T TjTTR.qnAY, OCTOBER 10, 1929
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LLBf <\:
MARY ROBERTS RINEHART
Coruiebt by Geo. H. Dor*a CMpuf
VV NU Servic*
September 8.
Hailidav's attitude is very curious.
jj e is taciturn in the extreme; he
v o ids any confidental talks with me,
an d Jane' commented on it this
morning.
•*Ho worries me,” she said, “and
■ e is worrying Edith. If you go out
oU - and look, you’ll see him pacing
Me boathouse veranda, and he has
seen doing it for the last hour.”
I admit that he puzzles me. It was
Greenough’s errand, so far as I can
make out, to relieve my mind as to
mvseif, but to treat Halliday’s case,
given to the police, as entirely
confidential.
••It's the outside man we are aft
er " he said; “and the outside man l
we are going to get,”
But tr my mentioning my right to
Kninv who was under suspicion, he
Vy repeated what the detective
lisct
"V . understand,” he said, “there’s
rJ case n law yet. Knowing who
dug. and proving who did it,
v a fi'eivnt things entirely.”
But :'u would prove it, he was con
r.dvnt. So conlident, indeed, that be
tV.iv ia oft he inquired the make and
cost of my car. Evidently he has al
ready mentally banked the reward.
Oil the other hand, certain things
reem to me still to be far from clear.
Halliday, I understand, passed over
to the police the following facts:
(a) A copy of the unfinished letter
from Horace Porter to some unknown.
(bl A description of the print of a
hand, left on the window board.
(c) A small illustration from the
bock “Eugenia Riggs and her Phenom
ena.' 1 and showing the same hand
print.
(d) A sworn statement of the Llv-
Ingstones’ butler, the nature of which
I do not know.
(e) An analysis of his own theory
of the experiments referred to In the
diary.
(f) And a letter to Edith from an
anonymous correspondent. (To be re
ferred to later.)
(g) The possibility that the two
attempts to enter the main house are
due to the fact that, in the haste of
the escape, something was left there
which is both identifying and Incrlm-
Npg.
so far as I can discover, he has
cot told them that, from the time the
guards were taken away from the
house at night, he was on watch there.
Id other words, from shortly after
the murder he must have known that
something incriminating had been left
there, when Bethel and his accom
plice, Gordon’s “outside man,” made
their escape the night the secretary
was murdered. He may even know
what it is, and where. But he has not
told Greenough.
Again, there is the fact that a state
ment L\ ; lie Livingstones* butler was a
Portion - f the evidence he submitted.
Surely they are not endeavoring to In
criminate Livingstone I
September 9.
It is Hailiday’s idea to hold another
seance, using Cameron’s coming as the
excuse for it. 1 gather that he be
lieves that, under cover of the seance,
another attempt may be made to se
cure the incriminating evidence left
in house. Not that he says so, but
los Questions concerning the sounds I
heard in the hall during the second
seance point in that direction.
‘This herbal odor you speak of,
dipper,” tie asked, “was that before
H>u heard rite movement outside?”
‘totne time before. Yes. But the
°c° r seemed to be in the room; the
-' tUidv were beyond the door.”
cl- n't connect them, then?”
1 * hadn't thought about It, but I
don't believe i do.”
' ij T you hear any footsteps?”
I had to consider that. “Not foot
- tps; there was a sort of scraping
*“ODg the floor.”
And ilte moment you spoke this
noise ceased’”
iV Yes -”
lae whole situation Is baffling In
- o extreme. I cannot Ignore the fact
seances were proposed by
| I s ' U'ingstone, that It was she who
e * the hal i door unbolted at the sec
t or that Livingstone him
"e v,as absent that second night,
in. At the same time, it
« Uvingstone who indirectly ad
Ino gainst the business.
,' et 1 alon e,” he warned me. “Let
eil enough alone.”
F
is m . ras Wallida y is concerned, it
ear that he does not like the idea
another seance, but feels that it is
wl j, " sary * assures me the police
the i ' on ban(i ' and outside
the f ° use ’ but be does not minimize
rUk there will be a certain
arm’ll ‘ l ' iat he dreads taking Jane
Edith into it
l e tbls »” be said today, feel
yuu fl ! ly for words * “In a sense,
at Lbe parting of the
’ “ Iblng. w« can let It go,
and turn loose on tne world u vruei
and deadly idea which mav g 0 on
claiming victims indefinitely.” He m-ide
a small gesture. “()r-w e put into
the other side of the scale all we have
in the world, and then—” n e pulled
himself up. “There’s only possible
danger,” he said. “Unless things slip,
there should be very little.”
Tbe same list of those present as
betoie. there is c«u unconscious em
phasis placed by Holliday on Hayward
and Livingstone, but perhaps I am
overwatchful.
I daiesay, thus placed between m\
duty and my fears, J shall do my duty
l perceive that either Hayward or
Livingstone is once more to be allowed
access to the house, and under condi
tions more or less favorable to what
is to be done. But which one?
Later: I have done my duty. I
have telephoned Cameron, and he will
come out tomorrow night
September 10.
Halliday has taken every possible
precaution as to tonight As It has
been our custom to go over the house
before each seance, and as Cameron
may do this with unusual thorough
ness, It has been decided not to place
Greenough and his officers until after
the sitting begins. Halliday has there
fore today connected the bell from
that room, which rings in the kitchen,
to a temporary extension In the
garage, with a buzzer. When the
lights are lowered, he will touch the
bell, and Greenough is then to smug
gle his men in through the kitchen.
While no one can say what changes
Cameron may suggest in our previous
methods, Halliday imagines he will
: ask us at first to proceed as usual. In
any event, I am to sit as near to the
switch as possible, and when Halliday
calls for lights, am to be ready to turn
them on. . . .
8:30. Everything is ready. But 1
am concerned about Halliday. Has he
some apprehension about his own safe
ty tonight?
He came an hour or so too early to
start with the car for Cameron, and
borrowing pen and paper, wrote a long
communication to Hemingway. What !
is in it I do not know, but he took it
with him, to mail on his way to the
station.
(End of Mr. Porter’s Journal)
CONCLUSION
Chapter 1
The Journal takes us up to the eve
ning of September 10, 19‘2‘J. It was to
the fourth and last tragedy of that
summer, which filled the next day’s
papers, that little Pettingill referred,
in the conversation recorded In the In
trodurtion of this Journal.
It was with this tragedy that, as
Bettingill said aggrievedly, the story
“quit” on them. And quit It did. We
felt then that the best thing to do, un
der the clrcumstauces, was to let it
rest.
There was nothing to be gained by
giving the story to the public, aud
much to be lost. At that time, It Is
to be remembered, a wave of spiritual
ism, or rather spiritism, was spreading
over the country; it was still filled,
too, with post-war psychopaths. The
very nature of the experiment which
had been tried was es the sort to seize
on the neurftic imagination, and set it
aflame. It was not considered ad vis
able to allow it publicity.
Now, of course, things are different.
The search goes on. and perhaps some
day, not by this method but by some
legitimate and scientific one, survival
may be proved. I do not know; I d<*
uot greatly care, \fter all, I am a
Christian, aud my faith is built on a
life after death. But 1 accept that;
I do uot require proof of it. . . .
Picture us, then, that evening oi
September 10, when the Journal ends,
waiting for we knew not what; Jane
picking up her knitting and putting it
down again; Edith powdering her nose
with hands that shook in spite of her
best efforts; Halliday at the railroad
station with the car to meet Cameron;
and off in the woodland, where the
red lamp of the lighthouse flashed its
danger signal every ten seconds from
the end of Robinson’s point, Greenough
and a half dozen officers.
Picture u®, too, when we had ail
gathered; Cameron, with his hand still
bandaged, presented to the dramatis
personae of the play and eyeing each
one in turn shrewdly; Mrs. Livingstone
garrulous and uneasy; and Living
stone a sort of waxy white and with
a nervous trembling I had never oh
served before. Os us all, only Holli
day seemed natural. And Hayward
natural because he was never at ease.
What Cameron made of it I do not
know. Very probably he saw in us
only a group of sensation-seekers, ex
cited by some small contact with a
world beyond our knowledge, and if
he felt surprise at all, It was that I
had joined the ranks.
He himself did not appear to take
the matter seriously. He made it
plain that he had come in this manner
at my request; that his own methods
would be entirely different. When
Edith, I think it was, asked him if he
made any preparation for such affairs,
he laughed and shook his head.
‘‘Except that 1 sometimes take a cup
of coffee to keep mq awake!” he said
On the way up the drive 1 walked
with Livingstone. Why, I ha nil j
know, except that he seemed to drift
toward me. He never spoke but once
and it seemed to me that he was sur
veying the shrubbery and trees, like
a man who suspected a trap. Once
he was on my left—l was aware that
he had put his hand to his hip pocket,
and I was so startled that I stumbled
and almost fell. I knew, as confident
ly as I have ever known anything, that
he had a revolver there.
“Careful, man,” he said,. |
THE 'CHATHAM RECORD, PITTSBORO. N. C.
Those were his only words during
our slow progress toward the main
house, and so tense were his nerves
that they sounded like a curse.
Cameron and Edith were leading,
and I could hear her talking, carry
ing on valiantly, although as it turned
out she knew better than any of us.
except Halliday, tbe terrible possibili
ties ahead. Hayward walked alone
and behind us, his rubber-soled shoes
making no sound on the drive. It
made me uneasy, somehow; that silent
progress of his; it was stealthy and
disconcerting. And I think' Living
stone felt it so, too, for he stopped
once and turned around.
Yet, at the time, as between the two
men, my suspicion that evening cer
tainly pointed to Livingstone. Not to
go into the cruelty of my ignorance, a
cruelty which 1 now understand but
then bitterly resented, I had had both
men under close observation during
the time we waited for Cameron. And
it had see med to me that Livingstone
was the more uneasy of the two. An
other thing which I regarded as highly
significant was his asking for water
Just before we left the Lodge, and
holding the glass with a trembling
hand.
And, as It happens, it wsn that very
glass of water which crystalized my
suspicions. The glass and the hand
which held it. For the hand was a
small and wide one, with a short
thumb and a bent little finger!
From that time on, my mind was fo
cused on Livingston**, it milled about,
seeking some explanation. I could see
Livingstone In the case plainly enough;
I could see him, pursuing with old
Bethel the “sinister design” to which
Gordon had referred, but to which I
had no key. I could see him, with his
knowledge of the country, using that
knowledge in furtherance of that Idea
which my Uncle Horace had termed
a menace to society iu general. With
the swiftness with which thought ere
ates vision, 1 could even see him bail
ing poor Maggie Morrison in the storm,
and her stopping her truck when she
recognized him.
j But I could not see him in connec
tion with Eugenia Riggs and her bowl
of putty. Strange that 1 did not; that
it required Jane’s smelling salts for
me to find that connection. A small
green glass bottle, in Edith’s room,
used as a temporary paper weight on
her desk.
As 1 say, my suspicions were of Liv
ingstone, during that strange walk up
the drive. But I had by no means
eliminated Hayward.
He was there, behind me, walking
with a curious stealth, and with an
uneasiness that somehow, without
words, communicated Itself to me.
All emotions are waves, I dareeay.
1 caught the contagion of fear from
him; desperate, deadly fear.
And once to the bouse, my sus
piclonß of him Increased rather thau
diminished. For one thing, he offered
to take Cameron through the house,
and on Halliday’s ignoring that, and
going off with Cameron himself, was
distinctly surly. Re remained In the
hall at the foot of tbe stairs, appar
ently listening to their progress and
gnawing at his fingers.
Watching him from the den, 1 saw
him make a move to go up the stairs,
but he caught my eye and abandoned
the idea.
Tt was then that Jane felt faint, and
1 went back to the Lodge for her
smelling salts. . . .
The letter, undoubtedly the letter
which Halliday had shown to the po
lice, was lying open on Edith’s desk,
under the green bottle, and as I lifted
the salts it blew to the floor. I
glanced at It as I picked it up.
Chapter II
In recording tlie events leading up
to the amazing denouement that night
—the details of the seance —I am un
der certain difficulties.
Thus, 1 kept no notes. For the first
time I found myself a part of the
circle, sitting between Livingstone and
Jane, and with Cameron near the lamp,
prepared to make the notes of what
should occur.
“Os course,” he said, as we took our
places, “we are not observing the usual
precautions of what I would call a test
seance. All we are attempting to do
is to reproduce, as nearly as possible,
the conditions existing at the other
two sittings. And—” he glanced at
me and smiled ‘‘—if Mr. Porter’s ad
mission to the circle proves to be dis
turbing, we can eliminate him.”
He asked us to remain quiet, no
matter what happened, and to be cer
tain that no hand was freed without
an Immediate statement to that ef
fect.
“Not that I expect fraud, of course,”
he added. “But it is customary, un
der- the circumstances.”
I am quite certain that nobody, ex
cept myself, saw Halliday touch the
bell as the light was reduced to the
faint glow of the red lamp.
It was not surprising, I dare say,
that beyond certain movements of the
table aud fine raps on Its surface, we
got nothing at first ! In fact, that we
got anything, at all was probably due
solely to Jane’s ignorance of. the un-'
derlying situation. Livingstone, next
to me, was so nervous that his hands
twitched on the table; across, Halil*
day was beside Hayward, anfl as my
eyes grew accustomed to the semi
darkness, I could see him, forbidden
recourse to his fingers, jerking his
head savagely.
And, for the life of me, 1 could not
see where all this was leading us. A
breaking of tbe circle was, by Cam
eron’s order, immediately to be an
nounced. Even in complete darkness,
when that came —as I felt B would—
what was It that Halliday expected to
( happen?
* m \ ~ ■
i»u< lie table continued to move, it
negnn to slide along the carpet: my
grasp on Livingstone’s band was re
laxed. and indeed. Infer, as it began
to rock violently, it was all 1 could
do to retain contact with tbe table at
all. I began to see possibilities in
this, but when it had quieted the cir
cle remained as before.
Very soon after that came the sig
rial for darkness, and Cameron extin
With a Pocket Flash Examined the
Cabinet Thoroughly.
guished the lamp. Soon Edith, neat
the cabinet, said the curtain had come
out into the room, and was touching
her. The next moment, as before, the
bell fell from the stand inside the cab
inet, and the guitar strings was light
ly touched.
Without warning Cameron turned on
the lamp; the curtain subsided and all
sounds ceased. Lie was apparently
satisfied, and after a few moments of
experiment with the lamp on, result
ing only In a creaking and knocking
on the table, again extinguished it. On
a repetition of the blowing out of the
curtain, however, he left his chair for
the first time, and with a pocket flash
examined the cabinet thoroughly, even
the wall coming in for close inspec
tion.
When he had finished with that,
however, I sensed a change In him. I
believe now that he suspected fraud,
hut lam not certain. He ssiid rather
sharply that he was there in good
faith and not to provide an evening’s
amusement, and that he hoped any
suspicious movement would be re- *
ported. j
“This Is not a game,” he said shortly.'
Jane was very quiet, and now 1
heard again the heavy breathing which
I knew preceded the trance condition,
or that auto-hypnotism which we know
as trance. i
“Who Is that?” Cameron asked in a
low tone. I
“Mrs. Porter,” Halliday said. “Quiet,
everybody!” I
The room was completely dark, ahd
save for Jane’s heavy breathing, en
tirely quiet. Strangely enough, for
ffie moment i forgot our purpose
there; forgot Greenough and his men.
scattered through the house; I had a,
premonition, if I may call it that, that
we were on the verge of some tre
mendous psychic experience. I can
not explain it; I do not know now
what unseen forces were gathered
there together. I even admit that
probably I too, like Jane, had hypo
tized myself.
And then two things were happen
ing. and at the same time.
There was something moving In the
library, a soft footfall with, it seemed
to me, an irregularity. For all the
world like the dragging of a partially
useless foot, and—Livingstone was
quietly releasing his grip of my hand.
I made a clutch at him, and he
whispered savagely:
“Let go, you fool.”
The uext moment he had drawn his
revolver, and was stealthily getting to
his feet.
The dragging foot moved out into
the hail. Livingstone, revolver in
hand, was standing beside me, and
there was a quiet movement across tbe
table. Cameron was apparently listen
ing also; he made no comment, how
ever, and in the darkness and the si
lence the footsteps went into the hall,
and there ceased. i
1 had no idea ol the passage ot
time; ten seconds or an hour Living -
stone may have stood beside me. Ten
seconds or an hour, and then Green
ough’s voice at the top of the stair
case: i
“All right. Careful below.”
Livingstone moved then. He mads
a wild dash for the red lamp and
turned it on. Hayward was not to he
seen, and Halliday, revolver in hand,
was starting for the cabinet.
“More light,’’ he called. “Light i ;
Quick!”
I had a confused Impression ot Hal- j
liday. jerking the curtains of the cab- j
inet aside; of somebody else there'
with him. both on guard, as it were.!
at the wall; of some sort of rapid,
movement upstairs; of the door from;
tlie den into the hall being open where
it had been closed before, and of a.
crash somewhere not far away, as of
a falling body, followed by a sort of
dreadful pause. i
And all this is in the time it took
me to get around the chairs and to
the wall switch near tbe door. And
it was then In the shocked silence
which followed the sound of that fall,
in the instant between my finding the
switch and turning it on, that I will
swear that I saw once more by the
glow of the red lump the figure at
- the foot of the stairs, looking up.
j Saw it and recognized it. Watched
j it turn toward me with fixed and star*
i ing eyes, felt the cold wind which sud
: denl.v eddied about me, and frantical
j ly turning on the light, saw it fade
j like smoke into the empty air. . .
j Behind the curtains of the cabinet
1 somebody was working at the wall,
j Edith, very pale, was supporting Jane,
\ who still remained in her strange auto-
I hypotic condition. Livingstone’s arm
was about his wife.
And thi-; was the picture when
Greenough came running triumphantly
down the stairs, the reward apparent
ly in his pocket, and saw us there. He
paid no attention to the rest of us,
but stared at Livingstone with eyes
which could oot believe what they
saw.
“Good G—d 1” he said. “Then who
Is there?”
He pointed to the wall behind the
cabinet
Chapter 111
The steps by which Halliday solved
the murder at the main house, and
; with it the mystery which had pre
; ceded it, constitute an interesting story
In themselves. So certain was he that,
t>y the time we were ready for the
i third seance, his material was already
: in the hands of the district attorney.
! And it was not the material he bad
given to Greenough.
For the solution of a portion of the
mystery, then, one must go back to tbe
main house, and consider the older
part of it. It is well known that many
houses of that period were provided
with hidden passages, by which tbe
owners hoped to escape the excise.
Such an attempt, many years ago, had
cost George Bierce his life.
But the passage leading from the
old kitchen, now the den, to a closet
in the room above it, bad been blocked
up for many years. The builder was
‘ dead; by all the laws of chance time
might have gone on and the passage
remained undiscovered.
In 1899, however, Eugenia Riggs
bought the property, and in making
repairs the old passage was discov
ered. Although she denied using it
for fraudulent purposes, neither Halli
day nor I doubt that she did so. She
points to the plastered wall as her
defense, but Halliday assures me that
a portion of the baseboard, hinged to
swing out, but locked from within,
would have allowed easy access to the
cabinet
But Halliday had at the beginning
no knowledge of this passage, with Its
ladder to the upper floor. He reached
It by pure deduction,
i “It had to be there,” he says mod
estly. “And It was.” . • .
I Up to the time young Gordon was
attacked at the kitchen door, how*
ever, Halliday was frankly at sea.
That Is, be bad certain suspicions, hat
that was all. He had discovered, for
. Instance, that she cipher found in my
garage was written on the same sort
of bond paper as that used by Gor
don, by the simple expedient of bay*
, Ing Annie Cochran get him a sheet of
it. on some excuse or other.
But his actual case began, I belltve
with that attack on Gordon. At least
he began at that time definitely to as
sociate the criminal with the house.
“There was something fishy about
it,” is the way he puts it
And with Bethel’s story to me, forced
by his fear that the boy knew it was
he who had attacked him, the belief
that it was “fishy” gained ground.
“Gordon was knocked out,” he says.
“And that ought to have been enough.
But It was not. He was tied, too, tied
while he was still unconscious. Some
body wasn’t taking a chance that he’d
get back into the house very soon.”.
It was that “play for time,” as he
terms it, that made him suspicious.
All this time, of course, he was Ig
norant of any underlying motive; he
makes It clear that he simply began,
first to associate the crimes with the
house, and then with Bethel. He kept
going back to his copy of the unfin
ished letter, but:
“It didn’t help much,” he says quiet
ly. “Only, there was murder indi
cated in it. And we were having
murijer.”
He had three clews, two of them
certain, one doubtful. The certain ones
were the linen from the oarlock of the
boat, torn from a sheet belonging to ,
the main house, and the small portion
of the cipher. The one he was not j
1 certain about was the lens from an.
eyeglass, outside the culvert.
He began to watch the bouse; he,
“didn’t get” Gordon in the situation
at all; there was no situation there,
really; nothing, that Is, that he could
j lay his hand on. But on the night I
i called him and he started toward Rob
inson’s point, as lie came back toward
the house he saw the figure of a man.
certainly not Gordon, enter the house
by the gunroom window. When he got
! there the window was closed and
locked.
j He was puzzled. He looked around (
i for me, but I was not in sight Still I
! searching for me, he made a ronnd ol j
the house, and so was on the terrace ■
• when I fired the shot From that time
: on he saw Bethel somehow connected
I with the mystery, but only as the
brains.
“There was some devil’s work afoot,”'
he said. “But always I came up
against that paralysis of his. He had
• to have outside help.”
On the night iu question, then, he
was certain that this accomplice was!
still In the house through all that fol-j
lowed; through Hayward’s arrival and
Starr’s. He was so certain by that
time of Gordon’s innocence that he
very nearly took him into bis confi
dence the next day.. But be wat
>(ii«tmj -«i Jot- »»• ».v ; lie was not depend
able; Halliday had an idea that “he
I was playing his own game.’
But if this man was in the house
that night, where was he?
He grew suspicious of the den, after
i that, and he found out through Starr
the name of the builder who had put
In the paneling in the den, for Uncle
Horace. It was a long story, but in
the end he learned something.
Tearing the old baseboard prior to
putting up the panels, the builder had
happened on the old passage to the
room overhead, and he bad called Hor
ace Porter's attention to it. It seems
to have appealed to the poor old chap;
it belonged, somehow, to the room,
with the antique'stuff te was putting
Into it. He built in a sliding panel; it
was not a particularly skillful piece
of work, but it answered. And be
kept his secret, at least from me.
I doubt if he ever used it, until pro
hibition came in. . Then, no drinker,
himself, he put there a small and
choice supply of liquor, some of which
we found later on. And one bottle of
which placed Halliday In peril of hi*
life, a day or so after the night I had
fired the shot Into the ball.
He had borrowed Annie Cochran’*
key to the kitchen door, and after
midnight entered the house and went
to the den. Although he is reticent
about this portion of It, I gather that
the house was not all It, should be that
night
“You know the sort of thing,” ho
says. !
But, pressed as to that he admits
that he was hearing small and inex
plicable sounds from the
Chairs seemed to move, and once hei
was certain that the curtain in tho
doorway behind him blew out into tha
room. When he looked back over his
shoulder, however, it was hanging as
before.
He had no trouble in finding the
panel, and as carefully as he could he
stepped inside. But he had touched;
<>ne of the bottles and it fell ovtr.
“It didn’t make much noise,” he
says, “but if was enough. He was
awake, and paralysis or no paralysis,;
I hadn’t time to move before he was in
the closet overhead, and opening
trap in the floor.”
He had not had time to move, and
even if he had, there were the infernal
bottles all around him. So he
without breathing, waiting for laj
knew uot what.
“Things looked pretty poor,”
says. “I didn’t know when he’d strike
a match and see me. And it was good-*
night if he did!” !
But Bethel had no match,
He stood listening intently, and in thuj
darkness below Halliday held hlj
breath and waited. Then Bethelj
moved. He left tlie trap door abovei
open and went for a light, and Ballij
day crawled out and closed the panel
quietly.
From that time on, however, hej
knew Bethel was no more helpless!
than be was. Be abandoned the ideal
of an accomplice, and concentrated on|
tbe man himself. . . •
Axmie Cochran was working with
him; that is, she did what he asked
her, although she seems not to have
known at any time the direction in
which he was working. Her own mind
was already made up; she believed
Gordon to be guilty. She made' no
protest, however, when he asked bee
to break Mr. Bethel’s spectacles one
early morning, and give him the
fragments. But she did it, pretending
afterward that she had thrown thq
pieces into the stove.
Bethel was watchful and
by that time, and she had a bad timei
of it, bnt what is important here U|
that Halliday took the fragments into)
the city, and established beyond a’
doubt that they and the piece of aj
lens found near the culvert were madai
from the same prescription.
And he had no more than made hisj
discovery, when Gordon, attempting at;
last the blackmail which he had been
threatening, was put out of the way;
as quickly and ruthlessly as had been
poor Beter Carroway.
“Twenty-four hours,” Halliday says
bitterly, “and we would have saved;
him.”
But twenty-four hours later Bethel
had made good his escape, and every
thing was apparently over.
But from that time Bethel as Bethel,
ceased to exist for Halliday. . . .
He was not working alone, however,,
| Very early, he had realized that he
! needed assistance, real assistance.!
I Annie Cochran’s nelp was always ofi
1 the below-stairs order. And he found;
j the help lie wanted after the nighKj
; Gordon was attacked, in Hayward. As,
! a matter of fact, it was Hayward who!
went to him.
“He was worried about you, Skip-!
per,” Halliday says, with a grin. “He
considered it quite possible that the!
attempt to wrangle English literature,
into too many brain corrals miglm
have driven you slightly mad.”
On the night, then, when Gordon,
was hurt, the doctor was impulsively
| on his way to Halliday and the boat-i
i house.
“He came within an Inch of having 1
| you locked up that night,” says Hal-
I liday.
Later on, he did go to Halliday, and
HalUday then and there enlis’ed him
lin his service. He was not shrewd,
but be was willing and earnest, anil
from that time on he was useful, lie
had started, presumably, on his vaca
tion but actually on a very different
I errand, when tbe murder at the main
, house occurred, and Halliday recalled
: Lira by wire.
I But when he returned, it was, at
Halliday’s request, to bide in the Liv
ingstone bouse. If was from there
that he came, at night, to assist Hal
liday in guarding Hie main house.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
PAGE SEVEN