastard as soon as I get him.” Without turning to them, I push to my feet. “Who? Who’re you doubting, Eve? Tell us.” Kate tips over her feet trying to step forth. I don’t feel any need or courage to lose anymore minute in explaining them everything. I just want to kill that asshole. “I am so coming for you, Jerk! I’ll kill you.” I mutter. “O no, Katie! We got to stop her. She’s... she’s going for the wrong person, I guess. God! you’re making a wrong move, Evelyn.” Anna’s voice raises as I keep pacing towards the main gate. “Anna? You know anything? What are you guys doing? Please, tell me something so that I can understand.” Kate’s words get muffled as I step outside the house before shutting the door behind. “ I AM COMING FOR YOU, YOU FRICKING TED! YOU THOUGHT YOUR DIRTY FETISH OF KILLING PEOPLE WOULDN’T STRIKE ME? WELL, GET READY TO ENJOY YOUR BIG SWEET SLEEP… NOW.” I stroll down the passage while the sharp piece of metal in my hand flickers with sunlight. Panting hard, I tighten the grip on the knife I’ve picked from the SHARPEST collection on my way through the kitchen. “Evelyn! Evelyn, hold on. I say wait up, listen to me...” Kate’s cracking voice sounds distant. I do not want to stop at this point. Nobody, nothing... not a single soul can take anyone from my family away from me...not any more. I am not gonna let them to. Without even thinking about halting at Kate’s call, I reach the door of the bloody murderer long before I can realize. My brain throbs at the killer mode I’ve turned on a while before. I grit my teeth at the view of the door, then fisting my fingers into a tight grip, I give in. “Open the door, Richard Miller! You bloody murderer.” I scream after knuckling on the door hard. No hint or sound of movement reaches my ears first. But before hammering on the door again, a soft footstep inside the house start nearing quickly towards the door. “Evelyn, listen to me, come back here.” Kate starts running down the passage way. “Kate, please!” raising the knife a little I almost threat her, “Do not even try to come here right now, it’s not gonna end up well.” “What! Jesus! I must do something, shit.” Kate hesitates a little before running back to the house. “Good Morning, Miss Lawrence! You’re looking for anything?” that calm voice does not weaken my knees this time, instead my whole body starts banging like crazy. The madness I’m feeling at this moment is beyond anything I’ve ever felt to date. I look at him with eyes full of hatred, rage and thirst for blood. “You still have the gut to talk to me! Holy fricking moly! You’re a darn shameless monster.” The veins on my neck pop up with the surge of rage. “W-what? What are you talking about?” he holds up his hands in defense while giving a side eye to the knife in my hand. “Guess what! I don’t have any time or energy or... interest in letting you walk through everything you actually walked through in person, you jerk. Just shut up and let me kill you.” A sharp whoosh of air leaves through my nostrils. “Miss Lawrence, slow down. You are mistaking something here, trust me, I did no such thing to convince you to believe me as a monster.” He looks not a bit worried even NOW! what an audacity! “Don’t! don’t you even try to distract me with your some monstrously calming charm, here! I am not going to listen to you.” I swoosh the knife with a completely noob hand at him. He smoothly shakes the knife out of my grip without hurting my wrist. It just says how capable he is in handling knives. My rage gets the hold of me as I start towards his neck to strangle the crap out of him. “Miss Lawrence, listen to me first.” His voice raises to almost a shout. I jerk a little at the sudden shift in his voice as well as the collected expression. “You-you have the audacity to shout at me after trying to kill my sister? You are so dead.” hot tears start rolling down my cheeks out of uncontrollable anger. “Woah, what! You’re suspecting me as someone attempting to hurt your sister? Are you kidding me?” for the first time does Mr. always-uses-formal-language burst out with slangs. “You need to fucking listen to me before starting to cut open my fucking gut.” I suddenly feel my throat being closed down as he snaps. I silently keep looking at that Ice like eyes that are now burning like fire. “Did you even have a word with that sleep walker friend of yours before straightly picking this knife up like a Greek warrior?” his voice goes back to its ever-settled form now mixed with a bit of sarcasm. “Who? Anna?” my eyes widen. “Is it the name you call her by? Then, yes, it is Anna I am talking about. Did she not mention anything to you, Evelyn?” Wow! He’s calling me by my first name! “Why should she have to say anything about it? I don’t understand.” I hear a gasp behind me before turning back to find Kate, Anna and Serena standing a few feet away from me. The gasp clearly came from Anna as her face looks like she’s gonna faint anytime. “What are you talking about? CAN YOU KINDLY MAKE IT CLEAR ENOUGH FOR ME TO UNDERSTAND?” I try to snap at Miller but my voice ends up in a murmur. “Sure! I am providing you with all necessary information about the incident last night. But you need to give me the opportunity to explain everything perfectly first.” He eyes Anna which makes her wince. “Cool! Just out with it, fast! We might need to take Jules to hospital. So, I really am not in any situation to keep listening to your Ted Talk right now.” I cross my arms across my chest. “Well! I’m a bit disappointed at Miss Anna for not clearing you out about everything. Anyway, you are already very well aware of your friend’s sleep-walking, I suppose?” with a brief pause he starts again, “She did it, last night...” “She sleep walked last night?” I cut him off. “As a matter of fact, yes. I did not know any of it, nor was I interested but Miss Anna knocked on my door at around 3 am last night. I was working on a project so, considered pulling an all-nighter. Hearing the knocks at that hour, I was shocked but I was even more shocked finding a lady standing in front of my door enveloping with silence and darkness. She did not look quite awake, of course. So, I slightly jerk her by the shoulders and she thankfully woke at it. By conversing a little, I came to know she is your friend and staying here for a while. She also told me how she often walks during her sleeps. She seems a little afraid at that hour, so, I offered her to walk home. After nearing your house, we... well I found out the window to some room is wide open. So, I motioned her towards that.” “Wait? Did she...” I abruptly turn to Anna’s pale face, “Did you open Jules’ window? Did you- O my God!” “I know, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to inject the sedative, then...” she mumbles. “What? You did what?” “What! I don’t know... did I say anything!” Anna swallows. “I think you should say out clearly everything to Evelyn, in fact, all of us here need to hear the whole story, Miss Anna.” Miller shifts his weight to the other foot. “Anna! What is he saying?” Kate jerks her by the arm. Anna immediately breaks into sobbing. She starts to back off while violently panting through her tears. “Anna! You know you need to speak up about whatever the hell happened. Don’t freak out, just tell us what is it, got me?” Kate sounds a little harsh. “It was... I was, I don’t know! I was so afraid at that time, it all happened so quickly. After this guy pointed at that open window, I knew I was the one pushing it wide open before somehow managing to climb down all the way. This fricking sleep-walking makes it so easy to even kill a people!” she covers her eyes with shaky hands. “Did you tread over her on your way out?” I ask sternly. “No, no... no! it’s not like that. I immediately ran upstairs to check on her. That is when I found her awake... in fact, she seemed more awake than usual. I was so freaked out seeing her muttering something to me, trust me, I was enough drained off after waking up in the middle of the night in front of a stranger’s door. She was... I think she was actually muttering something with eyes flashing to me. I went completely nuts and grabbed the syringe from her nightstand.” She gulps hard. “O my God! my head hurts.” I squeal and grip the side of my throbbing temple. She starts sobbing again, “It was so quick. Everything happened so fast I didn’t quite make any sense out of it. I was so freaked out of Jules’ voice hushing my name when I scavenged the sedative out of the med pile and pushed the syringe to her wrist...without even thinking of closing the window, I-I think it’s the squirrel that jumped through the window into the room this morning” “Her wrist? You kidding me? You don’t inject fucking sedatives into someone’s wrist.” Kate yelps. “... I know... I wasn’t acting sensibly. I was so nervous and afraid and...” “You pushed sedative into my sister who is almost in her coma only because you were fucking nervous? ANNA! YOU DO NOT HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT MIGHT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER!” that entrapped anger inside me is trying hard to come out. Crossly rubbing my temple, I turn to Kate, “Let’s get her to the hospital now! she started to respond Kate! she tried to talk to this freak!” my finger darts at Anna’s bloodless face. “Julia needs to be checked thoroughly ASAP Katie! I’ll deal with this bitch later.” I start breathlessly towards the house. Kate and Serena’s footsteps grow louder as they both start to the house as well. “I do not suppose you are needed or, your presence is appropriate to them at this time. So, you better wait here for a while Miss Anna.” Miller’s voice floats from behind. In reply, I only hear some more sobbing which is infuriating me now. So, slapping the hands on my ears I keep striding down the way. Too many thoughts and possibilities begin to cloud my head. I only want Julia to be okay. I only pray she’ll wake up this time. “Was she forcefully injected the med?” the doctor quirks up his brow at me. “Kind of... I mean there’s some crazy woman... she did it to her.” Chewing on my lower lip I stop the curse words that are wrestling hard with my tongue to blurt out. “Is she going to be ok, doc?” “Well, first of all, in her condition, she is not required any sedative as long as it’s emergency. Secondly, for this type of patients, the numbness of senses can be healed over time. For some, all of the senses start working at once, for others it works in fragments. She started to talk, you said?” he eyes me over his specs. “Yes Sir, she was whispering mostly.” I nervously fist my fingers on my lips. “Alright! It seems to be a little bad for her right now. the extra dose of sedative and injecting through a delicate part do not look so positive...” “Are you saying she’s in danger?” my heart jumps up to my throat. “I am not saying she is in danger but we will keep her in observation for the next 12 hours and see what happens next. But, Miss?” he looks up at me. “Evelyn, I’m her little sister.” “Evelyn, I will suggest you and the others not to stay here and do not worry much. She will be okay.” He nods. “No, I will stay, please...” “Eve, no! you go home. You are already looking quite worn out by now. God knows when you fall sick too. Do not take the pressure on your shoulders, just go home. I’m staying with her.” Kate’s voice calm and stern. “But I...” “What did I just tell you?” her scoff sounds identical to that of mom. “Cool, okay! Please, don’t forget to let me know about her progress.” I glance at Julia through the glass of observation room. “I will, no worries.” She pulls me into a hug.   During the entire drive back home, I feel extremely anxious and an unknown fear keeps haunting me down. Should I get Anna out of the house or will it be too rude! I don’t know, something in my subconscious mind tells me not to be so rude while all of my conscious mind is pushing me to let her out. Chapter Ten   I haven’t had dinner mostly to avoid facing Anna after that crazy episode of my ride on the temperamental roller-coaster. Without even changing into my PJs, I plop on the bed with a buzzing head and extreme embarrassment. Heaving a sigh out, I replay the series of crazy incidents that took place since morning and wince at my total nonsensical burst of anger at Mr. Miller. Holy fricking crap! What was I even thinking! What is wrong with me? I am becoming such a stupid little ...! I bury my head in the heap of pillows. I must hide myself from the guy from now on. I made a complete idiot of myself all on my own . All of these be Anna’s fault. She’s the one who kept the truth away from me, such a selfish. I should’ve kicked her out of my house. I cannot believe I considered her my best friend all the way. Argh! I need sleep right now... I just need an escape from all this drama… all this shame! “Mija, you sleeping?” Serena’s voice comes from the other side of the door. “Serena? No, I’m still awake, come in.” She clicks open the door, “Aren’t you gonna have dinner?” “No, Serena! Told you not feeling like eating.” “Did you take medicines?” she utters slowly, “Kate called me and told to make you eat the dinner even if you don’t want to.” “Come on!” I plop my head down on a pillow. “Kay, fine! I’ll have to take the meds I guess.” “Cool! Here is your food. Call me if you need anything else.” She puts down the tray on my side table. “Thanks Serena, you’re the best.” I smile. “You’re the sweetest, Mija!” she squeezes my hand. “Oh, I forgot to tell you something.” “What? Did Anna make another mess?” “No, no... it’s not about her. It’s... here, the nurse gave me this bracelet after going to the hospital when Jules had this accident. I kinda forgot to give it to you.” She brings the black and gold bracelet out of her pocket. “O wow! Isn’t it that bracelet we found in the basement when I was in the middle school?” I caress the beautiful, shiny gold design with my thumb. “I think so, yeah!” she smiles a bit, “Well. I’m going then, don’t forget to call me if...” “If I want anything? I won’t Ma’am.” I grin. “Cool, you better not forget!” beaming, she leaves the room. I still wonder whose bracelet was it before leaving this at the basement! Was it accidentally dropped there or someone intentionally left it? Wait! Wasn’t I wearing this bracelet when we had the accident? Suddenly, a shiver brushes down my arms. I have goosebumps even after being in layers. Is it something like a cursed bracelet or what! But I don’t believe in such things… it just doesn’t make any fricking sense. Well, let’s experiment with this thing! I can wear it from now on and see what happens next. I almost laugh at my own thoughts as it seems so childish to believe a bracelet can cause any danger. Well, no harm can be caused in giving it a go though I’m pretty darn sure it doesn’t have any connection with the problems that are happening in my life. Or does it? The thought unnoticeably sends another chill down my spine. I shift my attention towards the plate of food. Yum! It’s mac n cheese. Thank God, Serena insisted me in having the dinner or else I would’ve missed this delish. A grin pulls to my lips and I unconsciously slip the bracelet down around my left wrist. I could’ve unlocked the door to some weird dream of mine unless suddenly my phone started ringing. With sleepy-sloppy hand I grab the phone from the nightstand before switching on the lamp. “Hello? Kate, what’s up? Is Jules ok?” “Julia is alright, she’s awake!” Kate’s voice filled with joy. “Really? How’s she doing?” I leap up to sit. “She is better than we could ask for. She is uttering words... I mean not entirely clear and crisp but she’s smiling, and trying to talk as much as she can. She even said your name.” “You kidding! This is amazing! Can I get to talk to her?” my voice finds its excitement-mode pitch. “Sure! Hold on a sec.” Jules, it’s Evelyn. Say hello to her. Kate’s voice sounds muffled. “Eve!” Jules’ trailed off voice instantly brings tears to my eyes. “Jules? You awake Jules! You’re now calling my name. I’m feeling like I’m hearing your voice after eons! I love you Julia.” My throat almost shuts off with the hint of brimming tears. “Likewise, Eve! Kay... now sleep” the broken words hold that old... loving, sisterly affection that shakes me to the core. “Alright, Jules. You too sleep sound. I will be right there first thing in the morning.” “She’s very happy, Eve! I can’t stop smiling like an idiot but my heart is literally fluttering right now. See? I told you someday everything would be just fine.” Kate’s shaky voice gives off the presence of tears in her eyes. “I know, Katie. I love you so much. Thanks for coming... for tolerating my bad temper and for taking care of Jules.” “Alright! Emotional hours are off. Now, go get some sleep missy.” She chuckles. “Yeah, you too. Good night.” “Good night sweetie.” Kate is right! Whatever the heck I thought would darken my life... however pessimistically I dealt with my worries... the bottom line is WE WILL GO THROUGH IT ALL. JULES IS TRYING TO TALK... SHE’LL START RESPONDING WITH ALL HER SENSES VERY SOON. God will not let us down. I believe so... I KNOW so! After too many emotional episodes, we finally arrive home with Jules. She does not need the wheelchair now as she almost got ahold of her lower body movements. I feel like leaping like a little child holding her tightly by one arm while she limps across the way home. “God! Jules, you can almost walk now... you’re talking... I am so happy.” “I know! Me... I’m happy too!” her voice trails off. “Eve! Can you grab the meds from the car?” Kate looks over her shoulder after settling Julia down on a couch. “Sure thing!” Smiling at them, I duck out of the living room. I catch Anna going towards Julia with the corner of my eyes which immediately maddens me. Struggling to halt, I choose to stride away from her quickly. I take out the meds and about to close the car door when the voice comes in. “Hey, Evelyn! How’s your sister doing?” NO...NO, NO! not you. I’m never facing you; I took an oath to myself. Please, God, do something to distract the guy. I am no more in the state of talking to him after what the fricking hell did I do just yesterday. God! not even a single day has passed since! My face flushes crimson when I realize he is still standing right behind me. Gathering all the courage and energy, I turn to him. “Hi! Great, she’s doing much better than before. She seems to have impaired a little physically because of the unnecessary dose of sedative but thankfully, it hasn’t caused any major damage. So, yeah! She’s trying to walk, she’s almost talking. thank you for asking.” Racing the words out, I turn around and close the car door. “That’s such a wonderful news. I’m so happy to hear that.” A little grin mixes with his usual calm voice to make it even more irresistible. “Yeah, me too! I’m happy too. See you around maybe! Bye.” I get seriously surprised at my swift and smooth deliverance of speech to Mister Knee-weakening voice. “You okay, Miss Lawrence?” “Me? Couldn’t be okay-er… I mean more okay.” I blurt out without turning to him. “Cool! See you soon.” he lets out a little laugh before pacing away. Shoot! Shoot! Is he growing more attractive or am I being a crazy moron! I’m not supposed to interact with him, not anymore after my oh-so-dramatic and So-embarrassing actions. I sneak a peer at him over my shoulder before going home. “Hey, Jules! You’re gonna have to listen to a lot of my jabbering, okay?” I scoot over to put the bag of meds on the table. “Yeah!” she smiles. My smile fades out after seeing Anna sitting right beside Julia. “What are you doing here? I’m not seeing any sedative around.” I cannot stop my thoughts from speaking out loud. Shit! “What! Evelyn. You’re going extra miles here, I must say. She is totally okay now and that was an accident. It could be you and your stupid alien hand syndrome. Stop making me guilty whenever you get the chance to. I did not choose to do whatever happened that night.” Anna storms off. I forcefully stop the urge to snap back and as a matter of fact, I do have a lot of logicalities to back my argument up. Well, Julia hasn’t come home to face these shits, so, I got to stop, at least in front of her. “Eve, it’s... y’ know, accident.” Julia tries to minimize the intensity of brewing anger beneath my steeled face. “I get it, Jules! I’m sorry to be so short-tempered always. Anyway, what are you up to? What are you looking at?” I scoot over to find Will’s photo holding stiffly in her hand. “What... where is he?” “I-I don’t know. He called before...” She lets out an unconscious whisper. “What! When? Before when Jules? Did you pick it up?” “Yes... he asked me to go... to go there but... I couldn’t,” she heaves a deep breath out. “then it happened... I’m tired.” Sweats begin to roll down her temples. “Calm... calm down, Jules. It’s ok, you do not have to tell anything right now! okay? Just relax now. We’ll figure out about Will later. Do not sweat over anything, just do focus on your health. Smile, laugh... do whatever that makes you happy.” I look into her eyes. “Love you, Eve! I’m happy...” she smiles wryly. “I’m literally on cloud 9000, look at you! You’re almost totally healed now.” I hug her. “The sisters seem to forget about their very special aunt, I see!” Kate cocks her head to a side and smile brightly. “Look, who is here! That beautiful girlfriend of Mister handsome.” I give a smirk. “Ow shut it, missy!” Kate gives me a little shove. “I want to hear.” Julia smiles. “You will… but first eat the meal and meds, get some sleep. Then you’ll hear EVERYTHING.” Kate puts an arm around Jules’ shoulders. “You don’t have any idea how much relieved I’m feeling to see you talking and laughing, Jules.” Serena brushes off the droplet of tear after putting the tray on the table. “I know... you guys...” Julia’s words trail off. “Cool! Now I’m gonna feed you the meal first...” “No, crazy! She has to try on her own, we’ll be here to help.” Kate cuts me off. “Sure, but seriously! I think only this time I should intervene.” “No, you shouldn’t, she can eat on her own now.” Kate grins. The rest of the afternoon is spent so smoothly that I haven’t even thought about another soul upstairs. After settling Jules up for sleep, I unknowingly climb up the stairs and stop before the door to the guest room. Should I just shove away the fight and fix everything or, should I keep lingering on the bad blood! I don’t know. This is not the first or only time I have fight with Anna. We have had the highest numbers of fights over our friendship among all possible friendships in the history of the world. but nothing felt this awkward and somewhat mysterious like this one. I chew on the inside of my lip, back off five to six times right after advancing to knock the door. Something is not feeling quite right this time. Anna is not hiding anything from me, is she? Well, I think a walk in the open air will steady my mind at this moment. Stepping outside, my eyes wander towards the house next door and immediately I feel like shrinking down to a tiny dot and vanish into the air. I want this walk but I absolutely never want Miller to see me. So, I go around the house to walk in the backyard, from where, Miller’s house is not in any way to be seen. The soft grasses feel great against my barefoot. I always take off the sandal to walk more closely to the nature whenever I come to the backyard. It has become more like a ritual since... since when I was a little kid. Inhaling sharply, I look at the screen of my phone that suddenly vibrates. Holy moly! This thing is literally bursting with gazillions of texts! I have been out of the network for over two weeks. And, this is what happens when you turn off the airplane mode after this long. Argh! Chapter Eleven   Before shoving the phone in my pocket, my eyes fixate on one text, probably from Sara. This is not the name of the sender that draws my attention but the text... the words it contains. Sitting down on a bench I quickly tap on the text. “Hey, Eve! Is Anna at your place? I just heard from a neighbor that someone killed her cat the day before she left the house. She must be devastated, isn’t she? I’m wondering if everything is quite okay out there with you guys. How’s Jules now? I tried to call you several times, texted you some more, but guess you’re back to the no-phone and no-Wi-Fi mode again. Take care Sweetie.” “Oi... I’m going out of the country with Dad for some office work. I really wanted to drop by at your place but dad suddenly popped up with this sudden trip. I’m sorry Eve, I will visit you as soon as I’m home. Text me back whenever you’re out of the solitude mode. Oh! One more thing I was thinking about lately... did you know Anna’s having a cat? I can’t remember her mentioning it to me! Anyway, see you soon! XO The first text is from the last week and the second one is from two days earlier. Her cat died... someone killed... she suddenly showed up here... she is sleep-walking again... she told Zac how she’s allergic to cats and... she doesn’t seem to be devastated. At all! I have doubted her not for nothing! Maybe, now I need to face her... some real talk is on its way Annabelle Gaston! Do not think of getting away with whatever the shit you’re messed your brain up with. Although I am seething at this point but do not think that rushing to pick another fight with her would be actually worth it. I try to come up with a proper plan to catch her red-handed. Well, first I need to figure out what is happening underneath her half freaked out, half nervous face. She did tell me about the sleep-walking before the day she came here being a bit weirder than usual. It is not just weird to kill a bloody cat during an episode. This is downright murderous. I nervously scratch the back of my neck. My mind shifts back and forth from Anna to Julia’s words... he called! I mean, where can William be possibly at this moment? Why did he call? When did it happen? We do not have any idea about it. God! things are turning out to be much more messed up than I could ever think of. “O hey!” “Seriously! Did you shift your place or what!” I stare blankly at happier than usual Miller standing with his laptop-bag swinging on his shoulder. “Um... No! why do you think so?” sarcasm is profound in his voice. “Well! You’re on your way from office, I get it.” I nervously fidget my phone. “Anyway! What is it that makes you avoid my shadow to save your life?” “Really! After what I did that day, do I have any reason or decency to face you again?” Wow! I’m pretty fluent with him. Did that crazy incident amped up my confidence? “I honestly do not find the incident at all offensive or embarrassing. Rather it seemed sort of fun.” He stumbles looking at my you-kidding-me eyes, “No! not fun... I mean, it’s alright. Happens among neighbors, no biggie!” he shrugs. “O wow! You’re being pretty casual lately! Where is your always-use-formal-words ethic?” I give a little wince. “Guess the formal mode fades away with people I get to know better.” “Hm! I see.” Darn the voice! Still places a tight knot in my stomach! “So? We okay here? Just forget about that stupid incident. Could’ve been worse.” He smiles. “Stupid incident?” I grunt. “That’s what you said, not me! I just reiterated!” “You enjoy pulling my leg, don’t you mister?” I cock my brow. “Hell yeah!” he winks which automatically makes me smile. Without giving it a second thought, I blurt out, “Hey, can we have a talk? I mean, when you’ll be free maybe. I really need to discuss something with someone, who is not from my family.” “Well? Um- I’m free right now...” he looks surprised at my so not usual request. Am I being a maniac or what! I really wanna talk about everything that is going wrong with me now. but... is Miller the best choice here? Shoot! I could’ve talked with Zac instead. Kate told that He’s gonna visit soon... do I tell him it’s nothing or should I maybe share bits and pieces so that I can have two different solutions! Argh, why is it always so hard for me to make a decision... “You done with your thought-battle?” his voice snaps me back to reality. My face instantly blushes crimson. “I mean... I wasn’t in any thought-battle! I was just thinking... anyway, see you at 8? In here, the backyard?” “8 will do for me. Sure, see you then!” he leaves giving a little wave of hand. Guess it’s not at all wise to pierce Anna with questions that are terribly bothering me as I already blurted about having a discussion with Ted already, I’ll just wait till 8. Then everything can be decided. No biggie! I keep sitting on the bench peacefully as the nature seems to cooperate with my steady mind at this point. No sound except for the chirping of some kind of birds with interval can be heard. Suddenly, I feel my wrist being really skinny... like much skinnier than I’ve ever been. I haven’t thought about my health or the need to run a thorough check-up since my returning home from hospital, it’s been a fricking marathon of despair and devastations. Wow! Who could think I’d be this strong not to cry every now and then whenever the thought of mom and dad crosses my mind? I think as Coelho said, some storms come to clear some paths of our lives. Exhaling a long breath, I shift to the other side of the bench. Does Ted like me? He seems to be very relaxed and kinda happy whenever he sees me. I mean... even after what nonsense I’ve done that other day he doesn’t look at me any differently than before. If he does like me, will it lead to any potential relationship between us? Cos, I think I do have feelings for this mysterious guy. I’ve literally kept gawking at him when I got to know him first. It must be some charm of his that made me feel totally different, weakening my knees with that ever-calm voice, letting my heart pump gazillion litters more blood than usual with that ice like eyes, making me do all stupid stuff of the world every time sending me off-guard with that flashy, warm smile, letting me blurt out all possible so-out-of-place words just with his presence. O boy! Ain’t I drooling over the guy! I really like him. Guess, if he reciprocates, we can have a beautiful relationship. Who knows! “Hey! What are you doing up here?” “Kate? Just enjoying the calmness of nature. Gosh! I could’ve been a really great naturalist if I wanted to.” I grin. “I can see that!” she sits by me letting out a giggle. She remains silent for several minutes absorbing the quietness maybe.  “Eve! I want to ask you something.” “What! Yeah, sure... what is it?” I ask in an easy voice. “Do you... I mean, do you like our neighbor guy?” “You mean, Miller? Why do you ask out of the blue?” “No, it’s just... y’ know, I see things.” She chuckles softly to hide the hint of nosiness in her own words. “See things means?” I grin. “Well, you instantly flush crimson whenever you see him. Even the other day, when you were hell enraged and tried to kill him, you immediately stopped when he took control of the situation. I mean, I’m not being nosy but if you really like him, I think it’s not that bad.” She gives a full smile. “Is it so? I honestly don’t have any clear idea. One moment I feel like sitting on the rooftop under one gorgeous starry night sky holding his hand, and just let the moment of ecstasy sip into my soul. The next moment I am so taken aback by his mysterious nature doubting some terrifying secrets hidden underneath those gravitating eyes. Well, tell me now, am I really into him?” I laugh a little. “Look at you, all grown-up with confusing and scattered thoughts! You know when thoughts become this messed up?” “Nope! But can you tell me?” “When you know you like someone, you actually do like that someone but you’re in denial of accepting the fact.” Her eyes shine. “You serious?” I really am trying to deny it. “O yeah! Totally. You know what you need to do now? Talk to him, spend some times together. Figure out your feelings for him and yeah, also try to know how does he feel about you. Don’t hold back this time. Alright?” she taps on my shoulder. “I don’t know! Never been so swift in dealing with guys. What if I mess it up? What if he has a girlfriend or, a fiancé, or, a wife in a different state? Or worse, what if he’s a gay?” “Are you done with your awfully illogical what ifs?” she rolls her eyes. “Seriously, Kate. I am hell afraid of these stuffs. Literally, very thought of going a step ahead freaks me out.” “And this is why you should go for it. Win your fear, missy! Let’s face the fact, what can possibly go wrong? He’ll politely reject you, cos he seemed to be very gentlemanly around you. My observations never go wrong. So, consequently, you’ll know he’s not the one for you as he failed to see that beautiful Evelyn in you. You’ll feel low for couple of weeks, then you’ll find someone else, and you’ll not feel this fear that second time. See? It’s nothing, you won’t die of his rejection, weirdo. But I’m telling you, if you do not take a step forward, you’ll end up thinking “what if I tried” for the rest of your life. am I clear to you?” “I-I think so... no, no, I get it.” I say looking at her gonna-kill-you face. “Atta girl. now, let’s go inside and have something to eat. God! I’m starving.” She sneers. “Yeah, let’s go then.” “One more thing, Eve...” she halts midway to the house. “Sure, spit it out.” “Are you guys still on bad terms?” “Who? Me and Anna?” I try to keep my tone calm. “Yeah, I think you guys should sort it out. Y’ know, we all know it was nothing more than an accident. I know you are matured enough not to hold the bad blood only for this simple reason. Don’t forget, you’ve been friends for a really long time. Do not let this heat of a moment spoil this beautiful friendship.” She purses her lips. “I get it, Kate. I think I’ll go now and sort things out with her. No worries, I’m not gonna sue her over one single incident.” I try to sound sarcastic. “Cool, you’re the best.” She puts an arm around my shoulders while pacing towards the house. “Anna, I have things to talk about.” I stop her from ducking out of the living room as soon I get there. “Things? What things? You still have more insults to throw my way? I better get off before you begin then.” She turns around to head towards upstairs. “Quit talking trash. I’m here to sort shits out. I think I’ve overreacted and you’ve hid things from me earlier. So, let’s just call it an even maybe.” I scratch the back of my neck. “Why? Now you’re admitting it was an accident after all? Who made this fricking stubborn understand this! I wonder.” She eyes Kate. “Come on, guys! It’s been enough already, can’t you two, stop wandering back at igniting old flame?” Kate waves her hands. “I can, but can I have a little heads-up about something first?” suddenly my mind starts working in different direction. “What is it again?” Kate huffs. “It’s fine, Kate. Let her ask.” Anna puts the hands on her hips. “So, you’ve had a cat, who, coincidently died just a day before you came here. I do not understand, why didn’t you mention about it to me? You even told Zac the other day that you’re allergic to cats. How’s that possible then if you really owned a cat just a few weeks earlier. Are you not hiding something here? I’m saying it now in front of Kate, cos I don’t really want to start another bout of bad blood with you by making it more heated later.” Anna chews on her lower lip and keeps remaining like this for couple of minutes. She seems trying to carefully re-arrange the words she’s about to spit out. “This is Ma, I mean the cat was for her. She couldn’t buy one all this year cos I’ve been terribly allergic to these little monsters.” She flinches, “Anyway, this time she actually wanted to buy this particular tortoise-shell one. So, I told her to go for it, and it wouldn’t matter much as I’d grown up a lot, that discomfort and runny-nose would probably not be there as severely as before. But I literally could not stand the presence of this beast at all. The two weeks it was in the house, my nose was constantly runny and my head was always spinning. Even, that sleep-walking thing also began out of the thin air. But trust me, I didn’t kill it, I mean the cat. Why would I kill an innocent cat only because I hate it? No, seriously, I cannot kill a fricking life just like this. And you know very well the sleep-walking episodes only include self-harming shits, not harming someone or something else.” Her eyes fill with tears. I walk towards her and pull her into a hug, “I understand Anna, but I think your mom is doubting you in this, which is why you fled away from her inquisition and came here, isn’t it?” “Yes, yes, I’m so sorry I lied earlier. I was just too afraid to say any of these to you then. Don’t get me wrong.” “Nah! You’re forgiven this time, missy. But next time, no hiding, cool? See how everything got so messed up only because of these hide and seeks?” “I know, Eve! I’m terribly sorry. I really won’t, I promise.” “That’s wonderful! Thank you, ladies for clearing up the mess.” Kate winks. It’s almost 6:30, I look down at my phone. My stomach churns with the thought of meeting Ted at 8.   Chapter Twelve   I am hesitantly walking towards the backyard as Kate’s words keep echoing in my ears. The more I’m trying to shove aside the “what ifs”, the heavier the load seems to get. I can feel my feet getting tangled in some invisible shackle. Now my mind is wandering about the latest doubt, WHAT IF HE DOESN’T SHOW UP NOW? MAYBE HE WILL MAKE ME UNDERSTAND OF HIS REPELLENCE TOWARDS ME BY NOT COMING THIS TIME. Almost getting to the backyard, I decide to turn back and run to the house. “Hey, Evelyn? Can I come in now? guess it’s 8 already.” Ted’s voice freezes me right at where I am. Instead of the mixture of anxiety and panic brewing from the doubts, ting of unknown fear takes over my mind. “Um... Evelyn? Is everything ok?” his voice gives off a touch of incertitude. Clearing my throat, I turn around to face him standing right behind the wooden fence. I don’t have any idea how one can look this handsome in plain black shirt and grey trousers. “Hey! You’re here, already, cool!” “Yes, guess I’m a bit early then? I actually can’t be late, I mean, I have that being present before everyone else issue. Can’t help it.” He smiles scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, course you do, the way you always remain so organized gives off this vibe about you.” “O yeah? Glad you cared to notice.” A ghost of a smile appears on the corner of his lips. “Why don’t you just come in already?” I sit on the wider bench in the middle. “So? What’s so important that YOU wanted to talk about?” he relaxes back beside me. “I-I don’t know...” “You don’t know? How come you invited me then?” “No, I know why I asked you over, but I don’t know should I say it or not.” I’m silently wishing I wasn’t stupid enough to make the request earlier. God knows what came over me! “Hmm, seems you need some time to decide on that. Cool! I’m waiting, no worries.” I can’t just tell him how his voice is scattering my thoughts further. Yet I try to pull myself together to start from somewhere. “Kay, can I ask you something first?” “Sure, go ahead.” He shifts his eyes directly on my face. O boy! He should know glancing at me like this will not make things any easier for me. Shit! “Well, I really want to share something I’m not feeling so confident nor comfortable about. Thought it’d be better if someone outside my family can bother a little to listen to the jabbering, y’ know. Um... but I actually am not so sure whether to blurt out stuffs from my personal life this easily with someone I barely know.” Resting the chin on his hands, he keeps listening with unbelievable steadiness. “So, I really want to know things... preferably more personal things about you first, course only if you want to share. Um... if it’s not okay with you, I don’t suppose you should tell anything to me then, and then I...” “No sweat, Miss Evelyn Lawrence. You can ask me whatever you wanna know. I don’t think I’ll feel threatened to share any personal information with you. Or, should I?” he cocks his head to a side. “No, no, course not. I’m never gonna tell anybody about your stuffs.” I rub the side of my face. “Is it a gift? Looks pretty.” He eyes at the bracelet on my left wrist. The possibility of its being cursed or under some bleak magic spell threatens its way back to my mind. “Nah, more like a hand-me-down thing.” I tweak the corner of the bright gold thread that’s been loosed a little from the bracelet. “Cool, so, you already know my name, all of them I suppose.” He smiles a little. “Anyway, I’m from Ohio. Now, working in White Swan Inc. not unknown to you either, I believe.” He smirks obviously thinking about the embarrassing situation on the elevator the other day. “And now I’m living next door, over there. Um... can’t find anything to add to it.” He shrugs. “Your family?” “You can see, I’m living alone, not a family guy.” He answers in an easy voice. “But...” I halt midway while trying to remind him of his own words that once he told me about the death of his family members. Maybe it’d be too inappropriate to drag down something like that here in this conversation cos he’s clearly not willing to share any of the... tragedy! “But?” “You married?” am I teaching how to blurt out 101 or what! “Nope! Why do you ask?” he curls his lips into a ghost of a smile. “Nothing. So, you’ve been working out?” the words traitorously leave my mouth without giving me the chance to think twice when my eyes catch the tightness of his shirt sleeves as he crosses his arms across his chest. I clearly remember the first time I saw him; he was not that ripped! Damn it, why did I have to ask! “What?” a hint of a smile in his voice. “A lot... I mean you’ve been working a lot, haven’t you? Your eyes... they look um tired.” You’re such a blockheaded cluless virgin! “Well, not really. I think I have that ingrained exhaustion about my eyes.” You kidding? Your penetrating Icy cold stares can slap a fricking dead body to life in no time! I swallow followed by an indistinct murmur, “Don’t think so!” “Why not?” “What? How do you manage to listen to murmurs? Aren’t you supposed to not hear these? Y’ know, people murmur when they talk to themselves, not to others.” “Cool!” he laughed out loudly leaving me stunned once more. Stop it, you gorgeous monster! “Apologies, ma’am! Can’t help overhearing stuffs. You know, a bit overdeveloped ear!” he humoredly motions to his ears and grins. “That’s actually called nosy, not overdeveloped” I mutter under my breath. “Was I supposed to hear that? Or, it was another MURMUR?” he air-quotes. I smile at his sarcasm, “Whatever, Mister! I can’t help you with that.” “That bad, huh? But good thing, you got to know another personal stuff about me. Having overdeveloped slash nosy ears.” he chuckles. “So? What is the thing you wanted to talk about?” I chew on the inside of my lips. I shift to sit straight while gathering all possible vocabs from my dictionary, omitting the ones that have already been red-signaled with the presence of Miller. I have that thing with talking chronologically or, even clearly enough for other people to understand my words. I would fail big time if I was ever invited to a Ted Talk. Dang it! It’s a little more distracting than Ted Talk as Mr. alluring is constantly giving off that aura which is more than enough to zip my mouth until the next Christmas. I gulp hard to find my voice, the regular one, not the squeaky one that automatically comes to me whenever this Greek God is before my existence. “Evelyn?” “Yeah? I’m actually preparing... I mean, I’m kind of arranging the words... it’ll take a little while.” You just officially proved yourself to be the biggest loser in the history of the entire frigging universe, you crazy! My subconscious is frowning at me like never before. I nervously scratch my temples. “It’s okay, take your time” he relaxes back, “but you can just blurt out words randomly, y’ know? I won’t mind knitting them orderly in my head later.” “I guess you’re right.” He shifts back to his previous position, leaning a little towards me with tinge of curiosity in those gravitating grey eye-balls. I gasp a little as his cologne smells much sharper than before because of the proximity. I reflexively back off a bit trying to make it look like a natural gesture. “You already know about my accident and Jules... and that so not pleasant incident the- other day. So, I don’t wanna bother explaining those bit by bit now.” I inhale sharply. “You’re doing good. Go ahead.” “I’m not a kid!” I scoff. In reply, he gives another oh-so-sweet-and-grim smile to hold me speechless for another minute. I think this is happening more frequently today. Never have I ever felt this paralyzed or affected by his grace before! You’re falling for him, dumbo! Gather up yourself. And again, you’ve never come to this close to him nor talked with him sitting side by side, have ya? I bite on my lower lip, “So, I was saying... there is something wrong about the atmosphere of the house. I don’t know exactly what it is that seems so off... but it’s definitely there. I am having hard times in believing people that are supposed to be my own, in fact, they are my own people.” I impatiently tug the strand of my hair that’s been dangling on my face, behind my ear. His cold yet non-hostile eyes keep steady on my face. “I have the feeling that something, I mean some danger is waiting ahead for us. Call me stupid but my gut isn’t quite liking the restless vibe. My instinct always nudges me before any bad thing, only the time of Jules’ accident, I didn’t feel any danger beforehand.” I stop to catch my breath. The thoughts in my head are messing up big time. I have been feeling a twitch of danger, that’s true. But wording it out is making me more and more alarmed. “Are you doubting someone, or something for that upcoming danger?” he asks me with his ever-calming voice. “I think... I think it’s Anna, I’m not believing her! More appropriately, I cannot believe her anymore. It’s just, it’s not what happened back with Jules and sedative! But there’s got to be more to it. My instinct is warning me repeatedly this time not to trust Anna. I know I’m sounding like a bitch for doubting my best friend, but...” A gentle yet firm hand grips my left arm, “Evelyn, you’re not sounding like anything. Feel free to spit it out. What is the reason behind your doubting your friend to begin with? There must be one.” A perfect mixture of firmness and assurance in his voice. For a moment, I feel like I made the best decision to share the stuffs with this guy. Something in his voice gives off that warm trustfulness about him. Gulping the lump in my throat, I tell him the entire incident of Anna’s sudden allergy about cats and that sinister possibility of her killing that tortoise shell cat of her mom before getting here out of nowhere. “Did she somehow mention about coming here the night before, when you guys talked over phone?” “Not really, I mean no! she didn’t mention a word about that but she did talk about the sleepwalking episode.” I bite the knuckles slightly, mostly out of nerves. “Do you think, by any chance she’s hiding stuffs from us? Guess I should talk with her mom directly, don’t I? Again, I keep feeling like there’ll be some new danger as soon as I leave home. What do I do?” His lips purse in a fine line. Waiting some more, he says, “Hm, I’m not gaslighting you against your best friend, but talking with her mom will set your tensed mind free, you know! I think, you should go talk to her if you think talking over phone will create further problem between you and Anna. Besides, your Aunt, she is here with your sister 24/7, isn’t she? You need to let go of some worries in order to clear out some doubts.” “Guess you’re right! But...” my fingers fidgeting the mobile restlessly, “But Will, Jules’ fiancé, he’s missing for... like for a long time.” I lick my dry lips. “Who? Julia, your sister is engaged, ha? Was he there, I mean her fiancé, was he there with her during the accident?” he scoots a bit closer. I silently grind my teeth at how my cheeks flush scarlet as he comes closer. This is not the time, idiot! “Yeah, no! well, yeah, she’s engaged, and no, he wasn’t with her then. And I haven’t been able to reach him.” “You what? It’s been what... months? since she’s had this accident, no? you guys didn’t inform police or anything? Wait, you’ve informed police, right?” his eyes flash with shock and something else, I can’t quite read. “I don’t know, Richard! I can’t believe I haven’t seriously thought about it the whole time! I mean, o my God! I totally forgot that part. I mean, the other day, Jules was trying to say something like, Will called her that day... only then I actually started mulling it over. I’ve messed up big time, haven’t I?” my breathing becomes hoarse. “Hey, hey look at me. Shh! It’s ok, Evelyn, just look at me now.” his hands reach out to hold my face with concern, heating up my stupid cheeks unintentionally. I am such a jerk! “Steady now, ok? Look you’ve been through a hell lot! It’s not so unexpected of you to forget things when you are not in a stable condition yourself. It’s been months, and I don’t think informing Police at this point will do any good, they can actually doubt you or, any other member from your family now. Not that I’m doubting you guys, but that’s how it works dealing with Police, sometimes.” His voice a little grave. “Do you have experience? I mean, I’m sorry to intrude, but do you have any experience in dealing with disappearance, Police and stuffs?” I don’t know why of all things I have to say these? “Um, no, not disappearance!” suddenly his eyes go blank. That Icy stares become a bit obsidian sending a ripple down my spine. “So? What do I do now?” I ask like a little child asking its mother what to wear. He runs his hands across his face, “Guess, we’ll need to check on him. Do you know anyone from his family? His siblings? Parents?” “Well, I tried to reach his parents several times before, but couldn’t. They’re not even here so that I can meet them, they’re actually in France, for the business purpose, I guess. Besides, he is the only child as far as I remember, so no sibling to contact.” Shit! I’m sounding too stupid right now. how could I ignore all these so not normal things about William this entire time! God, give this guy the patience to deal with a retarded rat like me. “Gosh, Evelyn! You should’ve at least let me know earlier... but guess what! It’s still fine, it’s never too late to find him out. No worries.” He tries to sooth my stupid ass. I am officially a fricking fool, no doubt on that one! “You free now?” he pushes to his feet. “Me? Yeah, why?” “You know the address of William’s apartment, no?” “I guess, I mean sorry, I’m terrible with roads and directions.” My face flushes, this time with embarrassment. He lets out a little chuckle, “Cool! Still, we have hope, no worries. Um... you know his full name at least? Or, are you also not good with names?” he teases. “God! no, I know this one.” I rub my temples nervously, “William Henry Jones.” “Hm, okay, let me figure out the address, then. Give me five.” “You sure you wanna get involved in my problem?” I sound guilty. “O yeah, Ma’am! That’s positive.” His eyes sticking to the mobile screen. “Woah! His accounts are not private! So, we’re gonna head towards hm... hm... hm!” “You figured it out?” “Wait” I wait some more minutes, “Now?” “Yep! No sweat! Let’s go then, shall we?” “That was pretty quick.” I cannot hide that dubious expression from my face. “I know!” he smiles, “Don’t you worry, I’m no stalker. It’s just, you can easily find out someone’s address from Social media accounts. It’s just too easy that any of his account is not private.” He shrugs. My face heats up for being stupid with him... AGAIN! “I think we should head now! it’s almost 10 already! Or, do you wanna go there tomorrow? Any time will be fine by me except for my office hours.” He grins. “10? I don’t know. I think, um... tomorrow will be fine. You know, I don’t know! Damn it.” “Should I take it as yes or no or I don’t know?” hint of a smile is apparent in his voice. I roll my eyes, “I’m not a fool, kay? I’m just an indecisive individual standing in front of an extremely decisive one.” He laughs in reply. Shoving both his hands into his pockets, he looks at me, “Seriously! I don’t think going out with me at this hour will look much decent to your family.” He cocks his head to one side. “Going out? Oh! I get it.” I’m becoming expert in making fool of myself, particularly to this guy. “Fuck it,” I mutter under my breath. I find him lowering his head, clearly to hide his smile. Course! It’s not his fault that you’re on top of the list of idiots! “See you, at what time then?” I quickly stumble on my own feet in the middle of the attempt to stand on my heel. “Ugh! What’s wrong with me!” frustration oozing out of my voice. “It’s alright, Evelyn! Just relax a bit, take it easy on you, huh?” he smiles putting a hand on my arm. Here goes my stupid heart! Only if it didn’t tug at the stupid face and specially the cheeks too while doing its job! No doubt my cheeks already turned into tomato as I catch him smirking with the side of my eyes. “Yeah, right! So, what time?” “Will 2:00 work for you? It’s actually weekend but need to deal with a project meeting!” “Course! It’ll be totally okay with me. Thank you so much Mr. Miller, for listening to my babblings without attempting to punch me.” I comb my fingers through my hair. “Why would I punch you?” the hint of a smile is intense in his voice now. “I’m actually feeling honored to be able to help you in this. One more thing, do not worry much! You’re also not physically fit, remember? Take it easy on you!” his sexy tone emphasizes the word easy a little more. Oh! my tiny idiot heart! It’s pumping the amount of blood that the whole human race can survive with! You just stay normal, maybe? You have no right to weaken this much after talking with him sitting side by side the whole evening! Come on! “Yeah sure, I will take it easy on me.” I smile a little, “you too take care, good night!” “Good night, Evelyn” this time, damn! His voice turns into its softest and sweetest texture. I need to go back home, fast! Before showing any more stupidity to this enticing creature. “Bye!” I cut it short before turning on my heels. He silently waves back at me with a ghost of a smile on his face. Yeah! That... that expression sends chill across my skin! I cannot be 100% positive about his being innocent, seeing this expression. Every time. Every. Single. Time!   Chapter Thirteen Without gawking at his way, I quickly make my feet pace towards the house. Stepping inside, my heart jumps to my throat at the sight of Anna. She is standing right in front of the door, confusion and doubt smeared across her face. Gulping the lump in my dried-out throat, I try to give a genuine smile steading my eyes at her. “What? I didn’t kill anyone!” I try to joke with so inappropriate words. Holy shit! Joking about killing! Why! “Nope! I know, you can’t kill anyone. You seem to start dating that alchemist, I see!” she cocks her brows. “Date? You got to be kidding, girl! Just having a conversation doesn’t mean DATING!” I roll my eyes at her. “O well! I really want you to finally have a love life, y’ know. But not quite with this one, I guess?” “Why? I mean, it’s not like I’m thinking about starting a relationship with him, but seriously, why do you say so?” She clicks her tongue mindlessly before turning to me, “Do you not find him, well weird? I mean to say that he seems all successful and good-looking yada...yada... yada! But he doesn’t seem all innocent and not-to-be-doubted to me. You see what I’m saying?” That mysterious expression of his instantly makes its way to my mind. He does have some secrets, doesn’t he? I wouldn’t be surprised if I found out he’s the one who killed all of his family members... like a mass-murder! But why do I have this unaffected belief somewhere at the corner of my heart that he’s a good guy? Is it because I’m all smitten by him? “Hello!” Anna waves her hand before my eyes. “Where have you dived into, weirdo? Are my words bothering you? Guess you should give it a second thought before making any further move to that guy.” She shrugs. “Don’t even start on that. I’m not interested in creating a love life! This will just remain as non-existent as ever.” I wave her off. “Where’s Jules?” “She’s upstairs, I think already deep in sleep.” “What? Did she even have her dinner? Meds?” “Relax! She had everything already. She actually looked for you while eating but I said you were busy in dating the Alchemist.” She smirks. “You didn’t! argh! You could’ve just called me.” I frustratingly let out a breath. “It’s okay, Kate was there, I was there. Even, Serena was there too. Wait, are you now doubting all of us because that Sherlock Holmes of a brain of yours is signaling you that we can harm her?” “What! Anna, why are you bringing back the old shits? I told it cos you just said she was looking for me and I was NOT dating or whatever with Richard. It was just a friendly neighbor-to-neighbor conversation.” “Yeah, right! Didn’t seem to me like that though.” “Why are you being intentionally mean to me? Did you pry on me while I was outside? I cannot believe it.” My voice filled with disgust. “Pry on you? Girl, I’m not so useless as you to do something like that. I just opened the window for fresh air to let in, then spotted you guys being in too close proximity...” “Shut it! What’s wrong with you? Even if I was in a relationship with Richard, who are you to control my life, huh? Do not even try to boss me around.” “Cool! You’re being a dumb bitch, probably because of those brain shits you’ve been through! There will be no help from me when that dearie Richard will not hesitate to slit your throat open. Oops! Or, maybe just do something more fun and sadistic.” Her words feel like sharp daggers piercing right through me. Hot tears start brimming in my eyes. Blinking away I stroll by her towards the stairs. She definitely is doing all these on purpose, to hide that ugly, obsidian, murderous face from me. I cannot waste my energy dealing with her psychotic blows right now. I have lot more important things ahead to deal with. “Woah! You even started giving up so easily too! Guess you don’t have any logical explanation for drooling at that weirdo’s feet.” I completely ignore her gritting my teeth to stop the curses from getting out of my mouth that are fiercely brewing right under my lips. I silently check on Julia before quickly ducking in my room. All the way, holding on that breath which leaves through my nostrils shakily after plopping down, sliding my back slowly against the door. I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs to let out the disgust and pure rage that Anna’s nonchalantly blurted words ignited. I can feel my skinny hands shaking like crazy, I do not seem to steady them at all. My cheeks are burning furiously, this time not by the Icy yet hot vibe of Richard. My skin is pricking with real anger. I even almost open the door in an instant to be out and kick that she-demon out of my house right now. But something suddenly stalls me making me mull over the important stuffs awaiting to be focused on. Taking a deep, shaky breath I let go of the door letting it slam with a booming sound. O no! the last thing I want right now is company! Didn’t you just make the stupidest move to grab the attention even from that old alien who’s lamenting on his death-bed somewhere around Andromeda? Suck it up and focus on the REAL IMPORTANT THINGS now. Nobody would side with you at this moment, remember Anna can be dangerous enough to villainize you to your family in no time. So, all you can do now is zip your mouth and wait till 2pm tomorrow. Just shut it. I cannot bring myself to sleep, at all the whole night. All I can hear is the echoing of Anna’s direct and come-fight-with-me words. My eyes hurt because of crying and wiping off the tears furiously, this time the rage is on me. why couldn’t I kick her out already after that Jules incident. You can be a mumbling, retarded rat sometimes, you should’ve been more stubborn in shutting her out then. Oh! Come on! Now is not the time to think it over. You’ll have to face the God-knows-what happened to Will only some hours later. You’ll also have to talk with Anna’s mom, remember? Only then you’ll be able to sweat your big head over finding the right reason to stand against Anna! Therefore, voice from two distant poles keep battering me the entire time till the sunlight peeks through the slit of my window-curtains. Looking at the window, Richard’s face makes its cameo appearance before my eyes. I really like the guy not because he is banging and irresistible but because he does seem to have a very kind and pure heart. Aside from Jules and dad, nobody ever listened to me without frowning at my stupidity before. Why then, everyone around... no, not everyone only that she-demon is trying hard to make me hate him? Obviously, she’s trying her ass off to villainize Richard so that she can be the cooing innocent faced criminal! Anyway, knock it off! I keep lying, more like plopping down on my bed like an inanimate object for some more hours, swimming my head with tons and tons of what ifs and whys. It is around 12, when I hear Anna’s lighthearted laughter coming probably from down the corridor. I decide to finally leave my bed to well, take the meds. I need to get going with my frail body if I want to unravel that notorious mystery brewing under the surface of the entire house. Thinking about taking meds, Richard’s request slash order from the last night comes crawling back to my mind. Take it easy on you! His enticing voice echoes in my ears, heating up my stupid cheeks. Yes, you guys are allowed to frown at my nonsensical drooling over session! I am even fed-up with my heart’s wrong signals in totally wrong hours. Another bout of laughter floats in from the corridor. What is so funny! I think it’s Kate, the other voice laughing her heart out with Anna! What’s up with them this early! Just hope the battering and intentionally venomous stare of Anna from last night will at least fade away now that she seems “happy”. Scoffing at the mental picture of her presence, I head towards the washroom. “Hey guys, what did I miss?” I try to keep my voice calm and interested. “Eve! Come over here. We’re having a random fun session.” Julia’s voice sounds so jovial that it makes me smile. “Woah! How can I miss it?” I quickly take a glance at my watch to find it’s still about an hour to go before 2. I enthusiastically hop on the couch beside Jules. After some passing of lighthearted humors, Anna snaps her fingers. “Can you believe that neighbor guy was wearing a cat PJs when I had my sleepwalking episode that night?” her voice shaking with laughter. I immediately shoot her a look, to check on the expression. She cocks a brow with a fiendish smile. “What? You kidding?” Kate starts laughing. O dear Lord! Is she now trying to make a fool out of Richard to bother me? how weirdly childish! “O yeah? Maybe he is a cat lover or something.” I take a sip from my coffee mug. “Course, you’re here to defend him. Gosh! Even if he’s a cat lover, he’s a fucking adult for God’s sake! Why would he wear something so stupid like that? He even tried to flirt with me being in that Pjs? Hilarious!” She tries to forcefully make her laughter louder. I smirk at her in reply and decide to stay quiet without messing up with her anymore. “So what? Being adult doesn’t strip you off the right to wear a cat PJs, you guys!” Jules lets out a snicker. “Tell me about it!” I slightly roll my eyes. “Guys! It is hilarious enough, and wait, when that tight-lipped, overtly civilized and formal creature wears it... shit!” Kate’s laughter sounds too stupid to me at this moment. “Come on, Kate! you still don’t know why Evelyn is too worked up at us right now? She LOVES that Cat PJs. Remember I told you once about the alchemist? It’s him.” Anna flips her long thick hair over her shoulder. “What? When did you say that?” Kate seems to be that lost, annoying twin of Anna who is riling me the hell up. She already knows about Richard, doesn’t she? “Come on! The day Zac came, we had a lot of fun. Remember?” “Yeah! Now I do. Ehm! Eve? What’s that all about?” Kate cocks her brow. “Nothing! There’s no love, no BS guys! It’s just, we’re good friends. If anyone is having problem with that, she can step the fuck out of my life.” Kate finally catches the brewing anger in my voice. She quickly steals a glance at Anna before turning to me, “Cool! We’ve been just messing around dear! He’s a really cool guy, to be honest. If you guys were dating... I mean hypothetically, it wouldn’t matter to any of us. This is your life and he’s drop dead gorgeous, needless to mention that.” She grins. “What? But he’s a psycho...” “Enough, Anna! Knock it off.” Kate cuts her short, “Zac will be here like, after two hours or so. I have stuffs to do before that.” “Zac’s coming? Wow! He’ll be here for quite a while, no? I have to go out with that friend right now. I really hope I won’t miss out on the fun conversation with him?” I push to my feet. “You haven’t even had your lunch yet, you sure you wanna go out at this hour? And which friend?” Julia’s motherly concern kicks in. “Never mind, Jules! I can have lunch out for once at least, can’t I? I’m not a kid anymore.” “O wow! That’s quick.” Anna clicks her tongue. “What’s quick?” I try to keep my face straight. “That’s a little too much love going on, I see! Weren’t you just literally all over each other last night? It’s already the time to meet again! I’m impressed.” She smirks. I eye her deadpan, but cannot hide the flame from my eyes. Kate stumbles to see me flying off the handle. “Oh! Anna, can you not be the naughty friend for once? Let her go out with the friend and you don’t even know if it’s Richard Miller or not. I’m sure it’s just another friend of Eve, she worked with last year.” She waves off Anna from saying anything further. “Yeah, sure! Guess he’ll be here till dinner. You’ll be back by then, no worries!” she grins at me. “Yah, some weirdo like her.” Anna murmurs which I decide to ignore completely. “Be careful, Eve. Don’t drink, don’t do anything more stressful and don’t be late.” Julia blurts in a single breath. “Alright, Mom! I’ll keep these in mind.” I hug her, then waving Kate goodbye I head towards the door. “Guess, I’ll be out during dinner tonight. Got a date!” Anna’s cocky voice floats in from behind. I fight my urge to turn and ask who the guy is before quickening my pace. I don’t have the energy to deal with this version of Anna anymore! God! what actually came over this girl. Chapter Fourteen I look down at my watch after stopping before Richard’s parking lot. It says, 1:35. Darn it! I am too early this time. Why am I always not in my usual self when it comes to this guy! What do I do now? His car is here which means he’s home, taking rest or doing some other stuff! I am not supposed to make my presence known to him now, when he clearly told me to meet him here at 2. Ow No! I frustratingly run my hands across my face. Scanning around one last time, I decide to take a brief walk instead. Hoping it’ll kill time more quickly than standing here like an idiot. “Hey! Are you going somewhere?” an attractive voice comes from the left, not as alluring as Richard’s though. Staggering a bit, I turn to the side, “Hey! Um... just taking a walk.” There stands a really handsome blonde, well-built, blue eyes shining brightly, not icy-cold like his. He must be elder than me by some years, I can’t guess exactly how many. Damn he is good-looking. “You must be new here, cos I can’t remember seeing you around before.” I straighten my shirt, for no reason. Just one of the many stupid-moves my body does whenever it’s confronted by a cute guy. “Mhm, you can say that! It’s been two weeks, a little more probably I moved here. You don’t seem to be out much as I never really saw you since.” His ocean-blue eyes sparkle with a smile. “Well, I’ve never really been a homebody but for some, y’ know unexpected reasons, had to stay home lately.” I stop explaining my life story to him any further. He doesn’t care why you didn’t come out. He is just continuing the conversation! “Ah, I’m sorry to hear that. Hope whatever the reasons are, will go away soon. Aron Wilson.” He holds out a hand. “Eve, Evelyn Lawrence.” I shake his hand sloppily. Nope, didn’t mean to, just another stupid move. “It feels good to have a cute girl around, especially in the neighborhood full of old couples and hardcore career-driven guys.” A corner of his lips, twitches flirtatiously. Yes, you guessed it right, my cheeks enter its favorite mode in no time giving off the heated scarlet flush. He seems to be amused quite a bit by my reaction as I catch him grinning at my face. He looks breathtaking but cannot make my knees weak, like someone else. “Hello guys!” yes, now this is weakening my idiot knees. “Hi!” Aron shifts his smile from let’s flirt babe to nice to see you neighbor mode. “You already here, Evelyn!” footsteps come closer from behind. I turn around and shrug, “O yeah! It’s already almost 2, anyway.” “You beat me this time.” Richard grins. “You guys are...” Aron sounds confused. “We’re... we’re friends slash good neighbors, y’ know! Hey, Richard, he’s Aron, new to our neighborhood.” I shift nervously. “I know, not quite new, actually! Hey man, what’s up?” Richard and Aron give each other this one arm hug that guys do. Wow! I am always the weird one out... literally everywhere! “So, you’re going somewhere maybe? See you later then.” Aron shoves his hands in his pockets. “Yeah! We are going somewhere. See you around.” I almost echo his words. Richard opens the car door for me. Giving Aron a smile I hop in the car. Richard says something with Aron before laughing a bit and clambering in the driver’s seat. Aron also is seen laughing on his way back home. “So, you guys know each other already?” I ask. “Yeah! We’ve been friends, like for quite a while.” He starts the car. “Wow! You guys were friends even before he moved in here?” “Yes!” he gives a small grin. I better not show too much interest in every corner of his life. let him be! “So? What’s the first destination? Anna’s house or William’s?” he asks keeping his eyes steady on the road before him. “I was thinking about Anna’s but we didn’t talk about this last night, did we? As far as I can remember, it was only the plan to go to William’s place.” “We didn’t talk about it but you did mention you needed to meet Anna’s mom, so thought killing two birds with a stone would be a good idea.” This time he looks at me. Damn those eyes! I give a little nod, “It’s in the lane behind Target, I mean the one next to this locality. I’m afraid if I’m helping much. Argh! I’m too bad with locations.” I grunt. “No, it’s good. I get it what you’re trying to say. It’s the 1302 S. La Brea Avenue if I’m not wrong.” I look at him, “Thanks so much for helping me out. I’m grateful... really.” “Why, you’re most welcome! What are the friends slash good neighbors for if they can’t come to help when it’s needed?” he winks. “God! You always love to make fun of me. I know I’m stupid, and I don’t know why I become tenfold stupid while dealing with you. It doesn’t mean you have to laugh at me all the time.” I furrow my brows. “No! what are you even saying? Why would I make fun of you, Evelyn? I just found that introduction very interesting, not funny at all. Most importantly, you’re not stupid. Well, I’m not just saying it for the sake of saying. I mean it, you’re really cute, not stupid. I apologize for teasing you though, I shouldn’t have done it. It’s just, your reactions are so adorable when I tease you. I am sorry!” Those last words literally stop my heartbeat altogether before setting it on 1000 beats per second. Holy moly! He needs to be rude and insensible to save me from doing something utterly stupid this time. He thinks I’m cute! Shit, I’m gonna die. “It’s okay, no worries.” I look down at my hands on my lap. “You okay?” the concern in his voice is adding to the already intense environment his aura has created inside the car. “Yeah, I-I am just a little nervous and worried to face the unanswered events that are waiting ahead.” I lick my dried-out lips. “Evelyn, listen, it is normal for you to get a little nervous at the thought of this secretive mess we’re going to unravel. Guess you just need to accept the fact that sometimes life doesn’t treat you all plain and beautiful. Life can be quite nasty at some points, but we need to face it. We are gonna find out William and you’ll be knowing everything about Anna and her distorted cat choking habit, cool? There’s no use of aching your head over all these. Try to relax a bit now.” His words are backed with such a force, not so overpowering but by no means, fragile. Each and everything he just said places their firm yet calming presence in my chest. I can feel the tight knot on the pit of my stomach getting loose, letting me exhale with much more ease and comfort. “You’re right Mr. Know-it-all, I have the unbeatable talent of overthinking, can’t help it.” I pump my eye-brows. “O yeah? Then Mr. Know-it-all would suggest you to get rid of that talent ASAP! No matter how much you seem to like it.” A hint of a grin fills his voice. “Gosh! I forgot to ask. Did you have lunch?” I quickly take a glance at the time, it’s already 2:30. I try to calculate in my head how much time do I get to be done with both Anna’s and Will’s cos there’s no way I can be out after dinner. I can’t make anyone doubt me or, Richard more than Anna already made them to. “Yeah, I did, but did you?” I chewed the inside of my cheeks to stop me coming up with something stupid to bury the lie. I’m such a No Go with lying. “Yeah!” “Some music would help to y’ know calm my hyperactive anxiety now. Can I play from my playlist?” I really need to cover up the loud rumbling my stomach is about to start. “Sure!” the looks are distant in his eyes. “Cool then...” I cut it short before asking him if he is okay cos, he clearly is swimming inside of his head right now. God knows what can possibly go on in there. O good Lord! Why do I always listen to lovey-dovey songs? Isn’t there not a single song which will make me look cool to this Greek God? You really are a hopeless romantic, aren’t you! I wince at my playlist while scrolling up and down. “Anything wrong?” the regular Icy stares are back in his eyes which kinda gives me a little relief. “Huh? Nope, I was just mulling something over, no biggie!” I give up on the mission to find out one “Cool” song and tap on “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran. Fuck it! This is who I am, if he thinks it’s too romantic, he can go to hell. “Ah, I love this song.” Richard’s voice zaps me back to the car. “Yeah? Thought you’d be more into, y’ know metal and rock stuffs.” “Why is that?” he chuckles. “I don’t know, it’s just, a wild guess you can say.” “I hardly listen to music to be honest. I’m kinda boring, if you ask.” He gives a half smile. “Why is that?” I mimic his voice making him grin ear to ear. BAD... Bad idea Evelyn! He’s looking like a fricking piece of perfection. “I once WAS into rock music, to a great extent actually. Your wild guesses are great, I must say.” He gives his regular grin. “We even used to practice back in the first year of college but something just came up. Then I couldn’t continue that anymore.” The last words were let out a little slowly. “Woah! You used to practice? That’s crazy! Were you the vocal or?” I cannot keep the surprise away from my tone. “Yeah! Well, it’s been quite a while now. Guess I already forgot to sing even a lullaby let alone a real rock song.” He snickers. “But what...” “So? Looking someone?” “What? I don’t get it um...” I mumble. “I’m sorry if I sounded too shamelessly direct but I’m not really into “your boyfriend must be so lucky to have you” sort of cliché.” He shrugs. My skin feels like it’s been set on fire. My face must be a ripe strawberry at this point, “Ah No! it’s just I’ve never had any boyfriend.” “Woah! You sure?” “Yeah, why? You have issues with single since birth girls?” “God, no! I mean, your song preference... it says you are quite romantic at heart and...” “And?” “You are beautiful and funny, so, that’s certainly shocking to know nobody dared to make a move towards you.” “Why thank you, I-I’m flattered.” I manage to let out this much before turning towards the window to calm my crazy heart down. It’s literally planning to get out of my chest. “Just telling the truth.” He teases. “So...” “Here we are, is it the lane you were talking about?” he cuts me short. I look around to find the pale cream building standing on the left, “Yes! Here it is, should I go... I mean alone? Or, should you come with me?” I can feel my anxiety rising in light speed. “Hey, hey... Shh! Evelyn, you already know Anna’s mom and we’re not going to sneak into their apartment, right? You’ll just head there and ask her about the day her daughter left for your place. Try to know what exactly happened to that cat. That’s it, it’s nothing scary... at all. You got this.” He leans towards me a bit. I gulp the lump in my throat partly out of the anxiety, and partly because he is too close. “Does it mean you’re going to be here, waiting?” “Yes, it’ll look suspicious if an unknown guy goes in there to ask about her daughter, no matter if you’ll say I’m your friend. Again, Anna seems to be hostile to me, maybe a little but she doesn’t quite like me.” he gives a side smile, “So, it’s better not to involve me directly in her matter. Got it?” “Hm, I think you’re right. Well, I’m going then? Wish me luck.” “You got this.” He softly pats my shoulder before I get out of the car. I am midway to the house when I see Anna’s mother opening her car door. “Mrs. Gaston?” I call over. She looks up at me, her face looks a bit paler than usual. Anna got her dark, thick hair from this Latina beauty. But something is absolutely bothering Mrs. Gaston as her ever cheerful smile is not there. “Oh! Evelyn, right? How are you doing? You look really... tired.” “It’s nothing, Mrs. Gaston, I’m fine. How are you doing? How’s um... Alvin, I mean your son?” “Good! He’s with the babysitter! How are you? How’s your sister doing now?” “Good, yeah, much better than before. So, are you going somewhere?” “Yeah, I am. I need to head to the work.” She looks down at her watch. Shoot! I really need to talk to her now. I can’t let it slip for another day. The mysterious possibility of some upcoming danger is pushing me to the edge. “Oh, I won’t take long, y’ know. I’m just here to talk about something... important.” “But sweetheart, it’s already the time, can you come by tomorrow?” “No, Mrs. Gaston, please, just five minutes, I promise. I will not take a second more than that. It’s about Anna.” “What? What happened to her? Isn’t she staying at your place? She’s not even picking up my phone. What is it, Evelyn? Did something happen?” her eyes expand with terror. “No, no worries, she’s alright. Yes, she’s staying there and all but I really need to know about the cat incident Mrs. Gaston. She is not telling me anything about that and I-I think she’s having the sleepwalking and suicidal stuffs once again.” I lie about the suicidal part to make Mrs. Gaston tell me about everything. “What! O God! I knew it was going to worsen. Is she alright? I mean seriously? Did she do any self harm?” “No, I halted her while doing so but what worries me more is how she went for our neighbor’s cat the other day. She was clearly in her sleepwalking episode while she wanted to chock it.” What came over me? why am I making up so many things? “O my God! I shouldn’t have let her go in the first place.” She bites on her lower lip before opening her mouth again, “She doesn’t have any cat phobia if that’s what she told you guys. She just hates cats so much, and don’t ask me why cos I myself don’t know the answer. When I got this cat, she was supportive and all until the night she literally tore a patch of fur out of its skin.” She squeezes her eyes shut probably picturing the scene in her mind. “But I forgave her as she was clearly in her sleepwalking episode, I just told her not to come close to Bella, I mean the cat.” Her eyes fill with tears. She must have got quite hurt at her cat’s death. I keep looking at her without a word, letting her know that I’m listening. “Then, that night, she came to me in tears saying that the sleepwalking was getting out of her control. I assured her not to freak out as we were going to take her to the doctor’s the following day. Everything was fine before midnight. That’s when I heard a loud scream coming from the porch. You know, Anna’s dad has been out of the country for his business. So, I rushed to Anna’s room to check on her. I went crazy when I didn’t find her on the bed. I cannot tell you how I managed to fly across the hall to stumble on a pool of blood on the porch. I saw our neighbor, Miss Tomlinson gripping Anna’s hands tightly while crying her eyes out. Anna was still dozed off, just the way she behaves during sleepwalking. What I saw after looking closely at the blood pool is beyond imagination, Evelyn. Bella was spread out in pieces, I don’t understand how one can do such a thing even if it’s not done wittingly.” She flinches. I step forward and put my hand on her arm in a comforting manner. “Miss Tomlinson is a huge animal lover. She spends most of her time working in animal shelters to make sure the safety of those animals. She threatened me to file a case against my daughter for doing this to an innocent cat. She was dead serious in her words. I was so afraid Evelyn; I was this close to lose it. So, I told her that we were sending Anna to asylum anyway. She had a psychological instability and she was in no state to be punished. Fortunately, Miss Tomlinson seemed to buy it. You know I don’t have any relative who doesn’t own any pet animal. I couldn’t let my own daughter slaughter their pets. So, all I could think of at that moment was your place and I sent her off right after the sun came out the following day. I’m really so sorry Evelyn, I was out of options.” Tears start streaming down her face. I become so stiff at her words. I can’t believe Anna has some deadly fetish to murder innocent animals. “Does she actually have a psychological issue?” my voice trembling. “I don’t have any idea, Evelyn. I think I should talk to the psychiatrist about this but it can be because of her sleepwalking. I think I must be off. It’s already too late.” She nervously looks at her watch. “Yeah, sure but...” she clambers in her car before I could finish. “I’ll talk to you later, Eve.” I keep standing stiffly for several moments. Mrs. Gaston raised further questions in me by her information than answering my questions. I can only think about one single thing right now, have I been friends with a monster? Or, what! Is her fetish confined to only killing animals or can it spread to slaughtering humans as well? A shivering ripple makes its way down my body. “Evelyn? Eve?” Richard’s hands jerk my shoulders from behind. “Huh? She’s a monster! I’ve been so wrong about her... she can... she can kill a life without hesitation. He steadies his ice stares on my face. Then coming closer, he cups my face in his hands, “Eve, it’s okay, I’m here with you. Try to calm down a bit before falling sick. Remember? We have more things to focus on and we’ve already doubted Anna to be somewhat a murderer. Calm down.” His voice sounds more like soft whisper. “But Richard...” “I know Eve, this feels horrible. I won’t disagree on that but we will have to head towards William’s place now. We will talk through Anna’s topic on the way there, cool?” he caresses a side of my face with his thumb. “Okay.” I mechanically get into the car before bursting into tears. I don’t know what just came over me. Maybe doubting some danger is much better than knowing it for real. My heart is aching over Anna, not out of contempt or, fear but because I love her so much. It’s true that past few days have been pretty bumpy between us but she has been my best friend since like, forever. I keep sobbing and letting hot tears streaming down my face. Richard exhales a little sigh. He drives quietly for quite a while. Finally, I wipe my tears away before turning to him. He takes a glance at me when his eyes lock with mine radiating warmth and care towards my way. Inhaling deeply, I appear a little grin on the corner of my lips. “I’m sorry for crying like a baby.” I sniff. “You don’t have to be sorry for that, Evelyn. Crying is not a crime.” I nod at him. “Can you give me a brief on what actually Anna’s mother told you back there?” “It’s Anna who killed the cat. Not only she killed this damn cat, she literally tore it apart. Pathetic!” I gulp hard to stop gagging. He looks shuddered, “Did her mother demand it happened in one of her sleepwalking episodes? Cos it could be, actually. In sleepwalking, people can do fricking hideous stuffs.” “No, Richard, it can’t be just sleepwalking and I’m not babbling for the hell of it. You know what? Anna told us that she was allergic to cats but Mrs. Gaston told something about her having cat phobia. These are two entirely different issues. Not just that, she also told me that she believed her daughter didn’t have any ailurophobia or anything, but plain hatred for cats.” “What?” his voice confused. “Yes, and if it’s true then, don’t you think she didn’t kill the cat in her sleepwalk? Cos it has a strong possibility that, she does have some weird fetish of slaughtering animals. She’s sick, Richard, she’s mentally sick.” “Woah! That’s some real issue going on with her.” He chews on his lip. “What do we do now?” “Now? nothing cos she hasn’t really left us any concrete evidence. In case you’re wondering why, proving her to be mentally sick and reporting to a Psych Hospital will need some clear evidence. No worries, we can come up with something like a trap after getting done with William’s case. Alright?” “But... but Richard, my concern is now not only confined to hurting animals or slaughtering them like monsters. It goes beyond, I mean, what if she starts harming people? What if her mental condition gets much worse by the time that she doesn’t hesitate to kill someone?” what if...” I gasp. “Don’t freak out, Eve!” his voice raises a bit, “What ifs can be the sweetest when they represent your absolute dream moments. It only turns out disastrous when you let your worst nightmares make their ways to the scene. See? Even in your imagination, you have to make choices. Choose to think positively. Negative thoughts can never make any difference apart from drowning you further into the hellish downward spiral. So, relax back and get ready to face Will, if we have much luck to find him.” “You think he’s alive?” my voice trembles. “Seems like he is. You know, he updated a status on Facebook two days ago. Also, there is a tweet on his account which was posted yesterday. His post updates are pretty consistent, I mean, there is no big gap to doubt anything. But one little issue is bothering me though.” He takes a U-turn. “That... there’s no mention about Julia’s accident anywhere?” “Exactly! Are you two added on Facebook, Insta or any other social media?” “Nope! I just stalked his ID a little last night. I wasn’t pretty close with him to be honest. They got engaged real quick, like within 5ish months of dating. We all thought it to be a bit weird but again, mom and dad believed Julia had every right to make the choices of her life. So, I didn’t bother either. That’s one of the reasons, I know so little about William.” “Uh-huh! Let’s just see what’s waiting in his house.” He murmurs. “Hey, Richard! Something off the topic but... um do you have any cat PJs?” “What?” he laughs, “Not to my knowledge, no! Why do you ask this question out of everything in the world?” he continues chuckling. “Argh! Never mind, I’m just trying to trace the connection between Anna’s hatred for cats and her hatred towards you.” I mindlessly tug on my lower lip. “Ouch! She hates me alright but how is that supposed to be connected with the cat thing?” “No, no, you see? Anna told us that... wait, why does she hate you anyway? Did something happen?” “Um, well... how do I put it?” “Seriously? That means there’s reason behind her hatred. Gosh! What is it? Did you hit on her?” I narrow my gaze at him. “Ah, no! well, that night, when that sleepwalking and Julia’s sedative incident happened?” I nod at him not wanting to think about the events that followed it. “When I woke her up, she asked me if she could sit at my living room for a while, to steady herself a bit. So, I let her in and she kinda wanted to kiss me. I mean, don’t get me wrong, maybe it was on impulse or some side effect of sleepwalk or something! I don’t know.” “Then?” I clench my jaw. He looks a bit startled at my face, “then, I pulled her away and said that I couldn’t let her do it. So, she asked me why and I told her that I be not into fooling around. She seemed to be pretty riling up at my answer and she yelled at me that I would be so sorry for rejecting a beautiful girl like her. And, yeah, that I was the biggest dork alive. Well, aside from being the biggest dork, I believe I’m pretty responsible gentleman, so I walked her to the house anyway.” He shrugs.   “God! guess I need a brand-new brain to process all the information. It’s getting too much for me to handle.” I groan. “I’m sorry Evelyn, didn’t mean to upset you.” “It’s okay, not your fault. The biggest dork, huh?” I snicker. “That’s what she said.” He lets out a low chuckle. Chapter Fifteen We stand cluelessly in the middle of William’s bedroom. The main door was not locked when we got in here and Will is nowhere to be found. I keep peering around the room to get a clue. “Guess he’s not home.” Richard says slowly. “Where the hell would he be leaving his door unlocked. It should be a fricking joke!” I snort. “Did you see the living room table and kitchen counter? Those seemed pretty dusty meaning he’s been out for quite a while unless he’s not into cleaning.” I shoot a glance at Richard, “O yeah? So, why the hell is the door not locked then? Wow! See? The bed is not done and is it also a sign that he’s been out for a while?” “Nah! We guys love to keep our beds undone. It’s just easy to hop on whenever we feel sleepy.” Richard purses his lips. I would’ve roasted the hell out of him if it was a different situation. But, this? This is bothering me more than Mrs. Gaston’s words. I keep looking about the room while tugging at my bracelet. “Are you getting it? I mean, smelling it?” he sniffs. “Smelling what? I have a poor sense of smell, honestly. What do you smell? Where is it coming from?” “No idea! Come on, let’s go that way.” He starts heading down the corridor without letting me ask any further. So, I silently follow him with a sinking feeling in my stomach. He suddenly stops before a door, “Are you smelling it now?” he slaps a hand on his nose with disgust. An excruciating odor instantly fills my nostrils. It feels like the repugnant mixture of the smell of raw fish and burn. Before I can cover my nose, my stomach starts churning and making puke come all the way up to the esophagus. “Shit, shit! I’m gonna throw up.” I grit my teeth. “Shh! Cover your nose or at least don’t breathe through the nose. I think something is there on the other side of the door. We need to open it asap.” “What! NO! please, the odor is already overpowering my senses, don’t think of opening this shit.” “Evelyn! We have to.” His voice muffled under his hands. I shudder at the thought of what might be found after opening the door. My legs feel rubbery as I stumble towards it. “Is it locked?” “Uh-huh!” Richard bangs on the door forcefully with his arm. After three to four attempts, the door cricks open, not revealing more than half the view of a pile of boxes. Maybe, this is the storeroom. Pushing the door open further, Richard turns to me, “Let’s go in there.” He motions with his hand. “Are you seeing something, anything?” my voice sounds squeaky, clearly giving off my skyrocketing anxiety. “No, not yet. Put your steps carefully, Eve.” “Uh-huh!” my heart is banging loudly against the chest. I can feel my stomach sinking further and further. I struggle to move my legs as some unseen shackles seem to buckle them tight. I shake my head to remain present in the moment. I can feel the inside of my brain twisting and tumbling. God! no, please, blacking out or losing control on my hand in the middle of this sinister room would be the last thing on earth I want. “Eve? Don’t look in front of you.” Richard’s voice trails off. “Why? What is it? Is it Will?” my heart jumps onto my throat in an instant. “I don’t know. I can’t say...” he lowers his mobile to torch the darkened place. I stagger forward to see what is laying there spreading the indescribable stench all over the house. The sight makes my head spin letting my feet collapse on the floor. I feel like my eyes are fighting to come out of the sockets. Cold sweat breaks down my back, arms and face. I manage to place my shaky hand over my gaping mouth to stop throwing up. Only the bits of that denim jacket left intact on the body. The skull printed on it is the only prove this rotten, burnt down body to be William’s. “It’s him.” I whisper. His entire body looks like a hip of a browned, rotten fleshes with burning patches here and there. Someone must have burnt him to death like a fucking demon. Last thing I hear before blacking out right in front of the distorted body is a muffled voice, “911, what’s your emergency? Followed by Richard’s husky voice on the phone, “Hey! We’ve got a dead body here... *** I slowly blink my eyes as the blurry sight of the cars on the road comes into view. It takes me another couple of minutes to sense the soft sound of breathing coming from my left side. I keep blinking to clear out the vision. “Eve, you awake?” I quickly turn to the crackled voice. Richard looks extremely worn out and sulky. Never have I seen him like this. I expand my eyes at him, “Richard? What happened to you? Where is William’s body?” “They took care of it. The murder is suspected to be done several months back. This is crazy! How come someone be this brutal! And again, nobody from the neighbors reported to the Police about the murder. Well, maybe they didn’t even sense it. Who left the door open then?” he grunts running his hand restlessly across his face. His eyes hold a hint of rage and tears, yes, he is tearing up. “Who do you think did this? Why did anyone do such a thing? This is maddening!” I wince. “I. Don’t. Have. Any. Idea, Evelyn.” His voice is still trailed off. As I fainted back in that hideous dead trap, I’m sure someone had to carry me all the way here to the car. Most possibly Richard was the one who carried me but finding my cheeks not heating up with the thought clearly shows how stressed out and frightened I really am right now. “Isn’t it funny how I thought the conversation with Mrs. Gaston was the worst thing that could happen today? Guess it was not even close to what we had to see back in Will’s...” my throat narrows down with the mental picture of that horribly burnt down body. “I’m entirely clueless, Evelyn!” he whispers while keeping his eyes steadied on the road in front. “Where are we going now?” “Home!” “Should I tell them? Julia and Kate?” I look at him like a helpless little kid. “Is Anna going to be there too?” “No idea, she should be out on a date, at least that’s what she said.” “Guess you should be silent till tomorrow if Anna is there. If she is not, then you can tell Kate and... Julia is doing ok now, right?” “Yeah, more or less! Still can’t say, entirely stable though.” “Tell them we found Will’s dead body and the Police is taking care of the case now. No need to linger on the details of it.” He gives me a quick glance, showing his saddened eyes, those gravitating eyes seem so unknown at this point. Why is he so hurt? He seems intensely devastated, but why? He didn’t know William before. I know it was a fricking horrible sight to bear but... even I do not seem to be that restless as him. Is he just soft-hearted or, anything else is there? Am I doubting the guy who’s done this much for me! Fuck! I must be losing my mind. “Well, I think I should be telling them then, including Jules. She has to hear the news today or tomorrow so... it should be fine.” I mutter the last words to myself. “And one more thing, tell them not to share it with anyone from outside the family now. it can float the news to the criminal and he/she will then, have enough time and scope to slip away.” The mention of Criminal makes my blood run cold. Shit! Who might that be? someone who knows William, of course, but does the psycho know Jules too? Does he know us? “Oh! Speaking of the outsiders, Kate’s boyfriend can be here for dinner tonight. If he’s there, should I drop the news?” “Then, you better zip it up until tomorrow, Evelyn. No outsider should know anything now. It can only do good for that psychotic jerk.” The rage in his voice is apparent. Why is he bothered so much about the murderer? Is it because he is suspecting anyone? “Are you suspecting anyone to be the murderer?” “Nope! How could I? But if this psycho could so something so vicious to William, I wouldn’t be surprised if he comes for Julia... or worse, you.” He pulls the car into his parking lot before turning to me, “Eve, you should be really... really careful from now on. Don’t forget, the criminal has already got several months after the murder, and if Julia’s accident was not framed, he didn’t attempt any apparent move the whole time. It doesn’t mean he will not, it means he certainly can make a move!” “Richard? Do you think Jules’ accident was framed?” I can feel the threat of tears in my eyes. “It’s a possibility, Eve. I’m not so sure about it. No worries, that psycho won’t harm any of you, just be careful.” He puts his hand on mine. “I think I’m so scared now. I don’t know what can happen next. With an animal slaughterer in my house, the fear is even worse... so, is it the murderer who kept William’s social medias active all these days? Shit! He must be after something.” I swallow hard. “Hm, he must be.” he mutters. “But no worries, Eve! The Police will catch him.” He squeezes my hand with a sense of assurance. “I believe so! I should be get going then. Thanks a lot, Richard. You don’t have any idea how much you are helping me.” “Anytime, Evelyn! Good night.” He runs his thumb across my cheek making it flush a little. “Good night!” I duck out of the car. That black Cadillac parked in front of our house says Zac is already here. I nervously fidget my bracelet while slowly heading towards the front door. I can feel the sinking feeling in my stomach at the thought of what just happened throughout the day. It couldn’t be any worse! Well, I hope! “Hey guys!” I try to keep my voice collected. “Hey!” three of them cheerfully greet me. “Well, well, Miss Evelyn Lawrence! Back from date?” Zac winks with a lighthearted grin. “Nah! It’s just a friend. How are you doing?” his presence makes the environment so comfortable and easy that I can feel my chest easing out of the tension it has been holding. “I’m great! Guess nothing can be better than being reunited with an old acquaintance.” He smiles at Julia. “Eve! Can you believe Zac went to the same university as mine? This is crazy! I can kind of remember seeing him spicing up the late-night parties back in college.” “Ouch!” Zac eyes Julia, “Your aunt there will skin me alive.” Julia laughs in reply. “Wow, you guys! How come you didn’t recognize her earlier?” I ask Zac. “I don’t know, she wasn’t the social butterfly! More like a nerd, actually. So, I couldn’t really remember seeing her before that much. But, when she rummaged through all the good old day records, I could finally recall seeing this nerd couple of times.” Julia rolls her eyes, “I wasn’t nerd, I just was not a party animal!” He chuckles, “Yeah! You were in the freshman or junior year when I graduated?” “Maybe junior year! Can’t remember this one.” She grins. “Cool!” I am very happy to see Julia all perked up. But deep down inside, I know she’s gonna have to swallow that horrible news soon. “So, what happened to that Sabrina?” Zac sinks back on the couch. “The one from our batch?” “Yeah! Is she still wild like back then?” Zac smirks. “I’m hearing you.” Kate calls out from the kitchen. “Well, I can’t say, actually. It’s been nearly a year or so I heard from her last.” Julia shrugs with a smile. “O yeah? Actually, that’s pretty much the truth for all of us. End of the University, almost end of the friendships!” “Gotta change back to something comfy, be right back.” Hearing a ting, I look down at my mobile screen. A text from Richard, don’t stress over the incidents much, Eve! I know it’s been a burning hell out there but just stop torturing your health by freaking out over these. You need rest right now and one more thing, be careful not to make anyone doubt anything from your expression. You got this Eve, I’m here with you. Chapter Sixteen   As far as I can remember, I did pray for no more newly emerged shock or grotesque scene for the next day before going to sleep last night. Unless the brand-new day is all ready to hit me hard with brand new show of monstrosity. I sip my coffee while typing a text to Sara. “Morning, Eve! Anna isn’t back yet? It’s already 11 in the next morning.” Kate pours a glass of water. “I don’t know! Once she spent three days at some guy’s place, back in high school. Now that we’re in University, guess her staying period will increase if I’m not wrong.” I smirk. “You two are so different! I wonder how you guys managed to be friends in the first place!” Kate grins. “Yeah! It was really long time back and I think I didn’t know a lot about her then or else...” I absentmindedly murmur. “Or else, you wouldn’t be friends? That’s not true, Eve. Me and my best friend Ella used to argue over anything and everything yet we were inseparable. You know, opposites attract.” “I guess so.” I shrug. Only if she knew what I meant by “didn’t know a lot about her”! “Where’s Jules? Is she awake?” “Nah! She slept late than usual last night, remember? She should be awake in an hour or so. So, tell me, that friend of yours you went out with yesterday, was it, Richard?” she winks. “Um... yeah but it wasn’t...” “Oh, come on! Did you guys get to kiss? Did he say he liked you too? He did!” “Ah, no! nothing happened, literally.” “What? Why are you so unromantic, Eve? I need to train you “How to flirt 101”, I see.” She frowns. “Okay, I’d be glad to have you as my trainer.” I chuckle. I think I should drop the news about William’s murder to Kate. she can figure out better than me how to let Julia know. “So, Kate, here’s something I really need to talk about...” “Wait! Are you hearing it? Someone is shouting outside. Is it Mr. Sanchez?” she pushes to her feet. “Woah! He never shouts, I mean, not like this and not outside the house! What could possibly go wrong? I think... we should check on him.” “Yeah, let’s go.” “What an atrocity! Who did this to my Smokey! Why on this earth... why to my innocent cat?” his raised voice trails off as he wipes the tears with his shirtsleeve. “Mr. Sanchez? What is it? What’s wrong?” Kate reaches out to put her hand around the light-struck, petite old man’s shoulders. “My cat... my Smokey. Some monster killed him like a fucking psycho.” His thick accent gets more intense with the hint of rage and tears. “O my God! I can’t believe she did it.” I huff. “Who? Who do you think did it, Evelyn? Tell us.” Kate sniffs. “I’m not sure yet, but can I see where is it now? Mr. Sanchez?” “In my backyard. What will you do by seeing it? The monster’s gone, long gone. The sight... O dear Lord.” “Please, you try to calm down a bit, okay? Kate, take him to his house. I’m going to look at the cat’s body before going somewhere.” “Where? Will you tell me for God’s sake?” she shouts at me. “I will but not now. you’ll not understand a word if I tell you at this moment. Got it?” without letting her give me another tongue-lash I head towards the backyard. The sight is just what I expected it to be, maybe a little more gruesome. The pool of blood has been dried out to a considerable amount giving off the information about the slaughter’s taking place at least, last night. Mr. Sanchez was right when he said the monster’s long gone. I feel a shudder slowly and surely crawling across my skin. The far patches are scattered around the severely distorted body. The tail and two paws have been ruthlessly torn off of the body. This bitch! Why did you have to do it? What did this innocent beast do to you? Hot tears start rolling down my face. I quickly tap on my mobile screen in the hope to track her location. Yes! I can see it, well at least I know where you are now Annabelle Gaston! Be prepared to be shoved into the fucking asylum you, psycho little piece of... my eyes fixate on the burnt parts of the flesh. God! don’t complicate my life any more than how it already is! Quickly taking some snaps, I duck out of the sight. “Jules, you took your meds? Where’s Serena?” “Yeah, I did. She’s out at her sister’s place. You remember, Carmelina? Her son has diagnosed with leucoma so, I told Serena to go. What is it? Why are you huffing?” “It’s just, an accident took place at Mr. Sanchez’s place. His cat has been killed and he’s totally broken down. You know the poor guy doesn’t have anyone here. Kate is there trying to sooth him. I’m going to meet Anna, okay? I’m gonna uber there. Here’s something very important to deal with. I’ll be right back. Bye, you stay safe.” “but Eve...” “Later, Jules!” I storm out of the door and before I know it, I’m inside the car. “Can you go to this place?” I show the driver where Anna’s mobile is signaling the location. “Sure, Ma’am.” “Please, drive fast.” “Sure.” One thing I’m certain of, whoever killed William must have same sort of mental condition as Anna’s. Nobody with a sound brain can be this brutal to burn down and tear off parts of a living body, be it human or any other animal. My breathing quickens as I restlessly fidget my bracelet. “You okay there, Ma’am?” “I’m good, no worries.” I gasp at the vibration of my phone. It’s Richard. Why is he calling me? did something else happen over there? “H-hello?” “Hey, Eve? Where are you going? You were running at lightspeed and you didn’t even look at me calling out your name. what is it? Is it Mr. Sanchez’s cat? Are you doubting that Anna did it?” “No, Richard. I’m not doubting it. I am sure of it. Talk to you later.” “But Evelyn...” I hang up the call. I don’t want to involve anyone else at this. And I don’t want to divert my mind to doubt anyone else as I know for sure, Anna is a psychotic bitch. “How long will it take?” “Five more minutes, ma’am.” “Damn it.” I keep taping my fingers on the back of my phone. After what seems like a decade, the driver calls out, “We’re at the destination, ma’am.” “Cool! Thank you.” Paying the bill, I clamber down the car. Shit! Isn’t it the apartment building Professor Mike lives in? Anna dropped him off on the way to our house back in the freshman year. Gosh! I can’t believe she stayed a night with the old hag. Ew! Knowing the apartment number from the reception, I fly towards the elevator. Thank God I at least remembered the building right. I clench my jaw as the elevator slowly proceeds to the fourth floor. My anxiety level is full-blown infinity at this point. I quickly knock on the door as I reach in front of it. An inaudible chatter floats in from the other side. He must be having some romantic post-sex conversation with his student, argh! A minute later, the door is opened. Here, stands none other than Professor Mike with head full of messy grayish hair. “Evelyn? What brings you here?” he frowns. “Anna. Where is she?” my voice is throwing daggers. “Um... well...” “I know she is here at your apartment, Professor. I’m not here to judge her or you for being disgusting. I’m here to talk to her... it’s important. Can you please let her know that I came? I’ll be happy to be waiting outside.” I put my arms across my chest. “Yeah, sure.” He looks deflated and nervous. “Thanks.” After about a couple of minutes, Anna comes at the door. She’s wearing an oversized shirt and needless to mention, her long, tick hair is knotted in a messy bun. How can one act so normal after doing something hideous! “What do you want? If you’re here to lecture me about how inappropriate it is of me to date a professor, then you can get lost. I’m not in the mood to listen to your BS.” “Look at your audacity!” I smirk, “Anna, I’m not here to interrupt your little romantic session here. Why did you do it to the cat?” “What cat? What the fuck are you trying to say?” she deliberately tries to tear up. “Don’t play victim, Annabelle Gaston. I know everything about your mother’s cat, Bella’s murder. And yes, I know about Mr. Sanchez’s cat too.” I say deadpan. “What? You, bitch! Did you go to my stupid mother to spy on me? I should’ve killed you.” Her eyes start burning a flame of hatred and disgust. “Professor Mike? Can I come in?” I understand how Anna will try to make me the villain in front of others of the building if I stay outside arguing with her. “No, you can’t, psycho!” Anna steps closer to me. “Yes, I can.” I duck under her spreading arm inside the apartment before she can utter a word. “Is there anything wrong?” Mike looks confused. “Yes, Professor and I think you should hear it too.” I say firmly. “I’ll tear off the fucking head of yours you crazy cunt.” Mike stops Anna before she crashes on me. “What is the matter? Can you clearly tell me?” he looks at me. “Sure, only after you can tame your crazy lover a bit. It looks like she’s planning to tear me apart just like her other preys.” Now I can see Anna’s face going pale and clammy. She swallows hard.” “Mike, no... no, please, don’t listen to her. She’s talking trash.” Her voice trembling. “Am I really? Anna, don’t do it to yourself anymore. Admit that you don’t have any sleepwalking shit, it’s all your psychotic fetish of killing animals. Say it Anna. You do need treatment.” I grit my teeth. “Does that mean, you deliberately threw the puppy out of the window last night?” Mike glances at her. “What puppy?” I’m confused. “Was she here all night? I suppose she did sneak out a little to do her itsy-bitsy secret job.” “Wh... no? She was here, like really, we were in my bedroom all night.” He clears his throat. “Okay!” I wince in disgust. “So, what about the puppy you mentioned just now?” “I didn’t kill the shitty dog. THAT STUPID BEAST JUST SLIPPED OUT OF THE WINDOW. IS IT MY FAULT?” Anna shouts at Mike. “No, no sweetheart, I’m just asking you if the puppy was...” “You’re believing this crazy jealous Evelyn, and not me? what came over you, Mike?” I run my hands across my face. Frustration, confusion, anxiety, fear- I feel all of them at once. “Professor? Did you see the puppy after that? I mean, after it fell to the ground? Was it yours?” “No, it was my sister’s, she went outside the country and gave the puppy to me to look after it for her.” “So? Did you see it after it was slipped out of the window or whatever?” He bites on his lower lip, “Yes, I did.” “When? You did sneak out when I was sleeping, you son of a bitch?” Anna’s eyes go mad. “Now I know who scratched the little animal like a monster! Anna, you need help.” His voice shaking, giving off a mixture of anger and sadness. “I DON’T! OKAY? I DON’T NEED ANY FUCKING HELP AT ALL. YOU PEOPLE ARE SICK.” She starts trembling. “I’m calling the psychic clinic.” “No, you aren’t.” Anna crashes on Mike’s arm, scratching and biting like a total crazy. “Anna! Let him call the clinic. YOU NEED TREATMENT.” I try to loosen her grip on Mike. “So, you killed your own dog, no? it died only two weeks after you bought it.” I shove the words at her to distract her distorted mind to me. It works cos she instantly turns to me with fierce eyes, “Yes, yes... yes... I did kill the dog. What will you do to me now? kill me? you wanna kill me, you bitch?” “No, I’m just regretting the time I walked to you and invited you to play with me. Boy! Wasn’t I so wrong about you! I used to think how cool and brave you were when you showed the dissected flies and ants to me. you used to tear off the wings of dragon flies without any reason and I thought you were just being brave. Now I know you were sick right from your childhood.” Tears start rolling down my cheeks. I can’t feel the rage in my voice anymore. All I can feel is frustration and sadness- a lot of it.  She suddenly, becomes silent looking down at the floor. Her lips are shaking. “I can’t help hurting them when I feel how helpless and weak, they are...” she whispers. “They’re here.” I startle at Mike’s voice. “Good! I’m going then. Thanks, Professor for helping me out to tackle this.” Giving him a side smile I duck out of the apartment and never look back. “I will not spare you Evelyn. You want me to rot to death in an asylum, don’t you? You’ll be paying for it, I promise…” Anna’s cursing continues as I wait for the Uber to arrive. If it isn’t her, then who killed Mr. Sanchez’s cat? Someone with similar fetish... of burning things down... my phone startles me halfway through my calculation. Damn it! “Hello?” “Hey, Evelyn? Where are you? Did you get Anna?” Richard’s voice void of his regular calmness. “Hey... yeah I got to meet her and guess she did kill some animal last night but... it wasn’t Mr. Sanchez’s cat. It was a puppy out there in Mike’s apartment. I mean, Mike, her date. So, yeah, the Psychic clinic got her... though I’m completely at a loss what to think of Smokey’s death.” I puff out a frustrating breath. He remains silent for some time, “Evelyn, I’ll be home within an hour. I think we need to talk about something... it’s important.” He hangs up the phone before the next question slips out of my mouth. Important? Why can’t he just say it over the phone then? What is the universe trying to play with me? fucking hide n seek? I groan. Suddenly, the thought of those snaps from Mr. Sanchez’s backyard that I captured to show as evidence in proving Anna the killer, clicks my mind. Guess looking at the pictures more closely can give me a clue or two about the actual killer. The pictures immediately make my stomach churn. Maybe it was the heat of the moment that kept me from throwing up back in the morning. The horror of the wrecked body on my screen sends creeps across my entire body. I shudder at the pool of blood as I zoom in the photo. Swallowing hard I begin to inspect closely and carefully. This seems so sinister and nauseating to keep looking at the grotesque scene. What is it? That black thing? What the hell is this stuff? I near the phone before my expanded eyes. “Ma’am, we’re at the destination.” The driver’s grave voice makes me jump and drop the phone. “You okay there, ma’am?” “Y-yeah! It’s just my phone dropped.” I stutter while paying the bill. This tiny black stuff... must be a piece of something. What can that be? I chew on my lip. “Eve? You back finally? I need you to listen to Mr. Sanchez... now.” Kate’s face seriously startles me. “Why? Did he figure out who killed Smokey?” “You just come, alright?” The gloomy sound of her voice sends a chill down my spine. Following her, I look at the zoomed in photo once again. I want to pull on my own hair as something about it is seeming so familiar yet I’m not getting it. “Why am I not getting it?” I scoff. “Mr. Sanchez, tell her what you saw yesterday.” Kate crosses her arms on her chest. “I saw him... yes, I saw him running away. I should’ve chased him down.” He keeps murmuring. “Who are you talking about, Mr. Sanchez?” I gulp. “That guy... that young guy across the street.” He’s making my doubt more and more relevant by the minute. “who?” I utter almost inaudibly. “It was Anna you were doubting, right Evelyn?” Kate gives me a sharp look. “y-yeah, well she is somehow psycho but what did he see last night?” “And you were out proving Anna the killer back then? Eve, you can’t do this to an innocent girl.” she looks disappointed. “Kate, you don’t understand. Anna is mentally sick and yes, she killed her own dog, her mother’s cat, her date’s puppy and how many more I don’t know, ok? So, quit being hurt for her, will you?” I shout at the top of my lungs making her face pale-shocked. “And now, Mr. Sanchez, can you please tell me who exactly did you see last night?” my voice sour from shouting. “That guy, blonde hair... yes, Aron. That Aron was running from... what seemed like from my backyard when suddenly I seemed to hear a noise. I groggily looked outside the window but couldn’t register anything... anything.” He sniffs. Wait that black thing, it’s a torn part of a wristband. Who have I seen wearing a black wristband all the time? Richard. The realization hits me so hard that I forget to breathe for a minute. He told me that he had something important to tell me... he was dead anxious when he caught me going after Anna! Does it mean he didn’t do it deliberately to frame Anna as the villain but he’s also... sick! Zac did mention how he used to burn things down as a kid. There WERE the burnt patches on the body of the cat. How could I not notice? How could I not realize it’s none but the Richard I’m so in love with. Aron must have been there to rescue his pal, of course he was there to fend him from waking up the old man so that he couldn’t catch him feasting monstrously on his cat. Tears start pooling in my eyes but I blink them off. I will not cry over losing a psychopath. If it’s how he wants to keep hurting innocent animals, then he deserves to rot to death in prison or asylum. “No, Mr. Sanchez, I know it’s not Aron, it’s his friend.” “You are not telling me anything, Eve! How am I supposed to know anything you are saying is right?” Kate grits her teeth. “It’s RICHARD. I saw a part of his wristband there on the blood. Maybe it was the cat trying hard to get free from his grip when the wristband ripped off. You can call the Police Mr. Sanchez if you think the brute who killed your cat deserves a punishment.” I utter the words mechanically. My entire body stiffens as I try to walk towards the house. “You sure, Eve?” Kate gasps. “As sure as the sunlight.” I don’t wait there anymore as I have no desire to see Richard being arrested and humiliated. I just did it for the sake of the people of this neighborhood, my family and for the sake of him. He needs treatment. A strange sound of yelping and crying floats in from the other side of the house as I step in it. I stagger across the corridor to find out exactly what I doubted to hear the sound. Julia is crying like a baby with the phone in her hand. “Will... my Will, why did they do it to him, why?” she wails. “Oh! Jules, who called?” I run to her. “The Police... they said they found the body yesterday. They said they had been investigating his missing case for about two months. Eve! He has been missing for a long time. Maybe as long as the time of my accident. That’s why Eve, that’s why he didn’t show up.” She breaks into tears. “But, Julia! What did the Police say? Who are they suspecting? Should we go find out?” “I don’t know, they said if someone could go to the Police station, it’d be better. They have something more to talk about. O my God! you know he called me... he called me that day saying he had something really important to talk about. I couldn’t reach him... that fucking accident ruined it all and now he’s dead. My fiancé is dead EVELYN.” “You try to calm down a bit, Julies. Please!” the tears now get free from my eyes. I can’t feel my own hands. “What’s going on?” Kate looks pale as dead. “Will’s dead Kate, they killed him...killed him for nothing.” Julia cries out. “What the fuck?” Kate’s eyes spread wide. “Listen here, Kate, the Police called and let her know that they found the body yesterday and had got some suspect behind this murder. So, if any of us could go to the Police now, it’d be better to deal with this and all other matters associated with it. I think I should go and you stay here with her.” “No... no, you are not going ANYWHERE now. I’m going to the Police station. You stay here with her and look out. We don’t seem to be safe anymore, God!” she ducks out of the room in lightspeed. Of course, not safe anymore. What is happening over here? Was then Julia’s accident framed? Was it? That’s what the asshole told me the other night. Did he kill William? But why would he? Is it because he wanted to kill something that time? To feed his filthy hunger of blood? “Julia, take this tablet and try to get some sleep, please. You are not yet stable to take too much pressure. Please, do as I say.” “But Eve...” “Kate went there, Hopefully, we’ll get to know everything about it as soon as she comes back. You don’t worry.” I manage her to take the sleeping pill and tuck her in her blanket. “Why did they do it?” she asks dizzily. “I don’t know, Jules. We’ll figure out.” I restlessly fidget my bracelet as I try to come up with a clue on who can possibly kill William. It must be someone who has problem with either Will or Jules. Maybe it’s about some sort of a revenge! God! only if I knew anything! What about those burnt patches on his dead body? This perfectly resembles Richard’s way of killing but why would Richard do it?... He absolutely feigned his worried and saddened expression then. Maybe he is onto something and that’s why he’s been trying to flirt with me. yes! He has had some issue with William. Moving in this neighborhood, killing William, making Jules bedridden, making her foolish little sister falling for him... exactly! And he was the one who smelled the stench first in William’s apartment. He seemed to navigate through the place pretty easily. I was totally clueless about everything while he led me to the storeroom. Oh! My dear Lord! How could I not get it then? I was too blinded by his charm to think straight. Everything is clear now... everything! Now that I am almost certain about the criminal, all I want right now is choke the hell out of him. The phone on Julia’s table starts ringing. I grab the phone without looking at the number calling. My head is buzzing with rage and despair. “Hello?” “Hello, speaking from the Police station. Is it Miss Julia Lawrence?” “Nope! I’m Evelyn, her sister.” “Right. Can Miss Lawrence take the phone?” “She’s actually not doing so well... can you tell me?” “Alright! We found the body of Miss Julia Lawrence’s fiancé, William Jones last night. We have started the investigation and we will expect Miss Lawrence to be here with her other family members. The inspector wants to have some thorough interrogations.” “Wait! But my aunt, Kate... Kathrine Smith, she went to the Police station already. Maybe you talked to my sister earlier.” “No, Miss. We haven’t contacted this number before. I am afraid you have been misinformed by someone else there...” A heavy thud on my head let a tingling pain spread to my body. A bright splash of light invades my eyes before all that’s left is darkness.     Chapter Seventeen   My tongue gets trickled with a tangy and sticky fluid as soon as I open my eyes. My own blood! The side of my head is burning excruciatingly and the blood is oozing across my face. The inaudible voice around and blurry vision fog my senses for yet several more minutes before I can hear the raspy voice threatening someone. I try to squint my eyes to see who are these people in the room. My heart jumps to the throat as I can see Julia’s frightened eyes widening at the guy standing in front of her. Her mouth is gagged with a bandana and her hands are tied tightly with a piece of rope. Who the fuck is it? What is he doing to Jules? I need to get up before he can harm her any further. The entire world collapses at my ears as the grogginess is lifted out from my head and I recognize the voice. It’s Zac. What on earth he’s trying to do here? Why is he threatening Jules? “I’m really surprised seeing you still struggle to remember me.” he laughs in an ugly tone. “O poor babe! You thought that heartthrob Zac, you were drooling over is back? I didn’t know I could fool you this easily only by dying my hair and fixing the posture a little. Seems like I’m not as ugly as before to be rejected!” he ruthlessly pulls away the bandana from Julia’s mouth. “Y-you are Scott? That...” her voice trembling. “Yes, sweetheart! That nerd and ugly Scott who you rejected... three times.” “But... you knew that I and Will were already dating... I couldn’t...” “Zip it, you little bitch! You didn’t start dating that douchebag when you rejected me for the first time. You told me that I was ugly... you told me I was not your match! And I knew I WAS YOUR MATCH AND NOBODY ELSE.” He huffs with anger. His voice is freaking me out already, how is Julia keeping up with his threats face to face! I swallow the lump in my throat. My body already became so paralyzed with pain that I cannot even move it. “I didn’t call you ugly, Scott! I told you I was not ready to go into a relationship then.” “Yeah, right! Then miraculously within two fucking weeks, you were ready? Ready to let that jerk, William get in your pants?” “Scott, it’s been a long time...” “I didn’t forget! Nope, not for a single moment. You were meant to be mine Julia. I CLAIMED you first. I never forgot the rejection; I never forgot your fiancé’s smirk when he mocked me silently. You think it’s just a rejection, huh? NOBODY REJECTS ME JULIA.” “You killed him already, you made me bedridden for heaven’s sake! What else do you want? Kate... where is Kate? what did you do to her?” she cries out. “That stupid Kate!” he laughs his ugly laughter one more time, “That stupid has been a blessing to let me in this house. I just shoved her aside before she would do something very... very disappointing, like you, my love!” he brushes him thumb across her face before slapping her hard. I let out a yelp at this and he finally turns to face me. His handsome face is filled with monstrosity and hatred. He spits, “You weak little whore, you haven’t died yet? Apologies! I should’ve hit you a little harder, then.” “Please! I implore you, Scott. Don’t hurt her. You do whatever you want with me, but not to her.” Julia shouts. “No! I won’t hurt you sweetheart! You will be my wife, remember? I told you already you were meant to be mine... only. Let me first take care of this little hoe of your sister. She has been the actual pain in my ass this whole time. Not leaving your sister alone, huh? What are you? Lesbian lovers?” he grips my hair. I wince at the pain it adds to the already throbbing head. “So, it’s you who killed the cat, isn’t it?” I try to halt him some more minutes before I can come up with an idea about tackling him. “Ridiculous! All you care about is that nasty beast? You got to be kidding me Senorita!” he smirks. “Yes! I did, I killed that shit as a fun experiment, if you ask.” “You are a fucking psycho. Do you know it?” I whisper. “You think so, huh?” he slaps me hard. Blood is pooling around my head. “Eve, no! please, don’t mess with him.” Julia pleads. “Tell me one more thing before killing me, will you?” I pant. “Sure! Scott doesn’t like to leave death-wishes unfulfilled. Spit it out, princess.” “You made up the story about Richard last night and you stalked us when we went to William’s house, didn’t you?” “You’ve got some brain, I must admit! But nope, not really stalked you. I’ve got a camera there in that douche’s apartment. Saved me a lot of time and danger.” He smiles like a demon. “Why did you make it up? What did that guy do to you?” “Nothing! Just an easy prey.” He shrugs. “His family’s incident made it easier for me to arrange the plot so perfectly. Thanks to the gas cylinder and his neighbors who did accuse him.” He snickers. “How did you know about him?” I whisper, being unable to talk properly because of the agonizing pain. “Internet, babe! And why am I answering to your inquisition? You’re trying to stall me by asking all these stupid questions, aren’t you? You, witty little whore.” He tightens his fist. “I promise, I’ll marry you, Scott. Please don’t hurt Evelyn. I’m begging you.” Julia implores again. He gives an evil smirk at this. “Just a little something as the reward for your rejection. Trust me, it will be done before you know it.” He rocks the blowtorch in his hand. Is he going to burn me to death? God! help me… I wince at the thought. I’m almost seething as the pain paralyzes my limbs. I can’t even try to grab something to hit his fucking head as he turns that way. “It’ll be a fun process Miss Evelyn Lawrence, can’t promise on the intensity of the pain though. Guess what? It’s gonna be really fun... I love this thing.” He smiles at the blowtorch and I can see the half-ripped belt hanging from it. It was not the torn piece of Richard’s wristband beside the cat. It’s the belt! I suffocate to breathe. “Drop your weapon!” first, I can’t quite understand what’s happening. Then, three figures in Police uniform proceeding this way catch my eyes. “You called the Police? Julia! You betrayed me AGAIN.” Zac slash Scott grits his teeth. “I didn’t...” Julia looks stunned. One Policeman comes forward and twists the Psycho’s hands behind him to put on the handcuffs. Another one proceeds as Zac keeps threatening, “You two think you can get away from me? No! I’ll come back and I will burn you both, next time. I wanted to spare you, bitch!” he turns to Julia. “Guess you didn’t like that idea... you will die I promise! Just like your fucking fiancé, I will choke the hell out of you and then decorate your body with this baby!” he smiles insanely at his blowtorch. You both will DIE.” The Policemen drag him out of the room while he continues spitting curses. “When the phone was hung up all of a sudden and one of you informed me about your Aunt going to the Police station, I knew something was not right. Hey! This way, get the ladies to the ambulance.” A Police motions with his hand. “Did you get the body outside the house? Is she still breathing?” he asks the Medical team. “Yes, sir. She’s alive.” “Good.” Maybe they are talking about Kate. Maybe that psycho choked her or something after she went out... my eyes feel heavy as they carry me to the ambulance. Enough for this day... my brain doesn’t have space to receive any more shock. The sanitized smell of the hospital fills my nostrils as I open my eyes. “Eve? How are you doing now?” Sarah’s face comes into my focus. “Sarah? Where is Julia? Where is Kate? Are they doing okay?” “Shh, calm down. Yes, both of them are just fine. No worries about it. Kate needs a little more time to recover... y’ know she’s been hit ruthlessly.” She purses her lips. “That bastard! Did Police shove him into the jail?” “Yes! He’s all settled there to die, you don’t worry.” She smiles. I let out a deep sigh. It has been a crazy drama since my own accident. I cannot believe how everything has happened over this whole time. Shiver crawls across my skin when the thought crosses my mind, this whole time, the psycho has been onto us... looking at us, stalking us and planning that horrible plan! “Sarah? Can I ask you something?” “Sure, hon! What is it?” “Where is Richard? He’s out of the jail now, no?” guilt chokes on my words. “Yes, Eve, he’s got out of the jail alright. But...” “What?” “Well, he has been transferred to the Ohio branch. So, I guess he’s moved there.” “Already?” “Yeah! It’s been three days since the crazy night. He moved away yesterday, that’s what Dad said.” She puts her hand on mine, “He asked about you. And here’s some weird policy in my Dad’s company. As he was arrested once though for some misunderstanding, he needed to change his number and email address... like everything except for the identity. If you want to call, I can collect his number for you later.” I can feel the threat of tears in my eyes. My chest feels heavy as guilt washes over me. “I did it, Sarah! I accused him... I thought he was the one doing all these but he only tried to help me. I’m a horrible person.” “No, Eve! Don’t do that. You are just fine okay? You are not horrible; you were just stressed out and confused. It’s not your fault. I’m sure Richard also thinks the same.” She gives an assuring smile. “I hope so.” I murmur. “I think we should move to some other place. Scott threatened to get back at us and his voice was so confident. He was so sure of his intention Sarah. I’m so scared.” “Don’t be. Yes, I was thinking about the same thing when Serena called me and told what happened. It’ll be better if you move to some other place for the mental peace. This house has become a full-blown crime-spot. Although the psychotic monster won’t be able to escape, you guys have to move to a new house, new neighborhood and start it afresh.” “You know what, Sarah? I think Richard could figure out the killer before I sent him to the jail.” “You think?” “Yeah, he told me on the phone that he had something important to talk about and he’d talk to me after getting home. Also Mr. Sanchez said how he saw Aron the previous night running away from his backyard. Those guys were there to keep an eye on the killer, nothing else. Guess I ruined that with my own hand inviting all those tortures for later.” I sigh. “Who’s Aron?” “Richard’s friend, lives across the street.” “Okay! Yeah, Richard is a smart guy and maybe he doubted Zac from the beginning. But he obviously couldn’t say anything before getting evidence in hand. It’s okay, Evelyn. I’ll still say that it’s not your fault. Let it pass.” I nod at her with a little smile. “Miss Evelyn Lawrence? The doctor is here to check on you.” A pretty-faced nurse comes in the room. “Sure.” “Hello, Miss Lawrence! How are you feeling? Looks like someone is ready to go home.” The doctor gives a bright smile. But it’s not the smile that catches my sight, it’s the eyes. They instantly remind me of the person having the same collected, icy-cold yet gravitating eyes. In my mind, I can clearly see the first day those eyes caught my attention. That one time, I wanted to see him again. Text: Copyright © 2020 by Radia Al Rashid. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission Editing: Radia Al Rashid All rights reserved. Publication Date: February 2nd 2021 https://www.bookrix.com/-as9a62b328321f5

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-terrex-corbin-who-is-mr-code/

Terrex Corbin Who is Mr. code? Preface Who is Mr.code? well the all out question is What is he? is he a Mass murder? A hero seeking justice? a vilgalantie? a sociopath? all these questions seeks alot of answers but to get to the bottom of it we must first figure out how the story goes.     Chapter 1 Macy Watched The Eleven o Clock news at night before she goes to bed. She was finally happy in capturing Anna and can finally put the case to Rest,only by three in the morning she was rudely awaken by her phone going off. She answerws her phone as detective Mason was on the other end of the line "I need your help on the next case and alot of people want their questions answered" He said. She groaned in fustration "Can't this wait till morning?" she answered back. Mason answered her back "I'm afraid it can't wait till morning turn on the tv." Macy turns on the tv as she saw what appeared to be a live streaming security camera with a family in a cell then ana appeared as she showed the most sickening evil smile ever from a serial killer. "You got forty eight hours to let me go and put the actual criminal behind bars or watch you and your partner's family suffer by me and you known me macy since i was five years old that i don't play. So go right ahead tell your partner cause if you don't" she walks towards the teen boy as she punched his tummy as he bends over." I will slowly kill him and let you watch him suffer." Macy turned off the tv and got back on the phone with detective mason "Give me the details to the next case." chapter 2 Kim walked into the police headquarters's with a tray of four different sizes of coffee. He grabbed his medium light and sweet hot coffee and sips slowly. The last time he sipped on coffee he burned his mouth. Kim notice how his eyes were glued to the TV not moving an inch. Kim couldn't help but grab his attention "MR.Candleston sir i um... wanted to say..." she was nervous then she focused on the sky "it's a wonderful day out for football don't you agree?" Kim said with a nervous smile. " Your always nervous around me why?" he asked. "Because of that sir" Kim pointed at the black bear looking creature. Detective Candleston picked up the cage as the black bearlike creature growled. "It's a Tasmanian Devil i went on a cruise to Australia and it was awesome" he said. "I'm sure it was so what are you going to name your furry friend there?" Kim asked. he looked at the Tasmanian devil as he smiled. "Rex is what his name will be". Then detective mason walked  towards us as he looked at both of us "This Shadow Person is Really getting people upset cause they don't know what it is and it gets better it's saving people like some sort of superhero" He said. "Well that's great i suppose" Detective Candleston said. Kim walked towards him as she smiled " So what's on the agenda today?" she asked. So as he was ready to open up his mouth Macy walked into the headquarters's pacing back and forth her hands were shaking tears fall from her eyes as she looks away." Can someone tell me why we haven't Captured this Mystery man or woman." macy asked. "Because we have no background information on who it is" Candleston said. "So work on it get confessions get whatever it is to send this thing to justice". Macy said.   Chapter 3 Meanwhile in prison Ana grabbed the little boy and  covered his mouth with a chloroform rag as she puts him to sleep. Then back at the crime scene detective sapphire AKA Kim and candleston drove to the crime scene under the Brooklyn bridge as they get a good look at the victim. "Something tells me this thing is not working alone" Sapphire said. "Well if it's not working alone then it must have cronies working for this thing" candleston said. Then Macy saw a young woman grabbing something "Hey" she yelled. Then the young woman ran off candleston and Macy chased her down she was a very fast runner as she climbed fences with ease but she saw the cop car as she ran down a dead end alleyway which made it easier to catch her then she pulled out a nine inch hunting knife. She swung wildly at the detectives then Kim came from behind and tackled the woman to the floor. Then in the afternoon they sat across from her. Her eyes showed a mean stare she stayed silent not saying a word. Then her lawyer came in as she wore a red hat a red jacket with a black blazer vest her hair was black and curly and long just above her waist with some red highlights. she was no other then Sophia Santiago she won millions of cases and gives you the best deal possible "So you detectives think you can attack my client and get away with it huh?" she said as she pulls up a chair next to her client. "We didn't say anything to her but now your here we can talk about a plea deal" Macy said. "She won't go to prison but she can do two months of community service for a small crime". she said. "She stole a pieces of evidence from the crime scene she deserves more" Macy said. "My client refuses to go to prison she has a clean record she didn't know it was part of the crime scene" Sophia said. Macy turned away and walked out of the interrogation room upset as detective mason looked at her. "You okay" Mason asked. "We got a confession but it's in a form of a clue" Candleston said. "I'm fine" she said. Chapter 4 The interrgation room got very intense as Ashley confessed "I took the hunting knife from the crime scene cause it reminns me of my mother who was addicted to knives" she cried. "Who is your mother?" kim asked "Samantha" she replied. "Great! now what are we to do?" Macy asked. "We get her down here to the headquaters so she can confess to us why is her daughter around knives" mason said. So macy and kim got in the poice car and drove down a few blocks to sam's house they got out of the car and walked towards her appartment and knocked on her door. Sam opens the door "Can i help you detectives?" she asked. "Can you come with us down to the headquarters?" kim asked. "Come in detectives" Sam said. The detectives walked into her house as they looked around before looking back at sam. "What did i do wrong now detectives?" she asked crossing her arms in front of her. "Your daughter Ashley confessed that she took the knife from the crime scene and linked it to you" Macy said. "Come on detectives i'm a good mother i told you i use knives to hunt animals not people" Sam said. "Why was you playing with knives around her anyway?" kim asked. "ME! playing with knives" Sam chuckled. "My brother collects knives i borrow them just in case i have to kill a deer" she said. Text: Terrex All rights reserved. Publication Date: April 29th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-terrex

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-xxkyliexx123-who-am-i/

xxkyliexx123 Who am I? Who am I? What has happened to me? What have I become? How did I get here? All these questions were going through my head and I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one asking myself these questions. I’m not normal I don’t know who I am anymore, or what I am. It all happened two weeks ago, “Amy, breakfast, hurry up you don’t want to be late for school!” mum, has being pestering me for the last hour to get out of the bathroom or hurry up. Getting ready for school is like getting ready to meet Rhiannah or Beyonce! Finally I was ready for school. I was wearing my black skinny jeans with my purple flats, to match my head band and top. I had a black leather jacket and black purse. Before I stepped out of the house, I had to put on my big, long black jacket and hide my head with a fat black hat. “Amy, why are you wearing that big jacket? It’s like really hot!” mum didn’t know who I was or what I am, I didn’t either. I’m not a normal person like you; I’m different... much different. But we are about to find out. I had tanned skin, my eyes were a weird shade of blue, they changed colour every month, contact lenses, my hair is quit long but not as long, I have red wavy hair. At school, in class, I have to sit next to Scott; he’s a total ass hole. He sits there and picks his nose all lessons and I’m pretty sure he’s pulled a chunk of his brain before! Jess and jasmine, my two best friends... my only friends, came up to me yesterday and told me that Daniel Grind-Hall was single again. He is captain of the foot ball team and is the cutest guy in school. Obviously he wouldn’t go out with a girl like me, I’m in the science team, he’s in the football team, I’m in the maths lead he’s in the basketball team, I’m a geek, he’s a hunk, I’m a loner, he’s popular. You see were I’m going with this. Tonight I am going to try my move, he is having a party tomorrow at he’s house, of course I’m not invited... yet. MATHS!!!! One of my best subjects. Why? 1. I sit next to Daniel 2. It’s really fun and 3. I love maths! Then, Miss Robinson, our maths teacher, asks us to work in pairs and find out the area of something. Great, me and Daniel, get to actually talk. “Ok... Um Ames, you do that and I’ll finish texting yh? “Uh huh actually it’s Amy,” how stupid am I he gave me a nickname and I just blew it. Miss asked us to stop what we’re doing, she asked Danielle a question because she caught him texting and she wanted to make sure he was listening. “Um... 9x23... is it 23?” everyone laughed at that point. Poor guy it’s not his fault he’s not good at maths. I hissed the answer to him, when he told miss my answer, she turned away with a smile on her face. He looked at me and thanked me, then he handed me an envelope from his pocket. “OMG, he actually handed it to you? Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!!!” I, Jessica and jasmine started jumping up and down screaming. What if it was the invitation to his party? We opened it quickly and, it was, NOT, it was just a silly coupon to some silly restaurant, in AMERICA worst of all, it expired last year, what was this still doing in his pocket?! Well I guess I’ll just have to try in geography. When it was time for home, Jessica came up to us and told us she found an invitation on the floor, and by that, she means stole from some ones bag whilst they weren’t looking. The invitation said it could bring anyone as long as we brought the invitation with us to get in. I was so excited; I just had to go buy a new outfit. Today is the day, it’s Saturday morning, and I’m up to get ready for Daniel’s party. I was going to go over to Jessica’s house with Jasmine so we could do our hair make-up and nails. That was going to take us all day, considering we don’t know how to do make up. 8:00pm and were finally ready. Jessica’s mum helped us get ready. Finally my first ever party, how brilliant is this! I was wearing my brand new sexy chick belly top which was black with funky blue writing, my Minnie black skirt with my blue flats. I curled my hair and put extensions in it to make it look longer and look like a darker red. I did my nails black with blue jewels, Jessica’s mum did them for me. Finally, Jessica was ready and we set off in her car. I’d say it was tatty but she has a high anger issue so I couldn’t say anything, not only that, she was my ride there and back. When we got there, it was huge, the place was like proper full and half the people there were already drunk. We stepped foot into the club and it was amazing. We all went to sit down and agreed to stick together no matter what. After a while, I was alone, you see, at first jess got really drunk within the 10 minutes we were there, her and some guy were hugging, kissing and snoging for a while before they decided to go off into the apartments above the club. I think it’s stupid; who will buy apartments above a night club it’s just idiotic. After half an hour, some guy named Bob, came and took Jasmine to dance and next thing you know, she’s the clubs willingly stripper. But then again I can’t blame here she is drunk. Then that leaves me all alone. I was kind of pissed off with the girls just left me like that. Then this guy came and sat next to me he started putting a move on me then when he leaned in to kiss me, I threw my glass of wine on him. I can’t just kiss him, I barely know him and that will slow my chances with Daniel. I ran outside to get some fresh air. Now I was really angry with the girls, 1. They left me, 2. I just embarrassed myself, which would have never happened if the girls were there. I wandered up the streets then I heard something. I turned the corner and there I saw a group of boys eating something, but I don’t know what some fat blond guy was booking my way. One of them sniffed the air and then turned around really sharp. I just stood there with my skinny legs shivering with fear. They started chasing me down the street I took the wrong turn and I don’t know where I am anymore. The group of boys had me corned. One of them tied me to a tree and started threatening to eat me- I think they were only joking. That was impossible to eat a human being. Or is it? I woke up the next day in my room, I don’t know whether that was a dream or if it was true but I just don’t remember what happened. My hand was sore and when I looked down, I had red marks on my wrist. My neck had four holes. I didn’t know how to react but I wasn’t the least bit scared. When I went down stairs, everyone was already having breakfast. “Mum, why didn’t you wake me?” nobody answered me they all just shrugged, I could see Adam (my little brother) sniggering. I sat down at the table and stared at my plate full of sausage bacon egg and toast. For some reason, I wasn’t attracted to that food; my mind was more focused on that smell of sweetness. It seemed to have been becoming from my brother, Adam. Oh no, I keep drooling and all I have on my mind is him. I stormed out of the kitchen quickly and went outside. I went jogging for a bit to get my mind straight. I was finally alone. In the woods. The whole way there, I kept throwing up. My stomach hurts so much and the people I saw on my way looked so delicious. When I got home, I decided it was time for a new look, this geeky nerd thing wasn’t working for the new me. I went and borrowed- stole-money from mum, dad and Adam. I came home with at least fifteen thousand bags. Surprisingly, they weren’t heavy. Mum looked at me so shocked as if I had just robbed the bank. It was lunch and I told mum not to bother making my food I was going out to fetch my food. She thought I meant fish, so did but my mind had other plans. I was alone in the woods again, at least I think I was, then a guy came towards me, he looked lost, and the next thing I know, I’m half way in his stomach eating away. I got home later that night, mum and dad were waiting for me, and I think they were going to give me “the talk” “Honey, are you ok? “Yh mum I’m fine...” mum and dad exchanged looks of worry. She gave me a fake smile then dad stood up and walked away. “Are you sure? I mean you’re throwing up lately, you’re not eating anymore and you look kind of pale.” What was mum trying to say, I mean if she wanted to know whether I was pregnant why didn’t she just ask me, which by the way I am NOT. I just stood up, walked away to my room and went straight to bed, without saying a word. It was school, again! This time my look was completely stitched up and ready to go show off. I was wearing some black skinny jeans with grey high heels, and I mean high, a white top with black writing on it, a grey and black leather jacket with a hood, black shades, I dyed my hair dark dark purple and had extensions to make it look long and curly. My skin was now and officially pale, you couldn’t tell who was who between me and the white house, I had heavy eye liner and mascara, black of course, purple lipstick, no blush, no foundation what so ever. When I got to school, I couldn’t control myself, the people around me smelt so darn good, everyone was staring at me, and by that I mean the good way. In maths, Daniel tried to chat me up. I was so happy. On the inside I was jumping but on the outside, I was like ‘yh cool whatever’. He asked me out tomorrow night. I couldn’t wait. Of course I had to control myself, he smelt so damn good I just couldn’t help but stroke his neck all the way through maths and geography. Bella, head cheer leader, also Daniel’s ex-girlfriend, came to have a ‘talk’. I’m guessing the word about me and Daniel spread pretty quickly. “Look bitch, Daniel is mine so back off. He may have dumped me but trust me he is going to come crawling back!” I didn’t care what she had to say, I just hissed at her my eyes turned orange and my teeth stuck out, all pointy. At lunch, Jessica and jasmine came to sit with me. “Heyy where have you been, you never called us after that night, you ok?” I didn’t care what these betrayers had to say, now that I’m popular they come running back like nothing’s changed, well it has, I’m a blood sucking vampire! “Word on the streets, you’re going out with Daniel tomorrow night, give us the deets!” oh yh I gave them deets, pouring hot cocoa all over them, is that enough deets for ya? “Have a nice day bitches, oh and by the way, you might wanna add some sugar in that it’s a little... shitty!” Yes I got into trouble but I didn’t seem to care considering me and the deputy got off to an agreement. Now I’m not in trouble any more, but err, 6he might have trouble digesting he is now what I like to call, under cooked. R.I.P. Mr Wright! I got home and there was mum ready to blow. She didn’t look happy so I kind of figured it had something to do with school. At this part my heart started to pound, what if someone saw me go in the janitor’s closet with miss and saw me come out alone? Then what, will I have to move to Ohio? “Ok, I just got a letter from your teacher, your failing your classes, I don’t get it what happened at that party that you’re not telling us? It’s changed you!” mum shook her head in disappointment but I didn’t care. I was so scared but I didn’t show it for some reason. Adam had his friends over. Michele and Dylan. By the judge of their smells, Dylan was the best. I asked Adam weather he wanted me to take them out for pizza. They agreed willingly after having a huddle to discuss it. Adam and Michele went to the toilet and it was just me and Dylan. “So you wanna go round the back and ‘talk’?” I nodded happily and we went round the back together holding hands. I came back alone. Adam and Michele were already here. They asked me were Dylan was and I told them that he said he had to go. They fell for it like a dog. Today is the day; I finally get to go out with Daniel. I can’t wait. I just had to go out for new clothes. I went to Adam to borrow money but he didn’t let me. I begged and begged and still the answer was NO! I got so peed of with him, I couldn’t control myself. My eyes turned orangey-yellow, my teeth stuck out...pointy, my nails got really sharp, I hissed and I held him against the wall, up high. My voice deepened, “Give me money otherwise it will be my mum and dad then the question will be, where’s Adam and nobody will ever know!” I came back before 5:30 so I could get ready. I bought a whole lot of other stuff. When I entered the house, mum dad and Adam were sat on the sofa. Oh no. Adam went and hid behind dad I'm guessing it was for protection. “You young lady have allot of explaining to do! What have you done to your brother? Just look at his arm, care to explain?” mum was furious. When I held Adam up against the wall, I was holding him up by his hand and I was squeezing it really tight. “I have nothing to say to you people especially that behind him,” mum and dad’s mouths dropped it was funny. 8:00 and I was ready for my date. I was wearing my white jeans, a red top that said, suck on this; it had a spooky blood theme to it. I was wearing black high hells, my hair was straightened, and I added my black not leather jacket. Daniel was already down stairs talking to dad about sports. How sweet. At least he made a good impression, not that I cared. Daniel took me to dinner some were private. He hired a personal chef and waitress. (His brothers and sisters) I didn’t eat my meal because it was spaghetti and garlic source. After our meal, his meal, I was so hungry, but I didn’t care. We went for a walk through the park, but I didn’t want to go on the park, I had other ideas. We went to the woods deep into the forest. We sat there and watched the sun go down. I was waiting for the right time. Apparently, a wolf howls every full moon. Today was that day. As soon as the wolf howled, that's when I made my move. Finally I'm home. That date was horrible. Well some of it anyway. I was so tired. “Heyy honey how was your date?” I'm guessing mum wanted to know everything. She had a sheepish grin to the side and her eyes were beady with a mixture of stupidity. “Sweet heart, you have ketchup on the side of your mouth and the tip of your teeth.” That was embarrassing. The best part of that date was the dessert, of course Daniel won’t think so but others do. Urghhh school, great. It took me 1 hour to get ready for school. When I was finally ready, I set off with no breakfast. More garlic and mushroom soup. Ewww. I went a different way to school today. I went round the back. My tummy started to rumble again. I was so hungry. I never knew this vampire thing would be so hard. I thought we could still eat all these stuff humans do. I mean garlic was my favourite pizza topping! I went to jess’s house to see if she was in. I know it was stupid but I had to eat something. Sadly Jess had already left with Jasmine. “Is it just you then Carole?” that's jesses mums name. She nodded slowly but I didn’t care what evil looks she gave me. I'm not stupid, jess and jasmine obviously told her about what happened at school with the cocoa. I asked if I could come in and she said it wasn’t the right time but I didn’t care I barged in roughly past her. I shut the door quickly closed all the windows turned off all the lights, I tried to put the music on high so no one could hear her muffled screams. The stereo was broken so I just bit her anyway. She screamed until she was completely gone. Poor woman she was nice though. Good thing she rich, because now I can pay everyone I owe money back and I will still have spares to me. I am ashamed of what I have become and what I do, but I have to eat something I can’t just die. I have allot of things I want to do in life. I know I have eaten five people, but what am I supposed to do, die? I need help lots of help. It’s not my fault these people smell so good! I got to school later and of course I got in trouble for being late. But what did I care. Later in the afternoon, jess got called to the office and she came out 2 hours later crying. I'm guessing the police have found the dead body. It’s Saturday morning. No school oh yh! I woke up got dressed and went for a run. I got hungry after a while. So I went to grab a bite, or shall I say 2! I didn’t know I was being followed by my brother. So I did the worst thing I could ever do. And no I didn’t bite him, all I did was hide him and tie him up. Of course I don’t think they will suspect it was me. Killing all those bodies and tying up Adam. He would never rat out on me. Especially now he knows what I'm capable of. I got home after my run. Mum called me to sit down and watch the news. She was calling Adam but he never answered. Mum went upstairs. I sank into my chair and I felt tense inside. Mum and dad thought he must have gone out with his friends. They don’t know the guilt I'm feeling right now. “Coming up, who is it that is killing the local people in the streets?” mum was shocked she fast forwarded the TV quickly. “Police have discovered EIGHT bodies in the last 5 weeks. All dead with the same teeth marks on their necks. The holes in their necks were so deep! What is it that is killing all these people? Parents and cares I suggest you keep your children inside safe and sound after 7:00pm, until further notice, unless you know where they are. Thank you and good bye.” Mum and dad started running around calling all of Adams friends mums. We got a call from Dylan’s mum wondering whether Dylan was here. I felt so ashamed. Mum tried calling Adams phone more than once but it kept saying phone dead. Mum knew something was up. “Hello 911? Please help me my son is missing.... yes.... calm... uh huh.... 148 Rochdale lanes.... thank you so much!” mum was crying at this point. Dad had gone out to find him in the car. I went up to my room and I sat there with the duvets pulled all the way up to my chin. I was just staring into blank space. All these questions were racing through my head. What if I get caught? What if I go to prison? What if Adam tells mum and dad what I really am? If he even knows. I kind of figured he would have because I revealed who I was when I went to borrow money. How will mum and dad react? What if the police track my fingerprints? At this point, I was crying into my pillow. Mum came upstairs to comfort me but I didn’t want her too because I know all she will talk about is Adam. Adam this Adam that. I hate how she always talks about him. Why? Every time she always says to me, ‘Why can’t you be more like your brother Adam? We raised you to be a good girl but you let us down look at your brother he got an award from the mayor!’ who cares about what Adam did? I don’t! Mum wouldn’t leave me alone; all she was talking about was that she knows how Adam wouldn’t just leave without telling her that she knew what the problem was. Obviously not. “Mum I miss him too, but leave me alone!” mum didn’t leave she thought I still needed comforting. Can she get any dumber? She still wouldn’t leave me. I tried my best to control myself. But I just couldn’t I had to shut her up somehow. Luckily, Aunt Jackie came in. Finally she can take mum away from me. But no Jackie joined in with mums crying and talking about how good Adam was. “Hello... I'm home, Mary I found Adam!!” Dad found Adam, but how I hid him somewhere nobody would ever go. Great, Adam probably told Dad everything starting from when we were in his room. Mum and Aunt Jackie raced down stairs like a cheetah. I followed far behind walking at least 5seconds slower than a snail. Yes, I was right; Adam did tell dad what I did to him, who I was, and what I eat considering he saw me in the woods. I had to stop them from telling the police, so I threatened to eat them but they all just started laughing apart from Adam. He knew I wasn’t kidding. My eyes turned yellow, my teeth stuck out, my nails turned green, my voice deepened and my hair got longer. “Now, now!!” dad was talking down his shirt I turned back to me, Amy, and then all these police people came into the house. They crowded me and one police man came towards me with about five others holding guns. The police man was called Tom; I saw it on his name tag. He held my hands behind my back and put hand cuffs on me. I started to cry and told them I was innocent. “Mum, dad, please you can’t let them do this, Aunt Jackie Adam please I'm innocent!” the police man told me to not say anything otherwise it will harm my defence in court. Adam and dad were hugging. Mum and Aunt Jackie followed me outside were all the Nabors were watching. Even my friends from school came to watch. And that's how I ended up here. I couldn’t help myself, it’s not like I asked to be like this, I just wanted to be a normal girl who got to go out with the guy of her dreams. But instead I ended up being a blood sucking animal. A skinny looking police man came and opened my prison gate. He had his big gun pointed out to me; I was so sick and tired of people treating me like I was vicious or deadly. I hadn’t eaten in about a month, all they keep giving me is garlic and mushroom soup, and I can tell Adam had been talking to the chief because he is the only one that knows I hate garlic and mushroom soup. “Amy, their ready for you,” I had to go into court, I was pleading bale. The judge said I was mad and that I was wasting his and my time asking for bail. He said that he would rather die than let me out. I didn’t have a lawyer defending me because I got hungry. The police man who came to get me told me that tomorrow they will take me out. At first I thought he meant I was free but obviously not. They took me in a police car. They made me wear a white jump suit that had the arms folded all the way to my back. There were two police men at the front, and two at the back with me. They drove me to a church. It looks familiar; of course it’s where I got christened when I was a baby. I walked in and everyone was there, mum, dad, Adam, Aunt Jackie, Uncle Phillies, Grandma Betty and even Grandpa Joe! He doesn’t like walking at all so I wonder how they go him out of the house. There were allot of news reporters, journalists and I knew most of them. I was charged with murder which would have given me 17 years in prison but the fact that I was a blood sucking vampire, the judge gave me death. He said he didn’t want to risk anyone else’s life. They put me in an electric chair. Adam was crying, mum was crying even auntie, uncle, grandpa and grandma were crying, but dad, he just looked disappointed. “guys, please stop crying, I deserve what I'm getting, don’t worry I haven’t left you guys, I'm always going to be here watching you, even when you’re in a tough situation, I will always do what I can, I will even talk to god an-” some stupid police man interrupted me, “Where you’re going young lady there will be no god, it’s just going to be a HELL lot of fire!” he started laughing but I didn’t care, were ever I was whether I was looking up at mum and dad or down, I will still be protecting them. The police man kept making snide comments about me I got so angry I hissed at him, my eyes turned yellow, my teeth stuck out and I broke out of my white jumpsuit. I ran for it towards that stupid police man, I laid my teeth onto his neck but I stopped. “Stop, move away from his neck, or else I will kill you!!” I backed off, even though that bullet couldn’t kill me, I'm a vampire not an animal, there is only a few ways to kill me, 1) Stab a stake right in the middle of my heart, 2) pour holy water onto me, 3) set me on fire, I'm pretty sure that there is more but those are all I know. These people chose the most painful death for me; they poured holy water onto me, which will take 10 minutes for me to die in pain, not only that, they also set me on fire which will now take 6 minutes for me to die. I managed to get in a few words before I turned into ashes, “I............... love..................... you............ don’t..........forget..............m...” That was it, I was gone. Just like that, I can’t believe it, I'm pretty sure they will all miss me, I hope they don’t forget me but I wouldn’t blame them if they wanted to move on. The police man was right, were I went there was no god, only it was kind of better, it was vampire hell, and by that I mean hell for those humans who didn’t do good things when they were alive, but on the other hand, it was vampire heaven for us. We got all the blood we wanted. Also, I was looking up at mum and dad, but, my vampire god............. oh no, I can’t tell you too much otherwise I will have to kill you too! Do you want to know what happens to Amy? well take a peek inside this peek and you will find out. Best selling aurthor in disguise... here are my other books: the girl next door my terrible life <3 xx Publication Date: November 26th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-xxkyliexx123

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-legacy-jackson-akatsuki-no-kuruma-1/

legacy jackson akatsuki no kuruma I was in pain, all I could hear were silent whispers, silent tears. Blood trickled from my face. All I could see was darkness, My Mom was killed and I couldn’t save her, my sister was slaughtered and I couldn’t protect her. I screamed in agony my wounds burned like fire was seeping through my skin. Suddenly I heard footsteps. I got my sword ready to attack. Anger ran through my mind. I wanted to avenge my loved ones for the sake of my clan. I couldn’t bear anymore, I charged to the sound of the killer’s footsteps. I caught a glimpse of a figure in front of me. I swung my blade like how my father showed me when I was younger. When I reached my target I stopped. I felt his sword go through my body. I disgorged blood that told me he pierced my inner organs. He had a laugh so cold a laugh that would make anybody tremble in fear. “Your the heir of the clan? He asked. I was to hurt, to mad to have a merciful answer knowing that he could have finished me off where I stood for being disrespectful. “I may not have the power to defeat you but I have the honor and power to stay alive”! He scowled then made an evil grin. “You are your father’s daughter, weak and on your knees but still have the courage to stand up for yourself, so I shall spare you and your dignity, letting you live knowing that you have nothing to love anymore, that will be enough pain for you.” I felt his weapon slide out of my stomach slowly as if he wanted me to be in pain. I fell to the floor crying and bleeding. I had the strength to sit up. I was numb and I turned to him and yelled “I will avenge my clan, I will sacrifice anything just to bring you down, I’ll kill you with all the hate I have.” He did a side glance at me and did his signature grin. “Sorry dear, but your soul will have to wait.” Then he suddenly vanished in the shadows. In my mind his voice was repeating over, and, over, again. I Found a roll of gauge in a drawer next to me. I wrapped it around my wounds. I got up and limped to the door. I felt the knob it was cold so I knew it was snowing outside. I walked outside to leave blood stained snow. I started to sing the song of someone who will never be seen again. ☪ I awoke in cold sweat, realizing that it had been a dream of the past. I walked to the river to splash water in my face. I looked up to see beautiful fields covered in snow and a pure white grey sky. All that I remember is that I nearly almost bled to death other than that I don’t know how I got here. “So I see your awake eh?” I looked up to see two boys standing in front of me. They wore capes to keep them from freezing in the snow. “Um yeah I think so.” I said and suddenly blushed. “Thats good to know your ok.” Said one of the boys. He had eyes that were dark like he wanted to take vengeance on something, he had pale white skin and black hair, he seemed that he would hardly smile. Then the other boy turned and he looked exactly like...Me! Then I realized it was Shishimaru, one of my servants that was born to serve my family. “Malady are you okay?” I got up and slapped him and watched his face turn red. I was furious. Where was he when my family was being slaughtered! “ Do I look okay!” I yelled he was about to cry but I suddenly wrapped my arms around his neck. He blushed. Then I started to cry, I fell to my knees with my arms still around him so he knelt down with me. “ Malady this is my friend his name is Hanatoro.” I looked at him with wide eyes and burst into laughter. Hanatoro’s face turned red but only across his nose. “You know where I come from Hanatoro means flower?” I said while trying not to laugh. He turned his back to me. “ Come Shishimaru, and feel free to bring your friend.” “But I don’t think she can walk through the snow she doesn’t have any shoes!” said Shishimaru. Suddenly Hanatoro just vanished. Then I was suddenly being lifted. I realized I was on his back. I turned bright red. “Your going to carry me?” I asked surprised that he was willing to help me after I just insulted him. “Your welcome” he said in a sarcastic voice. Thats were the story begins! We walked for what seemed like days we talked about our lives but I kept quiet about the sad parts to keep me from crying. “So your the heir of the Aizen Clan eh?” said Hanatoro. “Don’t think I’m gonna get on my knees and worship you cause I won’t” “ I didn’t ask you to do that” I snapped back. “But you can if you want to.” “I can drop you right now.” “Oh yeah, well nobody asked you to carry me” “You guys stop arguing, It’s really annoying.” Said Shishimaru. “Anyway we’re here.” I looked up to find something familiar, something that brought sorrowful memories, It was a large mansion with a large crest with the Japanese kana for “5.” Thats when I realized, This is the palace of the Aizen clan! “ Malady, I think it be best if you find us some food and you a pair of clothes before you freeze.” Demanded Shishimaru. I did exactly what he asked. I walked in through the door and scanned the room it looked exactly how it was left. I stopped, rushing through my mind were the bone chilling memories of my clans death. It seemed like I could still hear my mother’s screams. I clapped my hands on my ears to keep it out. “STAY OUT OF MY HEAD!” I yelled. I opened my eyes and let out a waterfall of tears. “Are you ok Malady?” Shishimaru asked worried as ever. I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t even open my mouth to form something I ran up to what used to be my room. I looked over to see the blade I used to fight off the murderer who attacked my family, and shut the door behind me. About three minutes later I walked down the stairs to find Shishimaru and Hanatoro sitting on the couch in the dinning room. “You ready?” asked Hanatoro. Shishimaru was standing beside the couch holding a knapsack. I had my katana in my hand and a picture of my clan. My eyes filled with tears, as I saw how big my younger sister’s smile was. She seemed happy as though her life ahead of her was going to be innocent and wonderful. In my head I heard her scream. I felt horrible inside. I was supposed to protect her, and I failed. I remembered the chant the sang when she was born, The dear child born in the autumn, blessed with the name that represents the leaf that falls. Born with beautiful brown eyes that are almost orange, Senna the fourth child of the Aizen clan! I tied my hair with my favorite ribbon. I thought to my self “No more crying!” I walked ahead of Shishimaru and Hanatoro. “Malady where shall we go?” asked Shishimaru. Thats when it came to me Shishimaru was only a servant, he wasn’t like me nor Hanatoro. He vowed to protect me, but with what power? Can I felt safe around him? “I don’t know.” I said. I gave them both a sly smile. “ Where ever the road takes us!” ☪ We walked for days and nights, I was getting tired. We stopped for breaks so we could rest, or set up a camp because the snow fell to hard, but days past and I couldn’t take it anymore. “Ahhh I can’t take this anymore where are we going?” I yelled hoping one of them would hear me. Hanatoro turned to me and said, “Where ever the road takes us.” He started to laugh “ this road goes on forever what makes you think it’s going to take us anywhere special?” He was really getting on my nerves I was about to hit him but he tackled me before I could touch him. I started to yell but I stopped. I saw two figures each in black cloaks. They pulled down their hoods, One was a girl with curly ponytails and purple tear drop shapes printed on her face, her lips curled into an evil grin. The other was a boy, he had a scar run down his eye, he had long silver hair, he didn’t smile. “Well, look what we have here, an old partner.” Said the girl. I wondered who she was talking about. “You know now we have to kill you Hanatoro, betraying the dark master was a bad idea.” Said the silver haired one. Rage shot up through my blood. “ What is he talking about?” I asked. “ My family was forced to work for the man who killed your clan.” Hanatoro replied. Before I could take out my blade to fight, I felt something cold slash through my body. My senses fully came to me, I had been cut! I closed my eyes my memories replayed from the beginning to the end. I opened my eyes and saw that Shishimaru was holding me. His body covered in blood. He saved me. “Why did you do that Shishi?” I asked painfully. “ Because it is my job to protect you, I am the servant, you are the princess, destiny divided, pitiful twins and for you to live, I must die. He fell in the cold snow motionless. I looked over to Hanatoro He was dead to. I stood up, my eyes filled with water. I looked around and I couldn’t see anything but white everything was white... I was confused, was it snow? I was hurt, and I felt dead. I looked ahead and a light flashed in front of me. It was forming into something, it changed colors and started to create an image. It finally took its form and what it changed into something I couldn’t take, It was my sister? Her orange eyes seemed to shine, she had the same smile that she had in the picture, I couldn’t believe it but it was as if I was staring at a version of myself I didn’t even recognize! “ You know your safe now” said Senna. “But, your not ready to come with us.” “What are you talking about Senna?” I asked. Her smile seemed to get bigger like it always does when she had learned something. “ A star falls in the grief of someone who will never be seen again.” She said. “Your soul is still pure but... She didn’t finish her sentence. “You still have a dream, you hold a regret, and you made a promise.” She said. “What are you talking about, I’m done living, I don’t want to live knowing that everything I loved is now gone!” I cried. “ Our souls can’t rest until you reach your goal, You have to avenge us like you said, You kept your word!” Senna said as her eyes seemed to fill with tears. It came to me. I gave her a light smile. “Yes, I did, didn’t I?” I said. “For my name is Yoshimaru Aizen, The last remaining Heir!” “Thats it Yoshi!” Senna yelled. Reality came back to me and in my head I remembered why my soul still roams the earth. “Well looks like one is still alive.” Said the girl with tear drop paint. She ran over to attack but I got the best of her and swayed my blade across her stomach. Her eyes got wide and she fell to the ground. I parried my blood soaked katana waiting for the silver haired one to make his move. He charged me and I pierced his chest will full power. ☪ Morning came and I was as happy as ever. Spring had finally rose and I was about to start a journey that would change my life forever, that will open Heaven’s gates for me. I was about to avenge my family. I sat at the river bank with the guitar that was given to me on my seventh birthday and happily sang the song of someone who will never be seen again! “On this guitar I play the melody of someone who has passed on!” “If given strength anyone can rampage as much as they want!” “Akatsuki no kuruma.” Publication Date: June 10th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-yoshimaru449

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-zema-zuruki-the-sad-end/

Zema Zuruki The Sad End She stood by the door. Tears coming down her cheeks she thought nothing worse can happen to me can there. She was wrong. Alice Sat up from her bed forgotten everything about the night before. The maid ask " are you okay miss Alice" She replied "why would I not be fine" "miss Alice both your parents were killed yesterday how could you forget" stammered the maid. A scared face came to the poor Alice. She swore she would find the murders of her beloved parents. The maid asked if she wanted breakfast or if she wanted to skip the meal, Alice skipped but asked for tea. Hours passed no one said a word in the house. Later that night a knock on the door woke Alice she was not wanting to wake anyone else in the house so she decided to open it herself. Alice was not in her bed the next morning the maid got worried and called the butler to see if he had seen her but no one else was in the house. The maid as puzzled and called the house next door to see if they went on a field trip. They did not Alice had been kidnapped thought the maid. Meanwhile were Alice was a voice rang out "hello Alice" she replied "fine if I was not tied up" "sorry about that your highness. but I can't let you got Kings order" He said, "Kings order the King is dead my parents were killed a day ago" she stammered, he just laughed at her, and kept looking out the window of the carriage. Hours later the carriage stopped, she was pulled out of the carriage. Screaming, "you think this is how my father the real King would treat me!" "um yes cause that was his order dearest" the man said. She was so tired she had stayed the whole trip awake, Because she was in fear and she could not see they had put a cloth bag on her head so she was blind. They toke the bag off her head and she saw a portrait of her mother, the Queen. Then in front of them the kidnapers were bowing and, her father walked out of the back throne room. She shouted, "father your alive, the maid at the house said you and mother died, is mother okay" "Dear child that maid kidnapped you last night and, yes your mother is quite was fine as am I." Relief came over Alice she was so happy. A few normal days passed. There was a knock on the door, Lewis one of the butlers answered it and no one was there "hum, must be a stick on the door," But in truth the crazy maid sneaked in though the top of the doorway. suspecting nothing the butler closed the door. Unfortunately the butler did not survive the night, his body was found mutilated in the guest room were at the present time Alice was staying, "AH" screamed Alice. Her father came in the calm her saying" what is wro-" He saw the body, called for another butler to clean the mess up. He moved Alice to the room closest to his own. Everyday another Body popped up the King was furious. He almost had to have the Undertaker move in. A few days past without any deaths then one morning. Alice woke up and was bleeding from her head, Confused she did what she did naturally scream. Her mother and father rushed into the room and saw the blood, her mother fainted. They took her to a hospital across the town which took all day, they maid did not follow. Alice slipped out of conciseness and was almost pronounced dead. A few days later Alice was back home and in bed rest, and she slowly died without anyone knowing. That night her mother was checking on her and fainted again, and the Queen as well laid her last breathe that night. The maid starring at there cold dead bodies and laughs. The King does not find either Alice or the Queen until the morning to check on Alice. Alice and Queen Ann died April, 7th, 1887. King Andrew died March, 14th, 1903. Publication Date: September 20th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-zemazuruki

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-ren-willi-the-dissappearance-fo-madeline-shultz/

Ren Willi The Dissappearance fo Madeline Shultz A Short Story December 23rd, 1952 Tragedy has struck in the cool county of London and none other to the handsome and charismatic couple that is Mister and Madame Shultz. A couple that has touched a lot of people’s heart in one the way or another, yet, despite their loving nature they have not warm one frigid heart for their 6 year old daughter, Madeline Shultz, was taken on December 22nd by an unknown assailant. Of course the idea that she had simply awaken early and was maybe in the kitchen or at the stables had crossed the mind of the worried parents, but when she had not presented herself by noon it was obvious what happened, though they were reluctant to admit it. True, the possibility of her running away is the same as her being kidnapped, but Isidore Shultz assured us and the renowned Detective Greene that Madeline is not that kind of girl. She said, “Madeline is an obedient and happy child who would never leave home without her mother or father.” Detective Greene has stated that he will do his best to find Madeline Shultz, and this will not be a Christmas of sadness but of joy. But as the nights grow colder, will Madeline be home for Christmas? Oscar Quinces sat the newspaper down on the table and looked over at his friend, Alice Bellicose, who was busying herself with making tea. “Isn’t that the saddest thing,” He said to her, “A child missing the week of Christmas. Have you ever heard a more depressing story?” When she didn’t answer he said. “Hello, Alice! Are you there?” “Pardon,” Alice said turning with two teacups in her hands. “Sorry, you know I tune you out when you read aloud,” She sat across from him and passed him his cup. “You’re joking! I read aloud for you all the time,” Oscar said. “I know, that’s why I tune you out,” She said “So you didn’t hear the article I just read to you about Madeline Shultz?” “Madeline Shultz?” she sipped her tea and scrunched her eyebrows. “You mean Isidore Shultz’ daughter?” “Yeah, that one.” “What about her?” She asked “She’s been kidnapped!” “Kidnapped!” She gasped. “How awful! Poor Isidore.” “Poor Isidore? What about Madeline?” “Well, yes poor Madeline too, but Isidore is the mother, she must be heart broken.” “So that’s it? Oh, poor family, they lost a child, when’s the funeral?” Oscar scoffed. “What do you want me to do, get my magnify glass and finger print dust?” “Maybe,” he shrugged. “Since when am I that kind of person?” “Well, I just thought since you have all those books.” “What books?” “You know, Agatha Christie and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.” “So because I have a few mystery books…” “More like all of them,” he murmured. “I'm sorry, but when am I suddenly Jane Marple?” “Look, I just thought it would be fun! You’re always looking for something fun to do around this time of the year, so I thought this might be it,” Oscar shrugged, looking down at his cooling tea. When she didn’t say anything for a few minutes he looked up to see her giving him a wary look, a look that’s he has been seeing a lot lately. He said nothing, because he didn’t know what else to say, so he just looked back until finally she broke the silence with a sigh. “Ozzy, look, I know since you lost your practice you’ve been…upset,” “Not really,” Oscar muttered. “But you can’t get all…sad at this moment of your life. You should be getting out there and finding a job, any job, while you think about the next step,” She took a breath. “Look, I know you said no already, but David is still looking for an assistant…” “Why not just this once?” He injected. “Sorry,” Said a puzzled Alice. “What if we did find her, Madeline, before Christmas? Just listen,” He said before she could interrupt. “Remember last year when Sarah Flannigan was murdered? Three months it took them to find out it was Marie Flannigan, do you remember how long it took you?” He paused. “Nine days, but…” “Nine days and you said ‘I bet it was her sister. They said she died of arsenic poisoning and she’s Dr. Sholto’s secretary. You know she’s always complaining about how Sarah got more callers than her.’ Remember?” “That was an educated guess. It meant nothing.” "When isn’t an accusation an educated guess?” He exclaimed. When she didn’t respond he sat back in his chair and waited. In a moment her expression went from exhausted to excitedly happy. “Alright then,” She said “Really?” He was surprised. “Really, but…” “Oh no,” “If we don’t find Madeline before Christmas you must take the job as Davy’s assistant immediately,” There was a pause, a glare, and then: “Fine,” Oscar stretch his open hand towards her. “Deal,” She said clasping his hand. “Deal,” He said shaking it. “Then I guess we’re off,” “To where?” He asked. “To the Shultz,” “Ah, allons-y, then?” “Allons-y indeed,” Oscar and Alice reached the house by noon. The estate was quite large, Oscar noted, a place that seemed easy to get lost in. The door opened at the first knock to show what was left of Isidore Shultz. Her brown hair seemed greasy and distraught, purple bags lied under her red eyes, and her skin was a ghostly white. “Isidore!” Alice gasped at the woman’s appearance which was very unlike her. She was suddenly aware that she would have to tread carefully above the situation at hand. “Oh, Alice Bellicose,” Isidore Shultz croaked. “I guess you heard the news. Thank you for coming past, but I’m afraid we’re not taking condolences visits at this moment, so please…” “Actually Isidore, I’ve come to help.” Alice said with a warm smile. “Help?” Isidore said surprised. “Help how?” “Well, I’m sure that Detective Greene is doing all he can, but I felt that he may need a little help finding Madeline, so Oscar and I came over. If you don’t want us to, that’s fine.” Isidore stared at both with confusion as Oscar began to get cold feet. Then Isidore broke the silence with a sigh. “If anyone else had said that to me I’d close the door in their face thinking they’re a beggar. But,” She opened the door to let them step inside. “I know you Alice. You’re brilliant, although I know you don’t think of yourself that way. I’d be happy for your help,” Madeline Shultz had room that every little girl wanted. Its walls were painted light pink with tiny red roses scattered on the walls. In one corner was a large toy castle and a pink, wooden toy box. A pink tent hung from the ceiling over her small bed. “Madeline always kept her room clean, seeing as she’s in here all the time.” Isidore said. “Would you say she’s a…shy girl?” Oscar asked. “At times, but she said she does have some friends. You know, when we went to the market she said she met a new one, not so long ago,” “Did you ever meet him or her?” “Well, no, but she seemed so happy when it was time to go home and told me she had a new sister. Um, her name was something like Sara or Lisa…” Oscar asked her a few more questions as Alice looked around the room more the room, checking for details. The bed was perfectly made, too well for a child to do herself. “Did anyone touch this bed sense the disappearance?” Alice asked. “No, it was already like this when Charlotte, our maid, came in,” Alice nodded, and then continued the search for clues. The toy box wasn’t filled with that many toys, and the ones there seemed well used. When closing the box she noticed something strange on the wall next to it. There was a door shaped creases on the wall. “What is it?” Oscar asked, coming up behind her. “I think it’s a secrete door,” Alice whispered, then aloud. “Isidore, has this house been in your family long?” “Uh, no actually, Michael and I bought it 8 months ago, when we came back from Paris with Madeline.” “Do you know much about its history?” “No, we thought it just looked nice and good place to raise Madeline. We didn’t care much for the history,” “Right,” Alice straightened and said. “I got all I need you know from here. Could we talk to your staff?” The staff consisted of four people; Grover the butler, Francis the cook, Charlotte the maid, and Pierre the gardener. Each one seemed surprising corruptive, answering each question without hesitation. Grover had his usual inspection of the house before retiring to bed at 8:05 p.m. He said there was nothing out of the ordinary with the exception of his keys. “The one to the back door was missing,” He said. “And the only time I don’t have it is when I give it to Pierre when he loses his.” “I have my copy right here,” Pierre said. “I can prove it is mine for I engrave all of my possessions with my initials, PI.” According to him, Pierre has never even saw Grover that day because he works outside a lot in the winter and Grover always has his keys on him. “I made three, fresh rolls of bread,” Frances said when asked if anything strange happened. “And they were no longer there the next morning. I was in the kitchen all day and went to bed at 7:54 p.m.” No one confessed to taking the rolls of bread. “Oh, I am so afraid for poor Madeline,” Charlotte said wiping a tear that fell from her eye. “She’s just a girl. I have no idea what could have happened, she wasn’t in her room or anywhere! This is all my fault,” “Why do you say that?” Alice asked. “Well, because…I left her window open,” “You what?” “It was a bit warm in the house,” “It’s winter, how was it warm in the house?” Alice was incredulous. “Madeline said it was too warm, and I never deny her. I told her that if it gets cold then she has to close it.” “But the window was closed when officials came,” Oscar pointed out. “Yes, I closed it because I was afraid to admit what I had done,” Charlotte said. “Yet you’re telling us now. Why didn’t you want to tell Detective Greene?” Alice asked. “I was afraid of what might happen if I did. I was afraid Mrs. Shultz would hate me,” Mrs. Shultz had gone to her bedroom to fix her hair when they came to the kitchen. “Oh, don’t tell her,” Charlotte pleaded. “I already feel guilty enough, please don’t tell her,” “She’ll find out eventually,” Oscar said. “Right, Alice?” He turned to see her making this strange expression towards Charlotte. “What is it?” “You look familiar,” Alice said to Charlotte. “Have we met?” “No, I don’t believe so,” Charlotte said honestly. “Well, we’ve done all we can here,” Alice said, and without warning, she turned and walked towards the exit. “Tell Mrs. Shultz that we had a sudden emergency and we must be going,” She called back. “Wait, we’re just leaving like that,” Oscar said, running after her. “Relax, we’re not leaving,” Alice whispered. “Then where are we going?” “To find Madeline,” They walked quietly to the back door which was locked tight. Oscar opened it and looked in the back where a beautiful garden laid peacefully. The flowers were close to death because of the cold and lack of sun, though there were fresh Helleborus’ growing in their place. Oscar looked back inside to see Alice searching for something on the wall. “Don’t you want to look outside?” He asked her. “No, we won’t find anything there,” She murmured. “How do you know?” “I just do,” She said. She continued searching until she spotted a full body mirror that stood against the wall a few feet away from the door. “This is weird,” She said. “It’s a mirror,” Oscar criticized. “Who puts a mirror in this part of the house, though? I mean bedroom, fine, bathroom, fine, even the living room isn’t that bad but right next to the back door,” “What do you think it means?” Oscar asked. “I think it means,” She gave the mirror a hard push and instead of no reaction it creaked open just a crack. Alice pulled it and it opened more to reveal and tunnel. “We’re close. Do you have a…” “Yeah,” Oscar said, pulling out a flashlight and turning it on. “You brought a torch with you?” “I brought finger dust to, if you need it,” “No thanks,” She said, and took a step into the tunnel with Oscar following behind. The tunnel wasn’t too small, although Alice found that she had to duck just a bit. It was dusty, which was to be expected since it was a secrete tunnel, but there where clear spot on the wall of tiny fingers and small footprints on the floor. They walked and walked throughout what seemed to be an endless tunnel. For a moment Oscar felt like it was pointed when they came to a small, rectangular room. In the room there was a bed and on the bed were two figures. One was Madeline Shultz and the other was… “Madeline’s twin?” Oscar exclaimed, waking the two girls from there peaceful slumber. They both looked at them with alarmed expressions; there blue eyes wide and their mouths agape. “Don’t be afraid,” Alice said. “We’re just here to help.” “You’re here to split us up,” One girl said. “You can’t we’re sisters,” Said the other. “We’re not here to split anyone up, I promise,” Alice said. “We’re only here to make sure you’re safe. You two need to come out, you can’t stay in here forever,” She stretched out her hand. “Come on, I promise you’ll be okay,” They both looked at her with wary stares, then one whispered something in the others ear. Oscar thought she might have said ‘I am hungry,’ but he wasn’t sure. They both then nodded at Alice, got up and took one of her hands each. They walked back toward the mirror entrance in silence. When they came out Alice led them to the kitchen where Mrs. Shultz and the staff were all gathered. Grover was saying, “I don’t know, she just said that they found all they needed and then…” “Mara!” Charlotte said when she spotted them in the doorway. “Madeline!” Isidore said when she turned around. They both raced over to them and picked one up each. “Where were you?” “She was in the secrete tunnels that were made in this house,” Alice said. “Probably created for personal reasons, keeping treasures safe and what not. They were probably forgotten long ago and that’s why when you bought the house you weren’t told about it. There are many different doors, one of them were in Madeline’s room, and her, being a child, spotted it,” “But why would she go in there all this time?” Isidore said confused. “Better question, why are there two of her?” Oscar asked. “Both of the questions are linked, closer than you think. See I did recognize Charlotte but I never met her. I had seen her face in a newspaper about 7 months ago. It was a short article about how she had lost her daughter, Mara, in the market and couldn’t find her. Because she was who she was there wasn’t that much of commotion about it, but I had always wondered what happened to Mara. And then, something Isidore said told me,” “What did I say?” Isidore asked. “That Madeline had met a friend in the market, and had called her her new sister,” Alice said. “And why would a child say that unless they thought it was true? See, there was another picture in that newspaper of Mara, and I knew as soon as I saw Charlotte what had happened. Mara and Madeline look almost identical, with the exception of the mole right next to Madeline’s right eye. When they saw each other they thought they truly were sisters, and Madeline convinced Mara to come and live with her. Somehow she got to the house and stay in the secrete tunnels, only coming out when Madeline knew it was safe. It was a good idea, and, obviously would have gone unnoticed, if it wasn’t for you,” She pointed at Charlotte. “What did I do?” “You noticed the similarity one day while you were searching for Mara and saw Madeline. You thought that the Shultz had taken your daughter when they came home from Paris and lied by saying they had her there. You applied for the job as a maid and waited for the right time to strike. And you did, and you almost got away with it but had made the mistake of leaving Madeline alone to open the window in her bedroom. Madeline took the three rolls of bread you had taken and went into the secrete tunnels to hide with Mara,” “How dare you!” Isidore exclaimed. “I just wanted to find my Mara,” She pleaded. “She’s my only daughter and when I saw Madeline I just wanted to get her back. I was sure when she saw me she would run to my arms but she looked at me like I was complete stranger, and now I know why. I’m sorry Isidore, I never meant any harm,” “It’s okay, I’m sure she would have done the same thing,” Alice said. “Right Isidore?” Isidore sniffed and nodded. “Right then. That’s enough drama for one day. It’s almost Christmas!” After that Isidore and Charlotte made an agreement for the girls to continue their friendship. The two moms eventually made up and Christmas was comfortable once more. Detective Greene took the credit, of course, for the finding of Madeline Shultz and Mara. Oscar told her that she should tell the truth, but she didn’t care. It was Christmas. Text: Lauren Williams Images: Bioshock 2 All rights reserved. Publication Date: February 7th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-celadoor

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-valerie-ziegler-life-of-a-reformed-wild-child/

Valerie Ziegler Life of a Reformed Wild Child Dedicated to my sisters Jenn and Julia. Introduction By some miracle or by some means of fate, Elaina Maracle finally caught a break. When Elaina was growing up, she had always been different from other girls her age. She was extraordinarily outgoing and always spoke her mind, she got into trouble constantly, and she really did not care what people thought of her. Most that ever took the chance to get to know her thought she was incredibly straight forward and obnoxious. For example, when Elaina was only two years old, she got herself band from the YMCA for demanding a new swim instructor. By the age of four, she could not hold her tongue to save her life. While shopping at a grocery store with her mother, Elaina informed a worker that his bald head was shinier then her father’s new car. By the age of six, Elaina’s mother began seeing shrink to calm her nerves due to Elaina’s poor behavior. As Elaina grew older, she changed very little; literally. While all the other girls at the age of thirteen began to look like adults, Elaina maintained the appearance of an eight year old girl. For this reason, she had a hard time fitting in. No guys were interested in her, and most girls didn’t even bother getting to know her. All though it was rough, Elaina always managed to get by. Her favorite pass time was inflicting torment on the snobby girls in her class. Worms in their food, ketchup on their seats, resetting their locker combination, and anything else that bothered them never ceased to amuse her. This behavior continued until she was around sixteen. At that point, she had entirely stopped caring. She paid no attention to her colleagues but channeled all of her energy into studying, writing, acting, reading, or anything else that blocked out reality. No one cared for her, and she cared for no one. Or at least she thought she was incapable of caring for someone, but that was before she met Jason. Chapter one ‘Storming again’, Elaina thought as she grabbed her keys and prepared to make a run for her car. Her day just kept getting worse. First the library was closed, then she got called into work the late shift at her job, and now it was pouring down rain. At twenty-two, Elaina currently worked at a small deli. Ironically, there was nothing more foul to her then meat raw or cooked. Touching it and smelling it all day was her personal hell, but she needed the money and refused to complain. As she pulled up to the deli called Munchies, she felt around her purse for her perfume which she always dabbed on her nose to bloke out any nauseating smells. Opening the car door, she stepped out. She looked around slowly because she did not want to have any more encounters with the man she referred to as “the creeper”. The creeper stalked her at least twice a week. At first she thought that she was coincidentally bumping into this creepy man, but it just didn’t make any sense. When she went to the library he was there, when she got a cup of coffee, he did too, and he was always sitting outside of the deli. She didn’t see him today, however, so she felt more at ease, but her ease slithered away when he popped out from his hiding place. “Hey girl! Come for a ride with me. I can show you things you ain’t ever seen before!” Reassuring herself that she could handle this, Elaina replied, “I’m sure you could, but I’m not into trash like you.” “Feisty! But baby, you’re gonna wish you hadn’t said that,” the disgusting man shrieked back as he slowly approached her. ‘Don’t panic. Don’t panic. The deli is only a few feet away. I can make a run for it, or at least choke out a scream,’ she assured herself. But just then she felt the man grab her wrist. She gathered up every ounce of courage that she had and let out the loudest screech. Apparently, no one was at the deli because no one came to her rescue. Ignoring the man’s loud laughter, she thought of every possible way of distracting him. As she struggled with him, she came up with two options: she could flash him because that would surely distract him, or she could kick him and run for it. She decided on option two because she had no intentions of losing her dignity to this pig. She gathered up all her strength and kicked him as hard as she could and was quite satisfied with herself when the man groaned in pain and staggered back. But her plan did not go as smoothly as she had hoped because it became suddenly very dark. Her head was spinning, and Elaina felt that her end was near. Suddenly, Elaina heard two men talking in the distance, and then she felt two strong arms close around her. She felt herself being flung over the man’s shoulder as she finally realized what was happening: she was being kidnapped. As the man placed her unmoving body into his car, Elaina tried her hardest to come back to reality, but she was out cold. It was so frustrating. She was completely aware of her surroundings, but she could not make herself respond to any sound. She listened carefully searching for any means of escape. Just then she heard the sound of a phone. ‘Perfect!’ she thought, ‘He’ll pick it up, and I will start screaming.’ As she wrestled with herself, she heard the man answer the phone. To her surprise, the voice she heard sounded nothing like the voice of her stalker. This man sounded sober and his voice was attractive. Elaina began thinking that she had hit her head a little too hard. It didn’t matter who her kidnapper was; she still needed to get away. While the man continued his conversation, she managed to open her eyes. Everything came rushing back at her all at one. She remembered the man swinging his fist at her and connecting with her face. Then she recalled being slammed into the wall of the deli. As her memories flooded back, so did the pain. Her head was sore, and she smelled blood. There was no way she was going to let someone get away with treating her like that. She flung open her eyes and then choked out a scream. The man looked at her with eyes full of pity and began trying to calm her. To his surprise, this only annoyed her even more. How dare he try to calm her! She became so furious. Her head was swimming with pain, confusion, and now pure outrage. “Snap out of it!” she heard him demand, “Look at me. Do I look like the man that hurt you?” Actually, now that she looked at him, she realized that he did not look like the man that tried to hurt her. In fact, he was incredibly handsome and apparently, he had rescued her. Before she could even question him to figure out if his story was true, she began to daydream about the fairytale life she would have with her hero. Once again though, he interrupted her train of thought. “What’s your name? How old are you? Do you remember what happened? Do you know the name of your attacker?” asked her concerned hero. “My name is Elaina Maracle. I am twenty-two years old. I remember being attacked, and sadly, I don’t know the name of my attacker. However, I have seen him before. He’s been stalking me for at least a month,” Elaina answered, “I tried to avoid him, but he just kept following me.” “Alright, well I’m gonna take you to the police station, and we can tell the police what happened.” “Wait! What’s your name?” Elaina asked. “My name is Jason Claymore, and I believe you are forever in my debt,” he replied with a sly smile. “Thank you Jason. I’m forever in your gratitude. However will I repay you?” she jokingly answered. “Well, you could start by giving me your phone number, and then you could join me for dinner on Friday,” he said while flashing her one of the most beautiful smile she had ever seen. Her heart almost stopped beating. She had never been asked out before, but she had gotten a lot prettier over the years. She was now average sized for a woman with big, blue eyes, freckles, creamy, white skin, and sandy blonde hair, and this super gorgeous man obviously thought she was pretty. Oh, and she thought he was too. He stood at over six feet tall with pensive, grey eyes that sparkled when he smiled, dark hair, and a dark complexion. Getting completely lost in his smile, she forgot his question. He stared back at her and repeated, “Well, what’s your number?” “Oh! It’s 369-6828,” she answered with a startled look plastered on her face. That was the beginning of their relationship. They became inseparable from that point on. After two months, they were head over heels in love with each other. No one had ever understood Elaina, but for some reason, Jason could. He was Elaina’s other half. After six months, Jason purposed to Elaina, and of course, she excepted. Three months later, she became Mrs. Elaina Claymore. Chapter Two Smiling down at the beautiful baby girl she held in her arms, Elaina was filled with happiness. It had been four years since she and Jason had gotten married. She now had two beautiful children. Avery, her son, was almost three years old now, and Delanie, her daughter, was only two months old. She had been unemployed for the last three years much to her enjoyment. Jason made quite a fortune for he owned his own company; thus, Elaina was able to spend all day with her children. But that was a job in itself. Managing a family was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do. It was hard work to keep her house clean, her children supervised, maintain a good environment for her children, and manage to spend time with Jason, but she managed. Looking up at the clock, she realized that it was time for Avery and Delanie to go for a nap. Kissing them both, she tucked them into their beds. Of course, Delanie cried and Avery whined and squirmed, but soon they were both asleep. She then headed down to the kitchen to begin preparing dinner. To the Claymores, eating dinner together was the most important part of the day. It was the only time when all of them could be together because Jason worked until seven o’clock and the kids went to bed at eight. Cooking was also one of Elaina’s favorite pass times. It was like edible art. For tonight’s meal, she was preparing a pork roast with onions and mashed potatoes and cooked carrots. It was everyone’s favorite dish. Even baby Delanie enjoyed a few bites of the mashed potatoes with her baby food. Deeply in thought, Elaina placed the roast in the slow cooker. She began wondering about her stalker. Was he still in jail? Did he ever turn his life around? She knew that he was the last person she should be thinking about, but she couldn’t help but wonder. she decided to push those thoughts to the back of her head and began focusing on more important things like enrolling Avery in the perfect pre-school. She was always worrying about him because little Avery mimicked his mother’s behavior as a child. She admired him for that but also worried that he would have trouble fitting in like she did. While she was in mid-thought, Elaina heard the door slam open. Panicking, she grabbed a knife for the kitchen and ran to the door. To her surprise, it was Jason standing in front of her and not some psychopathic criminal. “God, Jason! You scared me. Don’t ever do that to me again. Wait why did you do that? What’s wrong, and why are you home so early?” she questioned completely puzzled. “Pack your bags! There is no time to explain,” he shouted. “What do you mean ‘there is no time to explain.’ I’m not doing anything or going anywhere until you give me an explanation!” she stated. “He’s back. Elaina, Kyle Bucher is back.” “Who is Kyle Bucher?” she asked her husband. But then the realization hit her; Kyle Bucher must be the name of her stalker. “Wait. You’re talking about my attacker. Okay, I understand why this might upset you, but maybe he’s changed. Just calm down.” “No, I can’t calm down. This is serious. I saw him. I saw him outside of the deli that you use to work at! He’s looking for you, Elaina. He wasn’t innocently buying lunch meat. He still wants you, and now, he wants revenge too. "Alright, you have a point. It is a bit disturbing that he was back at the deli, but I don't work there anymore, and he doesn't know where we live. If worse comes to worse, we can take out a restraining order. Right?" she asked her husband. "Wrong. There is only one flaw in your arguement. He does know where we live. When I saw him at the deli, he saw me too. At the time, I was panicking and couldn't think properly so I foolishly got in the car and rushed home. When I pulled into the neighborhood, I felt like I was being followed. I tried to lose him, and I think I did, but he still knows that we live in this neighborhood. Now it will be a piece of cake for him to locate us," Jason informed his wife. "But he doesn't know that we're married," she replied. "It won't be that hard for him to figure it out. What are we going to do?" he asked. "I think we shouldn't react to quickly. Let's just be extra careful. I'll keep an extra close eye on the kids and stay indoors as much as possible. You can swing by the deli every once and a while and see if he's lurking," Elaina suggested. "I don't like it, but I guess it's all we can do. Don't say anything to Avery. I don't want him to be scared," he agreed. "But if i see that scumbag anywhere near here, I'm calling the police immediatlely." "And I'll call you if I see him around here," his wife answered. So it was agreed. They would be extra careful, and everything would be okay. A few weeks went by, and everything seemed quiet. In fact, they only saw Kyle once by the deli. Things began to loosen up again. Chapter 3 It had been two months since the Claymores had caught sight of Kyle. It was also the beginning of September: Avery's first day of pre-school for two and three year olds. Elaina panicked as she dropped her oldest baby at the door of his school. She was so worried that he wouldn't like it, or even worse, the other kids wouldn't like him. He was a little scared to go in at first, but once he met Miss Gina, his teacher, he seemed alright. After kissing him goodbye at least three times, Elaina returned to her car where she had left little Delanie fast asleep. She climbed into the front seat and sat down. Glancing in her rearview mirror, she peered back at her baby. Panic filled the atmosphere as she realized that the car seat in which Delanie had been sleeping was empty. She looked around the back seat frantically. Where was she? Tears sprang to her eyes as she dialed 911. This could not be happening to her. After informing the police of her whereabouts, she immediatly called Jason. She went completely hysterical on the phone as she informed Jason of their daughter's disappearance. Ten minutes later, the police arrived. They questioned her and Miss Gina, but neither could tell the police anything useful. While the police interviewed all of the parents who had dropped their children off that day, Jason took action. He told the police all about Kyle Bucher, and his description of Kyle matched the description that one of the other parents had given. Claudia Simmons, who had also been dropping her son off at preschool, claimed that she saw a white man with brown hair scooping the baby from the car. Kyle was the most likey suspect, but no one new of his whereabouts. The police had cars throughout the area running survalince, but after three hours, there was still no sign of Kyle. Sobbing and clinging to Jason, Elaina was informed by the police that she and her family should return to their home. The police would do their best to find Delanie. Jason thanked the cops and helped his wife into the car. After a silent car ride (except for the sound of Elaina crying), the heart broken family arrived at their home. When they walked in the door, Elaina crumpled to the ground. She couldn't bare to see the baby toys on the floor. Jason tried to comfort her, but he was just as upset. A few hours passed, and there was still no sign of Kyle or the baby. There wasn't even a ransom note. All was quiet in the house. A few minutes after Jason had put Avery to bed, he toddled into the room with tears streaming down his face. "When will da man dat borrowed Lanie give her back to us Mama? I miss her," Avery told his parents. As hard as it was, Elaina had to be strong for her son. She looked into his sad little eyes and said, "Delanie will be safe in her own bed soon. Don't worry Sweety. It will all be okay," she assured her son. She wanted those words to be true, but what if they weren't? What if she never saw her baby again. As the tears flowed out like a river, so did all of the memories. Like the was Delanie kicked and squealed when Avery would come into the room and the little smile she always gave to her father when he came home from work. But the memory that hit home the most was Delanie's absolute dependance on Elaina. She couldn't be without her mother. Who would nurse her, rock her to sleep, comfort her when she cried, video tape every new trick she learned, and bathe her. And what would happen if she got hurt? Elaina knew what would happen deep down. Her child-like-self came back to her. If her baby was hurt in anyway, she would hunt Kyle Bucher down and kill him. As Elaina thought and worried about her baby in the hands of that psychopath, she managed to cry herself to sleep. She slipped into an unreal realm and began dreaming. In her dream, she found herself sitting at the dinner table with her entire family safe and sound. She asked her husband how his day was and then her son. As her eyes moved around the table, she realized that something was terribly wrong. Why wasn't Delanie moving? In a panic, she dashed around the table to pick up her baby, but as she approached her, a nauseating smell hit her. Just then, her baby took on a blueish color. As tears rushed to her eyes, she heard a man laughing maniaclly. That's when she started hypervenalating. Jason heard his wife's terrible scream and thought that she was being harmed. Leaping out of his seat, he raced down the stares and rushed to her rescue only to find her shaking on the floor screaming, "No. Delanie, wake up!" Panicking, Jason shook his wife back to reality. He looked at her sternly and said, "What happened to the strong woman that I married- the woman who was ready to fight a man twice the size of you? Huh? Now I know you're worried, and I am too, but if we're gonna get her back, we gotta be strong and fight. We have to be a team; a family. Can you do that for Delanie?" Wiping the tears from her eyes, she looked up at her husband and replied, "I am ready to do anything for this family. Screw the police. We do this our way." "Now that sounds like a plan," her husband said while helping her to her feet. The two finally went to bed. Tomorrow they would start on their search for their daughter. Chapter Four It started with a knock on the door. Jason ran to the door to see who or what it was. When he opened it, all he saw was a small, brown package. He grabbed it and brought it inside. When Elaina saw it, her heart skipped a beat. What if it was a clue to her daughter's whereabouts? She dove on the package and began devouring it. Finally, she came across the content of the package. There were three things inside: an envelope, a crumpled photo, and a baby doll. As she stared blankly at the objects in the package, her husband began to tear the envelope open. He then read out loud these words: Elaina: drive to the deli at 3 a.m. tonight if you ever want to see you precious daughter again. From there, I will provide transportation to your final destination. Please come alone. P.S. If you choose not to comply, your baby's fate will be that of the babydoll's. "Oh my God!" Elaina exclaimed as she saw the babydoll. The babydoll was missing an arm! How could someone even think of inflicting that much suffering on a baby? Elaina now knew what she had to do. She wasn't going to let that horrible person tear her family apart at the seams. Elaina had never loved or cared about something as much as she loved and cared about her family. Her maternal instincts took over, and she looked her husband dead in the eyes and said, "I have to go to that deli tonight. It's our only hope." "There's no way in Hell am I going to let you do that! Do you know how dangerous it is? We have to call the police," he stated flatly. "We can't do that. If we don't follow all of his orders, and he finds out, he's gonna hurt Delanie. How could you risk her life like that?" Elain shouted. "I can't risk your life like that," Jason answered in a broken voice. Elaina had never seen him so defenseless before. Before she could even get control of herself, he was kissing her. As her head spinned from the intensety of the kiss, Elaina realized that this may be the last kiss they ever shared. After Jason pulled away, she grabbed his face, and gazed deep into his eyes saying, "I have to do this. You were right. I have to fight for her. I'm not an idiot though. I'm gonna need some kind of defense. Maybe we could strap a gun to my ankle or something, and I could wair a recording device so you could listen in." "Those are good ideas, but where are we gonna get a gun. We'd have to get a liscence first, and we don't have the time." "That's not an issue. For God's sake, we can steal one, and a recorder shouldn't be too hard to find. We have thirteen hours to do this," she responded. "Honey, this isn't one of your CSI episodes. It's real life. We can't do this by ourselves. We really should go to the police." "No!" she cut him off, "I told you that I can't do that. I am going to meet Kyle tonight, and I don't care what you think." "Alright, but we're doing this my way. You will wair a gun strapped to your ankle, and we need to have some way to comunicate. Also, I'm going to follow you in my car," he told his wife. "Well, you can't use your car because he might recognize it. Ask your brother if you can borrow his. I'm sure he'll let you. We only have one problem left," she informed him. "What that?" Jason asked. "What are we gonna do with Avery? I don't want him out of our sight, but it's too dangerous for him to come with us," she dispared. "We could leave him with my brother," he suggested. "Good idea. You go take him to your brother's and trade cars with him, and I'm gonna go steal a gun." Elaina got situated in her car and braced herself for the pain. This was the last place she had seen her daughter. The realization that that last car ride might have the last time she ever got the chance to see her baby was mind-numbingly painful. But she got control of herself. She could handle it. She then put her hand on the wheels and sped off. As she pulled into the parking lot of some random, little hunting store, she began panicking again. If she got caught stealing a gun, she would never be able to go to the deli tonight. And if that happened, God knows what that crazy man would do. Again, she got control off herself and began walking into the store. She smiled at one of the workers and slowly wandered to the back of the store. Much to her dismay, she discovered that the guns, for the most part, were all locked up behind the counter in the front. Her mind instintly began devicing a plan. Assault was the only thing she could come up with. Calculating that there were only three people in the store, she concluded that she could knock them all out if she had to. Nervously, she approached the front of the store. She really didn't want to hurt any of these people, but there was no other was. Interupting her sinful plan, she heard the man standing behind the counter say, "How can I help you little lady?" "Well, actually, my car broke down, and I was wondering if you could jump it for me," she lied smoothly. "You came to the right guy. I'd be happy to jump your car for ya. Which one is your's?" he asked. After Elaina had managed to get the manager out of the store, she looked around. To her satisfaction, she only saw one other person in the store. She figured that the other person that she had seen earlier had already left so now, she only had to knock out one person. Grabbing a fire extinguisher, she walked up slowly behind the man in the store. Shutting her eyes, she knocked him over the head forcefully. He fell to the floor in a heap, and Elaina dropped down to check his pulse. He was still breathing so she felt a little better. Wasting no time, she took of running to the front of the store and began searching for a key that would unlock the cabinet. After thirty seconds of searching, she found the key. She pressed it into the lock and prayed to God it would fit. Luckly, the cabinet swung open. She grabbed the smallest gun that she could find and rushed to the back of the store to find bullets. After stocking up on everything that she needed, she tore open the box containing the gun and loaded it. Just then, she heard the manager swing the front door open. Before the manager could get a word in, Elaina thanked him and ran out to her car. She hopped into the driver's seat and reached into her pocket for her keys. As she quickly sped away, she looked into her rearview mirror. She almost fainted when she saw her baby sitting there. Before she could even question how she had gotten there, Elaina pulled the car over. She had to hold her baby. She couldn't believe that this nightmare was coming to an end. 'Wait," she thought, "How did Delanie get here.' Just then she heard the trunk door slam open. Out walked Kyle Bucher. Smiling at her with a smile that sent shivers down her back, Kyle darted at her. Trying to remain calm, she held on to her baby and ran. She had to get back to the hunting store. She ran as fast as she could, but he was gaining on her. Suddenly, Elaina remembered the loaded gun she had in her pocket. As she reached for her gun, Kyle leapt at her. She then heard the gun fire, and after that, everything went blank. Chapter 5 Elaina opened her eyes. Where was she? Where was Delanie? As she looked around the room, she saw Jason sitting in the corner of the room. He smiled at her and hollered for a nurse. "Finally! Your awake. You've been out for a week. I was so worried about you!" he told his confuse wife. "What happened?" she asked, "And where's Delanie?" "She's with her grandpa. Everything's alright now, thanks to you. This is what happened. You shut Kyle in the leg, but before you fired, he managed to shove you down. You hit your head pretty hard. By the time someone found the two of you, you were both out cold. Now, Kyle's rotting away in jail, and he's never gonna hurt you again. "It's over. For real?" "Yup. You saved Delanie," he informed her with a tone of pride. After that, Elaina was released from the hospital and was allowed to return to her home. When she walked in the door of her house, Avery ran to her and Delanie's little face lit up. Never in her life had she been so happy. Her and her family lived happily for the rest of their days. The end. Publication Date: January 3rd 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-voozmama7

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J.N Taylor Echo 1. Start of It All My alarm clock woke me up so that I could get ready for school. I was extremely tired and had a hard time opening the lids of my eyes so I decided to sleep for five more minutes. I had a dream of me being a successful real estate agent just like my mother. I remember walking inside the house of my dream and not being able to see it, because of my dad awaking me to tell me that I was going to be late for school. The five minutes that I wanted to sleep for turned it forty minutes. My dad offered to take me to school but I nicely rejected so that I could drive my own car. I quickly got dressed and before I left my mom handed me 20 dollars and told me "this should take care of lunch and any other needs." and kissed me on the cheek, slightly rubbing the lip stick on my cheek off with her thumb. I told her "thank-you." and left for school. Even though I have a job, my mom would still hand me money every now and then even though my father told her not to. On my way to school I stopped by Peets Place, a nearby restaurant close to my house. I went there to buy myself a glazed doughnut. Peets Place had the best glazed doughnuts and Mr. Peet would make sure that he served my doughnuts very hot and soft. My family are loyal customers to Mr.Peet and would pay him extra for his service so Mr.Peet would do extra for our service. I ate my doughnut on the way to school and arrived to school 8 minutes late. My teacher gave me a tardy slip and politely asked me to sign it for verification that I'm aware of being tardy. I signed it putting my wrong grade level on purpose so that it would make it harder for them to find me, giving me some time away from detention. Around 3rd hour i was tired and wanted to go home and sleep. I sat in class daydreaming and slightly dozing off, until a knock was heard at the door of the classroom. My teacher stopped teaching and walked over to the door to open it. It was a girl, with blonde hair and hazel eyes, I didn't mean to stare but I did. "Chris" my teacher called out to me. "Yes ma'am," I said. "You're wanted in the office" she said. I collected my books and took my time going to the office. I sat in 1 of the awaiting seats in the main office and I sat there for awhile until, Mrs.Broker, the guidance counselor called me into her office, which was inside the main office. Mrs.Broker was a fairly attractive middle aged woman, that I was drawn too. I walked inside her small sized office and took a seat beside the door of the office. I could tell by the look on her face that this would be the START OF IT ALL. 2. Part of Me As I was sitting there in the office, I kept trying to figure out why I was there. I thought maybe I was failing one of my classes or maybe I was failing multiple of my classes. I just kept trying to think of why I'm in this cramp and hot office room. And I remembered that I might be in the guidance office for my tardy that I had received this morning and put the wrong grade level for. But I highly doubt that I was in the guidance office for a tardy and they wouldn't be able to catch me so quickly, unless, UNLESS my teacher spotted what I had done? My thoughts were then interrupted by her calling my name. "Chris Pier," she said. She had said my name wrong which bothered me, and I would correct folk when they had said it wrong but today was different. My name was pronounced "Pe-er" but she had pronounced it "Pe-Air." I reluctantly answered "yes ma'am,"because of the way she had said my name. Mrs.Broker glared at me and asked me "How are you feeling?" Before I could answer back, two officers walked inside the office and asked me to come along with them. They had also said my name wrong so I slightly rolled my eyes which was very feminine because I am a guy. I was scared, I kept wondering, would they go this far because of a tardy slip? I followed the officers out into the front on the school, they informed me that I was not in trouble, then the school bell rang. I saw my classmates and other students I never noticed until now, all staring at me being escorted into the police car. I wondered what the students were saying and I wondered why I was in this police car like I was some type of criminal. The drive seem to take forever. We arrived at the HuntsBard City Jail, and the beat of my heart suddenly quickened. I recalled the police officer telling me I wasn't in trouble so why in the hell was I here at a jail house? The officer then opened the car door for me and asked me step out and follow him into the jail house and the other officer followed behind me. The officers immediately sent me to the interrogation room and a bald man with a disturbing shiny head that I could not take my eyes off of came in. He looked at me with a raising eyebrow, and said "Do you want anything? Crackers,coffee or both?" he asked. I said no. He then sat down and asked me questions. He asked if I had a girlfriend, any enemies, or any best friends. I answered no to all questions. He then informed me that 1 of my parents where in the hospital and the other had died. "Are you serious?" I asked. He replied with "yes," and my mouth aroused and I sat there and cried. I could still feel the kiss from my moms lips against my cheeks. I looked at the bald detective and said "they can't be dead, I saw them, THEY WERE THERE!"and cried some more. I soon became calmed a little, still crying and told the detective to show me my parents so that I could verify them, because I just knew they didn't die, I had just saw and spoken to them. He then told me that there was nothing to see. He stated that he suspected it to be a burglary and my moms face was so badly beaten that her skull had caved in but my father was burned and had survived, and seeking medical care. I begin to cry even harder. My dad had once told me that crying were for punks and that men take out their pain with rage. After my flashback I begin to ball up my fist so tight that when I released my grip I was bleeding. The officer kept me there in the interrogation room for 2 hours asking me ridiculous questions and finally let me go. An officer had to take me back to school to retrieve my vehicle. I had to go to my grandmothers house since I was still under the age of 18. The officer also had to follow me to make sure I wasn't suicidal or heading somewhere else. I cried the whole time driving to my grandma house. A 10 minute drive seemed like an hour drive. I finally arrived and saw my grandma on the front lawn awaiting for me. My grandma was in tears and I held her gently and told whisper in her "I miss her" The officer informed my grandma that Detective Morris had a family emergency and would be here at her house early next morning. My grandmother sadly nodded her head. My grandma and I sat quietly inside the living room glaring at any object we could spot, trying not to look at each other. Breaking the silence I told my grandma that I would not be staying here with her. I told her that my part time job was enough for my to pay for an apartment. Surprisingly, she didn't argue with me. She told me she would help me and to make sure I visit her often. I agreed. My mother was the closes then to me, but my dad was just there. I cared for my mother mostly, she was there for me and my help me with girl advice. Knowing that someone bashed her face in to the point where I couldn't see her face angered me. If I was to find her killer I surely would kill. I would destroy his family like he destroyed mine. Burning my dad is letting my anger release but killing my mom is like taking a PART OF ME. 3. The House The next morning when I woke up, I left without saying goodbye to my grandmother, but I did manage to write a letter before I left her. I went searching for apartments close to my grandmother and found two. One of the was raggedy and infested with roaches. The other apartment was perfect, nice size, and it was in my budget. I lied to the complex owner and told him a fake age, he believed me and told me to sign a contract. I then had a change of mind. It didn't feel right, this wasn't for me. I wanted to go back home, but it wouldn't feel right, knowing my mom got murdered there. I hesitated and then I finally signed the papers. I realized that I would still have to go back and collect my bed and other things I may need. I couldn't sleep on the floor with no blankets, it was mid December. I would have to gather a friend or two to help me collect my items. Sitting against the wall of the empty freezing apartment complex, I suddenly dozed off. A couple of hours later, I woke up to the sound of my phone ringing. It was my friend Ashley, asking me did I want to hang. She wasn't aware of my mother's death and my dads injuries, so I told her I could and we needed to talk. Ashley was a girl that I had had a crush on for the longest. I could never say no to her, no matter how much I was or sad. I then remembered that I needed to get some supplies from the house. I called Ashley back and told her about everything and why we couldn't hang today. She instantly felt bad for me and offered to help me retrieve my things. She also offered to tag a friend along to help us. A guy friend. I was slightly jealous but needed the extra help. I picked Ashley and her friend up from her house and we went to the house my mother had died at. I opened the door with a key I had hid under the doormat. As I opened the door I could smell my home, the place I had once lived. I begin to cry in front of the girl I love. My mom wasn't there. She just was gone. I sat down on the bar stool in kitchen, held my hands to my face and balled my eyes out. Who would harm my family? I wanted to hold my mother and father again. Ashley held me. She cared, and it made me feel better that somebody had comforted me. I than stopped crying and asked them politely to help me get my things. We all walked up stairs to my room and started to take apart my bed. We couldn't unscrew the bed so i went downstairs to find a screwdriver. I went through the double doors leading into the hallway from the kitchen to get to the garage. As I walked pass the basement wall I heard an echo calling out my name "Chrisss." It came from the basement, I just thought maybe my mind was playing tricks on me or maybe it was Ashley calling out to me. I found the screwdriver in the garage in my dads tool box. I back up the stairs and saw that the guy that Ashley had insisted tag along was "assisting" her with a hammer. "Nice move,eh" I said rudely. I was not even aware that I was going to say that. He begin to pull away from her "you're a dick!" he said. All I said was okay, trying not to argue, I was depressed and was not in the mood. Ashley calmed him down, told him about my mom and dad and he told me he was sorry and didn't know. We finished collecting and bringing everything back to my place at 10 at night. Then I realized that I had forgot something at the house. I didn't want to go back by myself after I heard that voice, or maybe it was the end. I asked Ashley to come with me. "I have to go home" the guy said. Even though I didn't ask him to come, but I was happy he didn't come. On the way back to the house Ashley asked me "Why did you get so mad earlier?" I looked at her and hurried back and glanced back at the road. I instantly got mad and I told her that she knew why and it was silent the rest of the way there. We arrived and we went inside. Ashley glanced around. I went to my parents room and collected pictures of my parents that I had forgot to retrieve. I than begin to go through all their things. I was in their room for awhile. I sat on my parents bed, and grabbed a picture of my mom off the nightstand. I sat there just staring at her smiling, just now noticing how great of a smile she had. I screamed out to Ashley I'll be down in a second. She didn't answer back, so I called her name. She didn't answer. I heard a bump so I got up quickly and headed to the kitchen where I had left her. As I was heading for the kitchen a hand with long nails gripped into my shoulder and I gasped in shock. I turned around to find something so terrifying, I panicked. 4. Starting New The next morning I called my grandmother to let her know I had manage to get my bed set up into my new apartment. My new apartment was empty with only a bed. After calling my grandmother, I had called Detective Morris for any info. He stated to me that he had no info on the deaths but I could see my dad. He also asked me if I wanted to have a funeral for my mom or have her cremated. I told him cremated. She had always told my dad not to let the maggots eat her. I had decided not to go see my dad until I felt like it. I never really liked my dad. He would always abused my mom. He stopped when I got older and the strength to fight back for her. I called Ashley at the hospital to see if she was okay. Ashley had snapped her arm in 6 places after falling off the porch. I felt bad to have been told, while I was looking through pictures she was in pain buried in the ground of leaves. I was also shocked to know that she managed to pull herself up and get to me. I went to the hospital where she was and brought her flowers. I walked into her room and noticed that the guy who had tried that "hammer" trick had beat me there. He was posted up close to her bed holding her hand. I went over to hug Ashley and asked if she was okay. She had said yes. I left after Ashley and that guy kept flirting with each other. After seeing that, I had decided not to talk to Ashley anymore,apparently she didn't feel the same as I did. It was way too depressing to watch the love of my life fall for someone else. 2 weeks had passed since then. I had not went to school or either have I seen my father at the hospital. I decided that today I was going to go see my father at the hospital. I had got dressed and went there to see him. I went to the front desk and a dark haired nurse guided the way. She went to my school before and she was 3 years older than me. She was very beautiful and I could not stop staring into her eyes. They where like blue crystals. She was extremely nice and told me she was sorry for what had happened to my father, and asked me how I was holding up. I had nobody but my grandmother, and it was hard for me to cope. After realizing I had nobody, I started to cry in front of the nurse. I had started to cry again, I had NO ONE but my ass of a father that I really didn't care about. The nurse then pulled me aside and asked me if I was okay. I told her that I had no one and the girl that I loved so bad had fallen for another guy. She stared at me for awhile asked me if she could hug me and I said yes. While she hugged me I felt a sense of relief, and immediately drawn to her. I stopped crying and she pulled away and said "you bathed me with your tears" and smiled at me. She then led me to my dads room. Half of my dads body was burnt, but I not see the horrific scars. He was wrapped up with a white cotton material. He was happy to see me, and asked why did I not come earlier. I didn't answer back. I wanted to leave right away and didn't feel I should stay there long with him. He didn't seem to be happy to see me at all. I asked him what happened, did he see who killed my mother. He told me it was all a blur. He heard screams from the basement, he went down there and he he was burned. If he never had been taught to stop drop and role he would've had been burned alive. He had said that as a joke to make me laugh, but I didn't find it humorous. A flashback had occurred. I remembered when I went back to collect my bed I had heard a voice from the basement calling out to me, or maybe it wasn't real. I didn't believe in afterlife so I had pushed the thought aside. I could tell there was something my dad wasn't telling me. When my dad would lie he would try to make the story as short as possible. Knowing that he was lying, I got angry and left without saying goodbye. I wasn't to fond of goodbyes. I hated the word goodbye so I would never say it. As I was leaving, the dark haired girl stopped me in my tracks. "I didn't catch your name" she said. She had a country southern accent that I didn't notice into now, but I found it adorable. I stopped and smile. "It's Chris" I said. She smiled back and asked if I could take her home. I told her that I was more than happy to take her home. I was a gentleman to her. I opened the door for her and gave her my jacket since she didn't have one. We had a nice conversation and she actually made me laugh. I haven't been able to laugh in awhile. I begin to start thinking about my mother and how she was the only one that could get me to laugh. My thoughts were then interrupted by her yelling "turn right here!" I made a quick turn really fast, so fast that the dark haired girl hit her head on the window. I drove a big pickup truck and it was sometimes hard to fit through small areas and I had tried to turn really quickly into a small area, ramming over the concrete of the sidewalk. "Are you okay?" I asked. She held her head with her hand and said she was fine. I begin to back up off the concrete and drive her to her house. We weren't to far from where I had the accident at. I then pulled up to her house and before she got out I said "I didn't catch your name." She smiled and told me her name was Chelsea and got out of the car. I waited into she made it inside her house safely and went back home. I went to my empty apartment to get ready for work. I had not had enough time to go back to the house and stock my apartment up with furniture. After getting ready for work I called my grandma on my cellphone and told her that I was coming to see her before I leave town. I needed to start fresh. I also told her that I wanted her to keep the ashes of my mother that detective Morris had collected. I then went to work. I had worked a 6 hour shift and went straight to my grandmothers house. She was happy to see me and we sat there talking about memories of my mother. My grandma never mentioned my dad. After a couple of hours, I left. I went to the complex owner and told him I wanted to pay out my contract. Paying out the contract cost 700 in total. I managed to pay it with 300 left. I had money saved up because my mom would hand me money. I left the town with nothing. I decided to move 6 hours away and finish school. The dream I had before my mother died, I wanted to have, I wanted to start new. 5. Coming Back 5 years later, it's summer time and I am in my last year of college. My grandmother had kept her promise with helping me and the insurance payout from my mom was helpful. My dad had bought himself a smaller house for him to live in, with the insurance payout. I didn't know I was getting 30,000 from her death, until I turned 18 I had got a check in the mail. I had yet to put my moms ashes anywhere. My grandma was getting older, and beginning to become forgetful, so I had to collect them soon. Detective Morris had stopped contacting me 3 years ago, to no avail, they didn't fine my moms killer which made me sick and angry. College was good for me. I had plenty of romances and I've made plenty of friends in college. Life was going great for me. I started to go see my dad more often, even though it was a long drive and I had also stopped sobbing over my mother, but I would still think about her every now and then. In college we were on summer break, and I would be graduating 3 months after going back. I had decided to go stay with my grandmother awhile, occasionally seeing my dad. Before I went to my grandmothers house, I stopped by Peet's Place, and saw my friend Joseph, an old high school buddy. He asked what had happened to me, and why I had stopped coming too school. I told him I had transferred, not informing him of my moms death and my dads injuries. Joseph and I sat there talking for awhile and a friend from awhile back came in. It was Chelsea. My heart immediately started to pound even faster and I instantly got up to greet her, not even excusing myself from the table while Joseph was talking to me. I went up to her and said "your shoes are nice" even though they where hideous. She turned around to say thank-you, but got caught in a glance. She stood there staying at me while I tried to hold this awkward smile on my face, and she finally said something. "You know I've been asking everyone about you and they said you had disappeared from site." I had told her I went to college a couple of hours away to have a successful career. I was happy to hear that she was looking for me, and actually trying to find me. I told her I would be staying here for my summer break and we should spend some time together. We exchanged numbers and I went over to Joseph told him sorry for being rude and left. I then went to my car to go visit my dad. On the way to my dads small blue house, I drove past, where my mom once lived. I made a u-turn in my car and went to the old vacant house. The door was still unlocked from when I had last visited it 5 years ago. All the furniture was there, except for my bed, which I had took to put in my old apartment. I looked around the old house and everything was the same. No one had moved there, I don't think anyone had tried to move here. I don't even think Detective Morris had even tried to investigate the old vacant house. I continued to look around the old house. I walked passed the basement and had a flashback of the echo I had heard. I was not scared anymore. I opened the door to the basement and went down the flight of steps. I stumbled on a step because it was so dark. I pictured how my mom could had died. I spotted blood on the wall. I could tell that maybe I was wrong about Detective not investigating my mothers death. There was evidence of him attempting to investigate it. I stood inside the dark basement for awhile, trying to put 2 and 2 together. I stood there in silence and heard an echo. This time, I didn't here my name.... I heard my dads name and I felt a cold breeze slide across my face and went away. That was very strange for me, seeing that it is summer, and it it very hot down here in this basement. The echo did not frighten me this time. I felt as if my mother was trying to get in contact with, and she knew who her killer was. I just didn't know what to think of it. Until I put the pieces together, the mysterious sound will be labeled as an echo. I went to go visit my dad. My dad did seem to messed up about my moms murder at all. He was nothing without her, he just didn't want to admit it. I chatted with my dad for a few minutes and left at my grandma's house. She was so happy to see me. She was getting really old and was now using a cane to get around. I wanted to make my grandmother proud, so I planned to get married before she died. My grandmother had an extra room that she would let me sleep in, so I went up there to lay down and think. I thought about my mom and the echo of that voice I heard today and 5 years ago. It was real, I wasn't going crazy. What I had heard was real. I soon had got bored of thinking and decided to text Chelsea. The text conversation went like this: Me: Hi, wanna hang today? Chelsea: lol, why? Your girl couldn't hang with you today? Me: Nah, I'm just bored. Chelsea: I guess I could have fun with you. Me: I'll pick you up around 7:30pm Chelsea: okayy :) The end of conversation. I put on my tightest shirt to show off my cut muscles and my favorite pair of jeans that I had brought with me from college. I picked her up 30 minutes early and we went to a club. Chelsea and I drank drinks, danced together, and had fun. I would always smile when I was with her. I really liked Chelsea and I could see me being with her. While we were having a good time and slick flirting with each other, I had spotted Ashley from across the room and didn't even go over there to say hey. I was having to good of a time with Chelsea to even bother with Ashley. After ours of fun, Chelsea and I had decided to leave. While exiting the club I saw Ashley again, and this time she saw me too. Ashley looked really good. She had on red pumps with a black tight fitted dress that showed off all her curves. She called out my name. I turned around pretending to not no who it was. Then I heard her heels clacking against the pavement and she reached over to grab me. At the time I had my arm wrapped around Chelsea. I turned around and she said "Where have you been Chris?" Before I could answer, she asked some more questions. "Why didn't you call or answer the phone for me?" I lied and told her that my phone was off for awhile and all she said as oh. She then asked me for my number. I looked at Chelsea and looked back at Ashley and told Ashley "another time" and walked away with Chelsea. I think maybe Chelsea liked me more because of that, because she smiled after I told Ashley that. I drove Chelsea home, and told her I would call her later. Before she got out of the car she asked if I wanted to stay the night at her place. I couldn't deny the invitation. She had took a shower while I was there,and she had looked even better with her hair wet. I had told her that and she started to smile. She came over there close to me and begin to kiss me 6. Not titled I woke up that morning at Chelsea's house. I slightly woke her up and asked her if she wanted anything to eat. She told me she wanted a bagel, so I drove to Peet's Place. I loved that place and couldn't get enough of it. I bought 2 glazed doughnuts and a bagel. I paid Mr.Peet extra like always and left. As I was leaving I spotted Ashley again and she spotted me too. She came over to me and said hi. We stood there and talked for awhile about her and my college life, and that's when I realized I had to get back to Chelsea. I told Ashley, I had to go and before I could leave she stopped me and asked me for my number again. I slightly hesitated, but I finally gave it to her and went on my way. Chelsea and I had had sex last night, and I believe it to be something special. She was slowly taking the place of my mother, that had been opened for awhile. I had arrived back at Chelsea's place to seeing her getting dressed to leave. "Where are you going?" I said. She told me she was leaving for work and for me to call her later and left. After she closed the boor behind Text: COPYRIGHT NOTICE: Jasmine Taylor: Echo is published by Jasmine Taylor and copyrighted by bookrix.com. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by an electronic or mechanical means (including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval) without permission in writing from the publisher, except for reading and browsing via The World Wide Web. Users are not permitted to mount this file on any network servers. All rights reserved. Publication Date: December 6th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-jwalker53

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-jahari-webb-secrets-1/

Jahari Webb Secrets the secrets are getting out, whos letting them I decicate this to my family and my second oldest brother Ellington for persuading me to do this. First day Stacey, Vannessa, Sellen, and katie walked in the school. "7th grade sweeties how are we feelin'"said Vannessa cheerfuly. " I wanna throw up" katie said. "Thats right" everyone else muttered. "Oh come on look at this place, look at him" Vannessa said. "Derrick" they said dreamily. Vannessa wlaked over to him. The others were muttering "is she crazy whats wrong with her". "Hey Derrick" Vannessa said. "Hey cutie" he said. She laughed "are we still on that Stacey was messing with me, thats not my nickname. "I know but its true your Beautiful". "Well she said your very handsom yourself. "Oh really because as i recall last year my nickname for you was ugly". "Well u messed with me that whole year, I had a right". "Myabe". "So i was wondering if you would want to be my girlfriend" he said. "I've wanted you to ask me since last year, so..." she said thoughtfully. "Yes". "Finally" he gave her a quick kiss on the lips. The other girls stared shocked. Vannessa walked back over to them. She pushed their mouths up. "Hey your jaws are going fall off". "Did he really just do that" Stacey asked Sellen. "OMG you are crazy" Stacey said. "How he asked me" "Yea and you walked up to him". Publication Date: February 23rd 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-leo1556

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-kenzie-stone-appalachian-arsenic/

Kenzie Stone Appalachian Arsenic To my dear father, who gave me the idea in the first place 1 Though many people thought living alone seemed a dreadful life, I actually rather enjoyed it.  I hadn’t intended on living alone until I got to college and realized I missed having my own bedroom.  I suppose it didn’t help that my two roommates were complete neat freaks, whereas I was disorderly and unkempt.  I drove them crazy with my messes, and their constant nagging annoyed me greatly. Now, I lived alone in the house that my Great Aunt Ida had left for me to inherit.  I suppose it made sense that I was the one to receive the house after she passed away.  I spent every summer for 15 years with her in the small house.  Her death affected me more greatly than my father’s, who passed away when I was 13.  I hardly knew him, really, as his work involved a lot of travel and he was rarely home.  But my Great Aunt Ida was closer to me than my own mother and both of my sisters.  Not that I didn’t love them, I really did.  In fact, I still keep in touch with all three of them.  I had plans to have Christmas at my sister Charlotte’s house this year to visit my brother-in-law and newborn nephew, in fact. The house was bigger than what I needed, with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, a study, and a living room.  There was also a basement, but I never ventured down there unless I was searching for something amongst some of the old boxes.  It was nice to have an extra bedroom, in case I did end up having a guest.  Usually, it would be one of my sisters who pitied me and came to visit and provide some company.  I rarely went to visit them.  I was either working or enjoying my own company.  Sometimes I could do both at once; as a journalist, I spent a lot of time on my laptop at home typing. I lived in a very small town located in the Appalachian Mountain range in Kentucky.  There were a total of five houses on the particular peak I lived on, one being my own.  There was the house of Benjamin Andrews, who everyone just called Benji.  There was a young couple about my age who had lived there for three years, Joshua and Eliza Browne.  Eliza was about 8 months pregnant.  The house closest to mine had been for sale as long as I could remember and was losing its chance to be sold; overgrown with weeds and vines.  Finally was Agatha.  I did not know her surname or much about her at all.  She was elderly, widowed, and kept herself rather isolated.  She did occasionally bring around apples to my house as she had a tree in her yard, but I happen to be allergic.  They did look rather lovely in the bowl on my table, though.  If only others could enjoy the beauty with me. I wish I could say I had grown to become more orderly after moving in by myself, but then I would be lying.  I never bothered to set an alarm clock; there was nowhere I had to be at any time in the day.  If I did have an appointment, I would make it mid afternoon or later.  Always in one of three places (the options were limited in the small downtown area); a small coffee shop with a pleasant aroma and live music, a lovely diner that was always filled with sunlight and flowers, or a restaurant in which the lights were always kept dim and the food was great, but more expensive.  Luckily, I could count on the newspaper to pay for all expenses as long as I was in an interview.  My day never started exactly the same, but if I got up before 11 a.m., I would typically lay in my bed reading or checking the news and my email on my laptop.  If I was required to go to the newspaper headquarters that day, I expected an email by noon.  If I didn’t receive it by then, there was absolutely no guarantee that I would show up and they would have to call my house to discuss what they needed me for. After lying in bed for however long I chose to, I would get up and drink two cups of coffee, black.  I would then proceed to shower, dress, and prepare for whatever I had to do that day.  If I had an appointment, I would put on makeup and make sure my clothing was dressy.  If not, jeans and an old t-shirt were preferable.  After that, my day would always be completely unpredictable.    One particular morning, I woke up at exactly 9:47 in the morning and immediately went to my laptop.  I had an email from the headquarters of my newspaper, announcing that my appointment for tomorrow afternoon was switched to today due to uncontrollable circumstances.  I was meeting Francine Guerra at the local diner to discuss her work in environmental sciences at 2:30 that afternoon. I still had a few hours before I needed to go anywhere, but I did have a few errands to run and I wanted to go visit Joshua and Eliza to see how she is doing.  I knew that I’d most likely never have a child of my own, but I did enjoy children greatly.  I had befriended Eliza.  She was a nice girl, my age, and neither of us had many friends.  Her husband was kind as well, and intelligent.  He was a teacher at the local school; she an artist.  That was a similarity between her and me.  I had minored in art while I was in college.  But while she painted beautiful landscapes, I sketched odd pencil drawings that confused people when they tried to figure out what I had drawn.  I mostly kept my sketches to myself, though Eliza insisted on seeing each of my latest drawings.  “What are you doing writing up little stories for the newspaper when you have such a talent in art, Kenzie?” She would ask. It was simple; journalism was steady work for me, and art wasn’t.  I had to support myself somehow, and unless I got married, art would have to remain simply a hobby.  I loved to draw, I really did, but I was too sensible to try and sustain myself off of it. I snuggled up underneath my quilt; Great Aunt Ida had made it herself, and it was warm and smelled of cinnamon, just as it always had.  I curled up under it, moving my hair out of my eyes and grabbing my glasses in order to see properly without giving myself a headache.  There was a painting on the wall above my bed.  Eliza had given it to me after commenting on how “drab” my house looked without decorations.  The walls were painted solid colors, all the floors the same wood.  This particular room was a lovely sunset orange, and the painting seemed to fit right in; an autumn forest, the color of the leaves being an exact duplicate of the walls.  Soon enough, I forced myself to get out of my bed.  I put on a pair of slippers and pulled a bathrobe over the tank top and shorts I had slept in.  I then proceeded to go get my coffee.  Once I had poured it into my mug, I took myself, my laptop, and my mug onto my back porch.  It was screened it to keep the bugs and birds out, but I could still enjoy the sight and sound of the outdoors.  My backyard wasn’t large, but I could see all the way down the side of the mountain, including Benji’s home. I’d had my laptop since I’d gone to college.  It was a graduation present from my mother.  I would occasionally open up old documents I still had saved on it from my classes, or especially the old articles I had written for the school newspaper.  Today, I was simply sending an email to Charlotte.  She’d sent me pictures of my nephew, Alex.  He was an adorable child; I couldn’t wait to meet him on Christmas.  I felt sorry I hadn’t been able to visit them, but they lived in Boston and I didn’t have the time to go out to see them.  By 11:30, I was done with both cups of coffee, sending all my emails, and calling in to get my regular table at the small downtown diner called The Rose Garden.  I had three hours until I needed to be there.  It would take me around 15 minutes to get there, and Miss Guerra was likely to be late.  I decided to take an extra-long shower to kill time, and then visit Eliza.  Just as I was setting my mug on the kitchen counter, I heard a knock at the door.  I rushed to answer it, hardly caring that I was in my pajamas and a bathrobe until I discovered who was at the door.  “Oh, hello, Benji!” I greeted my guest, startled. “Hello, Kenzie,” He smiled.  “May I come in?” “Yes, yes, of course,” I opened the door wider, allowing him to enter.  “I apologize for my appearance; I was just about to shower…” “Sorry, is this a bad time?” He began to move toward the door. “No, it’s fine, as long as you don’t mind my not being dressed…” “I should have called to say I was coming.  You couldn’t have known to be ready for a visitor.” “I’m never ready for a visitor, Benji,” I offered, smiling. He responded with a bit of a laugh.  “I just came to see how you are.” “That’s thoughtful of you,” I said, my voice suddenly softer than usual.  Then I remembered my manners.  “Would you like to sit?  I think I might have some coffee, though it might be cold by now…” “I’ll sit, but I’ve had my breakfast,” He replied.  I led him to my dainty living room, furnished with two simple armchairs and a matching couch, along with a lovely coffee table.  The majority of the furniture in the home had been my Great Aunt Ida’s.  I’d inherited really almost everything of hers.  I was the only one in the family she truly got along with.  “Sit wherever you please, it won’t make any difference to me.” “Your home is lovely, really.  I’m surprised you don’t have a roommate.  You could rent out a room for a bit of money,” Benji suggested. “I like to keep the spare bedroom in case someone decides to visit, or in case someone is in dire need of somewhere to stay,” I sighed.  “Or in case I get married and have a child, but that’s unlikely.” “Unlikely?” “Yes.  As in, it probably won’t happen,” I explained. “You don’t know that,” He smiled.  “You just aren’t looking to get married.” To me, it seemed as though he was being slightly flirtatious.  Not that he was unattractive; actually, he was quite the opposite.  Dark hair and blue eyes had always been my weakness, even in high school.  I didn’t dare get my hopes up and think he actually was attracted to me.  I never did. “So, you’re just dropping by?” I asked, sitting down and crossing my legs, leaning to the right of my armchair.  “Yes, sort of.  I read your column in the newspaper.  You’re an excellent journalist,” He leaned forward in his chair. “Oh!  Why, thank you,” I smiled and averted my gaze. “It’s my pleasure.  Also… I’ve been taking a cooking class, you see, and I need someone polite to taste test some of my dishes.” “Are you inviting me over for dinner?” “Well… To put it simply, yes,” He cleared his throat.  “But it’s not a date.” “Not a date.  Got it,” I pulled a tiny notepad and pen out from under the cushion on my chair and began to pretend to write.  “Anything else I should remember?” “My house, seven o’clock, tonight.  No need to dress up,” He said, smiling slightly. “In that case, I will see you tonight at your house at 7 o’clock, most likely in blue jeans and a t-shirt.” “Fantastic.  Should I leave you so that you can shower?” He motioned toward the door. “That would probably be a good idea.  I have an interview at 2:30, and I’m never late for an interview,” I stood, and he did as well. “ Hasta luega, Mackenzie,” Benji promptly left the house, and left me to my own mind and routine. 2 As soon as I heard Benji’s car leave my driveway, I set a change of clothes out on my bed and went to take a shower.  The warm water ran over my body and distracted me from what had just happened.  I was going to Benji’s house.  Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be a date, but it was set up the same as one.  “You’re losing yourself, Mackenzie.  It is a boy who has invited you over as a friend,” I told myself, and then went to think of other, more important matters.  I had an interview in just a few hours, and I had no clue what I was going to be able to get out of it.  All that I knew was that my boss told me that I should interview the town newcomer. I’d seen her around some, in a store or during my occasional walks around town.  She was extremely petite, and had very blonde hair.  I suspect that she dyes it.  Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be an appropriate question to ask for an interview.  I’d never seen her eye color, though I would surely notice today.  I typically saw her while she was wearing sweatpants and a ratty sweatshirt.  My only hope was that she recognized the formality of the interview and at least wore presentable clothes, not something you would sleep in. I was dressed and ready to go by 12:30, which would give me plenty of time to visit with Eliza.  I would probably ask if I could do any errands for her around town, since Joshua has been working after school cleaning the local library to support the family while she is still searching for work.  It would be hard to find until after the baby had come and could go to a babysitter.  She appreciated being able to stay at home and work.  It’s too bad she would have to go to work somewhere; she would make a lovely housewife. I applied just a bit of makeup around my eyes.  I had always believed that I was average in appearance, with my eyes being my one true beauty.  On a typical day they were green, but they would occasionally change to brown, hazel, or even a delightful golden color due to the lighting or weather.  Today, they were simply green.  I elected to keep my dark brown hair down, holding back a few annoying strands with a bobby pin. By 12:45, I was in my navy blue sedan going carefully down the side of a mountain towards the Browne house.  I’d driven up and down this narrow, windy path so many times that I could drive even this under the spell of road hypnotism.  Soon my car pulled up next to their house and I went up to the door.  I knocked five times, leaving even intervals between each knock.  Eliza and I had perfected this knock, which was our code to indicate I was at her door or she was at mine.  Within seconds, the door opened and my dear Eliza was waiting for me. Eliza Browne was a pretty woman of average height.  She would be average weight if it weren’t for the enormity of her abdomen, but she was still fairly thin for a pregnant woman.  She had kind brown eyes, too many freckles to count, and sandy blonde hair full of bright streaks of blue, green, purple, and red.  She typically wore plain clothes that became splattered with paint within hours of being purchased.  She bit her fingernails, as well, so they were always short and rather unattractive, but she decorated them with bright nail polish.  “Afternoon, Kenzie!” She grinned, embracing me in a friendly hug.  Personally, I had never enjoyed hugs, but I couldn’t bear to tell Eliza this. “Hello, Eliza,” I returned the hug.  “How are you today?” “I’m doing just fine.  Did you bring your sketchpad?  Have you drawn anything new?” She bombarded me with questions, just as she always did. “No, I haven’t drawn anything since I last visited,” I shrugged my shoulders apologetically.  “I’m just checking in on you.” “I’m pregnant, not paralyzed,” She giggled.  Honestly, how did I ever manage to put up with all the hugging and giggling she did? “And I’m a good friend,” I entered her home and took a seat in the living room.  “I was just seeing if I can do anything for you while I’m in town this afternoon.  I have an interview at 2:30.” “With that Duncan girl, right?  How old do you suppose she is?” “Older than me, and I’m 22.” “I’d think around 30, but maybe that stupid hair dye she uses makes her appear older.  Like she’s trying to hard to look young or something.” “That’s very possible,” I smiled slightly.  “Unfortunately, I don’t write up random bits of gossip.  I need fact in order to write something properly.” “It’s a shame you’re only given 500 words per article, don’t you think?” “It’s typically right where I would be, anyway.” “Only because you’ve trained yourself to write such small articles.  You’re excellent at writing them.” “I’m still fairly new to the paper.  The only person who’s been hired since I was is Charlie.” Charlie is a college aged boy who takes one day every week to write up a quick article on sports.  He emailed me what he wrote for me to submit while he’s in college, and he rents the apartment above headquarters in the summer.  He’s quite lucky that he can get the paper to pay for every sporting event he goes to. “But you’re the best one they’ve got.  They should let you write more.” “I’m fine with my limit, really,” I looked around, and then noticed an interesting smell.  “Are you baking something?” “Yeah, I’m making a coffee cake for Josh.” “It smells great.” She grabbed a nearby piece of paper and a pen and scribbled something down.  “Here’s the recipe.  Feel free to drop by tonight for a slice.” I almost agreed to join her and Joshua that night, but then remembered my plans with Benji.  “Sorry, I have dinner plans.” “I thought you said your interview was at 2:30?” I shook my head.  “Not the interview.  Something else.” Eliza grabbed me by my hand and dragged me to the kitchen table.  “A date?” “No, not exactly.” I shook my head.  “Do you have any coffee?” “I know you’ve already had your two cups.  Do you really need a third?” She grinned, shaking her head, and poured me a mug of coffee.  “Decaf.” “Thanks,” I accepted the mug and took a quick sip.  It was losing its heat. “So, not a date, but plans with a boy?” Eliza joined me at the table. “Exactly,” I nodded my head.  “I’m going to Benjamin Andrews’ house.  He’s cooking.” “Benji?  He’s nice.  I approve.” “This doesn’t require approval.  There’s nothing going on between the two of us.” “Not yet.” Eliza stuck her tongue out at me.  Way mature. “Not ever,” I took the final sip of my coffee, which had become cold.  “He’s never shown any interest.  Why would he now?” “You’ve now given him reason to,” Eliza took my empty mug along with hers to her sink.  “But it’s 1:30, and I do need some things at the store…” I grinned.  “Make me a list, I’ll get everything you need.” Within ten minutes, I was out of the house and driving towards the small grocery store downtown.  By the time I got there, however, I only had twenty minutes until my interview.  Instead of entering the store, I decided to park next to it and walk to The Rose Garden.  It wasn’t far at all, and I could use the walk and fresh air.  It was a beautiful day; not too hot, not too cold, and the perfect amount of cloud cover.  I could feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, warming my body.  I knew that I should do this more often, for the vitamin D.  At 2:27, I was sitting in my usual table in The Rose Garden, the one in the corner farthest from all the windows and doors.  Perfectly private.  By the time Francine Duncan had arrived, I had been waiting for ten minutes and was halfway through my first cup of coffee.  She spotted me almost immediately, which I was thankful for.  I would never do anything such as wave my arms or call out to her in order to get her attention; I would receive attention from others if I did.  I hated receiving unnecessary attention. “Good afternoon, Miss Duncan,” I offered, sitting up straighter in my seat. I was thankful to see that she was wearing clean blue jeans and a formal shirt.  “Hey,” I see her vocabulary would continue to be informal.  “You can order anything you like.  The paper will pay,” I informed her motioning towards the single-page menu sitting in front of her. “Oh, okay.  Thanks,” She flagged over a waitress.  “Hot chocolate, with whipped cream.  And I need some sort of protein, I don’t care what.  You pick.” She told the waitress, who hastily scribbled down the order and rushed off to the kitchen. “Miss Duncan…” I began. “Please, call me Fran,” She said. “I’m Mackenzie Mills,” I said, offering my hand. “Pleasure,” Fran returned, not taking up my handshake. “What did you want to talk about?” She definitely didn’t seem interested in formalities.  She almost seemed… Rushed.  I took a small voice recorder out from my small purse and hit the button that started it.  “Well, Miss Duncan…” “Fran,” She interrupted. “Fran,” I corrected myself.  “I and many others are wondering what brings you to this area.” “Isn’t it obvious?  I’m a hydrogeologist.  I study groundwater, and I’m here to do a quick study on the levels of certain minerals found in nearby wells.” “How did you select this area?” “It was here or the Rockies.  This is closer to home.” “Where did you go to school?” “I received a Bachelor’s Degree in Hydrology and Water Resources Science at the University of New Hampshire,” She replied.  I believe this is the first time she gave me a straight answer without any hints of attitude or annoyance. “How did you choose to go into this study?” “I wanted to go into some form of science, and I swam while I was in high school.  It made sense to me that I would study water.” The waitress came with her hot chocolate and a turkey wrap.  I liked her taste; the wraps at this particular diner were exceptional.   Francine did not thank her. “So, have you found anything interesting about our well water?” I inquired. “I’m still waiting on some test results, but it’s obviously rich with minerals.  You can taste it.  That, however, is to be expected.  I do suspect that there’s something odd about the water here, though.  Something didn’t seem right to me,” She chewed on her lip.  “I can’t quite put my finger on it, though.” “If you’d like to follow up this report at some point in the future, you can call the paper HQ and set up an appointment at any time.” “Yeah, yeah, I’ll do that,” She said. “Is there anything else to say about this line of work or your studies here?” “I have three partners, you know,” She began.  “We’ve all gone to different places around the US to study the groundwater and such.  One of them is up in Maine, and we have two locations in the Rockies, too.  Perhaps I could have one of them call you about this?” “I would, but unfortunately we try to stick to local stories in our paper.” “Oh, okay,” She replied, looking nervously around the room.  “I’m sorry, but I have somewhere I need to be.  I’ll be watching the paper for the article.  Would it be this week?” “Check the local businesses on Saturday morning for a copy,” I told her just before she rushed out of the diner.  I sighed when I realized that the paper would be paying for a half-finished cup of coffee and untouched hot chocolate, along with a turkey wrap that had been left uneaten.   I regrettably did not have time to change my clothing before meeting with Benji that night.  I looked far too dressy in my black slacks and royal blue blouse, and especially in heels.  But I spent too long with Eliza, and before that I couldn’t let the turkey wrap and hot chocolate go to waste.  Upon answering the door, Benji greeted me with, “I thought I told you not to dress up.” “I didn’t have time to change after my interview this afternoon,” I justified my appearance.  “My apologies; I never would have done this otherwise.” “Glad to know you wouldn’t waste time on looking good on my account.” “Are you saying I don’t look good when I don’t try to?” “Not at all.  In fact, you looked rather astonishing in that bathrobe this morning.” He smirked, and I felt blood rushing to my face. “Perhaps if you hadn’t shown up unannounced, I would have gotten dressed,” I replied, pulling my hair back with the band I always kept around my wrist. “What are you doing that for?” He questioned. “Doing what?” I turned my head to look around his house.  I’d never been inside before. “Putting up your hair,” He told me, using a tone that was telling me it should have been obvious.  “It looked nice.” “It gets in my way,” I stated simply.  Then I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.  A basket of apples placed on a shelf.  “I see Agatha dropped by?” “Yes, though I’ve never cared much for apples.  Take one, if you’d like,” He motioned toward the basket. “I can’t,” I sighed.  The apples looked nearly perfect.  “I’m allergic.” He looked a bit startled.  “Are you really?” “Yes, quite unfortunately.” “That’s a real shame,” He said.  “I make a fantastic apple pie.” “I thought you said you don’t like apples,” I grinned slightly. “It’s different when they’re baked and smothered in cinnamon and sugar,” He returned the grin. “I suppose that’s true.” The rest of the night was fairly uneventful and rather boring.  Benji was nice company, and an excellent chef.  I made sure to tell him so, and we made plans to get coffee that upcoming weekend.  I also took note that he was careful to make eye contact, and his eyes stayed on me while he was talking or listening to me.  Perhaps he is somewhat interested. “I think I should probably get going,” I did eventually say.  I hadn’t been keeping an eye on the time, and when I finally did, it was much later than what I would’ve liked. “That’s a shame, I’m enjoying your company, Kenzie,” He smiled a bit. “My apologies.  I will see you on Saturday for coffee, though,” I rubbed my right eye. “I can see you’re tired.  Go home and get some beauty sleep,” Benji rose from his chair, and I mimicked. He led me to the door, not saying a word until he opened the door.  He simply whispered, “I will see you Saturday.” I went home, put on sweatpants and a tank top, and immediately fell asleep.  At exactly 2:13 a.m., I received a phone call from Eliza Browne, announcing that her husband had been found dead. Publication Date: June 25th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-clarinetgirl

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-c-kelemen-the-winter-mill-murder/

C Kelemen The Winter Mill Murder Winter's Death To the girls who have been into mystery. Rights To The Picture I'm writing this in the book too because I am trying to make a point the artwork on the cover and all future artwork for this series is not mine and the rightful artist deserves the credit for it. !--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--I will respectfully take any picture down if the artist asks so. !--[endif]-- The Tortoise !--[if gte mso 9]<xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Template>Normal.dotm/o:Template <o:Revision>0/o:Revision <o:TotalTime>0/o:TotalTime <o:Pages>1/o:Pages <o:Words>71/o:Words <o:Characters>409/o:Characters <o:Lines>3/o:Lines <o:Paragraphs>1/o:Paragraphs <o:CharactersWithSpaces>502/o:CharactersWithSpaces <o:Version>12.0/o:Version /o:DocumentProperties <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG> /o:OfficeDocumentSettings ![endif]--!--[if gte mso 9]<xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0/w:Zoom <w:TrackMoves>false/w:TrackMoves <w:TrackFormatting> <w:PunctuationKerning> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt/w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt/w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0/w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0/w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false/w:SaveIfXMLInvalid <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false/w:IgnoreMixedContent <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false/w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables> <w:DontGrowAutofit> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx> /w:Compatibility /w:WordDocument ![endif]--!--[if gte mso 9]<xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> /w:LatentStyles ![endif]-- !--[if gte mso 10] <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} ![endif]-- !--StartFragment--The snow was falling. The winter in West Virginia was still getting colder. The tortoise crawled by the mill back to its home in the farmhouse. When the tortoise dives into the frosted pond near the house the smudge of blood on his shell went mostly off leaving just a nick from a weapon with someone’s blood stuck in it. Leaving the now red pond, he searches for some food. I pick him up. I call Jim and Garry over; we have just found our first clue or piece of evidence to little Katie’s death.!--EndFragment-- Parents The hardest part of the death of a child is the interrogation with the parents. It was different with Katie’s parents when they heard of her death they cried for about a minute and then asked for the body to be buried. They answered all the questions without hesitation and couldn’t wait to leave. Finally right before I let them go I asked,” What types of animals live on this farm and mill?" The answer they gave me was three horses, four pigs, two cows, eight chickens, two pet fishes, and a dog. No tortoises lived there yet we found one, how peculiar.   After Dark My partners went back to the office but I stayed to see what I could dig up. I went in the mill to see what it looked like and if it was the murder scene. Unfortunately I ended up getting locked in the mill. The machines started to come to life, doing their jobs. That is when I saw a smear of blood on the floor. I saw a pile of straw untouched by anything. As I took a closer look I noticed the baby tortoise eggs. That was when, no, wait, stop, boom… !--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]-- !--[endif]--   Text: Kelemen Images: Photo: Bookrix All rights reserved. Publication Date: April 13th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-r16ckelemen

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-sidney-c-wilson-jason-hewitt-mysteries/

Sidney C. Wilson Jason Hewitt Mysteries The Landlady Chapter 1. A fter a long hot day at the office, I was finally able to get off, so I thought. The bell just above the door rang signling that someone just came in the building. "I'm sorry, but we're closed right now." Sarah, my secretary, said. Sarah, an average New Yorker, moved here to a quiet village in southwestern Illinois to start as a secretary after finishing college. She has shoulder lenght dark red stringy hair; she's tall and slender. When she first came here, she had no money and no place to go. Of course, she's the kind of young woman with so much ambition that I couldn't ignore; and yes, she had gotten what she wanted from me--her current position. My office is usually cluttered with newspaper clippings, files of past clients scattered on my desk as well as on the floor, and books everywhere. "But, I need to speak to Mr. Hewitt, please!" the elderly woman pleaded. My door happened to be halfway opened, and I was at my desk working on some papers when I noticed her. "Come right on in, Mrs. Flanders." I said as I stepped over mountains of papers and books. "Oh, thank you son." Mrs. Flanders responded. "You'll have to excuse my mess here, I've been reading all day. Now, what can I do for you?" I said as I removed books from the chair that sat directly opposite from where I sat. I closed the door as usual and took a seat. Mrs. Flanders lives in the same apartment complex as I do. Her apartment is right across from mine, so I knew her pretty well. She hesitated to tell me what was on her mind. She was known for that. She simply hated giving bad news to people. "I-its the landlady, Mrs. Steward." She finally came out after a long pause. "What happened to her?" I responded a little worried. "She's been murdered. Text: Sidney C. Wilson All rights reserved. Publication Date: July 6th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-billythekid

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-alexandre-dumas-pere-la-constantin/

Alexandre Dumas père La Constantin Celebrated Crimes LA CONSTANTIN--1660 CHAPTER I Before beginning our story, we must warn the reader that it will not be worth his while to make researches among contemporary or other records as to the personage whose name it bears. For in truth neither Marie Leroux, widow of Jacques Constantin, nor her accomplice, Claude Perregaud, was of sufficient importance to find a place on any list of great criminals, although it is certain that they were guilty of the crimes with which they were charged. It may seem strange that what follows is more a history of the retribution which overtook the criminals than a circumstantial description of the deeds for which they were punished; but the crimes were so revolting, and so unsuitable for discussion, that it was impossible for us to enter into any details on the subject, so that what we offer in these pages is, we confess quite openly, not a full, true, and particular account of a certain series of events leading up to a certain result; it is not even a picture wherein that result is depicted with artistic completeness, it is only an imperfect narrative imperfectly rounded off. We feel sure, however, that the healthy-minded reader will be grateful for our reticence and total disregard of proportion. In spite of the disadvantage which such a theme imposes on any writer with a deep sense of responsibility, we have resolved to let in some light on these obscure figures; for we can imagine no more effective way of throwing into high relief the low morals and deep corruption into which all classes of society had sunk at the termination of the factious dissensions of the Fronde, which formed such a fitting prelude to the licence of the reign of the grand roi. After this explanation, we shall, without further preamble, introduce the reader to a little tavern in Paris, situated in the rue Saint-Andre-des-Arts, on an evening in November 1658. It was about seven o'clock. Three gentlemen were seated at one of the tables in a low, smoky room. They had already emptied several bottles, and one of them seemed to have just suggested some madcap scheme to the others, the thought of which sent them off into shouts of laughter. "Pardu!" said one of them, who was the first to recover his breath, "I must say it would be an excellent trick." "Splendid!" said another; "and if you like, Commander de Jars, we can try it this very evening." "All right, my worthy king's treasurer, provided my pretty nephew here won't be too much shocked," and as he spoke de Jars gave to the youngest of the three a caressing touch on the cheek with the back of his hand. "That reminds me, de Jars!" said the treasurer, "that word you have just said piques my curiosity. For some months now this little fellow here, Chevalier de Moranges, follows you about everywhere like your shadow. You never told us you had a nephew. Where the devil did you get him?" The commander touched the chevalier's knee under the table, and he, as if to avoid speaking, slowly filled and emptied his glass. "Look here," said the treasurer, "do you want to hear a few plain words, such as I shall rap out when God takes me to task about the peccadilloes of my past life? I don't believe a word about the relationship. A nephew must be the son of either a brother or a sister. Now, your only sister is an abbess, and your late brother's marriage was childless. There is only one way of proving the relationship, and that is to confess that when your brother was young and wild he and Love met, or else Madame l'Abbesse----." "Take care, Treasurer Jeannin! no slander against my sister!" "Well, then, explain; you can't fool me! May I be hanged if I leave this place before I have dragged the secret out of you! Either we are friends or we are not. What you tell no one else you ought to tell me. What! would you make use of my purse and my sword on occasion and yet have secrets from me? It's too bad: speak, or our friendship is at an end! I give you fair warning that I shall find out everything and publish it abroad to court and city: when I strike a trail there's no turning me aside. It will be best for you to whisper your secret voluntarily into my ear, where it will be as safe as in the grave." "How full of curiosity you are, my good friend!" said de Jars, leaning one elbow on the table, and twirling the points of his moustache with his hand; "but if I were to wrap my secret round the point of a dagger would you not be too much afraid of pricking your fingers to pull it off?" "Not I," said the king's treasurer, beginning to twirl his moustache also: "the doctors have always told me that I am of too full a complexion and that it would do me all the good in the world to be bled now and then. But what would be an advantage to me would be dangerous to you. It's easy to see from your jaundiced phiz that for you blood-letting is no cure." "And you would really go that length? You would risk a duel if I refused to let you get to the bottom of my mystery?" "Yes, on my honour! Well, how is it to be?" "My dear boy," said de Jars to the youth, "we are caught, and may as well yield gracefully. You don't know this big fellow as well as I do. He's obstinacy itself. You can make the most obstinate donkey go on by pulling its tail hard enough, but when Jeannin gets a notion into his pate, not all the legions of hell can get it out again. Besides that, he's a skilful fencer, so there's nothing for it but to trust him." "Just as you like," said the young man; "you know all my circumstances and how important it is that my secret should be kept." "Oh! among Jeannin's many vices there are a few virtues, and of these discretion is the greatest, so that his curiosity is harmless. A quarter of an hour hence he will let himself be killed rather than reveal what just now he is ready to risk his skin to find out, whether we will or no." Jeannin nodded approvingly, refilled the glasses, and raising his to his lips, said in a tone of triumph-- "I am listening, commander." "Well, if it must be, it must. First of all, learn that my nephew is not my nephew at all." "Go on." "That his name is not Moranges." "And the next?" "I am not going to reveal his real name to you." "Why not?" "Because I don't know it myself, and no more does the chevalier." "What' nonsense!" "No nonsense at all, but the sober truth. A few months ago the chevalier came to Paris, bringing me a letter of introduction from a German whom I used to know years ago. This letter requested me to look after the bearer and help him in his investigations. As you said just now, Love and someone once met somewhere, and that was about all was known as to his origin. Naturally the young man wants to cut a figure in the world, and would like to discover the author of his existence, that he may have someone at hand to pay the debts he is going to incur. We have brought together every scrap of information we could collect as to this person, hoping to find therein a clue that we could follow up. To be quite open with you, and convince you at the same time how extremely prudent and discreet we must be, I must tell you that we think we have found one, and that it leads to no less a dignitary than a Prince of the Church. But if he should get wind of our researches too soon everything would be at an end, don't you see? So keep your tongue between your teeth." "Never fear," said Jeannin. "Now, that's what I call speaking out as a friend should. I wish you luck, my gallant Chevalier de Moranges, and until you unearth your father, if you want a little money, my purse is at your service. On my word, de Jars, you must have been born with a caul. There never was your equal for wonderful adventures. This one promises well-spicy intrigues, scandalous revelations, and you'll be in the thick of it all. You're a lucky fellow! It's only a few months since you had the most splendid piece of good fortune sent you straight from heaven. A fair lady falls in love with you and makes you carry her off from the convent of La Raquette. But why do you never let anyone catch a glimpse of her? Are you jealous? Or is it that she is no such beauty, after all, but old and wrinkled, like that knave of a Mazarin?" "I know what I'm about," answered de Jars, smiling; "I have my very good reasons. The elopement caused a great deal of indignation, and it's not easy to get fanatics to listen to common sense. No, I am not in the least jealous; she is madly in love with me. Ask my nephew." "Does he know her?" "We have no secrets from each other; the confidence between us is without a flaw. The fair one, believe me, is good to look on, and is worth all the ogling, fan-flirting baggages put together that one sees at court or on the balconies of the Palais Roy: ah! I'll answer for that. Isn't she, Moranges?" "I'm quite of your opinion," said the youth; exchanging with de jars a singularly significant look; "and you had better treat her well, uncle, or I shall play you some trick." "Ah! ah!" cried Jeannin. "You poor fellow! I very much fear that you are warming a little serpent in your bosom. Have an eye to this dandy with the beardless chin! But joking apart, my boy, are you really on good terms with the fair lady?" "Certainly I am." "And you are not uneasy, commander?" "Not the least little bit." "He is quite right. I answer for her as for my self, you know; as long as he loves her she will love him; as long as he is faithful she will be faithful. Do you imagine that a woman who insists on her lover carrying her off can so easily turn away from the man of her choice? I know her well; I have had long talks with her, she and I alone: she is feather-brained, given to pleasure, entirely without prejudices and those stupid scruples which spoil the lives of other women; but a good sort on the whole; devoted to my uncle, with no deception about her; but at the same time extremely jealous, and has no notion of letting herself be sacrificed to a rival. If ever she finds herself deceived, good-bye to prudence and reserve, and then--" A look and a touch of the commander's knee cut this panegyric short, to which the treasurer was listening with open-eyed astonishment. "What enthusiasm!" he exclaimed. "Well, and then----" "Why, then," went on the young man, with a laugh, "if my uncle behaves badly, I, his nephew, will try to make up for his wrong-doing: he can't blame me then. But until then he may be quite easy, as he well knows." "Oh yes, and in proof of that I am going to take Moranges with me to-night. He is young and inexperienced, and it will be a good lesson for him to see how a gallant whose amorous intrigues did not begin yesterday sets about getting even with a coquette. He can turn it to account later on. "On my word," said Jeannin, "my notion is that he is in no great need of a teacher; however, that's your business, not mine. Let us return to what we were talking about just now. Are we agreed; and shall we amuse ourselves by paying out the lady in, her own coin?" "If you like." "Which of us is to begin?" De Jars struck the table with the handle of his dagger. "More wine, gentlemen?" said the drawer, running up. "No, dice; and be quick about it." "Three casts each and the highest wins," said Jeannin. "You begin." "I throw for myself and nephew." The dice rolled on the table. "Ace and three." "It's my turn now. Six and five." "Pass it over. Five and two." "We're equal. Four and two." "Now let me. Ace and blank." "Double six." "You have won." "And I'm off at once," said Jeannin, rising, and muffling himself in his mantle, "It's now half-past seven. We shall see each other again at eight, so I won't say good-bye." "Good luck to you!" Leaving the tavern and turning into the rue Pavee, he took the direction of the river. CHAPTER II In 1658, at the corner of the streets Git-le-Coeur and Le Hurepoix (the site of the latter being now occupied by the Quai des Augustins as far as Pont Saint-Michel), stood the great mansion which Francis I had bought and fitted up for the Duchesse d'Etampes. It was at this period if not in ruins at least beginning to show the ravages of time. Its rich interior decorations had lost their splendour and become antiquated. Fashion had taken up its abode in the Marais, near the Place Royale, and it was thither that profligate women and celebrated beauties now enticed the humming swarm of old rakes and young libertines. Not one of them all would have thought of residing in the mansion, or even in the quarter, wherein the king's mistress had once dwelt. It would have been a step downward in the social scale, and equivalent to a confession that their charms were falling in the public estimation. Still, the old palace was not empty; it had, on the contrary, several tenants. Like the provinces of Alexander's empire, its vast suites of rooms had been subdivided; and so neglected was it by the gay world that people of the commonest description strutted about with impunity where once the proudest nobles had been glad to gain admittance. There in semi-isolation and despoiled of her greatness lived Angelique-Louise de Guerchi, formerly companion to Mademoiselle de Pons and then maid of honour to Anne of Austria. Her love intrigues and the scandals they gave rise to had led to her dismissal from court. Not that she was a greater sinner than many who remained behind, only she was unlucky enough or stupid enough to be found out. Her admirers were so indiscreet that they had not left her a shred of reputation, and in a court where a cardinal is the lover of a queen, a hypocritical appearance of decorum is indispensable to success. So Angelique had to suffer for the faults she was not clever enough to hide. Unfortunately for her, her income went up and down with the number and wealth of her admirers, so when she left the court all her possessions consisted of a few articles she had gathered together out of the wreck of her former luxury, and these she was now selling one by one to procure the necessaries of life, while she looked back from afar with an envious eye at the brilliant world from which she had been exiled, and longed for better days. All hope was not at an end for her. By a strange law which does not speak well for human nature, vice finds success easier to attain than virtue. There is no courtesan, no matter how low she has fallen, who cannot find a dupe ready to defend against the world an honour of which no vestige remains. A man who doubts the virtue of the most virtuous woman, who shows himself inexorably severe when he discovers the lightest inclination to falter in one whose conduct has hitherto been above reproach, will stoop and pick up out of the gutter a blighted and tarnished reputation and protect and defend it against all slights, and devote his life to the attempt to restore lustre to the unclean thing dulled by the touch of many fingers. In her days of prosperity Commander de Jars and the king's treasurer had both fluttered round Mademoiselle de Guerchi, and neither had fluttered in vain. Short as was the period necessary to overcome her scruples, in as short a period it dawned on the two candidates for her favour that each had a successful rival in the other, and that however potent as a reason for surrender the doubloons of the treasurer had been, the personal appearance of the commander had proved equally cogent. As both had felt for her only a passing fancy and not a serious passion, their explanations with each other led to no quarrel between them; silently and simultaneously they withdrew from her circle, without even letting her know they had found her out, but quite determined to revenge, themselves on her should a chance ever offer. However, other affairs of a similar nature had intervened to prevent their carrying out this laudable intention; Jeannin had laid siege to a more inaccessible beauty, who had refused to listen to his sighs for less than 30 crowns, paid in advance, and de Jars had become quite absorbed by his adventure with the convent boarder at La Raquette, and the business of that young stranger whom he passed off as his nephew. Mademoiselle de Guerchi had never seen them again; and with her it was out of sight out of mind. At the moment when she comes into our story she was weaving her toils round a certain Duc de Vitry, whom she had seen at court, but whose acquaintance she had never made, and who had been absent when the scandalous occurrence which led to her disgrace came to light. He was a man of from twenty-five to twenty-six years of age, who idled his life away: his courage was undoubted, and being as credulous as an old libertine, he was ready to draw his sword at any moment to defend the lady whose cause he had espoused, should any insolent slanderer dare to hint there was a smirch on her virtue. Being deaf to all reports, he seemed one of those men expressly framed by heaven to be the consolation of fallen women; such a man as in our times a retired opera-dancer or a superannuated professional beauty would welcome with open arms. He had only one fault--he was married. It is true he neglected his wife, according to the custom of the time, and it is probably also true that his wife cared very little about his infidelities. But still she was an insurmountable obstacle to the fulfilment of Mademoiselle de Guerchi's hopes, who but for her might have looked forward to one day becoming a duchess. For about three weeks, however, at the time we are speaking of, the duke had neither crossed her threshold nor written. He had told her he was going for a few days to Normandy, where he had large estates, but had remained absent so long after the date he had fixed for his return that she began to feel uneasy. What could be keeping him? Some new flame, perhaps. The anxiety of the lady was all the more keen, that until now nothing had passed between them but looks of languor and words of love. The duke had laid himself and all he possessed at the feet of Angelique, and Angelique had refused his offer. A too prompt surrender would have justified the reports so wickedly spread against her; and, made wise by experience, she was resolved not to compromise her future as she had compromised her past. But while playing at virtue she had also to play at disinterestedness, and her pecuniary resources were consequently almost exhausted. She had proportioned the length of her resistance to the length of her purse, and now the prolonged absence of her lover threatened to disturb the equilibrium which she had established between her virtue and her money. So it happened that the cause of the lovelorn Duc de Vitry was in great peril just at the moment when de Jars and Jeannin resolved to approach the fair one anew. She was sitting lost in thought, pondering in all good faith on the small profit it was to a woman to be virtuous, when she heard voices in the antechamber. Then her door opened, and the king's treasurer walked in. As this interview and those which follow took place in the presence of witnesses, we are obliged to ask the reader to accompany us for a time to another part of the same house. We have said there were several tenants: now the person who occupied the rooms next to those in which Mademoiselle de Guerchi lived was a shopkeeper's widow called Rapally, who was owner of one of the thirty-two houses which then occupied the bridge Saint-Michel. They had all been constructed at the owner's cost, in return for a lease for ever. The widow Rapally's avowed age was forty, but those who knew her longest added another ten years to that: so, to avoid error, let us say she was forty-five. She was a solid little body, rather stouter than was necessary for beauty; her hair was black, her complexion brown, her eyes prominent and always moving; lively, active, and if one once yielded to her whims, exacting beyond measure; but until then buxom and soft, and inclined to pet and spoil whoever, for the moment, had arrested her volatile fancy. Just as we make her acquaintance this happy individual was a certain Maitre Quennebert, a notary of Saint Denis, and the comedy played between him and the widow was an exact counterpart of the one going on in the rooms of Mademoiselle de Guerchi, except that the roles were inverted; for while the lady was as much in love as the Duc de Vitry, the answering devotion professed by the notary was as insincere as the disinterested attachment to her lover displayed by the whilom maid of honour. Maitre Quennebert was still young and of attractive appearance, but his business affairs were in a bad way. For long he had been pretending not to understand the marked advances of the widow, and he treated her with a reserve and respect she would fain have dispensed with, and which sometimes made her doubt of his love. But it was impossible for her as a woman to complain, so she was forced to accept with resignation the persistent and unwelcome consideration with which he surrounded her. Maitre Quennebert was a man of common sense and much experience, and had formed a scheme which he was prevented from carrying out by an obstacle which he had no power to remove. He wanted, therefore, to gain time, for he knew that the day he gave the susceptible widow a legal right over him he would lose his independence. A lover to whose prayers the adored one remains deaf too long is apt to draw back in discouragement, but a woman whose part is restricted to awaiting those prayers, and answering with a yes or no, necessarily learns patience. Maitre Quennebert would therefore have felt no anxiety as to the effect of his dilatoriness on the widow, were it not for the existence of a distant cousin of the late Monsieur Rapally, who was also paying court to her, and that with a warmth much greater than had hitherto been displayed by himself. This fact, in view of the state of the notary's affairs, forced him at last to display more energy. To make up lost ground and to outdistance his rival once more, he now began to dazzle the widow with fine phrases and delight her with compliments; but to tell the truth all this trouble was superfluous; he was beloved, and with one fond look he might have won pardon for far greater neglect. An hour before the treasurer's arrival there had been a knock at the door of the old house, and Maitre Quennebert, curled, pomaded, and prepared for conquest, had presented himself at the widow's. She received him with a more languishing air than usual, and shot such arrows at him froth her eyes that to escape a fatal wound he pretended to give way by degrees to deep sadness. The widow, becoming alarmed, asked with tenderness-- "What ails you this evening?" He rose, feeling he had nothing to fear from his rival, and, being master of the field, might henceforth advance or recede as seemed best for his interests. "What ails me?" he repeated, with a deep sigh. "I might deceive you, might give you a misleading answer, but to you I cannot lie. I am in great trouble, and how to get out of it I don't know." "But tell me what it is," said the widow, standing up in her turn. Maitre Quennebert took three long strides, which brought him to the far end of the room, and asked-- "Why do you want to know? You can't help me. My trouble is of a kind a man does not generally confide to women." "What is it? An affair of honour? "Yes." "Good God! You are going to fight!" she exclaimed, trying to seize him by the arm. "You are going to fight!" "Ah! if it were nothing worse than that!" said Quennebert, pacing up and down the room: "but you need not be alarmed; it is only a money trouble. I lent a large sum, a few months ago, to a friend, but the knave has run away and left me in the lurch. It was trust money, and must be replaced within three days. But where am I to get two thousand francs?" "Yes, that is a large sum, and not easy to raise at such short notice." "I shall be obliged to have recourse to some Jew, who will drain me dry. But I must save my good name at all costs." Madame Rapally gazed at him in consternation. Maitre Quennebert, divining her thought, hastened to add-- "I have just one-third of what is needed." "Only one-third?" "With great care, and by scraping together all I possess, I can make up eight hundred livres. But may I be damned in the next world, or punished as a swindler in this, and one's as bad as the other to me, if I can raise one farthing more." "But suppose someone should lend you the twelve hundred francs, what then?" "Pardieu! I should accept them," cried the notary as if he had not the least suspicion whom she could mean. "Do you happen to know anyone, my dear Madame Rapally?" The widow nodded affirmatively, at the same time giving him a passionate glance. "Tell me quick the name of this delightful person, and I shall go to him to-morrow morning. You don't know what a service you are rendering me. And I was so near not telling you of the fix I was in, lest you should torment yourself uselessly. Tell me his name." "Can you not guess it?" "How should I guess it?" "Think well. Does no one occur to you?" "No, no one," said Quennebert, with the utmost innocence. "Have you no friends?" "One or two." "Would they not be glad to help you?" "They might. But I have mentioned the matter to no one." "To no one?" "Except you." "Well?" "Well, Madame Rapally--I hope I don't understand you; it's not possible; you would not humiliate me. Come, come, it's a riddle, and I am too stupid to solve it. I give it up. Don't tantalise me any longer; tell me the name." The widow, somewhat abashed by this exhibition of delicacy on the part of Maitre Quennebert, blushed, cast down her eyes, and did not venture to speak. As the silence lasted some time, it occurred to the notary that he had been perhaps too hasty in his supposition, and he began to cast round for the best means of retrieving his blunder. "You do not speak," he said; "I see it was all a joke." "No," said the widow at last in a timid voice, "it was no joke; I was quite in earnest. But the way you take things is not very encouraging." "What do you mean?" "Pray, do you imagine that I can go on while you glare at me with that angry frown puckering your forehead, as if you had someone before you who had tried to insult you?" A sweet smile chased the frown from the notary's brow. Encouraged by the suspension of hostilities, Madame Rapally with sudden boldness approached him, and, pressing one of his hands in both her own, whispered-- "It is I who am going to lend you the money." He repulsed her gently, but with an air of great dignity, and said-- "Madame, I thank you, but I cannot accept." "Why can't you?" At this he began to walk round and round the room, while the widow, who stood in the middle, turned as upon a pivot, keeping him always in view. This circus-ring performance lasted some minutes before Quennebert stood still and said-- "I cannot be angry with you, Madame Rapally, I know your offer was made out of the kindness of your heart,--but I must repeat that it is impossible for me to accept it." "There you go again! I don't understand you at all! Why can't you accept? What harm would it do?" "If there were no other reason, because people might suspect that I confided my difficulties to you in the hope of help." "And supposing you did, what then? People speak hoping to be understood. You wouldn't have minded asking anyone else." "So you really think I did come in that hope?" "Mon Dieu! I don't think anything at all that you don't want. It was I who dragged the confidence from you by my questions, I know that very well. But now that you have told me your secret, how can you hinder me from sympathising with you, from desiring to aid you? When I learned your difficulty, ought I to have been amused, and gone into fits of laughter? What! it's an insult to be in a position to render you a service! That's a strange kind of delicacy!" "Are you astonished that I should feel so strongly about it?" "Nonsense! Do you still think I meant to offend you? I look on you as the most honourable man in the world. If anyone were to tell me that he had seen you commit a base action, I should reply that it was a lie. Does that satisfy you?" "But suppose they got hold of it in the city, suppose it were reported that Maitre Quennebert had taken money from Madame de Rapally, would it be the same as if they said Maitre Quennebert had borrowed twelve hundred livres from Monsieur Robert or some other business man?" "I don't see what difference it could make." "But I do." "What then?" "It's not easy to express, but----" "But you exaggerate both the service and the gratitude you ought to feel. I think I know why you refuse. You're ashamed to take it as a gift, aren't you." "Yes, I am." "Well, I'm not going to make you a gift. Borrow twelve hundred livres from me. For how long do you want the money?" "I really don't know how soon I can repay you." "Let's say a year, and reckon the interest. Sit down there, you baby, and write out a promissory note." Maitre Quennebert made some further show of resistance, but at last yielded to the widow's importunity. It is needless to say that the whole thing was a comedy on his part, except that he really needed the money. But he did not need it to replace a sum of which a faithless friend had robbed him, but to satisfy his own creditors, who, out of all patience with him, were threatening to sue him, and his only reason for seeking out Madame de Rapally was to take advantage of her generous disposition towards himself. His feigned delicacy was intended to induce her to insist so urgently, that in accepting he should not fall too much in her esteem, but should seem to yield to force. And his plan met with complete success, for at the end of the transaction he stood higher than ever in the opinion of his fair creditor, on account of the noble sentiments he had expressed. The note was written out in legal form and the money counted down on the spot. "How glad I am!" said she then, while Quennebert still kept up some pretence of delicate embarrassment, although he could not resist casting a stolen look at the bag of crowns lying on the table beside his cloak. "Do you intend to go back to Saint Denis to-night?" Even had such been his intention, the notary would have taken very good care not to say so; for he foresaw the accusations of imprudence that would follow, the enumeration of the dangers by the way; and it was quite on the cards even that, having thus aroused his fears, his fair hostess should in deference to them offer him hospitality for the night, and he did not feel inclined for an indefinitely prolonged tete-a-tete. "No;" he said, "I am going to sleep at Maitre Terrasson's, rue des Poitevins; I have sent him word to expect me. But although his house is only a few yards distant, I must leave you earlier than I could have wished, on account of this money." "Will you think of me?" "How can you ask?" replied Quennebert, with a sentimental expression. "You have compelled me to accept the money, but--I shall not be happy till I have repaid you. Suppose this loan should make us fall out?" "You may be quite sure that if you don't pay when the bill falls due, I shall have recourse to the law." "Oh, I know that very well." "I shall enforce all my rights as a creditor." "I expect nothing else." "I shall show no pity." And the widow gave a saucy laugh and shook her finger at him. "Madame Rapally," said the notary, who was most anxious to bring this conversation to an end, dreading every moment that it would take a languishing tone,-"Madame Rapally, will you add to your goodness by granting me one more favour?" "What is it?" "The gratitude that is simulated is not difficult to bear, but genuine, sincere gratitude, such as I feel, is a heavy burden, as I can assure you. It is much easier to give than to receive. Promise me, then, that from now till the year is up there shall be no more reference between us to this money, and that we shall go on being good friends as before. Leave it to me to make arrangements to acquit myself honourably of my obligations towards you. I need say no more; till a year's up, mum's the word." "It shall be as you desire, Maitre Quennebert," answered Madame Rapally, her eyes shining with delight. "It was never my intention to lay you under embarrassing obligations, and I leave it all to you. Do you know that I am beginning to believe in presentiments?" "You becoming superstitious! Why, may I ask?" "I refused to do a nice little piece of ready-money business this morning." "Did you?" "Yes, because I had a sort of feeling that made me resist all temptation to leave myself without cash. Imagine! I received a visit to-day from a great lady who lives in this house--in the suite of apartments next to mine." "What is her name?" "Mademoiselle de Guerchi." "And what did she want with you?" "She called in order to ask me to buy, for four hundred livres, some of her jewels which are well worth six hundred, for I understand such things; or should I prefer it to lend her that sum and keep the jewels as security? It appears that mademoiselle is in great straits. De Guerchi--do you know the name?" "I think I have heard it." "They say she has had a stormy past, and has been greatly talked of; but then half of what one hears is lies. Since she came to live here she has been very quiet. No visitors except one--a nobleman, a duke--wait a moment! What's his name? The Duc-Duc de Vitry; and for over three weeks even he hasn't been near her. I imagine from this absence that they have fallen out, and that she is beginning to feel the want of money." "You seem to be intimately acquainted with this young woman's affairs." "Indeed I am, and yet I never spoke to her till this morning." "How did you get your information, then?" "By chance. The room adjoining this and one of those she occupies were formerly one large room, which is now divided into two by a partition wall covered with tapestry; but in the two corners the plaster has crumbled away with time, and one can see into the room through slits in the tapestry without being seen oneself. Are you inquisitive?" "Not more than you, Madame Rapally." "Come with me. Someone knocked at the street door a few moments ago; there's no one else in the douse likely to have visitors at this hour. Perhaps her admirer has come back." "If so, we are going to witness a scene of recrimination or reconciliation. How delightful!" Although he was not leaving the widow's lodgings, Maitre Quennebert took up his hat and cloak and the blessed bag of crown pieces, and followed Madame Rapally on tiptoe, who on her side moved as slowly as a tortoise and as lightly as she could. They succeeded in turning the handle of the door into the next room without making much noise. "'Sh!" breathed the widow softly; "listen, they are speaking." She pointed to the place where he would find a peep-hole in one corner of the room, and crept herself towards the corresponding corner. Quennebert, who was by no means anxious to have her at his side, motioned to her to blow out the light. This being done, he felt secure, for he knew that in the intense darkness which now enveloped them she could not move from her place without knocking against the furniture between them, so he glued his face to the partition. An opening just large enough for one eye allowed him to see everything that was going on in the next room. Just as he began his observations, the treasurer at Mademoiselle de Guerchi's invitation was about to take a seat near her, but not too near for perfect respect. Both of them were silent, and appeared to labour under great embarrassment at finding themselves together, and explanations did not readily begin. The lady had not an idea of the motive of the visit, and her quondam lover feigned the emotion necessary to the success of his undertaking. Thus Maitre Quennebert had full time to examine both, and especially Angelique. The reader will doubtless desire to know what was the result of the notary's observation. CHAPTER III ANGELIQUE-LOUISE DE GUERCHI was a woman of about twenty-eight years of age, tall, dark, and well made. The loose life she had led had, it is true, somewhat staled her beauty, marred the delicacy of her complexion, and coarsened the naturally elegant curves of her figure; but it is such women who from time immemorial have had the strongest attraction for profligate men. It seems as if dissipation destroyed the power to perceive true beauty, and the man of pleasure must be aroused to admiration by a bold glance and a meaning smile, and will only seek satisfaction along the trail left by vice. Louise-Angelique was admirably adapted for her way of life; not that her features wore an expression of shameless effrontery, or that the words that passed her lips bore habitual testimony to the disorders of her existence, but that under a calm and sedate demeanour there lurked a secret and indefinable charm. Many other women possessed more regular features, but none of them had a greater power of seduction. We must add that she owed that power entirely to her physical perfections, for except in regard to the devices necessary to her calling, she showed no cleverness, being ignorant, dull and without inner resources of any kind. As her temperament led her to share the desires she excited, she was really incapable of resisting an attack conducted with skill and ardour, and if the Duc de Vitry had not been so madly in love, which is the same as saying that he was hopelessly blind, silly, and dense to everything around him, he might have found a score of opportunities to overcome her resistance. We have already seen that she was so straitened in money matters that she had been driven to try to sell her jewels that very, morning. Jeannin was the first to 'break silence. "You are astonished at my visit, I know, my charming Angelique. But you must excuse my thus appearing so unexpectedly before you. The truth is, I found it impossible to leave Paris without seeing you once more." "Thank you for your kind remembrance," said she, "but I did not at all expect it." "Come, come, you are offended with me." She gave him a glance of mingled disdain and resentment; but he went on, in a timid, wistful tone-- "I know that my conduct must have seemed strange to you, and I acknowledge that nothing can justify a man for suddenly leaving the woman he loves--I do not dare to say the woman who loves him--without a word of explanation. But, dear Angelique, I was jealous." "Jealous!" she repeated incredulously. "I tried my best to overcome the feeling, and I hid my suspicions from you. Twenty times I came to see you bursting with anger and determined to overwhelm you with reproaches, but at the sight of your beauty I forgot everything but that I loved you. My suspicions dissolved before a smile; one word from your lips charmed me into happiness. But when I was again alone my terrors revived, I saw my rivals at your feet, and rage possessed me once more. Ah! you never knew how devotedly I loved you." She let him speak without interruption; perhaps the same thought was in her mind as in Quennebert's, who, himself a past master in the art of lying; was thinking-- "The man does not believe a word of what he is saying." But the treasurer went on-- "I can see that even now you doubt my sincerity." "Does my lord desire that his handmaiden should be blunt? Well, I know that there is no truth in what you say." "Oh! I can see that you imagine that among the distractions of the world I have kept no memory of you, and have found consolation in the love of less obdurate fair ones. I have not broken in on your retirement; I have not shadowed your steps; I have not kept watch on your actions; I have not surrounded you with spies who would perhaps have brought me the assurance, 'If she quitted the world which outraged her, she was not driven forth by an impulse of wounded pride or noble indignation; she did not even seek to punish those who misunderstood her by her absence; she buried herself where she was unknown, that she might indulge in stolen loves.' Such were the thoughts that came to me, and yet I respected your hiding-place; and to-day I am ready to believe you true, if you will merely say, 'I love no one else!'" Jeannin, who was as fat as a stage financier, paused here to gasp; for the utterance of this string of banalities, this rigmarole of commonplaces, had left him breathless. He was very much dissatisfied with his performance; and ready to curse his barren imagination. He longed to hit upon swelling phrases and natural and touching gestures, but in vain. He could only look at Mademoiselle de Guerchi with a miserable, heart-broken air. She remained quietly seated, with the same expression of incredulity on her features. So there was nothing for it but to go on once more. "But this one assurance that I ask you will not give. So what I have--been told is true: you have given your love to him." She could not check a startled movement. "You see it is only when I speak of him that I can overcome in you the insensibility which is killing me. My suspicions were true after all: you deceived me for his sake. Oh! the instinctive feeling of jealousy was right which forced me to quarrel with that man, to reject the perfidious friendship which he tried to force upon me. He has returned to town, and we shall meet! But why do I say 'returned'? Perhaps he only pretended to go away, and safe in this retreat has flouted with impunity, my despair and braved my vengeance!" Up to this the lady had played a waiting game, but now she grew quite confused, trying to discover the thread of the treasurer's thoughts. To whom did he refer? The Duc de Vitry? That had been her first impression. But the duke had only been acquainted with her for a few months--since she had--left Court. He could not therefore have excited the jealousy of her whilom lover; and if it were not he, to whom did the words about rejecting "perfidious friendship," and "returned to town," and so on, apply? Jeannin divined her embarrassment, and was not a little proud of the tactics which would, he was almost sure; force her to expose herself. For there are certain women who can be thrown into cruel perplexity by speaking to them of their love-passages without affixing a proper name label to each. They are placed as it were on the edge of an abyss, and forced to feel their way in darkness. To say "You have loved" almost obliges them to ask, "Whom?" Nevertheless, this was not the word uttered by Mademoiselle de Guerchi while she ran through in her head a list of possibilities. Her answer was-- "Your language astonishes me; I don't understand what you mean." The ice was broken, and the treasurer made a plunge. Seizing one of Angelique's hands, he asked-- "Have you never seen Commander de Jars since then?" "Commander de Jars!" exclaimed Angelique. "Can you swear to me, Angelique, that you love him not?" "Mon Dieu! What put it into your head that I ever cared for him? It's over four months since I saw him last, and I hadn't an idea whether he was alive or dead. So he has been out of town? That's the first I heard of it." "My fortune is yours, Angelique! Oh! assure me once again that you do not love him--that you never loved him!" he pleaded in a faltering voice, fixing a look of painful anxiety upon her. He had no intention of putting her out of countenance by the course he took; he knew quite well that a woman like Angelique is never more at her ease than when she has a chance of telling an untruth of this nature. Besides, he had prefaced this appeal by the magic words, "My fortune' is yours!" and the hope thus aroused was well worth a perjury. So she answered boldly and in a steady voice, while she looked straight into his eyes-- "Never!" "I believe you!" exclaimed Jeannin, going down on his knees and covering with his kisses the hand he still held. "I can taste happiness again. Listen, Angelique. I am leaving Paris; my mother is dead, and I am going back to Spain. Will you follow me thither?" "I---follow you?" "I hesitated long before finding you out, so much did I fear a repulse. I set out to-morrow. Quit Paris, leave the world which has slandered you, and come with me. In a fortnight we shall be man and wife." "You are not in earnest!" "May I expire at your feet if I am not! Do you want me to sign the oath with my blood?" "Rise," she said in a broken voice. "Have I at last found a man to love me and compensate me for all the abuse that has been showered on my head? A thousand times I thank you, not for what you are doing for me, but for the balm you pour on my wounded spirit. Even if you were to say to me now, 'After all, I am obliged to give you up' the pleasure of knowing you esteem me would make up for all the rest. It would be another happy memory to treasure along with my memory of our love, which was ineffaceable, although you so ungratefully suspected me of having deceived you." The treasurer appeared fairly intoxicated with joy. He indulged in a thousand ridiculous extravagances and exaggerations, and declared himself the happiest of men. Mademoiselle de Guerchi, who was desirous of being prepared for every peril, asked him in a coaxing tone-- "Who can have put it into your head to be jealous of the commander? Has he been base enough to boast that I ever gave him my love?" "No, he never said anything about you; but someway I was afraid." She renewed her assurances. The conversation continued some time in a sentimental tone. A thousand oaths, a thousand protestations of love were, exchanged. Jeannin feared that the suddenness of their journey would inconvenience his mistress, and offered to put it off for some days; but to this she would not consent, and it was arranged that the next day at noon a carriage should call at the house and take Angelique out of town to an appointed place at which the treasurer was to join her. Maitre Quennebert, eye and ear on the alert, had not lost a word of this conversation, and the last proposition of the treasurer changed his ideas. "Pardieu!" he said to himself, "it looks as if this good man were really going to let himself be taken in and done for. It is singular how very clear-sighted we can be about things that don't touch us. This poor fly is going to let himself be caught by a very clever spider, or I'm much mistaken. Very likely my widow is quite of my opinion, and yet in what concerns herself she will remain stone-blind. Well, such is life! We have only two parts to choose between: we must be either knave or fool. What's Madame Rapally doing, I wonder?" At this moment he heard a stifled whisper from the opposite corner of the room, but, protected by the distance and the darkness, he let the widow murmur on, and applied his eye once more to his peephole. What he saw confirmed his opinion. The damsel was springing up and down, laughing, gesticulating, and congratulating herself on her unexpected good fortune. "Just imagine! He loves me like that!" she was saying to herself. "Poor Jeannin! When I remember how I used to hesitate. How fortunate that Commander de Jars, one of the most vain and indiscreet of men, never babbled about me! Yes, we must leave town to-morrow without fail. I must not give him time to be enlightened by a chance word. But the Duc de Vitry? I am really sorry for him. However, why did he go away, and send no word? And then, he's a married man. Ah! if I could only get back again to court some day!... Who would ever have expected such a thing? Good God! I must keep talking to myself, to be sure I'm not dreaming. Yes, he was there, just now, at my feet, saying to me, 'Angelique, you are going to become my wife.' One thing is sure, he may safely entrust his honour to my care. It would be infamous to betray a man who loves me as he does, who will give me his name. Never, no, never will I give him cause to reproach me! I would rather----" A loud and confused noise on the stairs interrupted this soliloquy. At one moment bursts of laughter were heard, and the next angry voices. Then a loud exclamation, followed by a short silence. Being alarmed at this disturbance in a house which was usually so quiet, Mademoiselle de Guerchi approached the door of her room, intending either to call for protection or to lock herself in, when suddenly it was violently pushed open. She recoiled with fright, exclaiming-- "Commander de Jars!" "On my word!" said Quennebert behind the arras, "'tis as amusing as a play! Is the commander also going to offer to make an honest woman of her? But what do I see?" He had just caught sight of the young man on whom de Jars had bestowed the title and name of Chevalier de Moranges, and whose acquaintance the reader has already made at the tavern in the rue Saint-Andre-des-Arts. His appearance had as great an effect on the notary as a thunderbolt. He stood motionless, trembling, breathless; his knees ready to give way beneath him; everything black before his eyes. However, he soon pulled himself together, and succeeded in overcoming the effects of his surprise and terror. He looked once more through the hole in the partition, and became so absorbed that no one in the whole world could have got a word from him just then; the devil himself might have shrieked into his ears unheeded, and a naked sword suspended over his head would not have induced him to change his place. CHAPTER IV Before Mademoiselle de Guerchi had recovered from her fright the commander spoke. "As I am a gentleman, my beauty, if you were the Abbess of Montmartre, you could not be more difficult of access. I met a blackguard on the stairs who tried to stop me, and whom I was obliged to thrash soundly. Is what they told me on my return true? Are you really doing penance, and do you intend to take the veil?" "Sir," answered Angelique, with great dignity, "whatever may be my plans, I have a right to be surprised at your violence and at your intrusion at such an hour." "Before we go any farther," said de Jars, twirling round on his heels, "allow me to present to you my nephew, the Chevalier de Moranges." "Chevalier de Moranges!" muttered Quennebert, on whose memory in that instant the name became indelibly engraven. "A young man," continued the commander, "who has come back with me from abroad. Good style, as you see, charming appearance. Now, you young innocent, lift up your great black eyes and kiss madame's hand; I allow it." "Monsieur le commandeur, leave my room; begone, or I shall call----" "Whom, then? Your lackeys? But I have beaten the only one you keep, as I told you, and it will be some time before he'll be in a condition to light me downstairs: 'Begone,' indeed! Is that the way you receive an old friend? Pray be seated, chevalier." He approached Mademoiselle de Guerchi, and, despite her resistance, seized hold of one of her hands, and forcing her to sit down, seated himself beside her. "That's right, my girl," said he; "now let us talk sense. I understand that before a stranger you consider yourself obliged to appear astonished at my ways of going on. But he knows all about us, and nothing he may see or hear will surprise him. So a truce to prudery! I came back yesterday, but I could not make out your hiding-place till to-day. Now I'm not going to ask you to tell me how you have gone on in my absence. God and you alone know, and while He will tell me nothing, you would only tell me fibs, and I want to save you from that venial sin at least. But here I am, in as good spirits as ever, more in love than ever, and quite ready to resume my old habits." Meantime the lady, quite subdued by his noisy entrance and ruffianly conduct, and seeing that an assumption of dignity would only draw down on her some fresh impertinence, appeared to resign herself to her position. All this time Quennebert never took his eyes from the chevalier, who sat with his face towards the partition. His elegantly cut costume accentuated his personal advantages. His jet black hair brought into relief the whiteness of his forehead; his large dark eyes with their veined lids and silky lashes had a penetrating and peculiar expression--a mixture of audacity and weakness; his thin and somewhat pale lips were apt to curl in an ironical smile; his hands were of perfect beauty, his feet of dainty smallness, and he showed with an affectation of complaisance a well-turned leg above his ample boots, the turned down tops of which, garnished with lace, fell in irregular folds aver his ankles in the latest fashion. He did not appear to be more than eighteen years of age, and nature had denied his charming face the distinctive sign of his sex for not the slightest down was visible on his chin, though a little delicate pencilling darkened his upper lip: His slightly effeminate style of beauty, the graceful curves of his figure, his expression, sometimes coaxing, sometimes saucy, reminding one of a page, gave him the appearance of a charming young scapegrace destined to inspire sudden passions and wayward fancies. While his pretended uncle was making himself at home most unceremoniously, Quennebert remarked that the chevalier at once began to lay siege to his fair hostess, bestowing tender and love-laden glances on her behind that uncle's back. This redoubled his curiosity. "My dear girl," said the commander, "since I saw you last I have come into a fortune of one hundred thousand livres, neither more nor less. One of my dear aunts took it into her head to depart this life, and her temper being crotchety and spiteful she made me her sole heir, in order to enrage those of her relatives who had nursed her in her illness. One hundred thousand livres! It's a round sum--enough to cut a great figure with for two years. If you like, we shall squander it together, capital and interest. Why do you not speak? Has anyone else robbed me by any chance of your heart? If that were so, I should be in despair, upon my word-for the sake of the fortunate individual who had won your favour; for I will brook no rivals, I give you fair warning." "Monsieur le commandeur," answered Angelique, "you forget, in speaking to me in that manner, I have never given you any right to control my actions." "Have we severed our connection?" At this singular question Angelique started, but de Jars continued-- "When last we parted we were on the best of terms, were we not? I know that some months have elapsed since then, but I have explained to you the reason of my absence. Before filling up the blank left by the departed we must give ourselves space to mourn. Well, was I right in my guess? Have you given me a successor?" Mademoiselle de Guerchi had hitherto succeeded in controlling her indignation, and had tried to force herself to drink the bitter cup of humiliation to the dregs; but now she could bear it no longer. Having thrown a look expressive of her suffering at the young chevalier, who continued to ogle her with great pertinacity, she decided on bursting into tears, and in a voice broken by sobs she exclaimed that she was miserable at being treated in this manner, that she did not deserve it, and that Heaven was punishing her for her error in yielding to the entreaties of the commander. One would have sworn she was sincere and that the words came from her heart. If Maitre Quennebert had not witnessed the scene with Jeannin, if he had not known how frail was the virtue of the weeping damsel, he might have been affected by her touching plaint. The chevalier appeared to be deeply moved by Angelique's grief, and while his, uncle was striding up and down the room and swearing like a trooper, he gradually approached her and expressed by signs the compassion he felt. Meantime the notary was in a strange state of mind. He had not yet made up his mind whether the whole thing was a joke arranged between de Jars and Jeannin or not, but of one thing he was quite convinced, the sympathy which Chevalier de Moranges was expressing by passionate sighs and glances was the merest hypocrisy. Had he been alone, nothing would have prevented his dashing head foremost into this imbroglio, in scorn of consequence, convinced that his appearance would be as terrible in its effect as the head of Medusa. But the presence of the widow restrained him. Why ruin his future and dry up the golden spring which had just begun to gush before his eyes, for the sake of taking part in a melodrama? Prudence and self-interest kept him in the side scenes. The tears of the fair one and the glances of the chevalier awoke no repentance in the breast of the commander; on the contrary, he began to vent his anger in terms still more energetic. He strode up and down the oaken floor till it shook under his spurred heels; he stuck his plumed hat on the side of his head, and displayed the manners of a bully in a Spanish comedy. Suddenly he seemed to have come to a swift resolution: the expression of his face changed from rage to icy coldness, and walking up to Angelique, he said, with a composure more terrible than the wildest fury-- "My rival's name?" "You shall never learn it from me!" "Madame, his name?" "Never! I have borne your insults too long. I am not responsible to you for my actions." "Well, I shall learn it, in spite of you, and I know to whom to apply. Do you think you can play fast and loose with me and my love? No, no! I used to believe in you; I turned, a deaf ear to your traducers. My mad passion for you became known; I was the jest and the butt of the town. But you have opened my eyes, and at last I see clearly on whom my vengeance ought to fall. He was formerly my friend, and I would believe nothing against him; although I was often warned, I took no notice. But now I will seek him out, and say to him, 'You have stolen what was mine; you are a scoundrel! It must be your life, or mine!' And if, there is justice in heaven, I shall kill him! Well, madame, you don't ask me the name of this man! You well know whom I mean!" This threat brought home to Mademoiselle de Guerchi how imminent was her danger. At first she had thought the commander's visit might be a snare laid to test her, but the coarseness of his expressions, the cynicism of his overtures in the presence of a third person, had convinced her she was wrong. No man could have imagined that the revolting method of seduction employed could meet with success, and if the commander had desired to convict her of perfidy he would have come alone and made use of more persuasive weapons. No, he believed he still had claims on her, but even if he had, by his manner of enforcing them he had rendered them void. However, the moment he threatened to seek out a rival whose identity he designated quite clearly, and reveal to him the secret it was so necessary to her interests to keep hidden, the poor girl lost her head. She looked at de Jars with a frightened expression, and said in a trembling voice-- "I don't know whom you mean." "You don't know? Well, I shall commission the king's treasurer, Jeannin de Castille, to come here to-morrow and tell you, an hour before our duel." "Oh no! no! Promise me you will not do that!" cried she, clasping her hands. "Adieu, madame." "Do not leave me thus! I cannot let you go till you give me your promise!" She threw herself on her knees and clung with both her hands to de Jars' cloak, and appealing to Chevalier de Moranges, said-- "You are young, monsieur; I have never done you any harm; protect me, have pity on me, help me to soften him!" "Uncle," said the chevalier in a pleading tone, "be generous, and don't drive this woman to despair." "Prayers are useless!" answered the commander. "What do you want me to do?" said Angelique. "Shall I go into a convent to atone? I am ready to go. Shall I promise never to see him again? For God's sake, give me a little time; put off your vengeance for one single day! To-morrow evening, I swear to you, you will have nothing more to fear from me. I thought myself forgotten by you and abandoned; and how should I think otherwise? You left me without a word of farewell, you stayed away and never sent me a line! And how do you know that I did not weep when you deserted me, leaving me to pass my days in monotonous solitude? How do you know that I did not make every effort to find out why you were so long absent from my side? You say you had left town but how was I to know that? Oh! promise me, if you love me, to give up this duel! Promise me not to seek that man out to-morrow!" The poor creature hoped to work wonders with her eloquence, her tears, her pleading glances. On hearing her prayer for a reprieve of twenty-four hours, swearing that after that she would never see Jeannin again, the commander and the chevalier were obliged to bite their lips to keep from laughing outright. But the former soon regained his self-possession, and while Angelique, still on her knees before him, pressed his hands to her bosom, he forced her to raise her head, and looking straight into her eyes, said-- "To-morrow, madame, if not this evening, he shall know everything, and a meeting shall take place." Then pushing her away, he strode towards the door. "Oh! how unhappy I am!" exclaimed Angelique. She tried to rise and rush after him, but whether she was really overcome by her feelings, or whether she felt the one chance of prevailing left her was to faint, she uttered a heartrending cry, and the chevalier had no choice but to support her sinking form. De Jars, on seeing his nephew staggering under this burden, gave a loud laugh, and hurried away. Two minutes later he was once more at the tavern in the rue Saint-Andre-des-Arts. "How's this? Alone?" said Jeannin. "Alone." "What have you done with the chevalier?" "I left him with our charmer, who was unconscious, overcome with grief, exhausted Ha! ha! ha! She fell fainting into his arms! Ha! ha! ha!" "It's quite possible that the young rogue, being left with her in such a condition, may cut me out." "Do you think so?--Ha! ha! ha!" And de Jars laughed so heartily and so infectiously that his worthy friend was obliged to join in, and laughed till he choked. In the short silence which followed the departure of the commander, Maitre Quennebert could hear the widow still murmuring something, but he was less disposed than ever to attend to her. "On my word," said he, "the scene now going on is more curious than all that went before. I don't think that a man has ever found himself in such a position as mine. Although my interests demand that I remain here and listen, yet my fingers are itching to box the ears of that Chevalier de Moranges. If there were only some way of getting at a proof of all this! Ah! now we shall hear something; the hussy is coming to herself." And indeed Angelique had opened her eyes and was casting wild looks around her; she put her hand to her brow several times, as if trying to recall clearly what had happened. "Is he gone?" she exclaimed at last. "Oh, why did you let him go? You should not have minded me, but kept him here." "Be calm," answered the chevalier, "be calm, for heaven's sake. I shall speak to my uncle and prevent his ruining your prospects. Only don't weep any more, your tears break my heart. Ah, my God! how cruel it is to distress you so! I should never be able to withstand your tears; no matter what reason I had for anger, a look from you would make me forgive you everything." "Noble young man!" said Angelique. "Idiot!" muttered Maitre Quennebert; "swallow the honey of his words, do But how the deuce is it going to end? Not Satan himself ever invented such a situation." "But then I could never believe you guilty without proof, irrefutable proof; and even then a word from you would fill my mind with doubt and uncertainty again. Yes, were the whole world to accuse you and swear to your guilt, I should still believe your simple word. I am young, madam, I have never known love as yet--until an instant ago I had no idea that more quickly than an image can excite the admiration of the eye, a thought can enter the heart and stir it to its depths, and features that one may never again behold leave a lifelong memory behind. But even if a woman of whom I knew absolutely nothing were to appeal to me, exclaiming, 'I implore your help, your protection!' I should, without stopping to consider, place my sword and my arm at her disposal, and devote myself to her service. How much more eagerly would I die for you, madam, whose beauty has ravished my heart! What do you demand of me? Tell me what you desire me to do." "Prevent this duel; don't allow an interview to take place between your uncle and the man whom he mentioned. Tell me you will do this, and I shall be safe; for you have never learned to lie; I know." "Of course he hasn't, you may be sure of that, you simpleton!" muttered Maitre Quennebert in his corner. "If you only knew what a mere novice you are at that game compared with the chevalier! If you only knew whom you had before you!" "At your age," went on Angelique, "one cannot feign--the heart is not yet hardened, and is capable of compassion. But a dreadful idea occurs to me--a horrible suspicion! Is it all a devilish trick--a snare arranged in joke? Tell me that it is not all a pretence! A poor woman encounters so much perfidy. Men amuse themselves by troubling her heart and confusing her mind; they excite her vanity, they compass her round with homage, with flattery, with temptation, and when they grow tired of fooling her, they despise and insult her. Tell me, was this all a preconcerted plan? This love, this jealousy, were they only acted?" "Oh, madame," broke in the chevalier, with an expression of the deepest indignation, "how can you for an instant imagine that a human heart could be so perverted? I am not acquainted with the man whom the commander accused you of loving, but whoever he may be I feel sure that he is worthy of your love, and that he would never have consented to such a dastardly joke. Neither would my uncle; his jealousy mastered him and drove him mad-- "But I am not dependent on him; I am my own master, and can do as I please. I will hinder this duel; I will not allow the illusion and ignorance of him who loves you and, alas that I must say it, whom you love, to be dispelled, for it is in them he finds his happiness. Be happy with him! As for me, I shall never see you again; but the recollection of this meeting, the joy of having served you, will be my consolation." Angelique raised her beautiful eyes, and gave the chevalier a long look which expressed her gratitude more eloquently than words. "May I be hanged!" thought Maitre Quennebert, "if the baggage isn't making eyes at him already! But one who is drowning clutches at a straw." "Enough, madam," said the chevalier; "I understand all you would say. You thank me in his name, and ask me to leave you: I obey-yes, madame, I am going; at the risk of my life I will prevent this meeting, I will stifle this fatal revelation. But grant me one last prayer-permit me to look forward to seeing you once more before I leave this city, to which I wish I had never come. But I shall quit it in a day or two, to-morrow perhaps--as soon as I know that your happiness is assured. Oh! do not refuse my last request; let the light of your eyes shine on me for the last time; after that I shall depart--I shall fly far away for ever. But if perchance, in spite of every effort, I fail, if the commander's jealousy should make him impervious to my entreaties--to my tears, if he whom you love should come and overwhelm you with reproaches and then abandon you, would you drive me from your presence if I should then say, 'I love you'? Answer me, I beseech you." "Go!" said she, "and prove worthy of my gratitude--or my love." Seizing one of her hands, the chevalier covered it with passionate kisses. "Such barefaced impudence surpasses everything I could have imagined!" murmured Quennebert: "fortunately, the play is over for to-night; if it had gone on any longer, I should have done something foolish. The lady hardly imagines what the end of the comedy will be." Neither did Quennebert. It was an evening of adventures. It was written that in the space of two hours Angelique was to run the gamut of all the emotions, experience all the vicissitudes to which a life such as she led is exposed: hope, fear, happiness, mortification, falsehood, love that was no love, intrigue within intrigue, and, to crown all, a totally unexpected conclusion. CHAPTER V The chevalier was still holding Angelique's hand when a step resounded outside, and a voice was heard. "Can it be that he has come back?" exclaimed the damsel, hastily freeing herself from the passionate embrace of the chevalier. "It's not possible! Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! it's his voice!" She grew pale to the lips, and stood staring at the door with outstretched arms, unable to advance or recede. The chevalier listened, but felt sure the approaching voice belonged neither to the commander nor to the treasurer. "'His voice'?" thought Quennebert to himself. "Can this be yet another aspirant to her favour?" The sound came nearer. "Hide yourself!" said Angelique, pointing to a door opposite to the partition behind which the widow and the notary were ensconced. "Hide yourself there!--there's a secret staircase--you can get out that way." "I hide myself!" exclaimed Moranges, with a swaggering air. "What are you thinking of? I remain." It would have been better for him to have followed her advice, as may very well have occurred to the youth two minutes later, as a tall, muscular young man entered in a state of intense excitement. Angelique rushed to meet him, crying-- "Ah! Monsieur le duc, is it you?" "What is this I hear, Angelique?" said the Duc de Vitry. "I was told below that three men had visited you this evening; but only two have gone out--where is the third? Ha! I do not need long to find him," he added, as he caught sight of the chevalier, who stood his ground bravely enough. "In Heaven's name!" cried Angelique,--"in Heaven's name, listen to me!" "No, no, not a word. Just now I am not questioning you. Who are you, sir?" The chevalier's teasing and bantering disposition made him even at that critical moment insensible to fear, so he retorted insolently-- "Whoever I please to be, sir; and on my word I find the tone in which you put your question delightfully amusing." The duke sprang forward in a rage, laying his hand on his sword. Angelique tried in vain to restrain him. "You want to screen him from my vengeance, you false one!" said he, retreating a few steps, so as to guard the door. "Defend your life, sir!" "Do you defend yours!" Both drew at the same moment. Two shrieks followed, one in the room, the other behind the tapestry, for neither Angelique nor the widow had been able to restrain her alarm as the two swords flashed in air. In fact the latter had been so frightened that she fell heavily to the floor in a faint. This incident probably saved the young man's life; his blood had already begun to run cold at the sight of his adversary foaming with rage and standing between him and the door, when the noise of the fall distracted the duke's attention. "What was that?" he cried. "Are there other enemies concealed here too?" And forgetting that he was leaving a way of escape free, he rushed in the direction from which the sound came, and lunged at the tapestry-covered partition with his sword. Meantime the chevalier, dropping all his airs of bravado, sprang from one end of the room to the other like a cat pursued by a dog; but rapid as were his movements, the duke perceived his flight, and dashed after him at the risk of breaking both his own neck and the chevalier's by a chase through unfamiliar rooms and down stairs which were plunged in darkness. All this took place in a few seconds, like a flash of lightning. Twice, with hardly any interval, the street door opened and shut noisily, and the two enemies were in the street, one pursued and the other pursuing. "My God! Just to think of all that has happened is enough to make one die of fright!" said Mademoiselle de Guerchi. "What will come next, I should like to know? And what shall I say to the duke when he comes back?" Just at this instant a loud cracking sound was heard in the room. Angelique stood still, once more struck with terror, and recollecting the cry she had heard. Her hair, which was already loosened, escaped entirely from its bonds, and she felt it rise on her head as the figures on the tapestry moved and bent towards her. Falling on her knees and closing her eyes, she began to invoke the aid of God and all the saints. But she soon felt herself raised by strong arms, and looking round, she found herself in the presence of an unknown man, who seemed to have issued from the ground or the walls, and who, seizing the only light left unextinguished in the scuffle, dragged her more dead than alive into the next room. This man was, as the reader will have already guessed, Maitre Quennebert. As soon as the chevalier and the duke had disappeared, the notary had run towards the corner where the widow lay, and having made sure that she was really unconscious, and unable to see or hear anything, so that it would be quite safe to tell her any story he pleased next day, he returned to his former position, and applying his shoulder to the partition, easily succeeded in freeing the ends of the rotten laths from the nails which held there, and, pushing them before him, made an aperture large enough to allow of his passing through into the next apartment. He applied himself to this task with such vigour, and became so absorbed in its accomplishment, that he entirely forgot the bag of twelve hundred livres which the widow had given him. "Who are you? What do you want with me?" cried Mademoiselle de Guerchi, struggling to free herself. "Silence!" was Quennebert's answer. "Don't kill me, for pity's sake!" "Who wants to kill you? But be silent; I don't want your shrieks to call people here. I must be alone with you for a few moments. Once more I tell you to be quiet, unless you want me to use violence. If you do what I tell you, no harm shall happen to you." "But who are you, monsieur?" "I am neither a burglar nor a murderer; that's all you need to know; the rest is no concern of yours. Have you writing materials at hand?" "Yes, monsieur; there they are, on that table." "Very well. Now sit down at the table." "Why?" "Sit down, and answer my questions." "The first man who visited you this evening was M. Jeannin, was he not?" "Yes, M. Jeannin de Castille." "The king's treasurer?" "Yes." "All right. The second was Commander de Jars, and the young man he brought with him was his nephew, the Chevalier de Moranges. The last comer was a duke; am I not right?" "The Duc de Vitry." "Now write from my dictation." He spoke very slowly, and Mademoiselle de Guerchi, obeying his commands, took up her pen. "'To-day,'" dictated Quennebert,--"'to-day, this twentieth day of the month of November, in the year of the Lord 1658, I-- "What is your full name?" "Angelique-Louise de Guerchi." "Go on! 'I, Angelique-Louise de Guerchi, was visited, in the rooms which--I occupy, in the mansion of the Duchesse d'Etampes, corner of the streets Git-le-Coeur and du Hurepoix, about half-past seven o'clock in the evening, in the first place, by Messire Jeannin de Castille, King's Treasurer; in the second place, by Commander de Jars, who was accompanied by a young man, his nephew, the Chevalier de Moranges; in the third place, after the departure of Commander de Jars, and while I was alone with the Chevalier de Moranges, by the Duc de Vitry, who drew his sword upon the said chevalier and forced him to take flight.' "Now put in a line by itself, and use capitals 'DESCRIPTION OF THE CHEVALIER DE MORANGES'." "But I only saw him for an instant," said Angelique, "and I can't recall---- "Write, and don't talk. I can recall everything, and that is all that is wanted." "'Height about five feet.' The chevalier," said Quennebert, interrupting himself, "is four feet eleven inches three lines and a half, but I don't need absolute exactness." Angelique gazed at him in utter stupefaction. "Do you know him, then?" she asked. "I saw him this evening for the first time, but my eye is very accurate. "'Height about five feet; hair black, eyes ditto, nose aquiline, mouth large, lips compressed, forehead high, face oval, complexion pale, no beard.' "Now another line, and in capitals: "'SPECIAL MARKS.' "'A small mole on the neck behind the right ear, a smaller mole on the left hand.' "Have you written that? Now sign it with your full name." "What use are you going to make of this paper?" "I should have told you before, if I had desired you to know. Any questions are quite useless. I don't enjoin secrecy on you, however," added the notary, as he folded the paper and put it into his doublet pocket. "You are quite free to tell anyone you like that you have written the description of the Chevalier de Moranges at the dictation of an unknown man, who got into your room you don't know how, by the chimney or through the ceiling perhaps, but who was determined to leave it by a more convenient road. Is there not a secret staircase? Show me where it is. I don't want to meet anyone on my way out." Angelique pointed out a door to him hidden by a damask curtain, and Quennebert saluting her, opened it and disappeared, leaving Angelique convinced that she had seen the devil in person. Not until the next day did the sight of the displaced partition explain the apparition, but even then so great was her fright, so deep was the terror which the recollection of the mysterious man inspired, that despite the permission to tell what had happened she mentioned her adventure to no one, and did not even complain to her neighbour, Madame Rapally, of the inquisitiveness which had led the widow to spy on her actions. CHAPTER VI We left de Jars and Jeannin, roaring with laughter, in the tavern in the rue Saint Andre-des-Arts. "What!" said the treasurer, "do you really think that Angelique thought I was in earnest in my offer?--that she believes in all good faith I intend to marry her?" "You may take my word for it. If it were not so, do you imagine she would have been in such desperation? Would she have fainted at my threat to tell you that I had claims on her as well as you? To get married! Why, that is the goal of all such creatures, and there is not one of them who can understand why a man of honour should blush to give her his name. If you had only seen her terror, her tears! They would have either broken your heart or killed you with laughter." "Well," said Jeannin, "it is getting late. Are we going to wait for the chevalier?" "Let us call, for him." "Very well. Perhaps he has made up his mind to stay. If so, we shall make a horrible scene, cry treachery and perjury, and trounce your nephew well. Let's settle our score and be off." They left the wine-shop, both rather the worse for the wine they had so largely indulged in. They felt the need of the cool night air, so instead of going down the rue Pavee they resolved to follow the rue Saint-Andre-des-Arts as far as the Pont Saint-Michel, so as to reach the mansion by a longer route. At the very moment the commander got up to leave the tavern the chevalier had run out of the mansion at the top of his speed. It was not that he had entirely lost his courage, for had he found it impossible to avoid his assailant it is probable that he would have regained the audacity which had led him to draw his sword. But he was a novice in the use of arms, had not reached full physical development, and felt that the chances were so much against him that he would only have faced the encounter if there were no possible way of escape. On leaving the house he had turned quickly into the rue Git-le-Coeur; but on hearing the door close behind his pursuer he disappeared down the narrow and crooked rue de l'Hirondelle, hoping to throw the Duc de Vitry off the scent. The duke, however, though for a moment in doubt, was guided by the sound of the flying footsteps. The chevalier, still trying to send him off on a false trail, turned to the right, and so regained the upper end of the rue Saint-Andre, and ran along it as far as the church, the site of which is occupied by the square of the same name to-day. Here he thought he would be safe, for, as the church was being restored and enlarged, heaps of stone stood all round the old pile. He glided in among these, and twice heard Vitry searching quite close to him, and each time stood on guard expecting an onslaught. This marching and counter-marching lasted for some minutes; the chevalier began to hope he had escaped the danger, and eagerly waited for the moment when the moon which had broken through the clouds should again withdraw behind them, in order to steal into some of the adjacent streets under cover of the darkness. Suddenly a shadow rose before him and a threatening voice cried-- "Have I caught you at last, you coward?" The danger in which the chevalier stood awoke in him a flickering energy, a feverish courage, and he crossed blades with his assailant. A strange combat ensued, of which the result was quite uncertain, depending entirely on chance; for no science was of any avail on a ground so rough that the combatants stumbled at every step, or struck against immovable masses, which were one moment clearly lit up, and the next in shadow. Steel clashed on steel, the feet of the adversaries touched each other, several times the cloak of one was pierced by the sword of the other, more than once the words "Die then!" rang out. But each time the seemingly vanquished combatant sprang up unwounded, as agile and as lithe and as quick as ever, while he in his turn pressed the enemy home. There was neither truce nor pause, no clever feints nor fencer's tricks could be employed on either side; it was a mortal combat, but chance, not skill, would deal the death-blow. Sometimes a rapid pass encountered only empty air; sometimes blade crossed blade above the wielders' heads; sometimes the fencers lunged at each other's breast, and yet the blows glanced aside at the last moment and the blades met in air once more. At last, however, one of the two, making a pass to the right which left his breast unguarded, received a deep wound. Uttering a loud cry, he recoiled a step or two, but, exhausted by the effort, tripped and fell backward over a large stone, and lay there motionless, his arms extended in the form of a cross. The other turned and fled. "Hark, de Jars!" said Jeannin, stopping, "There's fighting going on hereabouts; I hear the clash of swords." Both listened intently. "I hear nothing now." "Hush! there it goes again. It's by the church." "What a dreadful cry!" They ran at full speed towards the place whence it seemed to come, but found only solitude, darkness, and silence. They looked in every direction. "I can't see a living soul," said Jeannin, "and I very much fear that the poor devil who gave that yell has mumbled his last prayer." "I don't know why I tremble so," replied de Jars; "that heart-rending cry made me shiver from head to foot. Was it not something like the chevalier's voice?" "The chevalier is with La Guerchi, and even if he had left her this would not have been his way to rejoin us. Let us go on and leave the dead in peace." "Look, Jeannin! what is that in front of us?" "On that stone? A man who has fallen!" "Yes, and bathed in blood," exclaimed de Jars, who had darted to his side. "Ah! it's he! it's he! Look, his eyes are closed, his hands cold! My child he does not hear me! Oh, who has murdered him?" He fell on his knees, and threw himself on the body with every mark of the most violent despair. "Come, come," said Jeannin, surprised at such an explosion of grief from a man accustomed to duels, and who on several similar occasions had been far from displaying much tenderness of heart, "collect yourself, and don't give way like a woman. Perhaps the wound is not mortal. Let us try to stop the bleeding and call for help." "No, no--" "Are you mad?" "Don't call, for Heaven's sake! The wound is here, near the heart. Your handkerchief, Jeannin, to arrest the flow of blood. There--now help me to lift him." "What does that mean?" cried Jeannin, who had just laid his hand on the chevalier. "I don't know whether I'm awake or asleep! Why, it's a---" "Be silent, on your life! I shall explain everything--but now be silent; there is someone looking at us." There was indeed a man wrapped in a mantle standing motionless some steps away. "What are you doing here?" asked de Jars. "May I ask what you are doing, gentlemen?" retorted Maitre Quennebert, in a calm and steady voice. "Your curiosity may cost you dear, monsieur; we are not in the habit of allowing our actions to be spied on." "And I am not in the habit of running useless risks, most noble cavaliers. You are, it is true, two against one; but," he added, throwing back his cloak and grasping the hilts of a pair of pistols tucked in his belt, "these will make us equal. You are mistaken as to my intentions. I had no thought of playing the spy; it was chance alone that led me here; and you must acknowledge that finding you in this lonely spot, engaged as you are at this hour of the night, was quite enough to awake the curiosity of a man as little disposed to provoke a quarrel as to submit to threats." "It was chance also that brought us here. We were crossing the square, my friend and I, when we heard groans. We followed the sound, and found this young gallant, who is a stranger to us, lying here, with a wound in his breast." As the moon at that moment gleamed doubtfully forth, Maitre Quennebert bent for an instant over the body of the wounded man, and said: "I know him more than you. But supposing someone were to come upon us here, we might easily be taken for three assassins holding a consultation over the corpse of our victim. What were you going to do?" "Take him to a doctor. It would be inhuman to leave him here, and while we are talking precious time is being lost." "Do you belong to this neighbourhood?" "No," said the treasurer. "Neither do I," said Quennebert, "but I believe I have heard the name of a surgeon who lives close by, in the rue Hauteville." "I also know of one," interposed de Jars, "a very skilful man." "You may command me." "Gladly, monsieur; for he lives some distance from here." "I am at your service." De Jars and Jeannin raised the chevalier's shoulders, and the stranger supported his legs, and carrying their burden in this order, they set off. They walked slowly, looking about them carefully, a precaution rendered necessary by the fact that the moon now rode in a cloudless sky. They glided over the Pont Saint-Michel between the houses that lined both sides, and, turning to the right, entered one of the narrow streets of the Cite, and after many turnings, during which they met no one, they stopped at the door of a house situated behind the Hotel-de-Ville. "Many thanks, monsieur," said de Jars,--"many thanks; we need no further help." As the commander spoke, Maitre Quennebert let the feet of the chevalier fall abruptly on the pavement, while de Jars and the treasurer still supported his body, and, stepping back two paces, he drew his pistols from his belt, and placing a finger on each trigger, said-- "Do not stir, messieurs, or you are dead men." Both, although encumbered by their burden, laid their hands upon their swords. "Not a movement, not a sound, or I shoot." There was no reply to this argument, it being a convincing one even for two duellists. The bravest man turns pale when he finds himself face to face with sudden inevitable death, and he who threatened seemed to be one who would, without hesitation, carry out his threats. There was nothing for it but obedience, or a ball through them as they stood. "What do you want with us, sir?" asked Jeannin. Quennebert, without changing his attitude, replied-- "Commander de Jars, and you, Messire Jeannin de Castille, king's treasurer,--you see, my gentles, that besides the advantage of arms which strike swiftly and surely, I have the further advantage of knowing who you are, whilst I am myself unknown,--you will carry the wounded man into this house, into which I will not enter, for I have nothing to do within; but I shall remain here; to await your return. After you have handed over the patient to the doctor, you will procure paper and write---now pay great attention--that on November 20th, 1658, about midnight, you, aided by an unknown man, carried to this house, the address of which you will give, a young man whom you call the Chevalier de Moranges, and pass off as your nephew--" "As he really is." "Very well." "But who told you--?" "Let me go on: who had been wounded in a fight with swords on the same night behind the church of Saint-Andre-des-Arts by the Duc de Vitry." "The Duc de Vitry!--How do you know that?" "No matter how, I know it for a fact. Having made this declaration, you will add that the said Chevalier de Moranges is no other than Josephine-Charlotte Boullenois, whom you, commander, abducted four months ago from the convent of La Raquette, whom you have made your mistress, and whom you conceal disguised as a man; then you will add your signature. Is my information correct?" De Jars and Jeannin were speechless with surprise for a few instants; then the former stammered-- "Will you tell us who you are?" "The devil in person, if you like. Well, will you do as I order? Supposing that I am awkward enough not to kill you at two paces, do you want me to ask you in broad daylight and aloud what I now ask at night and in a whisper? And don't think to put me off with a false declaration, relying on my not being able to read it by the light of the moon; don't think either that you can take me by surprise when you hand it me: you will bring it to me with your swords sheathed as now. If this condition is not observed, I shall fire, and the noise will bring a crowd about us. To-morrow I shall speak differently from to-day: I shall proclaim the truth at all the street corners, in the squares, and under the windows of the Louvre. It is hard, I know, for men of spirit to yield to threats, but recollect that you are in my power and that there is no disgrace in paying a ransom for a life that one cannot defend. What do you say?" In spite of his natural courage, Jeannin, who found himself involved in an affair from which he had nothing to gain, and who was not at all desirous of being suspected of having helped in an abduction, whispered to the commander-- "Faith! I think our wisest course is to consent." De Jars, however, before replying, wished to try if he could by any chance throw his enemy off his guard for an instant, so as to take him unawares. His hand still rested on the hilt of his sword, motionless, but ready to draw. "There is someone coming over yonder," he cried,--"do you hear?" "You can't catch me in that way," said Quennebert. "Even were there anyone coming, I should not look round, and if you move your hand all is over with you." "Well," said Jeannin, "I surrender at discretion--not on my own account, but out of regard for my friend and this woman. However, we are entitle to some pledge of your silence. This statement that you demand, once written,--you can ruin us tomorrow by its means." "I don't yet know what use I shall make of it, gentlemen. Make up your minds, or you will have nothing but a dead body to place--in the doctor's hands. There is no escape for you." For the first time the wounded man faintly groaned. "I must save her!" cried de Jars,--"I yield." "And I swear upon my honour that I will never try to get this woman out of your hands, and that I will never interfere with your conquest. Knock, gentlemen, and remain as long as may be necessary. I am patient. Pray to God, if you will, that she may recover; my one desire is that she may die." They entered the house, and Quennebert, wrapping himself once more in his mantle, walked up and down before it, stopping to listen from time to time. In about two hours the commander and the treasurer came out again, and handed him a written paper in the manner agreed on. "I greatly fear that it will be a certificate of death," said de Jars. "Heaven grant it, commander! Adieu, messieurs." He then withdrew, walking backwards, keeping the two friends covered with his pistols until he had placed a sufficient distance between himself and them to be out of danger of an attack. The two gentlemen on their part walked rapidly away, looking round from time to time, and keeping their ears open. They were very much mortified at having been forced to let a mere boor dictate to them, and anxious, especially de Jars, as to the result of the wound. CHAPTER VII On the day following this extraordinary series of adventures, explanations between those who were mixed up in them, whether as actors or spectators, were the order of the day. It was not till Maitre Quennebert reached the house of the friend who had offered to put him up for the night that it first dawned on him, that the interest which the Chevalier de Moranges had awakened in his mind had made him utterly forget the bag containing the twelve hundred livres which he owed to the generosity of the widow. This money being necessary to him, he went back to her early next morning. He found her hardly recovered from her terrible fright. Her swoon had lasted far beyond the time when the notary had left the house; and as Angelique, not daring to enter the bewitched room, had taken refuge in the most distant corner of her apartments, the feeble call of the widow was heard by no one. Receiving no answer, Madame Rapally groped her way into the next room, and finding that empty, buried herself beneath the bedclothes, and passed the rest of the night dreaming of drawn swords, duels, and murders. As soon as it was light she ventured into the mysterious room once more; without calling her servants, and found the bag of crowns lying open on the floor, with the coins scattered all around, the partition broken, and the tapestry hanging from it in shreds. The widow was near fainting again: she imagined at first she saw stains of blood everywhere, but a closer inspection having somewhat reassured her, she began to pick up the coins that had rolled to right and left, and was agreeably surprised to find the tale complete. But how and why had Maitre Quennebert abandoned them? What had become of him? She had got lost in the most absurd suppositions and conjectures when the notary appeared. Discovering from the first words she uttered that she was in complete ignorance of all that had taken place, he explained to her that when the interview between the chevalier and Mademoiselle de Guerchi had just at the most interesting moment been so unceremoniously interrupted by the arrival of the duke, he had become so absorbed in watching them that he had not noticed that the partition was bending before the pressure of his body, and that just as the duke drew his sword it suddenly gave way, and he, Quennebert, being thus left without support, tumbled head foremost into the next room, among a perfect chaos of overturned furniture and lamps; that almost before he could rise he was forced to draw in self-defence, and had to make his escape, defending himself against both the duke and the chevalier; that they had pursued him so hotly, that when he found himself free he was too far from the house and the hour was too advanced to admit of his returning, Quennebert added innumerable protestations of friendship, devotion, and gratitude, and, furnished with his twelve hundred crowns, went away, leaving the widow reassured as to his safety, but still shaken from her fright. While the notary was thus soothing the widow, Angelique was exhausting all the expedients her trade had taught her in the attempt to remove the duke's suspicions. She asserted she was the victim of an unforeseen attack which nothing in her conduct had ever authorised. The young Chevalier de Moranges had, gained admittance, she declared, under the pretext that he brought her news from the duke, the one man who occupied her thoughts, the sole object of her love. The chevalier had seen her lover, he said, a few days before, and by cleverly appealing to things back, he had led her to fear that the duke had grown tired of her, and that a new conquest was the cause of his absence. She had not believed these insinuations, although his long silence would have justified the most mortifying suppositions, the most cruel doubts. At length the chevalier had grown bolder, and had declared his passion for her; whereupon she had risen and ordered him to leave her. Just at that moment the duke had entered, and had taken the natural agitation and confusion of the chevalier as signs of her guilt. Some explanation was also necessary to account for the presence of the two other visitors of whom he had been told below stairs. As he knew nothing at all about them, the servant who admitted them never having seen either of them before, she acknowledged that two gentlemen had called earlier in the evening; that they had refused to send in their names, but as they had said they had come to inquire about the duke, she suspected them of having been in league with the chevalier in the attempt to ruin her reputation, perhaps they had even promised to help him to carry her off, but she knew nothing positive about them or their plans. The duke, contrary to his wont, did not allow himself to be easily convinced by these lame explanations, but unfortunately for him the lady knew how to assume an attitude favourable to her purpose. She had been induced, she said, with the simple confidence born of love, to listen to people who had led her to suppose they could give her news of one so dear to her as the duke. From this falsehood she proceeded to bitter reproaches: instead of defending herself, she accused him of having left her a prey to anxiety; she went so far as to imply that there must be some foundation for the hints of the chevalier, until at last the duke, although he was not guilty of the slightest infidelity, and had excellent reasons to give in justification of his silence, was soon reduced to a penitent mood, and changed his threats into entreaties for forgiveness. As to the shriek he had heard, and which he was sure had been uttered by the stranger who had forced his way into her room after the departure of the others, she asserted that his ears must have deceived him. Feeling that therein lay her best chance of making things smooth, she exerted herself to convince him that there was no need for other information than she could give, and did all she could to blot the whole affair from his memory; and her success was such that at the end of the interview the duke was more enamoured and more credulous than ever, and believing he had done her wrong, he delivered himself up to her, bound hand and foot. Two days later he installed his mistress in another dwelling.... Madame Rapally also resolved to give up her rooms, and removed to a house that belonged to her, on the Pont Saint-Michel. The commander took the condition of Charlotte Boullenois very much to heart. The physician under whose care he had placed her, after examining her wounds, had not given much hope of her recovery. It was not that de Jars was capable of a lasting love, but Charlotte was young and possessed great beauty, and the romance and mystery surrounding their connection gave it piquancy. Charlotte's disguise, too, which enabled de Jars to conceal his success and yet flaunt it in the face, as it were, of public morality and curiosity, charmed him by its audacity, and above all he was carried away by the bold and uncommon character of the girl, who, not content with a prosaic intrigue, had trampled underfoot all social prejudices and proprieties, and plunged at once into unmeasured and unrestrained dissipation; the singular mingling in her nature of the vices of both sexes; the unbridled licentiousness of the courtesan coupled with the devotion of a man for horses, wine, and fencing; in short, her eccentric character, as it would now be called, kept a passion alive which would else have quickly died away in his blase heart. Nothing would induce him to follow Jeannin's advice to leave Paris for at least a few weeks, although he shared Jeannin's fear that the statement they had been forced to give the stranger would bring them into trouble. The treasurer, who had no love affair on hand, went off; but the commander bravely held his ground, and at the end of five or six days, during which no one disturbed him, began to think the only result of the incident would be the anxiety it had caused him. Every evening as soon as it was dark he betook himself to the doctor's, wrapped in his cloak, armed to the teeth, and his hat pulled down over his eyes. For two days and nights, Charlotte, whom to avoid confusion we shall continue to call the Chevalier de Moranges, hovered between life and death. Her youth and the strength of her constitution enabled her at last to overcome the fever, in spite of the want of skill of the surgeon Perregaud. Although de Jars was the only person who visited the chevalier, he was not the only one who was anxious about the patient's health. Maitre Quennebert, or men engaged by him to watch, for he did not want to attract attention, were always prowling about the neighbourhood, so that he was kept well informed of everything that went on: The instructions he gave to these agents were, that if a funeral should leave the house, they were to find out the name of the deceased, and then to let him know without delay. But all these precautions seemed quite useless: he always received the same answer to all his questions, "We know nothing." So at last he determined to address himself directly to the man who could give him information on which he could rely. One night the commander left the surgeon's feeling more cheerful than usual, for the chevalier had passed a good day, and there was every hope that he was on the road to complete recovery. Hardly had de Jars gone twenty paces when someone laid a hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw a man whom, in the darkness, he did not recognise. "Excuse me for detaining you, Commander de Jars," said Quennebert, "but I have a word to say to you." "Ali! so it's you, sir," replied the commander. "Are you going at last to give me the opportunity I was so anxious for?" "I don't understand." "We are on more equal terms this time; to-day you don't catch me unprepared, almost without weapons, and if you are a man of honour you will measure swords with me." "Fight a duel with you! why, may I ask? You have never insulted me." "A truce to pleasantry, sir; don't make me regret that I have shown myself more generous than you. I might have killed you just now had I wished. I could have put my pistol to your breast and fired, or said to you, 'Surrender at discretion!' as you so lately said to me." "And what use would that have been?" "It would have made a secret safe that you ought never to have known." "It would have been the most unfortunate thing for you that could have happened, for if you had killed me the paper would have spoken. So! you think that if you were to assassinate me you would only have to stoop over my dead body and search my pockets, and, having found the incriminating document, destroy it. You seem to have formed no very high opinion of my intelligence and common sense. You of the upper classes don't need these qualities, the law is on, your side. But when a humble individual like myself, a mere nobody, undertakes to investigate a piece of business about which those in authority are not anxious to be enlightened, precautions are necessary. It's not enough for him to have right on his side, he must, in order to secure his own safety, make good use of his skill, courage, and knowledge. I have no desire to humiliate you a second time, so I will say no more. The paper is in the hands of my notary, and if a single day passes without his seeing me he has orders to break the seal and make the contents public. So you see chance is still on my side. But now that you are warned there is no need for me to bluster. I am quite prepared to acknowledge your superior rank, and if you insist upon it, to speak to you uncovered." "What do you desire to know, sir?" "How is the Chevalier de Moranges getting on?" "Very badly, very badly." "Take care, commander; don't deceive me. One is so easily tempted to believe what one hopes, and I hope so strongly that I dare not believe what you say. I saw you coming out of the house, not at all with the air of a man who had just heard bad news, (quite the contrary) you looked at the sky, and rubbed your hands, and walked with a light, quick step, that did not speak of grief." "You're a sharp observer, sir." "I have already explained to you, sir, that when one of us belonging to a class hardly better than serfs succeeds by chance or force of character in getting out of the narrow bounds in which he was born, he must keep both eyes and ears open. If I had doubted your word as you have doubted mine on the merest suspicion, you would have said to your servants, 'Chastise this rascal.' But I am obliged to prove to you that you did not tell me the truth. Now I am sure that the chevalier is out of danger." "If you were so well informed why did you ask me?" "I only knew it by your asserting the contrary." "What do you mean?" cried de Jars, who was growing restive under this cold, satirical politeness. "Do me justice, commander. The bit chafes, but yet you must acknowledge that I have a light hand. For a full week you have been in my power. Have I disturbed your quiet? Have I betrayed your secret? You know I have not. And I shall continue to act in the same manner. I hope with all my heart, however great would be your grief; that the chevalier may die of his wound. I have not the same reasons for loving him that you have, so much you can readily understand, even if I do not explain the cause of my interest in his fate. But in such a matter hopes count for nothing; they cannot make his temperature either rise or fall. I have told you I have no wish to force the chevalier to resume his real name. I may make use of the document and I may not, but if I am obliged to use it I shall give you warning. Will you, in return, swear to me upon your honour that you will keep me informed as to the fate of the chevalier, whether you remain in Paris or whether you leave? But let this agreement be a secret between us, and do not mention it to the so-called Moranges." "I have your oath, monsieur, that you will give me notice before you use the document I have given you against me, have I? But what guarantee have I that you will keep your word?" "My course of action till to-day, and the fact that I have pledged you my word of my own free will." "I see, you hope not to have long to wait for the end." "I hope not; but meantime a premature disclosure would do me as much harm as you. I have not the slightest rancour against you, commander; you have robbed me of no treasure; I have therefore no compensation to demand. What you place such value on would be only a burden to me, as it will be to you later on. All I want is, to know as soon as it is no longer in your possession, whether it has been removed by the will of God or by your own, I am right in thinking that to-day there is some hope of the chevalier's recovery, am I not?" "Yes, Sir," "Do you give me your promise that if ever he leave this house safe and sound you will let me know?" "I give you my promise," "And if the result should be different, you will also send me word?" "Certainly. But to whom shall I address my message?" "I should have thought that since our first meeting you would have found out all about me, and that to tell you my name would be superfluous. But I have no reason to hide it: Maitre Quennebert, notary, Saint-Denis. I will not detain you any longer now, commander; excuse a simple citizen for dictating conditions to a noble such as you. For once chance has been on my side although a score of times it has gone against me." De Jars made no reply except a nod, and walked away quickly, muttering words of suppressed anger between his teeth at all the--humiliations to which he had been obliged to submit so meekly. "He's as insolent as a varlet who has no fear of a larruping before his eyes: how the rapscallion gloried in taking advantage of his position! Taking-off his hat while putting his foot on my neck! If ever I can be even with you, my worthy scrivener, you'll pass a very bad quarter of an hour, I can tell you." Everyone has his own idea of what constitutes perfect honour. De Jars, for instance, would have allowed himself to be cut up into little pieces rather than have broken the promise he had given Quennebert a week ago, because it was given in exchange for his life, and the slightest paltering with his word under those circumstances would have been dastardly. But the engagement into which he had just entered had in his eyes no such moral sanction; he had not been forced into it by threats, he had escaped by its means no serious danger, and therefore in regard to it his conscience was much more accommodating. What he should best have liked to do, would have been to have sought out the notary and provoked him by insults to send him a challenge. That a clown such as that could have any chance of leaving the ground alive never entered his head. But willingly as he would have encompassed his death in this manner, the knowledge that his secret would not die with Quennebert restrained him, for when everything came out he felt that the notary's death would be regarded as an aggravation of his original offence, and in spite of his rank he was not at all certain that if he were put on his trial even now he would escape scot free, much less if a new offence were added to the indictment. So, however much he might chafe against the bit, he felt he must submit to the bridle. "By God!" said he, "I know what the clodhopper is after; and even if I must suffer in consequence, I shall take good care that he cannot shake off his bonds. Wait a bit! I can play the detective too, and be down on him without letting him see the hand that deals the blows. It'll be a wonder if I can't find a naked sword to suspend above his head." However, while thus brooding over projects of vengeance, Commander de Jars kept his word, and about a month after the interview above related he sent word to Quennebert that the Chevalier de Moranges had left Perregaud's completely recovered from his wound. But the nearly fatal result of the chevalier's last prank seemed to have subdued his adventurous spirit; he was no longer seen in public, and was soon forgotten by all his acquaintances with the exception of Mademoiselle de Guerchi. She faithfully treasured up the memory of his words of passion, his looks of love, the warmth of his caresses, although at first she struggled hard to chase his image from her heart. But as the Due de Vitry assured her that he had killed him on the spot, she considered it no breach of faith to think lovingly of the dead, and while she took the goods so bounteously provided by her living lover, her gentlest thoughts, her most enduring regrets, were given to one whom she never hoped to see again. CHAPTER VIII With the reader's permission, we must now jump over an interval of rather more than a year, and bring upon the stage a person who, though only of secondary importance, can no longer be left behind the scenes. We have already said that the loves of Quennebert and Madame Rapally were regarded with a jealous eye by a distant cousin of the lady's late husband. The love of this rejected suitor, whose name was Trumeau, was no more sincere than the notary's, nor were his motives more honourable. Although his personal appearance was not such as to lead him to expect that his path would be strewn with conquests, he considered that his charms at least equalled those of his defunct relative; and it may be said that in thus estimating them he did not lay himself--open to the charge of overweening vanity. But however persistently he preened him self before the widow, she vouchsafed him not one glance. Her heart was filled with the love of his rival, and it is no easy thing to tear a rooted passion out of a widow's heart when that widow's age is forty-six, and she is silly enough to believe that the admiration she feels is equalled by the admiration she inspires, as the unfortunate Trumeau found to his cost. All his carefully prepared declarations of love, all his skilful insinuations against Quennebert, brought him nothing but scornful rebuffs. But Trumeau was nothing if not persevering, and he could not habituate himself to the idea of seeing the widow's fortune pass into other hands than his own, so that every baffled move only increased his determination to spoil his competitor's game. He was always on the watch for a chance to carry tales to the widow, and so absorbed did he become in this fruitless pursuit, that he grew yellower and more dried up from day to day, and to his jaundiced eye the man who was at first simply his rival became his mortal enemy and the object of his implacable hate, so that at length merely to get the better of him, to outwit him, would, after so long-continued and obstinate a struggle and so many defeats, have seemed to him too mild a vengeance, too incomplete a victory. Quennebert was well aware of the zeal with which the indefatigable Trumeau sought to injure him. But he regarded the manoeuvres of his rival with supreme unconcern, for he knew that he could at any time sweep away the network of cunning machinations, underhand insinuations, and malicious hints, which was spread around him, by allowing the widow to confer on him the advantages she was so anxious to bestow. The goal, he knew, was within his reach, but the problem he had to solve was how to linger on the way thither, how to defer the triumphal moment, how to keep hope alive in the fair one's breast and yet delay its fruition. His affairs were in a bad way. Day by day full possession of the fortune thus dangled before his eyes, and fragments of which came to him occasionally by way of loan, was becoming more and more indispensable, and tantalising though it was, yet he dared not put out his hand to seize it. His creditors dunned him relentlessly: one final reprieve had been granted him, but that at an end, if he could not meet their demands, it was all up with his career and reputation. One morning in the beginning of February 1660, Trumeau called to see his cousin. He had not been there for nearly a month, and Quennebert and the widow had begun to think that, hopeless of success, he had retired from the contest. But, far from that, his hatred had grown more intense than ever, and having come upon the traces of an event in the past life of his rival which if proved would be the ruin of that rival's hopes, he set himself to gather evidence. He now made his appearance with beaming looks, which expressed a joy too great for words. He held in one hand a small scroll tied with a ribbon. He found the widow alone, sitting in a large easy-chair before the fire. She was reading for the twentieth time a letter which Quenriebert had written her the evening before. To judge by the happy and contented expression of the widow's face, it must have been couched in glowing terms. Trumeau guessed at once from whom the missive came, but the sight of it, instead of irritating him, called forth a smile. "Ah! so it's you, cousin?" said the widow, folding the precious paper and slipping it into the bosom of her dress. "How do you do? It's a long time since I saw you, more than a fortnight, I think. Have you been ill?" "So you remarked my absence! That is very flattering, my dear cousin; you do not often spoil me by such attentions. No, I have not been ill, thank God, but I thought it better not to intrude upon you so often. A friendly call now and then such as to-day's is what you like, is it not? By the way, tell me about your handsome suitor, Maitre Quennebert; how is he getting along?" "You look very knowing, Trumeau: have you heard of anything happening to him?" "No, and I should be exceedingly sorry to hear that anything unpleasant had happened to him." "Now you are not saying what you think, you know you can't bear him." "Well, to speak the truth, I have no great reason to like him. If it were not for him, I should perhaps have been happy to-day; my love might have moved your heart. However, I have become resigned to my loss, and since your choice has fallen on him,"--and here he sighed,--"well, all I can say is, I hope you may never regret it." "Many thanks for your goodwill, cousin; I am delighted to find you in such a benevolent mood. You must not be vexed because I could not give you the kind of love you wanted; the heart, you know, is not amenable to reason." "There is only one thing I should like to ask." "What is it?" "I mention it for your good more than for my own. If you want to be happy, don't let this handsome quill-driver get you entirely into his hands. You are saying to yourself that because of my ill-success with you I am trying to injure him; but what if I could prove that he does not love you as much as he pretends--?" "Come, come, control your naughty tongue! Are you going to begin backbiting again? You are playing a mean part, Trumeau. I have never hinted to Maitre Quennebert all the nasty little ways in which you have tried to put a spoke in his wheel, for if he knew he would ask you to prove your words, and then you would look very foolish.". "Not at all, I swear to you. On the contrary, if I were to tell all I know in his presence, it is not I who would be disconcerted. Oh! I am weary of meeting with nothing from you but snubs, scorn, and abuse. You think me a slanderer when I say, 'This gallant wooer of widows does not love you for yourself but for your money-bags. He fools you by fine promises, but as to marrying you--never, never!'" "May I ask you to repeat that?" broke in Madame Rapally, "Oh! I know what I am saying. You will never be Madame Quennebert." "Really?" "Really." "Jealousy has eaten away whatever brains you used to possess, Trumeau. Since I saw you last, cousin, important changes have taken place: I was just going to send you to-day an invitation to my wedding." "To your wedding?" "Yes; I am to be married to-morrow." "To-morrow? To Quennebert?" stammered Trumeau. "To Quennebert," repeated the widow in a tone of triumph. "It's not possible!" exclaimed Trumeau. "It is so possible that you will see us united tomorrow. And for the future I must beg of you to regard Quennebert no longer as a rival but as my husband, whom to offend will be to offend me." The tone in which these words were spoken no longer left room for doubt as to the truth of the news. Trumeau looked down for a few moments, as if reflecting deeply before definitely making up his mind. He twisted the little roll of papers between his fingers, and seemed to be in doubt whether to open it and give it to Madame Rapally to read or not. In the end, however, he put it in his pocket, rose, and approaching his cousin, said-- "I beg your pardon, this news completely changes my opinion. From the moment Maitre Quennebert becomes your husband I shall not have a word to say against him. My suspicions were unjust, I confess it frankly, and I hope that in consideration of the motives which prompted me you will forget the warmth of my attacks. I shall make no protestations, but shall let the future show how sincere is my devotion to your interests." Madame Rapally was too happy, too certain of being loved, not to pardon easily. With the self-complacency and factitious generosity of a woman who feels herself the object of two violent passions, she was so good as to feel pity for the lover who was left out in the cold, and offered him her hand. Trumeau kissed it with every outward mark of respect, while his lips curled unseen in a smite of mockery. The cousins parted, apparently the best of friends, and on the understanding that Trumeau would be present at the nuptial benediction, which was to be given in a church beyond the town hall, near the house in which the newly-married couple were to live; the house on the Pont Saint-Michel having lately been sold to great advantage. "On my word," said Trumeau, as he went off, "it would have been a great mistake to have spoken. I have got that wretch of a Quennebert into my clutches at last; and there is nobody but himself to blame. He is taking the plunge of his own free will, there is no need for me to shove him off the precipice." The ceremony took place next day. Quennebert conducted his interesting bride to the altar, she hung with ornaments like the shrine of a saint, and, beaming all over with smiles, looked so ridiculous that the handsome bridegroom reddened to the roots of his hair with shame. Just as they entered the church, a coffin, on which lay a sword, and which was followed by a single mourner, who from his manners and dress seemed to belong to the class of nobles, was carried in by the same door. The wedding guests drew back to let the funeral pass on, the living giving precedence to the dead. The solitary mourner glanced by chance at Quennebert, and started as if the sight of him was painful. "What an unlucky meeting!" murmured Madame Rapally; "it is sure to be a bad omen." "It's sure to be the exact opposite," said Quennebert smiling. The two ceremonies took place simultaneously in two adjoining chapels; the funeral dirges which fell on the widow's ear full of sinister prediction seemed to have quite another meaning for Quennebert, for his features lost their look of care, his wrinkles smoothed themselves out, till the guests, among whom was Trumeau, who did not suspect the secret of his relief from suspense, began to believe, despite their surprise, that he was really rejoiced at obtaining legal possession of the charming Madame Rapally. As for her, she fleeted the daylight hours by anticipating the joyful moment when she would have her husband all to herself. When night came, hardly had she entered the nuptial chamber than she uttered a piercing shriek. She had just found and read a paper left on the bed by Trumeau, who before leaving had contrived to glide into the room unseen. Its contents were of terrible import, so terrible that the new-made wife fell unconscious to the ground. Quennebert, who, without a smile, was absorbed in reflections on the happiness at last within his grasp, heard the noise from the next room, and rushing in, picked up his wife. Catching sight of the paper, he also uttered a cry of anger and astonishment, but in whatever circumstances he found himself he was never long uncertain how to act. Placing Madame Quennebert, still unconscious, on the bed, he called her maid, and, having impressed on her that she was to take every care of her mistress, and above all to tell her from him as soon as she came to herself that there was no cause for alarm, he left the house at once. An hour later, in spite of the efforts of the servants, he forced his way into the presence of Commander de Jars. Holding out the fateful document to him, he said: "Speak openly, commander! Is it you who in revenge for your long constraint have done this? I can hardly think so, for after what has happened you know that I have nothing to fear any longer. Still, knowing my secret and unable to do it in any other way, have you perchance taken your revenge by an attempt to destroy my future happiness by sowing dissension and disunion between me and my wife?" The commander solemnly assured him that he had had no hand in bringing about the discovery. "Then if it's not you, it must be a worthless being called Trumeau, who, with the unerring instinct of jealousy, has run the truth to earth. But he knows only half: I have never been either so much in love or so stupid as to allow myself to be trapped. I have given you my promise to be discreet and not to misuse my power, and as long as was compatible with my own safety I have kept my word. But now you must see that I am bound to defend myself, and to do that I shall be obliged to summon you as a witness. So leave Paris tonight and seek out some safe retreat where no one can find you, for to-morrow I shall speak. Of course if I am quit for a woman's tears, if no more difficult task lies before me than to soothe a weeping wife, you can return immediately; but if, as is too probable, the blow has been struck by the hand of a rival furious at having been defeated, the matter will not so easily be cut short; the arm of the law will be invoked, and then I must get my head out of the noose which some fingers I know of are itching to draw tight." "You are quite right, sir," answered the commander; "I fear that my influence at court is not strong enough to enable me to brave the matter out. Well, my success has cost me dear, but it has cured me for ever of seeking out similar adventures. My preparations will not take long, and to-morrow's dawn will find me far from Paris." Quennebert bowed and withdrew, returning home to console his Ariadne. CHAPTER IX The accusation hanging over the head of Maitre Quennebert was a very serious one, threatening his life, if proved. But he was not uneasy; he knew himself in possession of facts which would enable him to refute it triumphantly. The platonic love of Angelique de Guerchi for the handsome Chevalier de Moranges had resulted, as we have seen, in no practical wrong to the Duc de Vitry. After her reconciliation with her lover, brought about by the eminently satisfactory explanations she was able to give of her conduct, which we have already laid before our readers, she did not consider it advisable to shut her heart to his pleadings much longer, and the consequence was that at the end of a year she found herself in a condition which it was necessary to conceal from everyone. To Angelique herself, it is true, the position was not new, and she felt neither grief nor shame, regarding the coming event as a means of making her future more secure by forging a new link in the chain which bound the duke to her. But he, sure that but for himself Angelique would never have strayed from virtue's path, could not endure the thought of her losing her reputation and becoming an object for scandal to point her finger at; so that Angelique, who could not well seem less careful of her good name than he, was obliged to turn his song of woe into a duet, and consent to certain measures being taken. One evening, therefore, shortly before Maitre Quennebert's marriage, the fair lady set out, ostensibly on a journey which was to last a fortnight or three weeks. In reality she only made a circle in a post-chaise round Paris, which she re-entered at one of the barriers, where the duke awaited her with a sedan-chair. In this she was carried to the very house to which de Jars had brought his pretended nephew after the duel. Angelique, who had to pay dearly for her errors, remained there only twenty-four hours, and then left in her coffin, which was hidden in a cellar under the palace of the Prince de Conde, the body being covered with quicklime. Two days after this dreadful death, Commander de Jars presented himself at the fatal house, and engaged a room in which he installed the chevalier. This house, which we are about to ask the reader to enter with us, stood at the corner of the rue de la Tixeranderie and the rue Deux-Portes. There was nothing in the exterior of it to distinguish it from any other, unless perhaps two brass plates, one of which bore the words MARIE LEROUX-CONSTANTIN, WIDOW, CERTIFIED MIDWIFE, and the other CLAUDE PERREGAUD, SURGEON. These plates were affixed to the blank wall in the rue de la Tixeranderie, the windows of the rooms on that side looking into the courtyard. The house door, which opened directly on the first steps of a narrow winding stair, was on the other side, just beyond the low arcade under whose vaulted roof access was gained to that end of the rue des Deux-Portes. This house, though dirty, mean, and out of repair, received many wealthy visitors, whose brilliant equipages waited for them in the neighbouring streets. Often in the night great ladies crossed its threshold under assumed names and remained there for several days, during which La Constantin and Claude Perregaud, by an infamous use of their professional knowledge, restored their clients to an outward appearance of honour, and enabled them to maintain their reputation for virtue. The first and second floors contained a dozen rooms in which these abominable mysteries were practised. The large apartment, which served as waiting and consultation room, was oddly furnished, being crowded with objects of strange and unfamiliar form. It resembled at once the operating-room of a surgeon, the laboratory of a chemist and alchemist, and the den of a sorcerer. There, mixed up together in the greatest confusion, lay instruments of all sorts, caldrons and retorts, as well as books containing the most absurd ravings of the human mind. There were the twenty folio volumes of Albertus Magnus; the works of his disciple, Thomas de Cantopre, of Alchindus, of Averroes, of Avicenna, of Alchabitius, of David de Plaine-Campy, called L'Edelphe, surgeon to Louis XIII and author of the celebrated book The Morbific Hydra Exterminated by the Chemical Hercules. Beside a bronze head, such as the monk Roger Bacon possessed, which answered all the questions that were addressed to it and foretold the future by means of a magic mirror and the combination of the rules of perspective, lay an eggshell, the same which had been used by Caret, as d'Aubigne tells us, when making men out of germs, mandrakes, and crimson silk, over a slow fire. In the presses, which had sliding-doors fastening with secret springs, stood Jars filled with noxious drugs, the power of which was but too efficacious; in prominent positions, facing each other, hung two portraits, one representing Hierophilos, a Greek physician, and the other Agnodice his pupil, the first Athenian midwife. For several years already La Constantin and Claude Perregaud had carried on their criminal practices without interference. A number of persons were of course in the secret, but their interests kept them silent, and the two accomplices had at last persuaded themselves that they were perfectly safe. One evening, however, Perregaud came home, his face distorted by terror and trembling in every limb. He had been warned while out that the suspicions of the authorities had been aroused in regard to him and La Constantin. It seemed that some little time ago, the Vicars-General had sent a deputation to the president of the chief court of justice, having heard from their priests that in one year alone six hundred women had avowed in the confessional that they had taken drugs to prevent their having children. This had been sufficient to arouse the vigilance of the police, who had set a watch on Perregaud's house, with the result that that very night a raid was to be made on it. The two criminals took hasty counsel together, but, as usual under such circumstances, arrived at no practical conclusions. It was only when the danger was upon them that they recovered their presence of mind. In the dead of night loud knocking at the street door was heard, followed by the command to open in the name of the king. "We can yet save ourselves!" exclaimed surgeon, with a sudden flash of inspiration. Rushing into the room where the pretended chevalier was lying, he called out-- "The police are coming up! If they discover your sex you are lost, and so am I. Do as I tell you." At a sign from him, La Constantin went down and opened the door. While the rooms on the first floor were being searched, Perregaud made with a lancet a superficial incision in the chevalier's right arm, which gave very little pain, and bore a close resemblance to a sword-cut. Surgery and medicine were at that time so inextricably involved, required such apparatus, and bristled with such scientific absurdities, that no astonishment was excited by the extraordinary collection of instruments which loaded the tables and covered the floors below: even the titles of certain treatises which there had been no time to destroy, awoke no suspicion. Fortunately for the surgeon and his accomplice, they had only one patient--the chevalier--in their house when the descent was made. When the chevalier's room was reached, the first thing which the officers of the law remarked were the hat, spurred boots, and sword of the patient. Claude Perregaud hardly looked up as the room was invaded; he only made a sign to those--who came in to be quiet, and went on dressing the wound. Completely taken in, the officer in command merely asked the name of the patient and the cause of the wound. La Constantin replied that it' was the young Chevalier de Moranges, nephew of Commander de Jars, who had had an affair of honour that same night, and being sightly wounded had been brought thither by his uncle hardly an hour before. These questions and the apparently trustworthy replies elicited by them being duly taken down, the uninvited visitors retired, having discovered nothing to justify their visit. All might have been well had there been nothing the matter but the wound on the chevalier's sword-arm. But at the moment when Perregaud gave it to him the poisonous nostrums employed by La Constantin were already working in his blood. Violent fever ensued, and in three days the chevalier was dead. It was his funeral which had met Quennebert's wedding party at the church door. Everything turned out as Quennebert had anticipated. Madame Quennebert, furious at the deceit which had been practised on her, refused to listen to her husband's justification, and Trumeau, not letting the grass grow under his feet, hastened the next day to launch an accusation of bigamy against the notary; for the paper which had been found in the nuptial camber was nothing less than an attested copy of a contract of marriage concluded between Quennebert and Josephine-Charlotte Boullenois. It was by the merest chance that Trumeau had come on the record of the marriage, and he now challenged his rival to produce a certificate of the death of his first wife. Charlotte Boullenois, after two years of marriage, had demanded a deed of separation, which demand Quennebert had opposed. While the case was going on she had retired to the convent of La Raquette, where her intrigue with de Jars began. The commander easily induced her to let herself be carried off by force. He then concealed his conquest by causing her to adopt male attire, a mode of dress which accorded marvellously well with her peculiar tastes and rather masculine frame. At first Quennebert had instituted an active but fruitless search for his missing wife, but soon became habituated to his state of enforced single blessedness, enjoying to the full the liberty it brought with it. But his business had thereby suffered, and once having made the acquaintance of Madame Rapally, he cultivated it assiduously, knowing her fortune would be sufficient to set him straight again with the world, though he was obliged to exercise the utmost caution and reserve in has intercourse with her, as she on her side displayed none of these qualities. At last, however, matters came to such a pass that he must either go to prison or run the risk of a second marriage. So he reluctantly named a day for the ceremony, resolving to leave Paris with Madame Rapally as soon as he had settled with his creditors. In the short interval which ensued, and while Trumeau was hugging the knowledge of the discovery he had made, a stroke of luck had brought the pretended chevalier to La Constantin. As Quennebert had kept an eye on de Jars and was acquainted with all his movements, he was aware of everything that happened at Perregaud's, and as Charlotte's death preceded his second marriage by one day, he knew that no serious consequences would ensue from the legal proceedings taken against him. He produced the declarations made by Mademoiselle de Guerchi and the commander, and had the body exhumed. Extraordinary and improbable as his defence appeared at first to be, the exhumation proved the truth of his assertions. These revelations, however, drew the eye of justice again on Perregaud and his partner in crime, and this time their guilt was brought home to them. They were condemned by parliamentary decree to "be hanged by the neck till they were dead, on a gallows erected for that purpose at the cross roads of the Croix-du-Trahoir; their bodies to remain there for twenty-four hours, then to be cut down and brought back to Paris, where they were to be exposed an a gibbet," etc., etc. It was proved that they had amassed immense fortunes in the exercise of their infamous calling. The entries in the books seized at their house, though sparse, would have led, if made public, to scandals, involving many in high places; it was therefore judged best to limit the accusation to the two deaths by blood-poisoning of Angelique de Querchi and Charlotte Boullenois. Publication Date: May 27th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.dumas

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-confusedalarms-scenes-from-a-memory/

confusedalarms . Scenes From A Memory Part I: Awake I The Awakening II A Good Cup Of Coffee Clears The Head III Baynes’ Hypnotherapy co. The Awakening I’ve been here before. It’s a thought that keeps recurring to me as I walk in this strange state. Another one is god dammit, I should’ve brought a coat. It’s cold as hell, which isn’t weird, considering it’s the middle of the night in January. How I know this I have no idea, because I have no watch here. Nor a newspaper. At least…I check my wrist. No watch. Not this time either. Maybe it’s just the way the moonless dark of night seems to give the things around me an eerie, shimmering quality, like I’m looking at them through a condensed window. Then I turn a corner and my thought process is rudely broken off by what I see, even though some part of me, some long dormant past ghost, has been here before. The house is preceded by a stately, yet short pathway, flanked by trees whose names I know not. The gate that precedes that is your usual bland, black metal gate, with metal arrows on top of it and, on top of that, little metal balls to soften the look of them. In short, a lot of metal. Like it’s gonna hurt my balls any less if I try to climb over it. Luckily though I don’t have to. The gate is ajar. I push it open wide enough for me to fit through, my hands coming off wet with dew. It's a cold night indeed. I sneak through, for some reason being careful not to make too much noise, and begin to walk up the pathway. A haunting feeling begins to take hold of me. I can feel eyes on me, lingering in the shadows behind the trees and in the trees to the left and right of the pathway. Soon though, the feeling fades as the house comes into view. (Echo’s Hill) I don’t say that myself. It’s like someone is standing right next to me, whispering the words into my ear, but when I look to my left there are only trees. Strange. (My place of death) Which is weird, because I’m pretty sure I’m not dead at all. I approach the dark, dilapidated, clearly abandoned house, which to me looks like a haunted house from one of those horror films my son likes so much, or maybe a smaller version of the hotel from The Shining, which I liked, too. The haunting feeling is back now, rushing to the forefront of my mind and pushing away the strange voice, which was faintly speaking names (Edward, Julian) which mean nothing to me. I feel compelled to go into the house. Something tells me there is something very important in there, the whole reason I’m walking jacketless in the dark of night in January. The door, no surprise there, is ajar. Every door seems to be ajar tonight. (Up the stairs.) By now I’m used to the voice that speaks in my head. After all, hasn’t it been a part of me for so long, just without me knowing? Getting up the stairs isn’t as easy as it seems though. The steps looked like they were ready to crack at the first hint of pressure, getting my leg stuck in the process. And then what? Wait for the police? Ha. There’s something up there, though. Something important. Something that’s been pulling me ever since I entered this blackest of nights. So I dare the rickety stairs, and of course I have no problem getting up them, though they creak horribly. I reach the first floor and immediately recognize it. I push open the door directly in front of me (which, of course, is ajar), and then I’m facing a mirror. A condensed one, though there is obviously no source of heat in the vicinity. I walk up to the mirror, the chill really taking hold of me now, and sending a shiver through my bones. When I reach the mirror, I hunker and try to erase the condensation from it, but I can’t. Because the condensation is on the other side of the mirror. I study this phenomenon in fascination, and then, vaguely, I see a figure coming towards me in the mirror. I look around, but of course no-one’s there. Not here, in this place of murder and other fatal tragedies. The figure is on the other side, and it’s closer now, hunkering in front of the mirror just like I am. I still can’t see anything, only long locks of hair, suggesting that the figure is a girl. Then, a hand begins to write a word on the mirror, and the word is airotciV. At first I have no idea what it means, but then I remember: It’s a mirror, dumbass. So I read the word backwards, which takes some time due to my dyslexia, and it says Victoria. ‘Is that your name?’ I shout at the mirror, as if people could somehow shout through mirrors into parallel worlds, or afterlives. But no, of course she doesn’t hear me. Instead she begins to wipe the condensation off the mirror, revealing white ballet-dancer’s shoes, a maillot, a skirt… I snapped awake, drenched in sweat. Immediately I checked the bedside clock, which proclaimed that the time was 2:57am. The middle of the night. Of course. My wife, ever the light sleeper, murmured: ‘The same dream again? The one with the girl in the mirror?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Maybe you should visit a therapist or a psych. It’s getting a bit out of hand with these dreams. Plus you keep waking me up every night. It’s killing me.’ ‘I’ll think about it. Now let’s sleep.’ I had no more dreams that night. A Good Cup Of Coffee Clears The Head Time, much like my old science teacher, has set a linear course and will not diverge from it, whatever your complaints. And on this morning that statement held true. My brain was begging time for just a few more hours of recovery, to slow down just a bit, but time was saying, in the voice of that long-gone teacher: no, you should have done your homework, Nicholas, then you would understand the lesson. And though I knew the voice spoke the truth, it was too late now, class had begun and it was too late. So the alarm rang, just as it always did, at 6 a.m. I had always been an early bird, and, luckily, so had my wife. No arguments there. We got up pretty much simultaneously, and begun to execute that famous, sleep-drunken dance, the morning routine. I went downstairs to make coffee ( A good cup of coffee clears the head , my dad always says, and it’s good advice. I’ve been following it since I was fourteen) while my wife showered, and when the coffee was made I went upstairs to shower, and my wife made breakfast. That way we could eat Saturday breakfast together, something we both valued highly. Our son couldn’t really be expected to appear until around 11 a.m., but we forgave him that. He was a teenager, after all, and they need their sleep. With some caffeine circulating in our blood the day began to pick up pace. We discussed everyday matters which I will not bore you with, and eventually, after several cups of coffee, the talk turned to my dreams. I had been having them for around a month now, and they had gotten progressively longer and more vivid. At first I had got no further than the silly metal gate before snapping awake, with not quite as much force as last night, and I had paid no attention to the dream then. But as I realized I was having it every night, I began to remember more and more. Eventually I got to the point where I could remember it well enough to write it down in narrative, as you have already read. I quickly changed the subject to our son though, there is always something to say about him. Why I felt compelled to change the subject though, I have no idea. Maybe it was the embarrassment of waking her up every night. More everyday matters were discussed, and when breakfast was over my wife went to town to do groceries, which she always like to do on Saturday, and always alone. She says the simple tasks ( get milk, get eggs, get peanut butter, get toilet paper ) are a welcome escape from the grave matters with which she must concern herself during the workweek. And I let her go. I hate doing groceries anyway. So I settled down in my easy chair with yet another cup of coffee and the intricately folded Saturday newspaper. I disassembled the paper and begun to read. I wasn’t really reading, though. All I remember is that there was something on the front page about Gore, and that day is a month ago now. The fact is, I might as well have been holding an empty sheet of paper with Al Gore written on it, that was how little I was taking in. Because my mind, as it had so often done, was straying to the dream again, and about what my wife had said upon my awakening. ‘Maybe you should visit a therapist or a psych. It’s getting a bit out of hand with these dreams.’ And really, she’d been right. With perhaps a little too much caffeine running through my bloodstream and clearing my head, that seemed clear as day. Baynes Hypnotherapy Co. The dream wasn’t going away on its own, I knew that much. So I looked around on the internet for a therapist in my neighborhood. Conveniently there was one located just outside the town where I live. ‘Baynes’ Hypnotherapy’ it was called. As soon as I heard that name I knew that that was the place to go. I have no idea why, but I just did. Their website stated that Mr. Baynes specialized in regression therapy, the kind where the therapist hypnotizes you and you can go back into your own memory. That sounded like just what I needed. The dream suggested that there were things in my memory that I’d somehow blocked out, things I’d forgotten. I wanted to know what they were. So I rang them up. A reception desk lady answered, speaking in that typically haughty and distant voice that seems to be the property of all reception desk ladies, the voice that tells you ‘I have better things to do than talking to you. Say what you need to say and fuck off.’ I always wondered why they used that voice. Shouldn’t they be friendly to a customer, especially at a therapist’s office, where the people who call to make an appointment obviously have some kind of emotional issue? Anyway, she said: ‘Baynes’ Hypnotherapy co., how may I help you?’ ‘Hello, I’d like to make an appointment for a therapy session.’ ‘Well, I’m sure that can be arranged. Your name?’ ‘Nicholas. Nicholas Lifeson.’ ‘All right, Mr. Lifeson, it looks like we have a spot open for an hour-long session next Monday at 3:00 pm. Would that be all right with you?’ ‘That would be fine. I’ll see you then. Have a nice weekend.’ ‘You too, Mr. Lifeson.’ Nothing else interesting happened that weekend, apart from me having the dream two more times. I was looking forward to a Monday for the first time in my life.   On Monday I awoke to a beautiful May morning, with rays of sunlight streaming in from the window, which looked out eastward. My spirits were high; I felt like I was about to be rid of the dream that plagued me so, like I was about to find out what it meant, like I was close to something great. My wife and son not so much; For them it was of course just another Monday morning. My son was preparing for his finals week, my wife had her job to get to. I sent them both on their way around eight o’clock, their stomachs full of healthy breakfast, and then the waiting began. I read the paper with some coffee, again not taking in much, and watched my Radiohead live DVD again. I often watch that when I have the place to myself. I’m a huge fan and find it very relaxing to read the paper and have Thom Yorke sing to me in the background.   Time passed and eventually it was two o’clock, time to go. I left the house and got in my car, an old beat-up Ford Escort. My wife had the more up-to-date car, a Focus. It was an hour-long drive to Baynes Hypnotherapy Co. I thought about the dream some more. The previous night it had gone on longer than ever, to the point where I could see the girl’s face clearly. I screamed to her: ‘Why am I here? Can’t you tell me?’ As her face became clear I saw she was looking at me, but not hearing me. Her eyes were green and full of sadness. Real sadness, not the kind little girls usually display, for instance when they fall and bruise their knee. This sadness went much deeper, it tore at her soul. Then she got up and walked out the door, and the dream ended.    Publication Date: January 9th 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-jaccovaneijk

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-anastasia-timmons-the-girl-who-disappeared/

anastasia timmons the girl who disappeared 1st DAY OF SCHOOL One day their was a 15 year old girl name Gina. Her mom was a taxi driver and her dad was bartender. Gina got everything she wanted and always made straight A's. But one thing nobody knew about Gina she did what she had to do to get them straight A's. On her way to school Gina say a group of boy's hanging around the car and listening to music. But Gina had a boyfriend named Johnny. He was very sweet, loved her for who she was and everything but Johnny didn't know Gina's secret either. Gina and her boyfriend would walk to school everyday. But today was different. He had high expectations he wanted to be like bill gates but of course his girlfriend said you can't have what you want all the time. But everybody Gina was rich. Gina made it to the high school and their were the cliques. The first clique was Jazz Band, then you had the geeks, then you had the wanna be gangstas, then the gangstas, the popular kids, and the weirdo's. So she was in the popular group because her boyfriend was a football player. Johnny was the best quarterback in the league. Gina on the other hand was awesome at making flowers and jewelry. As Johnny and Gina was walking from school Johnny had got a phone call saying that he had to go home. So he gave Gina a kiss and he left her. It was 7:30 at night and Gina was walking alone and then she saw her friends coming out of the grocery store. Gina went up to her friend's and said, "Hey girls i need a ride to my house." One of the girls named Carly said, " what happen to your boyfriend, and she said well he had got a phone call saying he had to go home." Then Carly said well we are having this party tonight at my house did you want to come and hang. Gina said YES PLEASE! Well hop in Carly said. Gina asked Carly if their were going to be any drinking and smoking at the party? Carly said hell yeah their is and then she said why you don't drink or smoke. Gina said NOPE. Then Carly said their is other stuff you can do besides smoke or drink. So on their way to Carly's house they kept talking back and forth about the party. So now they have arrived at the party and Gina had to check he phone and she had 9 missed calls 6 from her mom and 3 from Johnny. She called Johnny back and he didn't answer the phone so she wasn't worried about it. So they all went inside of Carly's house and every clique was their except of the geeks and the weirdo's. But when Gina looked around she saw her boyfriend. Then Gina went up to him saying what are you doing her you said you were going home. He said i was going home until i almost made it to the house i had got a phone call from Carly saying she was having a party. So Johnny had told Gina that he had to go and he said just go hang with my friends and he gave her a kiss and said bye baby ill see you tomorrow. She said okay. So she went to his friends and said hey i got with Johnny and they said o yeah that's right how are you doing sweetie. Gina said I'm fine and she looked nervous and one of the boy's said why do you look like your nervous? She said i don't know! They said well just relax. The boy was like do you drink and she was like no i don't drink but i guess i can have a sip. That sip changed her life so she end up drinking a lot and now she was drunk but of course they slipped something in her drink and she was knocked out. So they took her up stairs and all 6 guys raped her while she was knocked out and they told everybody that she had falling asleep and they are going to take her home but the never did they put her in a cave where nobody could find her. Where DID SHE GO! It was the second day of school and Johnny had went to Gina's house and knocked on the door and the mother came to the door crying saying you monster where is Gina. he said I thought she had came home last night cause i got her text saying that I'm leaving the party but you don't have to come and get me Carly is taking me home. So I was like okay. Why where is she? The mother said nobody knows where she had went to but you need to find our daughter. So he went out and called the cops to help him find his girl friend. So they went to the scene of the crime which was at Carly's house. So we went back to Carly's house and we stayed their to Carly got home. Once she got home we asked her if she new what happened to Gina. Carly said, "That yes she left with your friends last night because she had fallen asleep so they said that they world take her home why do you ask is their something wrong." Yes Johnny said. Well what happened to her Carly said. Johnny said she never came home so we was wondering what happened to her. But i pretty much need to talk to my homeboys to see what happened to my girlfriend. So he went to his homeboys house and notice that they weren't their. So they sat in the car for a little bit and they come up in a charger. Johnny gets out of the car asking them what had happened to my girlfriend Gina. They said we took her home last night because she was drunk last night and passed out so when we took her home she got out of the car and went inside of the house and then we left. Johnny said, "Gina drinking that's unbelievable because she would never drink anything i hope. But could you think of anywhere else y'all stopped first. The boy said, " NAW MAN WE WENT STRAIGHT TO HER HOUSE." So if anybody finds out what had happen to my baby girl please let me know im scared for her. As soon as Johnny and the cops left the 6 guys went inside of the house and got a flash light and put on some different shoes. They left the house and went to the cave where they put her at she was fine until she started having morning sickness and then you probably realized that she was pregnant. But when they got their she was okay until she asked them where she was at and they told her that she was in a cave where nobody could here her and now she is very scared asking them why are they doing this. But they slapped her and started feeling all up on her and again raped her and she passed out again. Feeling sick to her stomach they just keep going on and on again one after the other she is very terrified but doesn't no what to do. So when they left the cave she had found a way to free herself but little did she no that they just went outside to smoke. So she ran outside and started screaming and they caught her and tied her back up saying you cannot escape us. So she got beat up for trying to run away and they said we will let you go but you can't tell anybody what happen to you because if you do we will hunt you down and kill you and we will go to jail with a big smile on our face do you understand. Gina cried yes i do. But they said well we can't let you go just yet and she said why not and they said because you didn't give us the royal treatment. Gina cried what is the royal treatment. They said your about to find out but don't worry about that we are going to take you to the crib so you can take a shower and stuff so you can give us our royal treatment. So they released her and took her back to the crib and she showered and put on some fresh clothes and she gave them the royal treatment. Then they took her home and said her you go Johnny her is your girlfriend and he said well were was she at? They said she had fallen and couldn't get up and then they whispered to her you better not tell anybody or we will kill you and then she started to cry. WHAT BABY? The next day she walked to school with Johnny and she didn't talk much anymore about what happened. So she saw the 6 guys she never realized that went to school with her and then she started to cry and her boyfriend said hunny whats wrong she said none thing i was just thinking about something. Then she went into her clique and she started to cry to them and they all said what wrong she keep saying none thing and she asked Carly if she could go and get a pregnancy test from the store ill give you the money to get it she said. Then they said who is the lucky guy and then they all started laughing because it was funny and then she started laughing to because it was kind of funny she said and now she said can you please go before the first tardy bell rings. So Carly came back with the pregnancy test and they all went into the bathroom with Gina and they stood outside of the stall and now she came out saying that she was pregnant and they all started screaming and saying yes its finally true. So of course they went and told her boyfriend that she was pregnant and he went and told everybody and now he is going to marry her before she haves the baby. She is excited but she also doesn't know whose baby it is and she definitely knows it's not Johnny's baby because he always used a condom and it never broke or anything like that. But she was thinking to herself that she needs to tell Johnny but she can't because she doesn't want to die. So therefore she kept it to herself and didn't really care anymore and as long as her boyfriend was happy she was happy. So he went to the jewelry store and bought her a ring and then he went to her house asking if he can speak to Gina the mother said yes you can and he came inside and the mother said that she had went upstairs to listen to music. So the mother said you can go upstairs. So he went upstairs to Gina's room and he knocked on her door saying if he can come in and she said yes and then he said well i have to talk to you about something and she said what it is that you need to talk to me about and he had got on his knees and said to her WILL YOU MARRY ME! She said yes of course but she wanted to tell him something too! He said was sup and she said well you know how you left the party to go home and he said yes i know well and then he had cut her off saying why what's wrong? She said well i have to tell you that your friends raped me and they didn't stop and then he said well why didn't you tell anybody. Because i thought you would think i was lieing about what happened and he said no i would believe you and she cut him off also saying that the baby isn't yours either. He said what do you mean and then she said well all 6 guys raped me and when we have sex we always use a condom and it never brakes so i know it's not yours. He felt all bad and upset telling Gina i need to be alone so don't text me and don't talk to me i will when i get over the issue I'm having. She said okay but i love you and he didn't say anything just walked out of her room and walked down the stairs weeping and sighing. The mother said is everything okay he said no but i have to leave so good day to you ma'am. Publication Date: September 15th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-stasiadiva145

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-paula-louise-shene-the-face-of-evil/

Paula Louise Shene The Face of Evil A Night of Fantasy For Fans of the Unexplained One of the reasons,Doctor Leo, I remembered this episode so vividly was because there were children involved. As I said, it was a dark and stormy night: “You’d think after three days, this storm would go on. I’ve never seen so much snow down in this area, upstate, yes... But here, no way. I can’t even see the sky, forget the stars,” I whined. The only listener to my complaining was my younger sister, lounging, one leg thrown over the recliner chair armrest. She attempted to force a smoke ring in my direction, laughing, as I dodged it. “You know Evie, there are times, you need a good smack, and I’m willing to do it.” Scowling, I plopped in the partner chair. “Come on, Sis. I’m just trying to get you out of this foul mood. Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she said, holding up her hand in the classic speak to the hand gesture. “I get it. It was a bloody long seventeen hours with two kids in the back seat, but as you said it was three days ago. Besides, you and Hal brought this with you... You rolled in with, close on your tire tracks.” “Sigh. You’re right, Evie. But, I’m also in a foul mood because of Perry being ill. That damn cold spot that seems to hover over the bassinet, no matter where I put it in that room. Where did Mom get this home to rent for the winter? It’s in the middle of nowhere. Okay, uncock the eyebrow - so it’s on the highway, but there’s nothing for... What...? A mile on either side and nothing but woods behind and across the way. You heard her, when she first took me upstairs to see our sleeping quarters. Quite a large area, sunny, but I knew the moment I stepped over the threshold, there was something majorly hinky about that room. The hair on the back of my head lifted - Mom finally admitting someone had died in that area. Jeesh!” “Got it in one. You always were a quick study.” Looking at her watch, she said, “It almost is time. I’ll take the candles. The board is over with the rest of the games - get it, would you?” Evie motioned to the sideboard as she left to get drinks. She had already plunked the candles down on the table with matches. She was a terrible one for tone. Answers, she said. Yeah, right. Ouija. I’d heard of this before. We called it the yes and no board, but the name is yes, yes. Figured I’d let her have her way... but when she got caught moving that pointer.... My thought was interrupted by her return. “Here, we go... A Scotch for you and a Rye and Coke for me. Brought the bottles too. Don’t want to stop the flow of the evening,” she said, as she slipped the bottles from where she had tucked them under her arms. “Okay. This is your show, Evie. I’m not crazy about talking to ghosts or spirits or whatever you want to call them, but I’ll play along... For now.” The pointer, the planchette it’s called, started moving. I looked at Evie. “Quit that,” I hissed. “It’s not me! Look, no hands,” she said, as she raised her arms up, her cigarette dangling from her left hand. The planchette continued to move. “Quick, use that pad over there. Dad left a pen with it too.” We had been playing Pinochle that evening before Dad and Mom and then Hal and the boys had headed off to bed. I grabbed it out of her hand and started writing the letters it was swiftly hitting on. I had kept my eye on it from the start of movement, so I saw all It spelled out: MYWIFEWASKILLEDBYANINTRUDERINTHATROOMANDSHELOSTHERBABY - the hair again went up on my neck as I broke it into a sentence: My wife was killed by an intruder in that room and she lost her baby. “That’s it, Evie. Enough for me. This is no game. Either you have pulled some kind of stunt that I cannot figure out how, yet, or this is real. I’m going to bed.” “Don’t you want to say something back to the spirit? You’ll need to use the pointer.” “Not a chance. If that thing can move like that without help, it can understand me.” I stared intently at the board and forcefully said, “Stay away from me and my family. Leave my baby alone, for God’s sake.” I took my drink and started out of the room. Evie yelled, “Hey, wait for me. Don’t want to be down here, alone.” She quickly blew out the candles, and assured me all the way up the stairs, she had nothing to do with the movement. In fact, she said, it scared her more than it did me. She would never yell back at it. When I got to the bedroom, I flipped on the light, to check for the cold spot. It was gone, but when I pulled down the blind, went and turned down the covers, I glanced back at the shade. There was an evil face imprinted on that shade. I sat up all night, arms crossed and glared at the impression. I fell into a light sleep towards the morning as dawn broke. The following night the face was not there, and I never saw it again. I had my mother look into the history of the house. The house was quite a new one, less than twenty years old, and no one had died in the building. But Mom was not satisfied with that answer since the incident had spooked her too, hearing about it. She kept digging and finally found the evidence, the one that made sense. When the house was built, the owners were told they were building on unholy ground. It had been land where squatters lived, and one of the pregnant woman had been murdered by her jealous lover who had accused her of infidelity. The reason the house was rented was because no one lived in it more than one year. “So, Doctor Leo, I still get chills from thinking about that encounter - but I was not going to allow fear to overwhelm me and have my child continue to be harmed. Mom told me that they didn’t have any more problems with that room. She and Dad continued to rent it for the wintertime when they came off the beach from their seasonal managership situation except I refused to sleep in that room again. Text: Paula Louise Shene Images: Paula Louise Shene All rights reserved. Publication Date: August 8th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-paulashene

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-kirsten-lott-his-golden-tears/

Kirsten Lott His Golden Tears I'm living in a world where she isn't there to hold. Katherine Efird. Character after her and for her to enjoy. Chapter One. Katherine. Sunday, 11:28 pm. outside the coffee shop. The rain trickled down my spine chilling me... And right now, that was the only thing in the world I could really feel right now. I stared at Ty for a long time trying to remember good times I had had with him. But at that moment, all I could see was his pale body… his pale, lifeless body. No breathe. No heart beat. The only thing moving from him was his blood being washed down the pavement by the falling rain. His tan drenched away by death, his beautiful blonde hair, now crimson red, his deep green eyes, now pale and gray. I finally fell to my knees when I could feel my body again. That was the day when the world went cold. Chapter Two. Ty. Sunday, 11:30 pm. outside the coffee shop. It felt strange to be separated from my body, I felt so light now. And… so… dead… I looked down at Katherine and my body. The way she cried was unbearable… Even though it’s pointless, I knelt down and hugged her tightly. Surprisingly, she jumped up and gasped… Was it possible? No… She couldn’t feel me. Then I realized she turned around to look at something. And before I could look, the real world disappeared before my eyes. Chapter Three. Katherine. Sunday, 11:30 pm. outside the coffee shop. When I heard the footsteps from the distance I gasped and spun around, embarrassed, I wiped my tears. It was dark outside, and my eyes needed to adjust, so I couldn’t see who was there at first. Then I saw her, and she looked happy, even when she saw Ty, dead, on the ground. To her happiest, she walked up and said, “Hey, Kat. Did Ty die or somethin’?” I stared at her for it seemed like forever, my best friend, the smartest, most popular girl in school, now, a stupid girl, alone with her stupidity. “Are you stupid?” I felt like I was screaming, but I knew it was just a whisper. I could barely speak at this moment. “Oh, you want me to tell you it’s okay? You want me to cry over a guy I don’t even know? Is that so stupid? I don’t need to cry for you, you are doing just fine on your own.” Shelby grimaced. I know that she always takes offense and she always fires back, but this was a moment where I just didn’t need this. So I turned my back to her, looking back at Ty. “Oh, come on girl, let him go! He’s in ‘heaven’ or whatever… Have you called the police?” I shook my head slightly, but enough for her to see. “And, uh, why not? Look whose stupid now. I’ll do it so the ‘widow’ doesn’t have to do it herself.” She snickered a little. “Why are you so cruel? Do you understand?.... At all? He was my boyfriend. Practically my soul mate. You know how I am about relationships, and you know I mean it when I say soul mate.” I turned around quickly, “He was my happiness in this world and he’s gone and all you’re doing is standing there, calling ME stupid. What, stupid because I can’t dial the police because I can’t really feel my fingers right now. Because I’m crying because MY BOYFRIEND IS DEAD?! You have no reason in anything you say Shelby Anne Jonston! You were my best friend! I thought I could go to you when I was down and nobody else was around, and yet you stand here and insult me when I need you the most!” I felt my face burning by that point and I whispered, “You were the only thing I need right now. Is it so hard to not be cruel for you?” She gazed at me in astonishment, and then her face went calm again. “Well at least I dialed the police for you. Best thing I can do right now, APPARENTLY. I guess I shouldn’t stay here with somebody that hates me all of the sudden.” She smirked and turned… and walked away casually. I had lost two things that night. My soul mate and my so-called best friend. Chapter Four. Ty. Unknown time. Unknown place. I kept walking around like an idiot. There is nothing in this place and I just keep walking around until I find something…. Or somebody. I know it’s crazy to say but, do the deceased souls ever get lonely? Because, about 5 or 6 minutes after death and I’m already lonely. I want to go down to where I was, with Katherine. All I wanted was to be with my beautiful and sweet Katherine. At this point I just want to comfort her, but I ended up disappearing in to this…. this… place… I’m not sure what to call it right now. “You’re in the Gates of Heaven, in case you were wondering.” Said a booming voice. I turned around quickly and saw a tall man with wings smiling at me. “How—where—what the—“ I sounded stupid, but this… angel... had to understand me. “It’s okay. Your name is… Tyler Clament…. Am I right?” I looked at him blankly and realized (stupidly, I know) that that was my name he said. I said quickly, “Uh—umm—yes, yes that’s me. I’m—in… Heaven?” “You are at the Gates; you don’t get into Heaven that quickly, I still need to tell you a few rules first.” He smiled and gestured me to come over there. I walked slowly, still unsure. After being murdered, I wasn’t sure to trust anybody, even if the man had wings. Stupid as it sounds, it makes perfect sense to me. When I got in front of him and looked down at my feet for what it seemed like forever. He grabbed my shoulders and tilted my head up slightly, but enough for me to see him. “I understand how you feel at this moment with how your life ended, but you can trust me, Tyler. You know me from some time ago, that’s why I am now your guide.” My eyes widened, “I—I know you? Then why don’t I recognize you?” His smile slowly faded and he sighed, “Remember a boy named Lane Ganest?” He raised his eyebrows, still holding my chin. I thought for a moment and shook my head slightly. “I lived next door to you for about 12 years and we played basketball almost every day with Phillip and Josh? Ring a bell?” I almost fell to my feet. My childhood best friend that I had tried to get out of my memories after he died was now my guide to being an angel. What are the odds? He let go of my chin and laughed a little at my sudden realization. “Lane? Snicker Lane?” I laughed. “Wow, you age in heaven?” He smiled at me and laughed, “You clearly remember me Ty. Good to see you again, Hershey Boy.” I hadn’t heard that nickname in almost 6 years… It felt good to be with him again. “How do you remember that name?” I said, half laughing. “I’ve been here for almost 6 years, I happen to go back to some memories. It’s always the happy ones I like to go back to.” He smiled down at me. I looked at my hands, pretending to examine them. “I’m sorry for forgetting you… I… just… well… I didn’t want to think of you being dead… I was so sad for so long and I needed to go on… I’m really sorry. Really and truly sorry Lane.” I felt my face burning. I really couldn’t think of anything to say. Then I looked at him half smiling. “It’s okay Ty; we all need to move on sometime in our lives. That’s how life works.” He shrugged. “Even when you’re just a soul, you need to move on. Forget all fears and woes and—“ “Is there any way I can go back to Earth.” I quickly interrupted. He looked at me astonished, “Wait, what? Why? You’re in Heaven and you want to go back?” I nodded. “I want Katherine to know that it’s okay and who did this to me. I don’t want my murderer to get away.” I looked at him for a moment and I could tell he was trying to think of something to say. Then he scratched the back of his neck and sighed, “Wait until we meet God for you to ask questions like that. Come on Hershey Boy.” As we started walking to the Gates, I was worried that I might never see Katherine ever again. Chapter Five. Katherine. Monday, 6:45 am. school. I cried when I starting walking up to his locker. Some habits, I just really hate. When I felt my eyes starting to water even more, I quickly turned and practically ran up the stairs. It was like a video game to me trying to avoid everybody before I went to the bathroom. POUND! I fell to the ground and looked up at him. “Uh…. Sorry Katherine… Didn’t see ya there…” Phillip bent down to pick up my books. “Are… are you alright? You can talk to me if you want to, I understand if you—“ I leaned over and hugged him tightly and whispered, “You were his best friend,” I let go and looked at him, “If anybody were to understand, it would be you.” He glanced at me for a minute with a blank stare and then held out his arms, “Then I’ll be here to help you get through this. I know Ty would like somebody to help you through something like this.” I leaned into his hug and smiled knowing somebody was finally here to help me through this. Chapter Six. Ty. Heaven… I guess? “Wait, you said I couldn’t get through Heaven without knowing the rules and I don’t have my wings.” I looked up at him through the corner of my eye, clearly I interrupted some thoughts because I saw him snap out of a daze. He straightened up and pointed to his right. “There are the Gates, we aren’t through them yet. And I was thinking how to tell you the rules…. And, you can get through the Gates without your wings, but you need to go straight to God before you are officially living in Heaven. You can’t live in Heaven without your wings.” I tilted my head a little bit in confusion. “Wait, what? I thought that I just went straight to Heaven and became an angel to serve God.” He scratched the back of his neck and he made a face (I think that maybe that was his thinking face, I have no freaking idea what to call it). “You don’t get your wings until you help at least one lost soul or somebody who is in need of help of other importance. Only God can decide who… Only then can you. It shows you are a pure soul, one who wants to help.” He just glanced at me, hoping (CLEARLY) that I understood. “I’ve seen movies about cra—stuff like that. Heh… So the movies on this stuff is true?” He looked at me for a second confused. OH YEAH. He hasn’t been around to actually watch those kind of movies and actually know what it means. Crap… Nice one there Ty.. “Nevermind Lane… Sorry… ANYWAY.. Soooo…. We go to God now?” He looked at me angrily, “Remember I have to tell you the rules? I told you at least once dude.” Whoops. “Sorry, go right ahead..” I tried to make myself look at least a little bit shorter so he couldn’t see me. I mean, I was short enough as it is… Or is he just really tall? “Okay, Rule One: Don’t ever use the Lord’s name in vain while being an angel… Or ever for that matter. Rule Two: Do not hurt one another physically or mentally. Rule Three: Obey God at all times. (Even if it seems wrong, he has his reasons for everything, believe me Ty) Rule Four: Do not disrespect another. There is no reason for it.” He glared at me for a minute (taught me something there… Geeze..) “Rule Five: ….Do not get involved with Satan unless you get God’s permission and bring your advisor with you.” …..Why would anybody ever want to do that?? “Okay, I get it. That’s it?” He scratched the back of his neck, “Count the Ten Commandments and yah, that’s pretty much it.” “Alright, going to Heaven and meeting God then?” I looked up and smiled at him. He smiled back and nodded. “You ready?” Never been more ready in my life or death. Chapter Seven. Katherine. Monday, 2:52 pm. School parking lot. Once I got out of school, I ran straight to the car and tried to get the key in the ignition, but for some reason my hands didn't want to respond. I sat in the car with my head on the wheel and sighed. Apparently everybody had watched the news this morning about Ty dying. Reality really struck me today, and I'm really starting to hate it. When I saw Ty yesterday night, I was hoping it was all a dream. When I woke up this morning, I sat up bed like any other day hoping I woke up from a simple nightmare.. Then I ate my Fruit Loops and turned on the news. I realized then, this was all real. I was awake for this nightmare. Today, everybody told me how sorry they were but only one person was there for me today, and that was shy, bashful Phillip. He'd actually walked in the girl's bathroom and talked to me and wiped my tears. (He made sure nobody was in there and he locked the door.) He had talked to me and helped me a little, but nothing could help me right now.. Unless you can raise the dead, that is. Chapter Eight. Ty. Heaven. As I walked through the gates I realized this wasn't the Heaven everybody interpreted. Like, clouds & tons of pretty singing angels everywhere. It had beautiful bamboo floors, a fireplace & an ocean off to the side. Off in the distance I could see some angels but only through 1 open window that seemed to be floating. I looked up at Him. He was beautiful.. amazingly extraordinary... No.. Those words can't describe it perfectly.. Then it hit me: Perfect. Just.. Perfect. He seemed to look like my father when he was younger.. Not like how paintings depict him as. He had short blonde hair, auburn eyes, tan, but not too tan, skin, & a clean beard. I bowed before Him and looked up slightly to see He had His hand out for me to get up. At this point I was trying to decide whether to take His hand. Stupid, yes.. But it was hard to explain why I had a nagging feeling to not take His hand. So I ignored the nagging feeling and took His hand. Chapter Nine. Katherine. Monday, 3:27 pm. School parking lot. TAP. TA. TAP. TAP. I rose my head up, slightly confused, I looked right then left. Phillip was standing by the window, looking in at me, clearly waiting for me to roll down the window. So, I did. "Umm.. Hey Phill--" "Let me get in the car. Now. Please. I'll tell you on the way." He stared at me hard waiting for an answer. I stared blankly at him out of pure shock. I wasn't use to him acting like this. I finally seemed to snap out of it, "Uh.. Yeah, get in. It's unlock--" He ran all the way around the car, opened the door dramatically, and irritatingly slammed the door, "DRIVE." I rolled up the window, looked forward, and looked at him with distaste, "You may have helped me today, but that doesn't give you the right to treat me like this." He stared at me like I was stupid, looked frustrated, and then tried his best to go back to being a little calmer, "Please drive your car away from here as soon as possible. I am trying not to explode from freaking out right now. Thanks." He pointed in the rear-view mirror. Shelby. Chapter Ten. Ty. Somewhere. I was frozen in my own state of mind, in a new universe, different from anything I've ever seen.. And I had just seen God's perfect face. I was staring at a door. It wasn't ordinary. Yes, it was floating, but it seemed to have a strange pattern and language. Colors that didn't seem to exist anywhere BUT this strange place. I tried moving towards it, but I seemed to only have the ability to move my arms. I looked around me and saw beautifully sculpted arms around me. I looked up. It was Him. And He was smiling at me with His perfectly perfect teeth shining. Publication Date: July 14th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-kiwinoeachi

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-m-j-garrett-first-chance-last-chance/

M.J. Garrett First Chance, Last Chance First Chance, Last Chance By: M.J. Garrett   Introduction:   Look at them.  The self-serving; self-righteous pricks.  Sitting there in their pristine uniforms with badges and medals, gold stripes and bars on their collars, they never smile.  As they sit at the horseshoe table with small microphones in front of them, each one listens as an officer from Internal Affairs reads off the charges from my past and present transgressions.  Sitting to the left of the table, with a solemn face and tone, the officer keeps reading.   One by one, ghosts from the past resurface like bad memories.  He pauses for a moment; with a quick shameful glance, he bows his head and he continues to read.    Senior Corporal Bodie, the man reading, brought me through my police training.  For 15 weeks he showed me the ins and outs of this department.  15 years later, one by one, he’s driving the nails in my career coffin.  I can see what looks to be disappointment, but I know Bodie.  What appears to be disappointment is actually fear.  Calmly and void of emotion, I look at him.  He keeps reading.   Glancing to my right, I can see my sergeant.  Sergeant Cranston sits there in silence and lowers his head toward the table and pulls the corners of his mouth back behind his large mustache.  I’m sure the he was aware of my past.  Any good sergeant would know their troops, but through his obvious disappointment, I’m positive that he was not fully aware of what he was sitting in on during this particular board meeting.  Cranston and Bodie were partners about 25 years ago.  Each one of them guarding their secrets like an impenetrable vault, sits there listening and reading.      Sitting directly in front of me is Chief Bale.  With his head slightly bowed, he peers at me with distain.  His sharp eyes cut through the dimly lit room and peek from behind his thick white eyebrows.  There is no smile on his face today; not like there was yesterday when he announced to the media that I would be sitting in front of this particular disciplinary board today.  Even though his smile is hidden in the dark, I can see the corners of his mouth twitch as we make eye contact.   Bodie finishes off his list and the room falls silent.  I sit there in my black pinstriped suit and yellow tie.  With my hands folded together on the table, I move closer to the small microphone, ready to speak.  Chief Bale, leans back in his black leather chair and tilts his head slightly to the left and takes a deep breath.  “Officer Chance Baily, we both know that your extensive history is not just a reflection of your undeniable desire to break the rules, but it’s also a reflection of your personal integrity and lack of ethics.  Can we both agree on that?”  He cracks a slight grin that only I seem to recognize.  “Are you willing to admit that?”   Clearing my throat, I move closer to the microphone and politely ask him to clarify his question.  His grin disappears as he moves forward and rest his elbows on the table.  “Officer Baily, in 15 years, I have had the privilege of sitting at this desk and getting to know who and what you are really about.  Did you understand all of what Senior Corporal Bodie was reading?  Fifteen years on this department and eleven different investigations.  Again, I ask you, is this not a reflection of your personal integrity and lack of ethics?”   For a moment, I sit there.  Thinking the question through, I softly grin and glance at Cranston and then Bodie.  Each one of them closing their eyes and waiting for the next words to escape lungs.   Chapter 1   The weather in Texas this time of year was always a tricky thing to predict.  The mornings always seemed to be filled with a light fog and slight drizzle.  It was never really freezing cold, but always cold enough to matter.  The afternoon and evenings never really called for a jacket of sorts, but sometimes you would regret not having one.  The sun always seemed to peek its warm glow through the crowded clouds.  The good thing about days like this, the air conditioning never really needed to be utilized.   As a self-proclaimed night owl, most of my days were spent sleeping in an unfurnished bedroom.  Stacked blankets and not-so-comfortable drool stained pillows made sleeping a lot harder now that I’m not as young and uncaring.  Backaches and popping joints were common place when waking up in the early afternoons.             You could argue that sleeping on the floor wasn’t near as comfortable as the couch, but when you throw the distraction of television and the temptation of porn, sleeping on the floor in the lonely bedroom was the only way to get any sleep.  The empty walls found ways to close in the room.  It seemed like every day they inched closer and closer to where the room was now the size of a small closet; a prison cell if you prefer.  The light from the window was stifled by the thick maroon bed sheet that was held up with small nails and thumb tacks.  It was a lazy and cheap remedy, but the sheet served its purpose valiantly.             Days filled with routine seemed to be the only way to keep any sort of sanity these days.  No one knew where I lived as of late.  Moving around, changing appearances, changing names.  It takes a toll on a person, but the peace of my present day silence made the decision to go off the beaten path well worth it.  The only break in the silence was the sound of the heavy set couple walking up and down the stairs.  They lived a couple doors down from me, but I’ve only seen them as I sneaked a peak at them as they waddled past my window.  The shaking of the walls and windows were a dead giveaway of their presence.              Lazily dragging my pitiful presence down the hallway to the restroom, I close my eyes as I flip the light on.  It’s a shame how being 35 years old feels like what I thought 65 years would.  My thick black wavy hair had its rare unwelcome gray visitors, but at this point in my life, I could care less what color my hair was; just as long as it wasn’t falling out.    Opening up a drawer in the bathroom was one of the only times I felt a smile creep on my tired weary face.  There’s just something about knowing that everything was where it was supposed to be.  The bottom of the drawer was covered by a single folded paper towel.  My toothbrush lay up against the left side of the drawer; pushed snug in the front corner.  About an inch away was the spare toothbrush that usually served the purpose of a quick brush to remove tobacco from my teeth.    Just an inch to the right of the spare toothbrush was the tube of toothpaste.  With the paste pushed to the top of the tube, the bottom was flat and squeezed shut.  I never was a fan of rolling the bottom of the tube; I found it annoying and an eyesore to look at.  Next to the toothpaste was my razor; still capped and stowed in the holder that it was bought in.  This drawer represented the only part of my life that seemed to have any order.  It’s pathetic the more I think about it.   The bathroom counter top held nothing but a soap dispenser.  It was just a blank white granite slate used to rest my hands on as I leaned over the sink to spit the paste or rinse the razor.  Everything in this room was immaculate.  The towel was perfectly folded and hung on the metal towel rack for drying my hands and face, the toilet was cleaned and scrubbed daily, and the black shower curtain remained closed and pulled tight because that’s the way I like it.  The bathroom is a happy place for me.  It’s quiet and clean.   The rest of the house was clean and organized, but you’ll find a lot of stuff out of place.  Mainly because I just didn’t bother with the small things that the rest of the world had access to.  I think it’s more of a mental disorder.  Maybe some sort of closet perfectionist?    I always wondered how the hell I got here; this place of solitude and loneliness.  The apartment is filled with black leather furniture, a modern motif that used to symbolize the fact that I gave a shit.  Now, it’s more of an inconvenience and a reminder of how stupid I used to be.  Not that anyone would ever see the inside of my apartment, but if they did, they would probably be impressed.  Me, I could care less.  I have my bed made of fluffy expensive mink blankets, cheap pillows, and I have my spotless bathroom.  It’s the small things that matter.   *   I would be inclined to say that if your name isn’t in my list of phone contacts, I’m not going to answer the phone.  You are probably just another insignificant person or bill collector that was going to have to hunt me down.  Good luck with that!  My trail is as cold as the leather couch in my living room.  For some reason, maybe out of the delusion of the dream I was having, I reached over and silenced the phone as it vibrated on the floor beside my pillow.  As I rolled over to find that comfortable sweet spot that reduced all the discomfort of my body on the floor, with the exception of my back, shoulder, knee, and neck; I could hear the faint voice coming from the small speaker of the phone.   “Chance?  Are you there?  Hello?”   At first I thought I was dreaming.  Her sweet voice was calling me from our newly renovated kitchen.  The smell of homemade biscuits, bacon, eggs, topped with the delicious aroma of her amazing chocolate gravy filled my nose to the point that I could taste it.  She walked to the kitchen table and began to fill our plates with her delectable rendition of what her mother used to make.  She dressed herself in a very elegant, red, silk nightgown that was held up by two small spaghetti straps, which one always seemed to fall off her shoulder to reveal her smooth pale skin of her shoulder that brought back the smell of her skin.  With her hair pulled tight in a ponytail, loose strands hung in her face and in front of her black framed eyeglasses that she needed while her contacts were left soaking in their little plastic holder on the kitchen counter top.   “Chance, I know you’re there.  I can hear you snoring.  Please pick up the phone.”   I could see her long skinny shadow grace the living room as she paced by the kitchen door.  I could hear dishes being sat on the table and the clanking of silverware as she gathered them to put them in their assigned places.  I loved breakfast.   “Chance, please wake up!  I need you, Chance.”    I smiled as she entered the living room to tell me that breakfast was ready to be devoured.  She smiled as she pulled her loose bangs from her face and gingerly placed them behind her ear.  Walking over to me, her green eyes smiled just as much as her thin pink painted lips.  She reached her hand out towards me and harshly whispered, “Chance, wake the fuck up.”   Confused by the sternness of her tone, I lowered my eyebrows.  With her hand reached out and placed on my shoulder, she peered into my eyes with the most beautiful smile.  “Chance!  I know you are there!  Wake up, God damn it!”   My eyes crack open and the blank white walls of the bedroom stare back at me.  Blinking my eyes to allow them to focus, I could hear the small speaker on my phone.  “Chance!  Come on and pick up the phone!”   With my voice deep and full of air, cracking from the dust that settled in my throat while I slept, I grabbed the phone and placed it to my ear.  “Hello?”   “Chance, I need you.”    “Lucy?” I rubbed my eyes and gathered my senses, “What the fuck do you want?”           Chapter 2               I used to spend hours riding around the country side, dragging a knee into the sharp desolate paved curves of the only road worth riding on.  Bugs ricocheting off the face shield and the hum of bike’s 599cc engine would drown out any thoughts that didn’t have to do with staying alive.  I used to ride scared, now I just ride to push the limits of both me and the bike.  I was as safe as you could be when digging 90 mph turns that heated my knee, as sparks flew from the peg as it scraped the pavement.  It was a freedom that was rare these days; especially when you sell the bike just to keep from being visible.  A bright blue Yamaha R6 wasn’t rare, but when it had as many gadgets and features as mine did, it’s very hard to miss.   By now, I’m sure some 19 year old biker boy is either showing it off to his 17 year old girlfriend sitting on the back of it, or it’s been shredded in some accident that wasn’t worth news coverage. Either way, it wasn’t a care of mine anymore; I had other things to worry about.    Lucy, my lovely cheating whore of an ex-wife, sounded a little distraught when I talked to her this morning.  I don’t know why she wasted her time calling me; she and my old partner were bound to be keeping the neighbors up at night with the way she screamed in the bed.  It’s not like I had anything to offer her.  I didn’t have any answers.  All I had to give her was a middle finger, which she never took me up on that offer; even while we were married.   Surely she wasn’t in any trouble.  She may have been a whore who should have worn a cocksucker’s neck brace, but she was smart.  She always covered her tracks.  The only problem I could think of was Bodie.    Bodie, my ex-partner, always had his hands in something.  In her case, it was more than just his hands, but let’s not argue semantics.  Bodie, was a good cop.  He could see the streets like no one could; not unless you grew up in them.  The strange thing, he grew up in Highland Park, one of the nicest parts of the city.  Sure, he had a class about him and all the ladies thought he was an angel, but I’ve seen him work.  He wasn’t as crude as I used to be, but he knew how to get people to talk.  He used to tell me that it was easier to understand a person when your pistol wasn’t in their mouth.   I could see his point, but they definitely understood mine.   She never called me about anything.  Usually, Bodie could handle anything.  Either he is in some shit or he is balls deep into some little piece of ass and she found out about it.  I guess it could be said that he was in some shit either way you looked at it.  I figured it was the latter of the two scenarios, so I just hung up the phone.    I hated that she transitioned from me to him so effortlessly.  Listening to her try to explain to me the rigors of love was like listening to a rich kid complaining about being sent to his room where he could only play his XBOX or Play Station.  Sure, I loved her, but what she has now is something that I could never provide.  Soon enough, Bodie will realize that he can’t provide it either; but he didn’t really care.  It’s ironic in a way; she left me to be with another version of me…a richer, slightly younger, sexier version of me.   *   In my own way of making myself look presentable, I wet my hair and run the comb from front to back.  I used to be so particular.  I’d wear sweater vest and button up shirts; black or brown slacks; shiny brown or black shoes, all just to show the world that I was a beacon of civility.  Now, I throw on a shirt that I haven’t worn or washed in a week or so, slick my shaggy hair back, and throw on a leather blazer.  It’s kind of funny how that’s exactly what we do to not look like a cop, but all cops seem to dress like that.  The only thing that makes me appear not so cop-like is the fact that my beard and hair make me look homeless.  If I throw on the aviators, I look like a not-so-undercover narco.  I guess when you live the life; it’s hard to get rid of the remnants.   I’m supposed to meet a Lucy at Jiang’s Chinese and Japanese Cuisine at 2 pm.  I haven’t seen her in months and she insisted that today was of the utmost importance.  She didn’t have a clue where I was living now.  I’ve changed residents so often that it was hard for me to remember.  The good thing was that I lived two blocks away from Jiang’s.  A short walk from the apartment, but none the less it seemed like the longest walk ever.  I take it that most walks of shame felt this way.   The ringing of the bells hanging on the door gave me away as soon as I walked in.  Turning to look at me, I could see that she made a point to wear my favorite sun dress.  The one I bought her for her birthday last year.  Ironically, it’s the same dress that was on the floor of the bedroom when I walked in to see Bodie’s naked white ass bouncing in the air as Lucy screamed to be choked.  I was more than willing to oblige, but the fact that Bodie was still wearing his shoulder holster, with gun in tow, made me feel a little less obligated.   As she stood up and walked toward me, she quickly peeked to a table of men in the corner of the restaurant.  Normally, I wouldn’t think anything about it, but when she walked by like I was a stranger and whispered “It’s Bodie”; I felt the tug of her hand in my jacket pocket as she slid in a small folded note.  Obviously, this was meant to be read at a more convenient time, so I nonchalantly made my way to the bathroom.  As I walked into the bathroom, I quickly locked the door and began to hoist myself on the sink and pushed the bathroom window open.  As I crammed myself out of the window, I could hear the pushing and tugging on the door.    Leaning up against the wall, I took my phone and aimed the camera inside.  The small video clip later revealed three men entering the bathroom with guns ready.  It’s a little hard to watch video or a live camera feed when the only thing for them to see was my ass and elbows running and turning the corner of the alleyway.    Running through the alleys, from one street to the next, I figured that I had lost them.  I knew these streets better than most and while hunkered down with Richard and his dog beside their makeshift cardboard box house, I had hoped that Bodie wasn’t around.    “What kind of trouble are you in now, Chance?” Richard asked me looking disappointed.  His weary bearded face was inches away from mine as we laid there covered in smelly blankets and dog hair.  “By the way, you wouldn’t happen to have a buck would you?”  Looking at his blank face for a moment, I shuttered to think about what all happened under this blanket when it was just him and the dog.   “Not now, Richard.”  I whispered to him.  His dog, looking as shaggy as Richard, pulled his head from its resting spot as his interest was peaked by movement from the end of the alley.  He slowly trotted a short distance with his growl, making himself known.  “Richard, what is it?  I can’t see.”  I asked him as my face was now completely covered by the nasty blanket.   “It’s nothing.  There is no one there.”  I uncovered my face and peeked through a hole in the cardboard wall.  As I moved my head around to catch every angle through the small hole, I watched as the three men stood there in confusion.  Holstering their weapons, they tried their best to not look so obvious and then walked off.   Laying my head back down on the blanket, a sigh of relief escaped my lungs.  Richard snapped his fingers and called his dog back to camp.  “You know, Chance, we have to stop meeting like this.”   Taking a deep breath, I sat up and looked at him.  His face holding a smile that probably represented “I told you so”, made me smile as I dug into my wallet for a dollar.  “Do you have change, Rich?” I asked him politely.   “Change?  Are you fucking kidding me?” he almost looked disgusted by my audacity.   “I’ll take that as a ‘No’.  Better luck next time then?”  I stood up and dusted the dirt and dog hair of my shirt and pants.  Richard, still holding a look of shock, quickly reminded me that my mother would be disappointed.  Maybe she wouldn’t be disappointed for the drastic measures I took to hide from the men, but to ask Richard to make change for a twenty dollar bill was a disgrace.  “Richard, all I have is a twenty and we both know that you’ll only use it to get booze.”   “What the hell is wrong with that?” he asked me surprisingly.   “You’re right; there is nothing wrong with that.  No money today though.  Do me a favor, find out who the hell those men were, and I’ll give you more than twenty bucks.”  I told him as I used my hands to slick my hair and beard down.   “Sure thing, Chance.  Oh, and while I’m at it, I have some investment tips for you.” He’s been homeless for 10 or 12 years, but he still had his sarcasm.   “One more thing, Rich, don’t you think it would be wise to get a dog that looks and acts like a dog?  This thing here isn’t going to keep you alive.”  I started to make my way toward the end of the alley when Richard pipes up again.   “It’s not about the size of the dog in the fight, Chance; it’s the size of…..”   “I know, I know, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Rich, it’s a fucking Pomeranian!”            Chapter 3   Walking into my apartment, I throw the keys on the coffee table and I reach into my pocket to fetch the note given to me by Lucy, “Bodie, Baily, Bale, Villa, Rick-2am/Blue Bayou”.  I wondered what exactly she was trying to tell me.  Bodie, Baily, Bale; those names I know.  Villa and Rick; not so much.  Blue Bayou?    Leaning back on the leather couch, I examine the video from my bathroom visitors.  I didn’t recognize any of the faces.  Bodie and I had history and as much as I knew at this point, what I did know wasn’t worth me dying over.  Confused for a moment, I closed my eyes.  Repeating the note over and over, I quickly call a friend of mine that I hope can help me out.   “Susan!” “Chance?  What the fuck do you want?!” She harshly asked.  Susan Wychek was the District Attorney a couple of years ago.  However, after some questionable testimony from a possible dirty cop, she found herself packing her things into a small box and walking out of the office.   “Susan, I know you are still mad about the testimony I gave back then, but I really need you to help me out.”  I pleaded with her once before and I ended up walking home wearing nothing but a leather jacket and Chuck Taylor sneakers on.  Apparently, Susan wasn’t fond of my threesome idea with her and her sister.  Nor was she happy that I didn’t leave my then wife like I said I was going to.   “Chance, I told you that if I ever saw you again, I would cut your flaccid veiny dick off!  My sister?  For Christ’s sake, she was only 18!” After some choice words, I expressed my interest in the “Blue Bayou”.  I explained my run-in with Bodie and she finally relented the cursing.  “The Blue Bayou used to be a club downtown, but it’s been closed for several years now.  There is also a street called Blue Bayou, but it’s just outside of the city limits.  It’s just off of Highway 57, in the ‘deep’.”   “The Deep?” I questioned her aloud.  “There’s nothing but trailer parks and meth houses in the deep.”  “Well, I don’t know what exactly you are looking for, Chance, but that’s all I can give you right now.” “Thanks, Susan.” “By the way, Chance, have you talked to Richard?  Apparently, he needs to speak with you about urgent matters.  He’s called me several times.”  She sounded concerned for Richard. “Geez, Susan!  I owe him a fucking dollar!” “You couldn’t just give him the $20?” Susan sighed, “…and your mom called too.  I’m invited to Christmas dinner again, even though you haven’t been in over five years.” “What can I say, she liked you.” “Well, your ex-wife is invited too.  You never said anything to her about us, did you?”  Her disappointment in me was almost visible. “Gotta go…”                              Publication Date: March 6th 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-merlin05

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-callele-lyvance-fetiche/

Callele Lyvance Fétiche "Fashion is all about eventually becoming naked." Annonymous Couture Extraordinaire: Alayna Clou "It all started with a dream - a dare to create the most beautiful clothes ever known to man," Alayna Clou, famous for the Deuxième Peau Collection that debuted last autumn, said in the same elegant manner that she was also known for, in response to the question on how her life in the fashion industry began. Clad in one of her famous Fétiche uniform-button overcoat and brown Fétiche Skin tights, she graced me this once in a lifetime exclusive interview in the comforts of her multi-million dollar chateau. This was after her visit to the Caring Shelter, one of the many homes around the world that Clou's charity foundation called Un Fétiche à Aider put up to help the homeless drifters roaming in the streets. This is the first time that Clou herself spoke up about the beginnings of her Fétiche line and the first time that she let anyone outside her company see her in person. "You have a very beautiful skin," she says, eyeing me cheerfully. Despite being born and raised in France, her English was flawless. "Do you put anything on it? I love skin you see." "Oh nothing but moisturizer," I replied. She wasn't as intimidating as she seemed in the magazines. "And I take a bath regularly." "…Very good..! Very good," she said. "And eat plenty of fruits and vegetables, yes?" "Indeed I do," and she chuckled, somehow still maintaining her magnificent poise. "If you don't mind me asking, Miss Clou…" "Alayna is good," she said smiling at me. "Very beautiful skin you have," she whispered. "Alayna..?" She nodded ecstatically. "Alayna, why 'Fétiche..?' Why use the French word for 'fetish' as the name of your clothing line?" Alayna smiled. "Oh I have a confession to make! I have a huge 'fétiche' for clothes. No, not that I get sexually aroused at wearing them I just… love clothes – looking at them, touching them, feeling them…Don't you think it’s wonderful? Such things turn into such lovely material that warms you and makes you look more beautiful than you are? I see it as a miracle – clothing. And I've been so captivated by clothes ever since I was young. That was why I studied fashion in the university." "One of the reasons why people are so into your Deuxième Peau collection is the fabric that you make them with. We've heard animal rights groups rallying in the streets accusing you of using Sphynx cat skins in your collection. For the record, Alayna, what makes Fétiche clothes this beautiful?" "Well you are right about the fabric," Alayna said still with that cheery smile on her face. "For me, you see, clothes are second skin. And clothes must be made of the perfect material to be fit for the title of Deuxième Peau. Clothes from my collection, such as these I am wearing now, are made from what we in Fétiche call, 'skin.'" She leans closer to me and offers the end of her overcoat to my reach. "Feel this fabric." I held it in my fingers and noticed how different it felt from usual clothing line fabrics. Despite it looking like an average overcoat, only absolutely more fascinatingly stylish, it felt different. "This one is smooth, but not too smooth," Alayna said. "Pull it." I did. "You see how it stretches? It's not like the usual stretchable fabric or spandex. The colour changes with the stretch you see? That is one of the things competitors cannot copy. When it stretches, it accents the contour of the body, enhancing what must be enhanced. It boosts confidence in anyone who wears it." Alayna then took the glass of water on the center table and spilled it on her coat and tights. She smiled at me. "Notice how wet I am?" In fact, she wasn't wet at all. Just as it had been advertised on television, the clothes did not get wet when it was spilled with water. "And it happens with any drink," she said chuckling. "My fabric unlike the usual ones, do not absorb liquid. It is not permeable and is very easy to clean. But it does not feel bad also if you wear it. As you can see, it looks like any normal fabric from afar. But unlike the usual cotton or linen, it takes your shape. It molds into you like your own skin." "And is it made from Sphynx cats?" I jested. "Absolutely not," she replied, laughing at the thought. "I am proud to say that no animal was ever harmed in creating this fabric." "Why create such a special fabric, Alayna?" "Well, my love for clothes," Alayna began. "…As I said I've loved them even in my youth. And in my love for them I saved money to buy the clothes I wanted. That was hard for me in my childhood because we weren't rich. I practically went to school wearing modified rags. And I love my mother for it. But I wanted…no…needed to have more. I had to have lots of clothes! And since I couldn't buy it, I asked my mother to teach me how to make one. And I did." "The first one I made was a dress with pop sleeves!" she said, eyes lighting up like a child's in Christmas morn. "Ever since that day, I've been sewing my own clothes. I got a scholarship for fashion in the university and I continued to design and make my own school wear. Later I realized that the fabrics we know are not enough for the designs I make." "Fur for me was too…hairy and hot sometimes. It makes me sneeze. Cotton was too plain for me. Leather was flashy but it restricted my imagination. Silk was too smooth and vibrant. Wool was too thick…I end up frustrated when my clothes don't look as good and comfortable as I sketched them. And that was the only time that I really had a dream for my future. And that dream was to as I said earlier create the most beautiful clothes ever known to man." "And that was the start of your search for this mysterious fabric," I asked. Alayna laughed. "I have to be honest with you. I didn't exactly have any idea on how to look for it. However I did try mixing various threads to make different fabrics but it didn't work. My…discovery of this fabric was brought by my ex-boyfriend a very long time ago." "Oh, he inspired you?" "Oh no…well at least not in a positive way I think," she said smiling at me – clearly looking at the memory as a part of the past. "He broke up with me that night because he wanted to bang some model. You know how men are," she said chuckling. "Come to think of it, I think you have the same soft skin and complexion! Very beautiful…Anyway, of course I loved him and I didn't want him to leave me. So I got so frustrated that I wanted to do something that would make him stay and hold me forever. And that thought just got over me and I discovered what people now call the 'Fétiche Skin.'" "Wow! When one door closes, a window opens. That's a real proof that we ought to never lose hope in these heartbreaks, right Alayna?" "…Oh absolutely..!" "And are you in good relations with that 'ex' of yours? Of course, only if you don't mind me asking." "Very good terms I might say," Alayna said leaning back gracefully with a charming smile on her face. "After all, he left me a souvenir - this overcoat, actually. And he hasn't bothered me ever since. Come to think of it, I haven't exactly heard anything from him for quite a while." We laughed at the thought. Alayna, like any woman, had her fair share of normal human life after all. "So this 'Fétiche skin,'" I began. "We've discussed its difference with other fabrics but what causes these differences? Does it have something to do with where you get it or how you actually process it to be a fabric?" Alayna smiled. "I would have to say both," she said. "Well I think the reason why these animal rights advocates think that my fabric is made from Sphynx cat skin is because it looks like skin. In truth it is skin, but not from cats or any animal, dear no!" she said laughing. "We process the skin the way we normally process leather in general, but I added more steps to it. We trim the skin – make sure nothing but the skin is processed of course. You wouldn't want any fat on your tights, would you?" she said cheerily. "Before I let my people cut them into shape, I scrape the fats, muscles and hair off the skin and wash it in a special solution I made to be cleaned." "You do it yourself?" "Yes! Those are my favorite parts," she said enthusiastically. "I after all developed the right methods of processing the skin! Then it is soaked in special acid solution I made to make sure that it's all pure skin. After that, it goes through the usual tanning process to add color to it." "After the tanning process," she continued, leaning closer in excitement. "I slice the skin into very thin long pieces and wind it as thread. Then my people weave it to make the fabric. That way its natural properties are kept intact and even enhanced when sewed into various clothing pieces." "So it's a very long process then." "Yes, and we use different chemicals to treat it because it's not your average animal leather. The whole process of making a Fétiche skin is painstaking. But I must say that the most difficult part of producing it is getting the skin itself." "Oh…Is it taken in a very meticulous manner? Is it harvested somewhere across the globe?" "No," Alayna replied chuckling. "It's practically taken the way you skin any animal, I guess. Only, you don't do it on an animal. There's only one thing that makes getting the skin difficult."It's that you must be sure that the 'someone' you get it from, will not be missed or looked for by anyone," she said with a wide and proud smile on her face. "…Someone..?" "Yes! So tell me. Do you have any living relatives?" More on Fétiche Shards by Callele Lyvance Deuxième Peau A prelude to Fétiche Taken from the life of designer Alayna Clou, before she made the hit clothing line Fétiche. Also found in Fictionpress.com Text: Callele Lyvance All rights reserved. Publication Date: July 30th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-callele

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-tyler-lace-thief-in-the-shadows/

Tyler Lace Thief In The Shadows I would like to dedicate this to my Uncle, who passed in early 2014, and my Aunty, who is still going strong. Tell A Story The hall was large and every word echoed. Outside birds circled in the air and waves crashed against the port. Chatter filled the air as the crowds gathered in front of the stage. A man stood on the platform. He talked with his hands and his robe scraped the ground as he walked back and forth. Everyone in the crowd was paying close attention as he pulled off a large red fabric. They all froze, standing silently. The man stopped and looked at the empty easel, standing next to him. He yelled in frustration and murmurs swept through the entire crowd as two guards, holding swords, looked up at the swinging chandelier. The boy gathered himself and stood on top of the chandelier, holding the picture of swirls and splashes. He looked over at the door, then back at the guards. "The teenager! On the light," called one, more guards flooding into the halls. The crowds ran, screaming and calling to one and another. The sound of a crystal shattering caused his glance to move to his footing. He pulled himself up, him getting higher. The boy gripped the chain, holding the chandelier, as he heard more shots. "Pathetic," he whispered. His head snapped to the side and an idea sparked. The swinging light began to move faster. They all watched as he swung himself from one side to the other. He took a deep breath and strapped the painting to his back. For most people they would feel nervous or scared. He never understood why. If you have to do something, do it and don't bother worrying. The thought made him chuckle to himself. Tonnes of things, that people did, made him confused. He pulled up his hood, his black cloak touching his ankles. The boots he wore were leather and were no weight. This made it easier to do stuff like this, which he loved. He jumped, crossing his arms, and smashed through the window. The glass shattered and fell, breaking again on impact. For a few seconds, all he could hear was the glass and all he was weary of was himself flying through the air, landing on top of a tent. He lay for a second, staring at the blue sky. The sound of guards yelling caused him to jump up and slide off, landing on his feet. His swords clang together as he bolted through the alleys. He finally reached an open space, people scattering around with hunched backs. His dark eyes skimmed the area. He brushed off the glass and adjusted his hood once more, using his cloak to conceal the painting, before he walked in to the large crowd. He smiled lightly as the sound of burning filled his ears and the hall he escaped from was now engulfed in clouds of ash and smoke. It was handy being able to look distant, no one would question your doings then. That is why the boy was so good with blending in. It was more like hiding away in the shadows and staying silent. Of course, there were times when everyone had their eyes on him. Usually that was because he was running, jumping off buildings or being attacked. He didn't mind fighting but it did get annoying when one person saw your face. Sometimes the person wouldn't dob and just watched in fascination as he fought or jumped. But, sometimes the person would tell. And that was mainly annoying because of how people would describe him. Once he was walking in the woods and found a flyer, with a sketch of his face. It was humiliating yet amusing. Especially when someone asked if he had seen the guy from the picture and he casually walked away, not questioning his answer. He had found himself lost in thought, because next thing he knew was that he was surrounded by guards. They ordered him to put his arms up. He did so with a clear smirk on his face. His cloak hid his blue eyes from view as they barked orders to one and another, all now pointing their guns at him. A man, wearing a long brown cloak and black boots, caught the boys attention as he pushed past the armed crowd, holding a piece of paper. He spoke with sternness in his voice. "You are Azad Blackwood, are you not?" "If I say no, can I leave?" he inquired. The man ignored him. "Azad, for constant crimes revolving around thievery and public displays against the kingdom, you are under arrest. Come quietly or we will be forced to-" "Run around and chase me for ages till I disappear, I believe is the end you were looking for." Azad's hand reached for his belt, pulling off an item. "Let's begin now." Smoke filled the air as he threw the item on the ground. It made a loud noise on impact and caused all of them, but him, to have an obscured view. "Get him," demanded the head of the guards as the others coughed and shielded their mouths. Azad took a sharp turn and ran faster. His cloak was flying behind him as he ran. He grabbed the edge of a roof, for a little shop, and jumped up. He could see them on the streets, running at him and shouting. Azad jumped on to the next roof, holding on to a lamp post to swing across. He landed on his feet and continued running and leaping. "Come down from there, Azad!" demanded a guard. "Shut up, idiot," Azad called back, losing his patience. He was starting to become frustrated and he was close to cracking it. The boy turned his head at the sound of a few people falling. Two guards had collapsed and, as another hit the floor, he saw the cause. A smile appeared on his face as he caught the figures glance. "Took your time, Vafa," spat Azad. Vafa just laughed and continued to run. "Got the painting?" He turned and pulled out a sword, swiping at the guard. The man fell, staring at the blue sky. He turned back and continued to run. "Depends," he replied, sliding under a high hung sign and jumping back up, bolting. "Got my money?" "Not exactly." Vafa dodged another attack and ran up the side of a wall, flipped off, and kicked his head. "Better." He turned to see the guard on the cold, stone floor, lifeless. The boy looked back up to see Azad standing with his crimson covered sword. He had a look of discontent clear on his face, making Vafa feel uneasy. "Better?! Vafa, I need this money," Azad snapped. He threw his arms in the air. "Did you just see what I had to do to get you this stupid painting?" Vafa slid his sword back in it's case. "Yes, and good on you. You do that all the time-" "Yes, but this time I am in a large kingdom and the center point of the kingdom, I must add! And it's daylight," he spat. Vafa rolled his eyes, making Azad feel angry. He always thought Vafa to be a stubborn teenager. But, that day when he had stolen Gems and Vafa had been watching, he was confused. He was even more confused when Vafa offered him a large sum for the Gems. Vafa had turned out to be connected largely to the black market, which explained why he spotted him constantly wearing black cloaks with hoods, carrying weapons, walking to nowhere it had looked like. Azad had thought maybe he was just a paranoid fourteen year old with short, scruffy blonde hair, but now he had shown to be a deceiving sixteen year old boy. He did wonder if Vafa was as loyal to the king as other people were, despite his occupation in the black market. Azad did fear, that if he was, he would report his whereabouts. So far he seemed safe, so dwelling on these thoughts weren't the best pass time. "Well excuse me thief in the shadows , but I am your main source for money and I have never wronged you." Azad gave him a look, with a raised eyebrow. "Okay, not too much anyway." He leaned against the wall, folding his arms. "Just trust me, please?" he begged. "Plus, I need the painting. If I don't deliver it then I am in huge trouble," squealed Vafa. That was the other thing. If Vafa didn't hand in anything then the shops would refuse him anything. It was worse when he had a customer. If he didn't deliver then, then he would get a knock at his door, unless he had fled, in that case they would track him down. Azad still remembered when he had organized to meet Vafa, to only see him not show up. The next day he had gone to his home and had found him with blood running from his mouth and a broken wrist. That was not the worst he had seen done, but he cancelled out the thought and gave Vafa an exasperated sigh. "What is better than money in this world?" Vafa looked to the left, grabbed Azad's arm, and held the bars that crossed over each other above him. From there, he pulled both of them up and lay, concealing the two in between the curved, tin roof and the bars as the two guards ran past. Vafa turned his head to the side, seeing out of the corner of his eye. The guards were long gone. He moved and jumped down, watching as Azad follow. "This, trust me, is worth way more." "Really?" asked Azad, not believing his friend. Vafa crossed his arms. "Well, for you anyway." The warehouse smelt of dirt and sweat, and people were whispering and shouting. This was one of the main markets that both Azad and Vafa were connected to. Looking around, Azad could see stalls consisting of clothes, powders, meat and much more. His eyes found the one he was looking for and he approached. The woman at the bench was young, a few scars staining her face and neck. Her eye was stitched closed and the scent of alcohol wafted off of her. Anyone else probably would of walked away, but Azad didn't seem to care. In front of her lay prices and different types of crystals. Azad couldn't help but dwell on what Vafa had told him as he waited for her to be done with her customer. Frankly, it had shaken him up a bit. "How so?" Azad had asked. Vafa had sighed, shaking his head. "You hear things in the, uhh, work place. Sometimes whispers on people cheating on each other and what not. But, sometimes, more extreme." He had looked up from the ground. He had pulled out a rare silver coin and had started moving it between his fingers, fast, as he had spoken. "I was at the warehouse when I overheard talk. I pieced the puzzle together and, I have made a breakthrough." Azad had arched an eyebrow. "What is it?" "Your parents, Azad-" "My parents burnt in a house fire," he had snapped. Vafa had shaken his head again, waving his hand. "Aha, okay. Let me tell you a story. In this story, a boy turned up to his house to only find it burning. Upon entering, he found his parents, lying still on the ground. And your-his Gem, he had received for his eighth birthday, was gone." He had taken a deep breath. "I know all this," he had scowled. Vafa had a habit of making Azad lose his patience. "That is the part of the story you do know. So, let me tell you about the hidden page in this book." Vafa had looked Azad straight in the eye, a serious look on his face. "The fire was not accidental." "What do you mean?" "Think it was a coincidence that your parents were dead and your Gem was gone?" "The Gem always got moved," he had replied. Azad had known he sounded naive, but, the truth was, he just hoped that it was an accident. If anyone were to kill his parents for the Gem, what was stopping them killing him? So he had decided to believe what the guards told him. "Who ever killed your parents wanted the Gem. It was a rare one, at that. I tried to look in papers for the market to see who sold the Gem, but it only showed who bought it-" "Then let's go," Azad had snapped. Vafa had raised his hand up, to stop Azad. "I went to find them. When I got there, the guy was dead and the Gem was gone." Azad had looked at the ground, his hands slightly trembling. "So, who ever stole it in the first place, wanted it back?" Vafa had nodded. "They sold it, not knowing how much it was worth. Once they found out, they must have gotten mad and went to retrieve it. Either that, or they were planning to get it back in the first place and just wanted, or needed, the money." Vafa had taken a deep breath, leaning his head against the wall and closed his eyes. "What happens at the end?" Azad had looked back up. Vafa had opened one eye. "What do you mean?" "In the story, what happens at the end?" The other boy had stood up straight and looked up, the now evening sun glaring at him. The coin was thrown in the air. He caught it and placed it in his pocket. "That part, I'm afraid, is entirely up to you, thief in the shadows." It was all a bit strange. From there, Vafa had patted his shoulder and took the painting. The boy climbed the roof and ran along it, jumping off and disappearing into the underground piping, after giving his friend a quick glance and a nod. It had been a week from that day, and, as the young women started yelling and cussing at the other customer, he couldn't help but wave the thought away. "If that is all the money ya got then step aside for the other customers," barked the young woman. She had a thick Jamaican accent and her hair hung past her shoulders, covered in colorful beads. Azad could see that, inside the beads, were cut crystals. The woman was well known in this business and was usually kind. But, when she was angry, she was very spiteful. She was also clever. The woman's name was Cleo. Her story was a sad one and was, like her, well known. Her family had been killed due to a misunderstanding with some bandits. From there, she had nowhere else to go and her mother told her of the town and the job opportunity. She had no choice but to agree and found passage to her home, leaving it all behind. Bandits did that. They were found in between towns and would jump you. Some bandits offered protection from others, taking families to different towns. They used fear and manipulation to get you to help them with their little games, and, to some people, they reminded them highly of the kingdom and guards. The elderly woman, in front, stepped to the side, as told. Cleo gestured for Azad to come forward. He did so and lay the crystals, he had taken from the mansion, on the table. The elderly woman stared at the Gems in fascination. Azad could see she had never seen anything like it. The stall owner gave him the money and he froze for a second. A sigh escaped him and he pulled out many coins, placing them in front of the elderly woman. She looked shocked and looked up, but Azad was already walking away, his hood now pulled up and hands in his cloak pocket. A Nod Will Do   "Here." Azad took the piece of paper. He looked closely at it and found scribbles of information. Vafa was lucky Azad could read his fast-writing. "That's the next item I need you to get. You think you can?" "Pfft, of course," he replied. He shoved the note in his pocket as the two walked further into the underground tunnel. The smell of sewerage and death wafted into their noses, as the two trudged their way through the low light. Water touched their boots at the bottom, never going higher than half way up their feet. "Any thought yet?" "About what?" "About what you are going to do, regarding your parents and the Gem," he stated, glancing at Azad, who walked alongside him. "I don't know what to do. Judging on what you told me, there is no specific leads to anyone." Azad stared up at the brick. He could barely see and it was only due to Vafa's torch that he didn't trip over rubble. The thief could see well in the dark but he was out of it today. He wouldn't even had left his shelter if it weren't for Vafa sending one of his fellow black marketers to give Azad a message. Vafa never gave his own messages. It would put him in danger if he were seen talking to a criminal. So, he had met Vafa to discuss his next job. Vafa felt sorry for Azad as he saw his friend close off. Azad was known for putting on a distant face when ever he didn't want to be disturbed. "That is odd," he stated, pulling out the silver coin and moving it between his fingers. "What?" Vafa, with a smirk on his face, continued to move the coin. "Just that . . . revenge is usually in your system." He shrugged, playing with a piece of paper in his cloak pocket, while his right hand still moved the coin. Azad always knew that Vafa was cunning and manipulative, that is how he made his money anyway. He usually could get when Vafa was trying to trick him and would pull him up on it. But, now, he just guessed that it was second nature to Vafa, so he ignored it. "Not when there is no point. My parents are already dead and we know nothing-" he stopped when he saw Vafa trembling with anger. He was trying to restrain himself, which he could usually do. "They're dead. So, don't you want to do something?" he asked, his voice shaky and, again, it was easy to tell he was trying to stop himself from an outburst. Vafa was never entirely open about his family life and even Azad knew nothing. No one knew anything. "Sorry, Vafa," he stated. Vafa stared at him in shock for a moment, before staring back at the ground. He flicked the coin in the air, caught it, and placed it in his pocket. His blonde hair concealed his eyes as he continued to stare at the ground. He spoke quietly. "Yeah, well, I don't know what you are apologizing for . . ." He looked up ahead again. "Well-" he was stopped by Vafa putting his arm up, stopping and staring up. He kneeled on the ground and pulled out his grapple hook, chucking it at Azad. "We're here." Azad took out his gun from his belt and loaded it, then put it back. He stared up as well. There was a cylinder plate, light shining from the edges. Now the area was a bit lighter. They could now see clearly the intertwining vines up the side of the tunnel. "You have a plan?" "Sort of." "Well," Azad pushed. Vafa laughed slightly, a smirk on his face. "The plan is to let you wing it." He got back up, his hands in his pockets. Azad sighed, aimed the grapple hook and released. It flew up and connected in the gap of the plate. His gear was fully black and now visible as he started to go up. Just before he got to the top, he looked down. "Where are you going to be?" Vafa stopped from walking, looking over his shoulder as he spoke. "I have some business. I'll meet you at the port in an hour." Azad nodded, getting ready to go up higher. He put his fingers in the plate, and, just before he could move it, Vafa spoke again. "Azad?" "Yeah?" Vafa looked back ahead, away from his friend as he kept walking. "Be careful?" Azad froze for a second and watched as Vafa disappeared into darkness, his hood now pulled up and hands in pockets. Him and Vafa knew that wishing for someone to be careful was not the good thing to do. If the person did not return then they had broken their promise to do the opposite. So, they never wished each other to be safe out loud. A nod would indicate the thought. On occasion, though, Vafa would say it. Azad had yet to figure out why his friend did it at those times. His first thought was that it was only when it was a dangerous mission, but he still was unsure. Azad looked up, staring at his passage into the mansion. He took a deep breath and moved the plate. He stood up, the plate now closed. The room he stood in was huge, filled with boxes of tools and unused expensive accessories. Azad was disgusted by this, and tempted. He locked his grapple gun and headed for the stairs. He was going to kill Vafa if the floor plans were wrong and he ended up somewhere else. It wouldn't be the first time. One time Vafa got it wrong and Azad ended up finding himself in the bathroom instead of the chamber. To make it worse, he couldn't get out from the bathroom. From there he had to locate it by himself. After all of it he yelled at Vafa but he had just simply waved it off and apologized. Azad had no clue why Vafa was his main person to see about stealing. He snuck through the halls of the mansion, the lights all off. If Vafa was correct, then the secret room was located in the large library. The shelves were filled with hundreds of different books. He had never seen anything like it. Azad traced his gloved hands along the books, muttering to himself constantly. He froze. The book his finger landed on had a rigged spine. He pulled out the book and opened it, smiling at the sight of the hidden key. So far, Vafa had done him no wrong. Azad slipped the key into his belt and looked up, the rip in the wallpaper on the ceiling catching his eye. He pulled out a dagger, aimed, and threw it up. The weapon skimmed the ceiling and ripped the paper more. This revealed a hatch with a handle, and a smirk on his face. He moved fast and caught the dagger. When he stood back up, he had his grapple gun in his hand, and the hook had attached to the handle of the hatch. Azad pulled at it and it opened, stairs falling out in front of him. They creaked slightly as he carefully crawled up, the gun now away. "I hate you so much," Azad sighed as he lay on the port, the moon reflecting on the water and the nights air hitting his bare arms. All he was wearing at that moment was black sleeveless gear with his weapons still in place, and his cloak with his hood pulled up. Another sigh escaped his lips as he thought about the job he had just done. The dagger he stole was absolutely priceless and he had found it among many more silver objects. It was like a room of reflected light and it had nearly blinded him.   Footsteps broke his thoughts but he continued to lie with his head rested on his palms. "Took your time." "What, no ' hi' ." Azad rolled his eyes as the blonde-haired boy sat next to him, staring out at the water. There was no more commotion among the dirty streets, but they could hear people chatting away, walking along the side of the cemented land and cooing at each other. The thief looked to his left to see Vafa looking at the couples. His face held no emotion but his eyes captured silent despair. Azad, once more, realised he really did not know a thing about his quiet friend. It unnerved him a little bit (that and the faraway look the blonde had on his face). He would mask his concern of course. "How'd you go?" asked Vafa, his eyes slowly moving back to the water and his voice sounding more cracked then he would of liked. "Fine. Nearly lost my eyes," he replied with no emotion. He pulled out the little sleeve and handed it to Vafa, who took it carefully and pulled out the weapon, but after close examination he passed it back. "Well?" "It's a weapon," he stated calmly. "Idiot, who's the customer?" "You." Azad blinked. Did he hear right? Vafa knew he had no money and this was supposed to be his breakthrough. But there was always a catch with this boy. "Excuse me?" Vafa rolled his silver coin over his fingers. "The dagger was for you-" Azad was furious. "Why did you get me to steal it if it was for me?!" Vafa shot him a glare, the coin stopping abruptly. "Would you have gotten it if I said it was for you?" The dark-haired boy was speechless, which caused a grin to form on Vafa's lips, the coin continuing its movement. "But why would I need it?" "To find your parents, of course." Azad scoffed and shook his head. The torches around the courtyard were now lit, causing shadows to dance and figures to flicker. One by one curtains were being drawn and the secret couples sat, smiling and whispering. Two girls were talking as they looked out, one moving her hands dramatically in explanation, causing a laugh, light running along their face. "Vafa-" A screeching bell roared over the area, causing the couples to jump and look over. "Bandits," Vafa stated. Azad squinted, seeing past the posts, and spotting a group of people. This bell was rung when a situation was about to play out and no one was to interfere. It was just a warning that guards were getting prisoners or something like that, but, lately, it had been for bandits coming into the towns. Everyone had started to have their obvious suspicions that the guards were up to something, using bandits to cover up. But it was just the bandits taking advantage. They weren't hired just to take people across land. The bandits ran up to the couple, the others standing up and running, and grabbed them as they kicked and screamed, prying them off each other and away from the edge. "It would seem so." Azad and Vafa stayed quiet, watching the scene play out. Azad wanted to help, but the bandits might of known who he was and captured him too. "Can't we do anything?" Vafa whispered, reading Azad's thoughts as his coin disappeared into his pocket. Azad sighed. "Too risky," he replied in a whisper. "Do you forget who you are?" If Vafa was expecting a response in words, he was kidding himself, because all he received was a glint of puzzlement in the other young man's eyes and a raised eyebrow. The blonde sighed dramatically. "Thief in the shadows." "Technically only you call me that." "Yes, but there are other variations of your name. I chose to use this one for a reason." Vafa grinned before pointing to a post that flickered at the other side of the dock, near the land. "The best option would be to take that out then fight the bandits in the shadows, thief." Azad rolled his eyes but mentally agreed that that was a clever plan. Sure, the risk was high, but at least it was down a bit. Even if he got caught in light it would only be for a mere moment before he slid back into the darkness. Yes, Vafa was a schemer. "There's two holding the girl," - He pointed at the struggling brunette, who was only not fighting back because her wrists were restrained - "one holding the other," - he pointed at the girl who had curly, short black hair as she was kicking at the one bandit as he tried to tie her wrists - "and a final one keeping watch. It would be good training for you." A grin graced his lips as his eyes gleamed. "Plus, you can use that new dagger." Azad's eyes followed his friends toward the dagger, which he quickly grabbed. "Take out the lamp post for me?" Vafa, with the grin still on his face, nodded. "What are friends for?" Before Azad could blink Vafa had pulled out one of his own daggers and slipped into the darkness, before rolling off the dock, holding on to underneath and pulling himself till he got to the very end. From there the boy went to the right side (opposite of the post) then emerged for a split second to see Azad had moved closer to it. Smash The one holding the black-haired girl's wrists head whipped around as glass littered the area around the now broken post. The girl saw it as an opportunity and turned around, kicking the man to the ground. He pounced back up and punched the girl, only to miss, before she kicked his sides, punched his gut, then tripped him over with another kick. The two other bandits looked up at the sound of their fallen comrade grunting, holding his bloodied head. "Restrain Tess! I've got this one," said one with shaggy brown hair, giving Tess's wrist a tug as the light-haired one grabbed the other from behind, picking her up as she screamed. "Shut up!" he hissed. "You're no better then-" before he could finish his sentence, Tess swung around and kicked, aiming for his head. A figure emerged from the shadows, knocking down the bandit on watch and dragging him into the alley, before sliding back into darkness and toward the two girls tied- Azad watched as the one known as 'Tess' knocked one bandit into the water, her hands still restrained by ropes, before the other kicked at her bandits knee as she was being lifted. He dropped and she spun around, just in time to see a fist flying toward her- The bandit stared wide eyed as he was grabbed by the feet and pulled into shadows, before being punched in the gut, then stabbed in the arm. Azad looked up from his victim to see the girls had escaped. The thief held the knife to his throat, making one last slash. He stood up and looked around the dock. Coming to the conclusion Vafa had left, he decided to just go back to his shelter, that was, of course, before throwing the other alive bandit into the water. Payment   The air smelt of fresh fruit and baked goods, as food was laid out on a long table, a red cloth covering the wood. The sound of footsteps caused the hooded figure at the table to look up at the accused. “What?” asked a deep voice. The person who had walked in looked up at the man. “We want our payment,” said a husky voice. Another man popped up from behind him. “We did wha’ ye asked, ae? Ye can’t just let me boys go empty handed. They’re-” “Shut up!” intervened the first man. “Seriously.” His attention focused back on the hooded man. “Sir, the bandits did what was asked of them.” There was the sound of a faint chuckle, than  the  silence returned, until, “Do you not class yourself as one of them?” “No, sir.” Another chuckle. “Interesting. Well” -he stood up- “I can’t have one of my employee getting upset, now can I?” “Yes, sir. Exactly wha’ I was thinking.” The hooded man got closer until he was standing directly in front of the bandit. “What did I say I would pay you in the first place?” “Eh, protection, sir.” He nodded. “Yes, I see. So, why was that not good enough?” “Ye see, me boys won’t like this if I appear empty ‘anded-”  The man forced the other’s mouth open, before cutting his tongue clean off. “Well, you tell them-wait, you won’t be able to.” He watched as the man fell to the ground, the crimson touching the floor. His mouth was wide, as were his eyes, and he was screaming. It was almost unnatural. Suddenly, he was next to the other man, his breath fanning his ear. “Tell the boys that this is what happens when he messes with me.” He looked back down. “Oh, and he'll live, it’s just a mouth wound." And he left, walking down the hall, whistling to himself. Worthless Ties   “Hey, thief.” Azad rolled his eyes as he sat next to his friend on the hill, trees littered around them. “I have a name, Vafa.” Vafa just hummed in reply, continuing to stare up at the sky, arms folded under his head.  “Do you know why I want you to find your parents’ killers?” “Because you’re a bastard and won’t let anything go?” A crooked smile formed on the boy’s lips. “It’s because you have a chance to get revenge. I didn’t. I don’t.” Azad blinked. “Vafa?” Said boy smiled as he closed his eyes. “I had a sister. I never talk about her, but i greatly respected her. She was five years older. I wished I could say our relationship was great,  but she despised me. But I always saw siblings loving each other, you know? No favourite child. But she was the favourite. I didn’t mind really. I still respected her. "She didn’t get the respect until one day, when mother and father were out, she was too. I heard a window open during the night so I went to investigate. Upon doing so, I found her climbing in to her room with a sack of things I had never seen before. Her eyes landed on me and she brought her fingers to her lips. I didn’t understand until I saw they were stolen items. We could never afford that stuff. She went on to tell me that she sold the stuff to the markets. And, I said I would only not tell if she let me help. I was fascinated. So, she taught me the ropes. Everything I need to know about stealing and markets. That was the day I gained respect for that girl. I was nine. " There was a pause "A few years later, we got good. Too good actually. So, our parents were destined to find out. And, one night, they found out. “My sister was supposed to do a really difficult house, so she went without me. When she returned, my parents were there. From my room I heard screaming and crying, than someone else’s voice. “You see, there was a group we would sometimes work with. And this was one of my favourites. He was known as ‘skull’, on the count of his first stolen item. Anyway, there was more screaming, a thump, than silence. “I got out of bed and crouched at the top of the stairs. There, I saw my parents, covered in blood on the floor. Above them...above them stood skull and my sister, both holding blades. They were grinning. Until I stared wide-eyed and fell back. “Both their heads snapped up and the next thing I know I was grabbed by Skull and was gone. “We ended up in a forest, Skull threw me on the ground, my vision blurred, and chucked my sister a knife. She nodded and he left. Staring at me with a look I couldn’t read, she grabbed my hand and made a cut, causing me to scream, shaking the area. She then went to cover her arms in my blood, before she made cuts in my right leg. “The blood, it...it made me feel sick. When I opened my eyes, she was gone. “I stumbled through those forests for days. When scratching in the dirt, I found my coin. “After that, I was found by a group of travellers, after being healed, I left without a goodbye. “You see, Azad, ties are not good. They’re like labels, they don’t matter. Truth is I saw my sister again in the markets one day but I...I couldn’t bring it in my heart to kill her.” He sighed. “I don’t want you to do what I did. Be weak-” “You’re not weak.” He touched his arm, and all Vafa did was look at it, before sitting up. “It doesn’t matter what others think. I’m too weak to do what I want to do.” He turned to Azad, a look in his eyes-darker than ever before. “Please, Azad? I know I ask a lot, but please?” His eyes burned and he looked as if he were shaking, knuckles white from clenching the coin unconsciously. The wind began to pick up as the sun's light hit the fields below them, the cloud's shadows dancing on the green and gray. Without another word, Azad did something he never did. He pulled Vafa into a hug, letting him bury his head in his shoulder. No more words were spoken. Just two words that only mattered when Vafa’s friend said them. If anyone else were to, it wouldn’t count. It never counts. “I’m sorry.” Yes, ties were certainly worthless. Publication Date: November 29th 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-yg5cf8c78db9745

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-lharissa-charles-sad-mother/

Lharissa Charles Sad Mother The Girl who has gone missing There once was this girl named Hailey she was 20 years old.She was always drunk driving.She want to the bar one day and met this guy called Garry she didnt know what she was doing because she was drunk.So one day Garry called her and said he had a surprise for her.Hailey rushed over to Garrys place and she got killed by Garrys real girlfriend because Garry was also drunk the day they met each other.Garry called the police to help Hailey get to the hospital.Garrys realfriends' name was Emily.emily was sent t jail for life.Garry had to find a new girlfriend.Haileys mom had no idea that all this was happening.Then she called Hailey and Hailey didn't pick up cause she was at the hosiptal.Haileys mom got really worry.She called Hailey like a dozen times and she never picked up.Then she called Haileys dad and she told him that Hailey was missing.Hailey jumped out of the hospitals window and ran into the woods and Hailey got attacked by a wolf and she died but no one knew she died this way.Then haileys mom called the police and they arrived at her house and she was crying.The police told her that Hailey was at the hosiptal and Haileys mom rushed over there and found the room Hailey was in and she started screaming like mad and the the nurses came in and found the window opened they all wanted to help look for Hailey and the mom said u better find my daughter or im gonna sue you.They looked in the woods and found her body and there she laid covered in blood.they carried the body to the mom and she had a haert attack.The nurses called the husband and he started crying so much he had a stroke and died at work in his special office.The at his job called the hospital and they were too late,the rest of the family had three fenurals. This is why you shouldn't get drunk that often or don't get drunk at all. :(:(:(:(:(:( Publication Date: March 20th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-prettypopstar1904

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-rachelle-reese-the-thaw/

Rachelle Reese The Thaw Publication Date: November 5th 2009 https://www.bookrix.com/-rachellereese