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- Author: Samuel Hopkins Adams
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“Let us agree to leave your brother out of future conversations, Dr. Colton,” she said decisively. “Good-morning, Petit P�re,” she greeted Haynes as he came into the room.
“I salute you, Princess,” said Haynes with a low bow. “You beat me in.”
“Have you been out trying to gather more evidence against my poor juggler?”
“If I have, it’s been with no success.”
“I wish you failure,” she returned as she left the room.
“Here’s something that may interest you,” said Colton to Haynes, and related the episode of the sheep.
The reporter sat down. Colton thought he looked white and worn. Haynes meditated, frowning.
“You say the sheep lay on the hard sand?” he said at length.
“Yes; halfway between the cliff-line and the ocean.”
“That ought to help a lot,” said Haynes decisively. “What marks were around it?”
“Marks?” repeated Colton vacantly.
“Yes; marks, footmarks,” impatiently.
“Why, the fact is, I don’t know what I could have been thinking of, but I didn’t look.”
“The Lord forgive you!”
“I’ll go back now and find them.”
“An elephant’s spoor wouldn’t have survived half an hour of the rain we had last night,” Haynes said with evident exasperation.
“Miss Ravenden might have noticed something,” suggested Colton hopefully.
On the word Haynes was out in the hallway, up the stairs, and knocking at the girl’s door.
“Oh, Miss Dolly!” he called. “I want your help.”
“What can I do for the great Dupin, Jr.?” asked the girl, coming out into the hall.
“Show that you’ve profited by his learned instructions. Did you see any marks on the sand around the dead sheep?”
�“I’m an idiot!” said the girl contritely. “I never thought to look.”
“It’s well that your eyes are ornamental; they’re not always useful,” said Haynes in accents of raillery which did not conceal his disappointment.
“What have the great Dupin, Jr.‘s eyes discovered to-day?” she asked.
“Nothing. You and Colton have provided an unsatisfactory ending to an unsatisfactory day. I’ve been talking with the survivors of the wreck and couldn’t get any light at all. They’ve all left except ‘the Wonderful Whalley.’ He’s pretty badly bruised, and anyway he won’t go before paying his respects to Helga.”
“I should think not, indeed!” said Miss Ravenden. “And to you.”
“It’s a curious thing, but he doesn’t seem to be inspired by that devotion to me which my highly attractive character would seem to warrant. In fact he looks at me as if he would like to stick me with one of those particularly long, lean and unprepossessing knives which he cherishes so fondly.”
“You don’t really think,” said Miss Ravenden in concern, “that there is any–-”
“Figure of speech,” interrupted Haynes. “But the man certainly isn’t normal. I’ll have to trace his movements of yesterday evening. First, however, I’ll have a look at that sheep.”
“Surely the Portuguese had nothing to do with that? Why should he kill a harmless animal?”
“There is such a thing as murderous mania,” said Haynes after some hesitation.
Here Professor Ravenden entered. “I had rather a strange experience yesterday evening,” he said.
“Did you hear the sheep too?” asked Colton eagerly.
“Not unless sheep fly, sir. What it was I heard I should be glad to have explained. To liken it to a rasping hinge of great size would hardly give a proper idea of its animate quality; yet I can find no better simile. Were any of the local inhabitants given to nocturnal aeronautics, however, I should unhesitatingly aver that they had passed close over me not half an hour since, and that their machinery needed oiling.”
“I have heard such a noise,” said Haynes quietly. “Did it affect you unpleasantly?”
“No, sir. I cannot say it did. But it roused my interest. I shall make a point of pursuing it further.”
“Miss Johnston is calling us to breakfast,” said Colton.
“I’m just going to take a quick jump to the beach and a glimpse at the sheep,” said Haynes, and a moment later they saw him passing on his horse.
From her place at the head of the breakfast-table Helga Johnston called Dr. Colton to sit next to her, and while talking to him kept one eye on the door. Presently in came Miss Ravenden.
“Come up to this end, Dolly,” called Helga. “I want to introduce to you our new guest. Dr. Colton, Miss Ravenden.”
“Dr. Colton and I already have—” began Dorothy.
“I was fortunate enough to find Miss Ravenden—” said the confused Dick in the same breath.
“Dr. Colton,” continued Helga, cutting them both off, “is here making a collection of government paper currency. I mention this because Miss Ravenden has a well-known reputation for discerning contributions “
“Helga,” said Miss Ravenden calmly, “I have a few withering remarks waiting for you. Dr. Colton, you probably didn’t know that you were saving a practical joker when you—”
“Earned that twenty-dollar bill,” put in Helga. “But how did you two adjust your financial relations?”
To Dick’s relief the outer door opened, admitting Haynes. They turned to him instantly, with questioning faces.
With the change of voice which he kept for Helga alone, he said: “Princess, another of your courtiers is coming over this evening to display his talents.”
“Who, Petit P�re?”
“Your juggler, ‘The Wonderful Whalley.’”
“Did you find out anything about him, Monsieur Dupin?” asked Miss Ravenden.
“Nothing worth while. If he was out last night, no one knows it.”
“And the dead sheep?”
But Haynes only shook his head and attacked his breakfast.
After breakfast the party separated, Haynes riding over to see some of the fishermen, Helga busying herself with household affairs, Miss Ravenden joining her father in a butterfly expedition to the Hither Wood, and Colton going off alone in ill-humour after a signal discomfiture.
He had endeavoured to convince Miss Ravenden that he cherished a passionate fondness for entomology, hoping thereby to gain an invitation to join the party. Unfortunately he undertook the role of a semi-expert, and being by nature the most honest and open of men had fallen into the pit she dug. Upon his profession of faith she at once, so he flattered himself, accepted him as a fellow enthusiast, and began to describe to him a procession of Arachnidae across a swamp.
“In the lead was one great, tiger-striped fellow,” she said. “Are you familiar with the beautiful, big arachnid with the yellow-and-black wings?”
“Yes, indeed!” said Colton eagerly. “I used to see ‘em flitting around the roses at our summer place.”
“Then,” she said mischievously, “you ought to alter your habits. The arachnids are spiders. Anyone who sees winged spiders is safer fishing than on a butterfly hunt. Goodbye, Dr. Colton.”
Thus cruelly disabused of his hopes, Dick Colton went fishing. But his heart was not in the sport. Absentmindedly he made up a cast of flies and spent an hour of fruitless whipping before it dawned upon him that he had been using a scarlet ibis and a white miller in a blaze of direct sunshine. Having changed to a carefully prepared leader of grey and black hackles, he had better luck; but for the first time in his life successful angling had lost its savour. Laying aside his rod, he climbed a hillock to look over the landscape. It was a blank. Nowhere in the range of vision could he discern a butterfly net. The rock where he had spread his coat suggested a seat. He sat down there, and for one solid hour proved with irrefutable logic that that which was, couldn’t possibly be so, because he had known Dolly Ravenden only two days. Having attained this satisfactory conclusion, he took out the twenty-dollar bill and regarded it with miserly fervour. Haynes, coming over the hill, caused a hasty withdrawal of currency.
The reporter seemed tired and worried. In answer to the physician’s inquiry whether anything new had developed, he shook his head. Colton dismissed that subject, and with his accustomed straightforwardness went on to another, upon which he had been deliberating with an uneasy mind.
“Mr. Haynes,” he said, “I want to speak to you on rather a difficult subject.”
The reporter looked at him keenly. “Most difficult subjects are better let alone,” he said shortly.
“In fairness to you I can’t let this one alone. It concerns Miss Johnston.”
“Whom you have known since Monday, I believe.” Haynes’ face was disagreeable.
“Pardon me,” said the other. “My interest is in my brother.”
“I can’t pretend to share it,” returned Haynes.
“His name is Everard Colton. Do you know him?”
“Perhaps when I tell you that I know something of your family’s entirely unnecessary solicitude as to Miss Johnston, you will appreciate the bad taste of pursuing the subject,” said Haynes.
Dick’s equable temper and habituated self-control stood him in good stead now.
“I am regarding you as standing in the place of Helga Johnston’s brother,” he said.
“Are you appealing to me for help in your family affairs?” asked the reporter rather contemptuously.
“I am trying to be as frank with you as I should like you to be with me,” returned the other steadily. “I want your consent to my sending for Everard to come down here.”
Haynes stared at him, amazed. “What do you mean by that?”
“Exactly what I say. There have been some hotheaded and unfortunate judgments on the part of my family, which report has greatly magnified. I realise now the full extent of the error.”
“And what has brought about this change of heart?” sneered the other.
“My acquaintance with Miss Johnston. There are some women who carry the impress of fineness and of character in their faces and their smallest actions. Even if I had learned nothing else about her, after seeing Helga Johnston I would think it an honour for any family to welcome her.”
Haynes’ face softened, but it still was with some harshness that he said: “There are other Coltons who think otherwise.”
“That is because they don’t know,” was the quick reply. “I want Everard to have his chance, and I’ve put this case before you because I know and respect your relation to Miss Johnston, and because I believe it is your right.”
“Yes, you’re fair about it,” said Haynes, and fell into deep thought.
“Of course,” said Dick uneasily, “if having Everard here is going to be—er—painful to you, I won’t ask him. I should have thought of that first. I don’t know that Everard would have a chance anyway.”
“Dr. Colton, I believe that Helga did care for your brother.”
“But is it an open field?” asked Dick impulsively.
A slight smile appeared on Haynes’ lined face. “You mean, do I want to marry Helga myself? She has never thought of me in that way. In a way it would be painful, yet I should be glad to know, while I have time, that she was going to marry some good man—but not any man whose family could not accept her as she deserves.”
“While you have time,” said the young physician slowly. “While you have—” He broke off, advanced a step and peered into the other’s face. Haynes bore the scrutiny with a grim calmness.
As Colton scrutinised, the harsh lines that he had translated into irritable temperament leaped forth into the terrible significance of long-repressed pain.
“I don’t want to be professionally intrusive,” said the young doctor slowly, “but I think—I’m afraid—I know what you mean.”
“Ah, I see you are something of a diagnostician,” said Haynes quietly.
“How long has it been going on?”
“Nearly a year. It’s just behind the left armpit. Rather an unusual case, I believe. You see, I’m not on the lists as a marrying man.”
Colton walked to and fro
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