JUSTICE CHEATED
The first shock was over. Craig's body had been removed, and the girls had
taken Mary, half stunned with grief, to their room. French and Quest were
left alone.
"This is some disappointment," the former remarked gloomily.
"It is a disappointment," Quest said slowly, "which may clear the way to
bigger things."
"What's in your mind now?" French enquired.
Quest shook his head.
"A turmoil. First of all, where is the Professor?"
"Must have scooted right away home," French suggested. "He was looking
pretty sick all the time. Guess it must have been a powerful shock for
him, and he isn't so young as he used to be."
"Give me that paper of Craig's again," Quest asked, stretching out his
hand.
The Inspector produced the document from his inner pocket, and Quest,
stretching it out upon his knee, read it word for word.
"Never to communicate or to have anything to do with any one of the name
of Ashleigh, eh?" he remarked, as he handed it back again. "Rather a queer
provision, that, French."
"I've been thinking that myself," the Inspector admitted. "Seems to be
rather reversing the positions, doesn't it?"
Quest glanced at the clock.
"Well," he said, "if you're ready, Inspector, we'll be getting along."
"Where to?" French demanded.
Quest looked for a moment surprised. Just then Lenora entered the room.
"Are you going out?" she asked Quest.
He nodded.
"The Inspector and I are going to have a look for that black box," he told
her.
"Won't you want me?"
He shook his head.
"I think you girls have had as much as is good for you of this sort of
business," he declared grimly.
"But it's all over now," Lenora protested.
Quest buttoned up his coat and motioned to French to follow him.
"I'm not so sure," he said. "I'll 'phone if we want you, Lenora. We shall
be at the Professor's."
The two men drove to the outskirts of the city almost in silence, while
several of the officers followed in another taxi. The Professor's house
seemed more than ever deserted as they drew up at the front door. They
entered without ringing and crossed the hall towards the library. On the
threshold Quest paused and held up his finger.
"Some one is in there," he whispered, stepping quickly forward. "Come!"
He threw open the door. The room was empty, yet both Quest and French were
conscious of a curious conviction that it had been occupied within the
last few seconds. French even shook out the curtains and swung open the
doors of a bureau. There was no sign of anybody, however, nor any evidence
as to how they could have left the room.
"Queer, but it seemed to me I heard some one," French muttered.
"I was sure of it," Quest replied, shaking the curtains at the back of the
door.
They stood still for a moment and listened. The silence in the empty house
was almost unnatural. Quest turned away with a shrug of the shoulders.
"At any rate," he said, "Craig's dying thoughts must have been truthful.
Come."
He led the way to the fireplace, went down on his knees and passed his
hands over the bricks. The third one he touched, shook. He tapped
it--without a doubt it was hollow. With his penknife he loosened the
mortar a little and drew it out easily. The back was open. Inside was the
black box.
"Craig's secret at last!" French muttered hoarsely. "Bring it to the
light, quick!"
They were unemotional men but the moment was supreme. The key to the
mystery of these tragical weeks was there in their hands! Their eyes
almost devoured those few hastily scrawled words buried with so much care:
_See page 62, January number, American Medical Journal 1905._
They looked at one another. They repeated vaguely this most commonplace of
messages. As the final result of their strenuous enterprise, these cryptic
words seemed pitifully inadequate. Quest's face darkened. He crumpled the
paper in his fingers.
"There must be some meaning in this," he muttered. "It can't be altogether
a fool's game we're on. Wait."
He moved towards a table which usually stood against the wall, but which
had obviously been dragged out recently into the middle of the room. It
was covered with bound volumes. Quest glanced at one and exclaimed softly.
"_American Medical Journal, 1905!_ French, there's something in this
message, after all."
He turned over the pages rapidly. Then he came to a stop. Page 60 was
there; page 62 had been neatly removed with a pair of scissors.
"The Professor!" he cried. "The Professor's been at work here!"
The two men stood looking at one another across the table. Strange
thoughts were framing themselves in the brains of both of them. Then there
came a startling and in its way a dramatic interlude. Through the empty
house came the ringing of the electric bell from the front door, shrill
and insistent. Without a moment's hesitation, Quest hurried out, and
French followed him. On the door-step was another surprise. Lenora and
Laura were there, the former carrying a small, black-bound volume.
"Don't be cross," she begged quickly. "We just had to come. Look! We
picked this up underneath the chair where Craig was sitting. It must have
slipped from his pocket. You see what is written on it? DIARY OF JOHN
CRAIG."
Quest took it in his hand.
"This ought to be interesting," he remarked. "Come along in."
They passed into the library. French lingered behind for a moment and
caught up with them just as they were opening the book underneath the
electric lamp.
"See what I've found!" he exclaimed. "It was just by the side of the wall
there. Where's that journal?"
He spread out the piece of paper--it fitted exactly into the empty space.
They all read together:
"Professor Ashleigh, after being bitten by the anthropoid,
rapidly developed hydrophobia of a serious nature. After
treatment with a new serum the patient was relieved of the
hydrophobic symptoms, but to my horror this mild-mannered,
humane man seems possessed at times of all the characteristics
of the brutal anthropoid--cunning, thievery, brutality. I do not
know what may come of this. I hesitate to put even these words
on to paper. I am doubtful as to what course, in the interests
of humanity, I ought to take.
(Signed) "JAMES MERRILL, M.D.
"Editor's Note. Just as we go to press, a cable announces the
terrible death of Doctor Merrill, the writer of the above notes.
He was attacked by wild animals while alone in a South American
jungle, and torn to pieces."
There was a queer little silence among the company. No one seemed inclined
for speech. They looked at one another in dumb, wondering horror. Then
Quest drew a penknife from his pocket and with a turn of his wrist forced
the lock of the diary. They all watched him with fascinated eyes. It was
something to escape from their thoughts. They leaned over as he spread the
book out before him. Those first two sentences were almost in the light of
a dedication:
"For ten years I have protected my master, Professor Edgar
Ashleigh, at the cost of my peace of mind, my happiness, my
reputation. This book, even though it be too late to help me,
shall clear my reputation."
Quest closed the volume.
"French," he decided, "we must find the Professor. Will you have your men
search the house and grounds immediately?"
The Inspector left the room like a dazed man. They could hear him giving
orders outside.
"The next page," Lenora begged. "Just one page more!"
Quest hesitated for a moment. Then he turned it over. All three read
again:
"Ten years of horror, struggling all the while to keep him from
that other self, that thing of bestiality, to keep his horrible
secret from the world, to cover up his crimes, even though their
shadow should rest upon me. Now Sanford Quest has come. Will
this mean discovery?"
"Another page," Lenora faltered.
"No more," Quest said. "Don't you see where it is leading us? We have the
truth here. Wait!"
He strode hastily to the door. French and one of the plain-clothes men
were descending the stairs.
"Well?" Quest asked breathlessly.
"The Professor is not in the house," French reported. "We are going to
search the grounds."
Quest returned to the library. Lenora clung to his arm. The diary lay
still upon the table.
Quest opened the volume slowly. Again they all read together:
"The evil nature is growing stronger every day. He is developing
a sort of ferocious cunning to help him in his crimes. He
wanders about in the dark, wearing a black velvet suit with
holes for his eyes, and leaving only his hands exposed. I have
watched him come into a half-darkened room and one can see
nothing but the hands and the eyes; sometimes if he closes his
eyes, only the hands."
"Mrs. Rheinholdt!" Quest muttered. "Wait. I know where that suit is."
He hastened to a cupboard at the farther end of the room, snatched some
garments from it and vanished into the hall.
"One moment, girls," he said. "I see now how he did it. Wait. I'll show
you."
They stood quite still, a little terrified. In a moment or two the door
reopened. A finger turned out all the electric lights but one. Then there
was nothing to be seen but a pair of white hands, which seemed to come
floating towards them through the darkness--a pair of white hands and a
pair of gleaming eyes. Lenora screamed wildly. Even Laura was unnerved.
"Stop that!" she cried out. "Who are you, anyway?"
The lights were suddenly turned on. Quest threw off his disguise.
"There you are," he exclaimed triumphantly. "Ingenious, but one ought to
have seen through it long ago. The stroke of genius about it was that as
soon as he had used a dodge once or twice and set you thinking about it,
he dropped it."
The door was suddenly opened and French entered.
"Beaten!" he exclaimed tersely.
"You haven't found him?" Quest asked.
French shook his head.
"We've searched every room, every cupboard, every scrap of the cellar in
the house," he announced. "We've been into every corner of the grounds,
searched all the place inside and out. There's no sign of the Professor."
Quest pocketed the diary.
"You're perfectly certain that he is not in this house or anywhere upon
the premises?"
"Certain sure!" French replied.
Quest shrugged his shoulders.
"Well, we'd better get back," he said. "You come, too, French. We'll sit
down and figure out some scheme for finding him."
They made their way to the front door and crowded into the autos. The two
men left with marked reluctance. The two girls had but one idea in their
heads--to get away, and get away quickly.
"Do start, please," Lenora begged. "There's just one thing in life I want,
and that is to be in my own room, to feel myself away from his world of
horrible, unnatural mysteries."
"The kid has the right idea," Laura agreed. "I've had enough myself."
They were on the point of starting, the chauffeur with his hand upon the
starting handle, French with the steering wheel of the police car already
in his hand. And then the little party seemed suddenly turned to stone.
For a few breathless seconds not one of them moved. Out into the clammy
night air came the echoes of a hideous, inhuman, blood-curdling scream.
Quest was the first to recover himself. He leaped from his seat and rushed
back across the empty hall into the study, followed a little way behind by
French and the others. An unsuspected panel door which led into the
garden, stood slightly ajar. The Professor, with his hand on the back of a
chair, was staring at the fireplace, shaking as though with some horrible
ague, his face distorted, his body curiously hunched-up. He seemed
suddenly to have dropped his humanity, to have fallen back into the world
of some strange creatures. He heard their footsteps, but he did not turn
his head. His hands were stretched out in front of him as though to keep
away from his sight some hateful object.
"Stop him!" he cried. "Take him away! It's Craig--his spirit! He came to
me in the garage, he followed me through the grounds, he mocked at me when
I hid in the tree. He's there now, kneeling before the fireplace. Why
can't I kill him! He is coming! Stop him, some one!"
No one spoke or moved; no one, indeed, had the power. Then at last Quest
found words.
"There is no one in the room, Professor," he said, "except us."
The sound of a human voice seemed to produce a strange effect. The
Professor straightened himself, shook his head, his hands dropped to his
side. He turned around and faced them. He was ghastly pale, but his smile
was once more the smile of the amiable naturalist.
"My friends," he said, "forgive me. I am very old, and the events of these
last few hours have unnerved me. Forgive me."
He groped for a moment and sank into a chair. Quest fetched a decanter and
a glass from the sideboard, poured out some wine and held it to his lips.
The Professor drank it eagerly.
"My dear friend," he exclaimed, "you have saved me! I have something to
tell you, something I must tell you at once, but not here. I loathe this
place. Let me come with you to your rooms."
"As you please," Quest answered calmly.
The Professor rose hastily to his feet. As he turned around, he saw French
concealing something in his hands. He shivered.
"I don't need those!" he cried. "What are they? Handcuffs? Ah, no! I am
only too anxious to tell you all that I know. Take care of me, Mr. Quest.
Take me with you."
He gripped Quest's arm. In silence they passed from the room, in silence
they took their places once more in the automobiles, in silence they drove
without a pause to Quest's rooms. The Professor seemed to breathe more
freely as they left the neighbourhood of his house behind. He walked up
the stairs to Quest's library almost blithely. If he was aware of it, he
took no notice of French and the two plain-clothes men behind. As he
stepped into the room, he drew a long sigh of relief. He made his way at
once to his favourite easy-chair, threw off his overcoat and leaned back.
"Quest," he pronounced, "you are the best friend I have in my life! It is
you who have rid me of my great burden. Tell me--help me a little with my
story--have you read that page from the _Medical Journal_ which Craig has
kept locked up all these years?"
"We have all read it," Quest replied.
"It was forged," the Professor declared firmly, "forged by Craig. All the
years since, he has blackmailed me. I have been his servant and his tool.
I have been afraid to speak. At last I am free of him. Thank God!"
"Craig, after all," French muttered.
The Professor sat with a faint, wistful smile upon the corners of his
lips, looking around at all of them. His face had become like the face of
a child, eager for sympathy and kindness.
"You will trust me, I know," he continued. "You will believe me. All my
life I have laboured for science. I have never been selfish. I have laid
up no store of gold or treasure. Knowledge has been my mistress, knowledge
has been my heaven. If I had been a wise man, I would have ridden myself
of this hideous burden, but I was foolish and afraid. I wanted to pursue
my studies, I wanted to be left in peace, so I let that fiend prey upon my
fears. But now--now I feel that the burden has rolled away. I shall tell
you my story, and afterwards I will do great things yet, great things for
science, great things for the world."
They listened to him, spellbound. Only Lenora stood a little apart with a
faint frown upon her forehead. She touched Quest on the shoulder.
"Mr. Quest," she murmured, "he is lying!"
Quest turned his head. His lips scarcely moved.
"What do you mean?" he whispered.
"He is lying!" Lenora insisted. "I tell you there's another creature
there, something we don't understand. Let me bring the Electro-thought
transference apparatus; let us read his mind. If I am wrong, I will go
down on my knees and beg for forgiveness."
Quest nodded. Lenora hastened to the further end of the room, snatched the
cloth from the instrument and wheeled down the little mirror with its
coils and levers. The Professor watched her. Slowly his face changed. The
benevolence faded away, his teeth for a moment showed in something which
was almost a snarl.
"You believe me?" he cried, turning to Quest. "You are not going to try
that horrible thing on me--Professor Lord Ashleigh? I am all broken up. I
am not fit for it. Look at my hands, how they shake."
"Professor," Quest said sternly, "we are surrounded by the shadow of some
terrible deeds for which as yet there is no explanation. I do not say that
we mistrust you, but I ask you to submit to this test."
"I refuse!" the Professor replied harshly.
"And I insist," Quest muttered.
The Professor drew a little breath. He sat back in his chair. His face
became still, his lips were drawn closely together. Lenora wheeled up the
machine and with deft fingers adjusted the fittings on one side. Quest
himself connected it up on the other. The Professor sat there like a
figure of stone. The silence in the room was so intense that the ticking
of the small clock upon the mantelpiece was clearly audible. The silent
battle of wills seemed like a live and visible struggle. The very
atmosphere seemed charged with the thrill and wonder of it. Never before
had Quest met with resistance so complete and immovable. For the first
time the thought of failure oppressed him. Even that slight slackening of
his rigid concentration brought relief to the Professor. Without any
knowledge as to the source of their conviction, the two girls who watched
felt that the Professor was becoming dominant. And then there came a
sudden queer change. The intangible triumph of the Professor's stony poise
seemed to fade away. His eyes had sought the corner of the room, his lips
quivered. The horror was there again, the horror they had seen before. He
crouched a little back. His hands were uplifted as though to keep off some
evil thing.
"Craig!" Lenora whispered. "He thinks he sees Craig again!"
Quest held up his hand. He realised that this was his moment. He leaned a
little farther forward. Sternly he concentrated the whole of his will
power upon his task. Almost at once there was a change. The Professor fell
back in the chair. The tense self-control had passed from his features,
his lips twitched. Simultaneously, the mirror for a moment was
clouded,--then slowly a picture upon it gathered outline and substance.
There was a jungle, strange, tall trees, and brushwood so thick that it
reached to the waists of the two men who were slowly making their way
through it. One was the Professor, clearly recognisable under his white
sun helmet; the other a stranger to all of them. Suddenly they stopped.
The latter had crept a yard or so ahead, his gun raised to his shoulder,
his eyes fixed upon some possible object of pursuit. There was a sudden
change in the Professor. They saw him seize his gun by the barrel and
whirl it above his head. He seemed suddenly to lose his whole identity. He
crouched on his haunches, almost like an animal, and sprang at the other's
throat. They could almost hear the snarl from his lips as the two men went
down together into the undergrowth. The picture faded away.
"Dr. Merrill!" Lenora faltered. "Then it was not wild beasts which killed
him."
Almost immediately figures again appeared in the mirror. This time they
saw the Professor in bed in a tent, Craig sitting by him, a violin in his
hand. A native servant entered with food, which he placed by the bedside
with a low obeisance. Slowly the Professor raised himself in bed. His face
was distorted, his mouth curved into strange lines. With a sudden spring
he seized the native servant by the throat and bore him back upon the
floor. Craig passed his arm through his master's and, exerting all his
strength, dragged him away. They saw the man run terrified from the room,
they saw Craig soothe the Professor and finally get him back to bed. Then
he seized the violin and bent a little forward, playing softly. Slowly the
Professor relapsed into what seemed to be a sleep. The scene faded away,
to be replaced almost immediately by another. There was a small passage
which seemed to lead from the back entrance of a house; the Professor with
a black mantle, Craig following him, pleading, expostulating. They saw the
conservatory for a minute, and then blackness. The Professor was leaning
against a marble basin. There was nothing to be seen of him but his eyes
and hands. They saw him listen, for a moment or two in cold, unresponsive
silence, then stretch out his hand and push Craig away. The picture glowed
and faded and glowed again. Then they saw through the gloom the figure of
a woman approach, a diamond necklace around her neck. They saw the hands
steal out and encircle her throat--and then more darkness, silence,
obscurity. The mirror was empty once more.
"Mrs. Rheinholdt's jewels!" Lenora cried. "What next? Oh! my God, what
next?"
Their eyes ached with the strain but there was not one of them who could
even glance away from the mirror. It was Quest's study which slowly
appeared then. The Salvation Army girl was there, talking to the
Professor. They saw him leave her, they saw him look back from the door, a
strange, evil glance. Then the secretary entered and spoke to her. Once
more the door opened. The hands were there, stretching and reaching, a
paper-weight gripped in the right-hand fingers. They saw it raised above
the secretary's head, they saw the other hand take the girl by the throat
and push her towards the table. A wild scream broke from Lenora's lips.
Quest wavered for a moment. The picture faded out.
"Oh, stop it!" Lenora begged. "Haven't we seen enough? We know the truth
now. Stop!"
The criminologist made no reply. His eyes were still fixed upon the
Professor, who showed some signs of returning consciousness. He was
gripping at his collar. He seemed to have difficulty with his breathing.
Quest suddenly braced himself. He pushed Lenora back.
"One more," he muttered. "There's something growing in his mind. I can
feel it. Wait!"
Again they all turned towards the mirror. They saw the hallway of Ashleigh
House, the pictures upon the walls, they could almost feel the quiet
silence of night. They saw the Professor come stealing down the stairs. He
was wearing the black velvet suit with the cowl in his hand. They watched
him pause before a certain door, draw on the cowl and disappear. Through
the opening they could see Lord Ashleigh asleep in bed, the moonlight
streaming through the open window across the counterpane. They saw the
Professor turn with a strange, horrible look in his face and close the
door. Lenora burst into sobs.
"No more!" she begged. "No more, please!"
Suddenly, without any warning, Laura also began to sob hysterically.
French mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. His face was
unrecognisable. He had lost all his healthy colour, and his lips were
twitching. Quest himself was as pale as death, and there were black rims
under his eyes.
"We've had enough," he admitted, swaying a little on his feet. "Undo the
other band, if you can, Lenora."
He leaned forward and released their victim. The whole atmosphere of the
place seemed immediately to change. Lenora drew a long, convulsive breath
and sank into a chair. The Professor sat up, and gazed at them all with
the air of a man who had just awakened from a dream. His features
relapsed, his mouth once more resolved itself into pleasant and natural
lines. He smiled at them cordially.
"Have I, by any chance, slept?" he asked. "Or--"
He never finished his sentence. His eyes fell upon the mirror, the metal
band lying by his side. He read the truth in the faces still turned
towards him. He rose to his feet. There was another and equally sudden
change in his demeanour and tone. He carried himself with the calm dignity
of the scientist.
"The end of our struggle, I presume?" he said to Quest, pointing to the
metal band. "You will at least admit that I have shown you fine sport?"
No one answered him. Even Quest had barely yet recovered himself. The
Professor shrugged his shoulders.
"I recognise, of course," he said gravely, "that this is the end. A person
_in extremis_ has privileges. Will you allow me to write just a matter of
twenty lines at your desk?"
Silently Quest assented. The Professor seated himself in the swing chair,
drew a sheet of paper towards him, dipped the pen in the ink and began to
write. Then he turned round and reached for his own small black bag which
lay upon the table. Quest caught him by the wrist.
"What do you want out of that, Professor?" he enquired.
"Merely my own pen and ink," the Professor expostulated. "If there is
anything I detest in the world, it is violet ink. And your pen, too, is
execrable. As these are to be the last words I shall leave to a sorrowing
world, I should like to write them in my own fashion. Open the bag for
yourself, if you will. You can pass me the things out."
Quest opened the bag, took out a pen and a small glass bottle of ink. He
handed them to the Professor, who started once more to write. Quest
watched him for a moment and then turned away to French. The Professor
looked over his shoulder and suddenly bared his wrist. Lenora seized her
employer by the arm.
"Look!" she cried. "What is he going to do?"
Quest swung round, but he was too late. The Professor had dug the pen into
his arm. He sat in his chair and laughed as they all hurried towards him.
Then suddenly he sprang to his feet. Again the change came into his face
which they had seen in the mirror. French dashed forward towards him. The
Professor snarled, seemed about to spring, then suddenly once more
stretched out his hands to show that he was helpless and handed to Quest
the paper upon which he had been writing.
"You have nothing to fear from me," he exclaimed. "Here is my last message
to you, Sanford Quest. Read it--read it aloud. Always remember that this
was not your triumph but mine."
Quest held up the paper. They all read. The Professor's letters were
carefully formed, his handwriting perfectly legible.
"You have been a clever opponent, Sanford Quest, but even now
you are to be cheated. The wisdom of the ages outreaches yours,
outreaches it and triumphs."
Quest looked up quickly.
"What the devil does he mean?" he muttered.
The Professor's arms shot suddenly above his head. Again that strange,
animal look convulsed his features. He burst into a loud, unnatural laugh.
"Mean, you fool?" he cried, holding out his wrist, which was slowly
turning black. "Poisoned! That is what it means!"
They all stared at him. Quest seized the ink bottle, revealed the false
top and laid it down again with a little exclamation. Then, before they
could realize it, the end came. The Professor lay, a crumpled-up heap,
upon the floor. The last change of all had taken place in his face. His
arms were outstretched, his face deathly white, his lips faintly curved in
the half amiable, half supercilious smile of the savant who sees beyond.
Quest stooped over him.
"He is dead," he declared.
* * * * *
Quest swung round in his chair as French entered the room, and held out
his left hand.
"Glad to see you, French. Help yourself to a cigar."
"I don't know as I want to smoke this morning just at present, thank you,"
French replied.
Quest laid down his pen and looked up. French was fidgeting about with his
hat in his hand. He was dressed more carefully than usual, but he was
obviously ill at ease.
"Nothing wrong, eh?"
"No, there's nothing wrong," French admitted. "I just looked in--"
Quest waited for a moment. Then he crossed his legs and assumed a patient
attitude.
"What the dickens did you look in for?" he asked.
"The fact of it is," French explained, "I should like a few words with
Miss Laura."
Quest laughed shortly.
"Why on earth couldn't you say so?" he observed. "Never knew you bashful
before, Inspector. She's up in the laboratory. I'll ring for some one to
show you the way."
Quest touched the bell and his new secretary entered almost at once.
"Take Inspector French up into the laboratory," Quest directed. "See you
later, French."
"Yes--perhaps--I hope so," the Inspector replied nervously.
Quest watched him disappear, with a puzzled smile.
Then he sat down at his desk, drew a sheet of paper towards him and began
to write:
"My dear Inspector,
"I am taking this opportunity of letting you know that out of
deference to the wishes of the woman I hope soon to marry, I am
abandoning the hazardous and nerve-racking profession of
criminology for a safer and happier career. You will have,
therefore, to find help elsewhere in the future.
"With best wishes,
"Yours,
"SANFORD QUEST."
He left the sheet of paper upon the desk and, ringing the bell, sent for
Lenora. She appeared in a few moments and came over to his side.
"What is it, Mr. Quest?" she asked.
He gave her the letter without remark. She read it through and, turning
slowly around, looked at him expectantly.
"How's that seem to you?" he asked, reaching out his hand for a cigar.
"Very sensible indeed," she replied.
"It's no sort of life, this, for a married man," Quest declared. "You
agree with me there, don't you, Lenora?"
"Yes!" she admitted, a little faintly.
Quest lit his cigar deliberately. Then he enclosed the letter in an
envelope and addressed it to Inspector French.
"You'd better deliver this to the Inspector," he said, "in case he doesn't
call round here on his way out."
He handed her the note. For a moment she looked at him, then she turned
quickly away.
"He shall have it at once," she said in a low tone.
Quest watched her cross the room. She opened the door and passed out
without a backward glance. Then he shrugged his shoulders, hesitated for a
moment, and followed her. He heard the door of her apartment on the next
floor close, however, and made his way to the laboratory. He entered the
room softly and paused upon the threshold. His presence was altogether
unobserved by the two people who were standing at the other end of the
apartment.
"I say, Miss Laura," the Inspector was saying, "this has got to come
sometime or other. Why don't you make up your mind to it? I'm no great
hand at love-making, but I'm the right sort of man for you and I think you
know it."
"This," Quest murmured to himself, "is where Laura boxes the Inspector's
ears!"
Nothing of the sort happened, however. There was a queer, a mystifying
change in Laura's expression. She was looking down at the floor. Suddenly
her face was hidden in her hands. The Inspector threw his arms around her.
"That's all the answer I want," he declared.
Quest stole softly away. As he regained the door of his study, Lenora,
dressed for the street, hurried out. She tried to pass him but he laid his
hand upon her shoulder.
"I was just going round to Mr. French's office," she explained.
"That's all right," Quest replied. "The Inspector's here. You can leave
the note upon the table. Hi, Parkins," he called out to his secretary in
the next room, "get my hat and coat. Come back a moment, Lenora."
She turned into the room a little unwillingly and leaned against the
table. Quest stood by her side.
"Lenora," he said quietly, "that was kind of a brutal note I told you to
give to French, but I thought you'd understand."
She raised her eyes suddenly to his.
"Understand what?" she whispered.
The secretary entered the room, helped Quest on with his coat and handed
him his hat.
"If you are quite ready, Lenora."
"Ready?" she exclaimed. "Where are we going?"
Quest sighed.
"Fancy having to explain all these things!" he said, taking her arm. "I
just want you to understand, Lenora, that I've waited--quite long enough.
Parkins," he added, turning to his secretary, "if any one calls, just say
that my wife and I will be back early in the afternoon. And you'd better
step upstairs to the laboratory and give my compliments to Inspector
French, and say that I hope he and Miss Laura will join us at Delmonico's
for luncheon at one o'clock."
"Very good, sir," the man replied.
Lenora's face was suddenly transformed. She passed her arm through
Quest's. He stooped and kissed her as he led her towards the door.
"You understand now, don't you?" he whispered, smiling down at her.
"I think so," she admitted, with a little sigh of content.
THE END
* * * * *
JOHN FOX, JR'S.
STORIES OF THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.
THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE.
Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
[Illustration]
The "lonesome pine" from which the story takes its name was a tall tree
that stood in solitary splendor on a mountain top. The fame of the pine
lured a young engineer through Kentucky to catch the trail, and when he
finally climbed to its shelter he found not only the pine but the
_foot-prints of a girl_. And the girl proved to be lovely, piquant, and
the trail of these girlish foot-prints led the young engineer a madder
chase than "the trail of the lonesome pine."
THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME.
Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
This is a story of Kentucky, in a settlement known as "Kingdom Come." It
is a life rude, semi-barbarous; but natural and honest, from which often
springs the flower of civilization.
"Chad," the "little shepherd" did not know who he was nor whence he
came--he had just wandered from door to door since early childhood,
seeking shelter with kindly mountaineers who gladly fathered and mothered
this waif about whom there was such a mystery--a charming waif, by the
way, who could play the banjo better that anyone else in the mountains.
A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND.
Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
The scenes are laid along the waters of the Cumberland, the lair of
moonshiner and feudsman. The knight is a moonshiner's son, and the heroine
a beautiful girl perversely christened "The Blight." Two impetuous young
Southerners' fall under the spell of "The Blight's" charms and she learns
what a large part jealousy and pistols have in the love making of the
mountaineers.
Included in this volume is "Hell fer-Sartain" and other stories, some of
Mr. Fox's most entertaining Cumberland valley narratives.
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STORIES OF RARE CHARM BY GENE STRATTON-PORTER
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.
THE HARVESTER
Illustrated by W. L. Jacobs
[Illustration]
"The Harvester," David Langston, is a man of the woods and fields, who
draws his living from the prodigal hand of Mother Nature herself. If the
book had nothing in it but the splendid figure of this man, with his sure
grip on life, his superb optimism, and his almost miraculous knowledge of
nature secrets, it would be notable. But when the Girl comes to his
"Medicine Woods," and the Harvester's whole sound, healthy, large outdoor
being realizes that this is the highest point of life which has come to
him--there begins a romance, troubled and interrupted, yet of the rarest
idyllic quality.
FRECKLES.
Decorations by E. Stetson Crawford
Freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the way in which he
takes hold of life; the nature friendships he forms in the great
Limberlost Swamp; the manner in which everyone who meets him succumbs to
the charm of his engaging personality; and his love-story with "The Angel"
are full of real sentiment.
A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST.
Illustrated by Wladyslaw T. Brenda.
The story of a girl of the Michigan woods; a buoyant, lovable type of the
self-reliant American. Her philosophy is one of love and kindness towards
all things; her hope is never dimmed. And by the sheer beauty of her soul,
and the purity of her vision, she wins from barren and unpromising
surroundings those rewards of high courage.
It is an inspiring story of a life worth while and the rich beauties of
the out-of-doors are strewn through all its pages.
AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW.
Illustrations in colors by Oliver Kemp. Design and decorations by Ralph
Fletcher Seymour.
The scene of this charming, idyllic love story is laid in Central Indiana.
The story is one of devoted friendship, and tender self-sacrificing love;
the friendship that gives freely without return, and the love that seeks
first the happiness of the object. The novel is brimful of the most
beautiful word painting of nature, and its pathos and tender sentiment
will endear it to all.
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MYRTLE REED'S NOVELS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list
LAVENDER AND OLD LACE.
[Illustration]
A charming story of a quaint corner of New England where bygone romance
finds a modern parallel. The story centers round the coming of love to the
young people on the staff of a newspaper--and it is one of the prettiest,
sweetest and quaintest of old fashioned love stories, * * * a rare book,
exquisite in spirit and conception, full of delicate fancy, of tenderness,
of delightful humor and spontaneity.
A SPINNER IN THE SUN.
Miss Myrtle Reed may always be depended upon to write a story in which
poetry, charm, tenderness and humor are combined into a clever and
entertaining book. Her characters are delightful and she always displays a
quaint humor of expression and a quiet feeling of pathos which give a
touch of active realism to all her writings. In "A Spinner in the Sun" she
tells an old-fashioned love story, of a veiled lady who lives in solitude
and whose features her neighbors have never seen. There is a mystery at
the heart of the book that throws over it the glamour of romance.
THE MASTER'S VIOLIN.
A love story in a musical atmosphere. A picturesque, old German virtuoso
is the reverent possessor of a genuine "Cremona." He consents to take for
his pupil a handsome youth who proves to have an aptitude for technique,
but not the soul of an artist. The youth has led the happy, careless life
of a modern, well-to-do young American and he cannot, with his meagre
past, express the love, the passion and the tragedies of life and all its
happy phases as can the master who has lived life in all its fulness. But
a girl comes into his life--a beautiful bit of human driftwood that his
aunt had taken into her heart and home, and through his passionate love
for her, he learns the lessons that life has to give--and his soul awakes.
Founded on a fact that all artists realize.
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GROSSET & DUNLAP'S
DRAMATIZED NOVELS
THE KIND THAT ARE MAKING THEATRICAL HISTORY
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list
WITHIN THE LAW. By Bayard Veiller & Marvin Dana.
Illustrated by Wm. Charles Cooke.
This is a novelization of the immensely successful play which ran for two
years in New York and Chicago.
The plot of this powerful novel is of a young woman's revenge directed
against her employer who allowed her to be sent to prison for three years
on a charge of theft, of which she was innocent.
WHAT HAPPENED TO MARY. By Robert Carlton Brown.
Illustrated with scenes from the play.
This is a narrative of a young and innocent country girl who is suddenly
thrown into the very heart of New York, "the land of her dreams," where
she is exposed to all sorts of temptations and dangers.
The story of Mary is being told in moving pictures and played in theatres
all over the world.
THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM. By David Belasco.
Illustrated by John Rae.
This is a novelization of the popular play in which David Warfield, as Old
Peter Grimm, scored such a remarkable success.
The story is spectacular and extremely pathetic but withal powerful, both
as a book and as a play.
THE GARDEN OF ALLAH. By Robert Hichens.
This novel is an intense, glowing epic of the great desert, sunlit
barbaric, with its marvelous atmosphere of vastness and loneliness.
It is a book of rapturous beauty, vivid in word painting. The play has
been staged with magnificent cast and gorgeous properties.
BEN HUR. A Tale of the Christ. By General Lew Wallace.
The whole world has placed this famous Religious-Historical Romance on a
height of pre-eminence which no other novel of its time has reached. The
clashing of rivalry and the deepest human passions, the perfect
reproduction of brilliant Roman life, and the tense, fierce atmosphere of
the arena have kept their deep fascination. A tremendous dramatic success.
BOUGHT AND PAID FOR. By George Broadhurst and Arthur Hornblow.
Illustrated with scenes from the play.
A stupendous arraignment of modern marriage which has created an interest
on the stage that is almost unparalleled. The scenes are laid in New York,
and deal with conditions among both the rich and poor.
The interest of the story turns on the day-by-day developments which show
the young wife the price she has paid.
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GROSSET & DUNLAP'S
DRAMATIZED NOVELS
Original, sincere and courageous--often amusing--the kind that are making
theatrical history.
MADAME X. By Alexandre Bisson and J. W. McConaughy.
Illustrated with scenes from the play.
A beautiful Parisienne became an outcast because her husband would not
forgive an error of her youth. Her love for her son is the great final
influence in her career. A tremendous dramatic success.
THE GARDEN OF ALLAH. By Robert Hichens.
An unconventional English woman and an inscrutable stranger meet and love
in an oasis of the Sahara. Staged this season with magnificent cast and
gorgeous properties.
THE PRINCE OF INDIA. By Lew. Wallace.
A glowing romance of the Byzantine Empire, presenting with extraordinary
power the siege of Constantinople, and lighting its tragedy with the warm
underglow of an Oriental romance. As a play it is a great dramatic
spectacle.
TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY. By Grace Miller White.
Illust. by Howard Chandler Christy.
A girl from the dregs of society, loves a young Cornell University
student, and it works startling changes in her life and the lives of those
about her. The dramatic version is one of the sensations of the season.
YOUNG WALLINGFORD. By George Randolph Chester.
Illust. by F. R. Gruger and Henry Raleigh.
A series of clever swindles conducted by a cheerful young man, each of
which is just on the safe side of a State's prison offence. As
"Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford," it is probably the most amusing expose of
money manipulation ever seen on the stage.
THE INTRUSION OF JIMMY. By P. G. Wodehouse.
Illustrations by Will Grefe.
Social and club life in London and New York, an amateur burglary adventure
and a love story. Dramatized under the title of "A Gentleman of Leisure,"
it furnishes hours of laughter to the play-goers.
Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St, New York
A FEW OF
GROSSET & DUNLAP'S
Great Books at Little Prices
NEW, CLEVER, ENTERTAINING.
GRET: The Story of a Pagan. By Beatrice Mantle.
Illustrated by C. M. Relyea.
The wild free life of an Oregon lumber camp furnishes the setting for this
strong original story. Gret is the daughter of the camp and is utterly
content with the wild life--until love comes. A fine book, unmarred by
convention.
OLD CHESTER TALES. By Margaret Deland.
Illustrated by Howard Pyle.
A vivid yet delicate portrayal of characters in an old New England town.
Dr. Lavendar's fine, kindly wisdom is brought to bear upon the lives of
all, permeating the whole volume like the pungent odor of pine, healthful
and life giving. "Old Chester Tales" will surely be among the books that
abide.
THE MEMOIRS OF A BABY. By Josephine Daskam.
Illustrated by F. Y. Cory.
The dawning intelligence of the baby was grappled with by its great aunt,
an elderly maiden, whose book knowledge of babies was something at which
even the infant himself winked. A delicious bit of humor.
REBECCA MARY. By Annie Hamilton Donnell.
Illustrated by Elizabeth Shippen Green.
The heart tragedies of this little girl with no one near to share them,
are told with a delicate art, a keen appreciation of the needs of the
childish heart and a humorous knowledge of the workings of the childish
mind.
THE FLY ON THE WHEEL. By Katherine Cecil Thurston.
Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher.
An Irish story of real power, perfect in development and showing a true
conception of the spirited Hibernian character as displayed in the tragic
as well as the tender phases of life.
THE MAN FROM BRODNEY'S. By George Barr McCutcheon.
Illustrated by Harrison Fisher.
An island in the South Sea is the setting for this entertaining tale, and
an all-conquering hero and a beautiful princess figure in a most
complicated plot. One of Mr. McCutcheon's best books.
TOLD BY UNCLE REMUS. By Joel Chandler Harris.
Illustrated by A. B. Frost, J. M. Conde and Frank Verbeck.
Again Uncle Remus enters the fields of childhood, and leads another little
boy to that non-locatable land called "Brer Rabbit's Laughing Place," and
again the quaint animals spring into active life and play their parts, for
the edification of a small but appreciative audience.
THE CLIMBER. By E. F. Benson.
With frontispiece.
An unsparing analysis of an ambitious woman's soul--a woman who believed
that in social supremacy she would find happiness, and who finds instead
the utter despair of one who has chosen the things that pass away.
LYNCH'S DAUGHTER. By Leonard Merrick.
Illustrated by Geo. Brehm.
A story of to-day, telling how a rich girl acquires ideals of beautiful
and simple living, and of men and love, quite apart from the teachings of
her father, "Old Man Lynch" of Wall St. True to life, clever in treatment.
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A FEW OF
GROSSET & DUNLAP'S
Great Books at Little Prices
THE MUSIC MASTER. By Charles Klein.
Illustrated by John Rae.
This marvelously vivid narrative turns upon the search of a German
musician in New York for his little daughter. Mr. Klein has well portrayed
his pathetic struggle with poverty, his varied experiences in endeavoring
to meet the demands of a public not trained to an appreciation of the
classic, and his final great hour when, in the rapidly shifting events of
a big city, his little daughter, now a beautiful young woman, is brought
to his very door. A superb bit of fiction, palpitating with the life of
the great metropolis. The play in which David Warfield scored his highest
success.
DR. LAVENDAR'S PEOPLE. By Margaret Deland.
Illustrated by Lucius Hitchcock.
Mrs. Deland won so many friends through Old Chester Tales that this volume
needs no introduction beyond its title. The lovable doctor is more ripened
in this later book, and the simple comedies and tragedies of the old
village are told with dramatic charm.
OLD CHESTER TALES. By Margaret Deland.
Illustrated by Howard Pyle.
Stories portraying with delightful humor and pathos a quaint people in a
sleepy old town. Dr. Lavendar, a very human and lovable "preacher," is the
connecting link between these dramatic stories from life.
HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HIS WIFE. By E. P. Roe.
With frontispiece.
The hero is a farmer--a man with honest, sincere views of life. Bereft of
his wife, his home is cared for by a succession of domestics of varying
degrees of inefficiency until, from a most unpromising source, comes a
young woman who not only becomes his wife but commands his respect and
eventually wins his love. A bright and delicate romance, revealing on both
sides a love that surmounts all difficulties and survives the censure of
friends as well as the bitterness of enemies.
THE YOKE. By Elizabeth Miller.
Against the historical background of the days when the children of Israel
were delivered from the bondage of Egypt, the author has sketched a
romance of compelling charm. A biblical novel as great as any since "Ben
Hur."
SAUL OF TARSUS. By Elizabeth Miller.
Illustrated by André Castaigne.
The scenes of this story are laid in Jerusalem, Alexandria, Rome and
Damascus. The Apostle Paul, the Martyr Stephen, Herod Agrippa and the
Emperors Tiberius and Caligula are among the mighty figures that move
through the pages. Wonderful descriptions, and a love story of the purest
and noblest type mark this most remarkable religious romance.
Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
B. M. Bower's Novels
Thrilling Western Romances
Large 12 mos. Handsomely bound in cloth. Illustrated.
CHIP, OF THE FLYING U
A breezy wholesome tale, wherein the love affairs of Chip and Delia
Whitman are charmingly and humorously told. Chip's jealousy of Dr. Cecil
Grantham, who turns out to be a big, blue eyed young woman is very
amusing. A clever, realistic story of the American Cow-puncher.
THE HAPPY FAMILY
A lively and amusing story, dealing with the adventures of eighteen
jovial, big hearted Montana cowboys. Foremost amongst them, we find
Ananias Green, known as Andy, whose imaginative powers cause many lively
and exciting adventures.
HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT
A realistic story of the plains, describing a gay party of Easterners who
exchange a cottage at Newport for the rough homeliness of a Montana
ranch-house. The merry-hearted cowboys, the fascinating Beatrice, and the
effusive Sir Redmond, become living, breathing personalities.
THE RANGE DWELLERS
Here are everyday, genuine cowboys, just as they really exist. Spirited
action, a range feud between two families, and a Romeo and Juliet
courtship make this a bright, jolly, entertaining story, without a dull
page.
THE LURE OF DIM TRAILS
A vivid portrayal of the experience of an Eastern author, among the
cowboys of the West, in search of "local color" for a new novel. "Bud"
Thurston learns many a lesson while following "the lure of the dim trails"
but the hardest, and probably the most welcome, is that of love.
THE LONESOME TRAIL
"Weary" Davidson leaves the ranch for Portland, where conventional city
life palls on him. A little branch of sage brush, pungent with the
atmosphere of the prairie, and the recollection of a pair of large brown
eyes soon compel his return. A wholesome love story.
THE LONG SHADOW
A vigorous Western story, sparkling with the free, outdoor, life of a
mountain ranch. Its scenes shift rapidly and its actors play the game of
life fearlessly and like men. It is a fine love story from start to
finish.
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LOUIS TRACY'S
CAPTIVATING AND EXHILARATING ROMANCES
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list
CYNTHIA'S CHAUFFEUR.
Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy.
A pretty American girl in London is touring in a car with a chauffeur
whose identity puzzles her. An amusing mystery.
THE STOWAWAY GIRL.
Illustrated by Nesbitt Benson.
A shipwreck, a lovely girl stowaway, a rascally captain, a fascinating
officer, and thrilling adventures in South Seas.
THE CAPTAIN OF THE KANSAS.
Love and the salt sea, a helpless ship whirled into the hands of
cannibals, desperate fighting and a tender romance.
THE MESSAGE.
Illustrated by Joseph Cummings Chase.
A bit of parchment found in the figurehead of an old vessel tells of a
buried treasure. A thrilling mystery develops.
THE PILLAR OF LIGHT.
The pillar thus designated was a lighthouse, and the author tells with
exciting detail the terrible dilemma of its cut-off inhabitants.
THE WHEEL O'FORTUNE.
With illustrations by James Montgomery Flagg.
The story deals with the finding of a papyrus containing the particulars
of some of the treasures of the Queen of Sheba.
A SON OF THE IMMORTALS.
Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy.
A young American is proclaimed king of a little Balkan Kingdom, and a
pretty Parisian art student is the power behind the throne.
THE WINGS OF THE MORNING.
A sort of Robinson Crusoe _redivivus_ with modern settings and a very
pretty love story added. The hero and heroine, are the only survivors of a
wreck, and have many thrilling adventures on their desert island.
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STORIES OF WESTERN LIFE
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list
RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE, By Zane Grey.
Illustrated by Douglas Duer.
In this picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago, we are
permitted to see the unscrupulous methods employed by the invisible hand
of the Mormon Church to break the will of those refusing to conform to its
rule.
FRIAR TUCK, By Robert Alexander Wason.
Illustrated by Stanley L. Wood.
Happy Hawkins tells us, in his humorous way, how Friar Tuck lived among
the Cowboys, how he adjusted their quarrels and love affairs and how he
fought with them and for them when occasion required.
THE SKY PILOT, By Ralph Connor.
Illustrated by Louis Rhead.
There is no novel, dealing with the rough existence of cowboys, so
charming in the telling, abounding as it does with the freshest and the
truest pathos.
THE EMIGRANT TRAIL, By Geraldine Bonner.
Colored frontispiece by John Rae.
The book relates the adventures of a party on its overland pilgrimage, and
the birth and growth of the absorbing love of two strong men for a
charming heroine.
THE BOSS OF WIND RIVER, By A. M. Chisholm.
Illustrated by Frank Tenney Johnson.
This is a strong, virile novel with the lumber industry for its central
theme and a love story full of interest as a sort of subplot.
A PRAIRIE COURTSHIP, By Harold Bindloss.
A story of Canadian prairies in which the hero is stirred, through the
influence of his love for a woman, to settle down to the heroic business
of pioneer farming.
JOYCE OF THE NORTH WOODS, By Harriet T. Comstock.
Illustrated by John Cassel.
A story of the deep woods that shows the power of love at work among its
primitive dwellers. It is a tensely moving study of the human heart and
its aspirations that unfolds itself through thrilling situations and
dramatic developments.
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CHARMING BOOKS FOR GIRLS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list
WHEN PATTY WENT TO COLLEGE, By Jean Webster.
Illustrated by C. D. Williams.
One of the best stories of life in a girl's college that has ever been
written. It is bright, whimsical and entertaining, lifelike, laughable and
thoroughly human.
JUST PATTY, By Jean Webster.
Illustrated by C. M. Relyea.
Patty is full of the joy of living, fun-loving, given to ingenious
mischief for its own sake, with a disregard for pretty convention which is
an unfailing source of joy to her fellows.
THE POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL, By Eleanor Gates.
With four full page illustrations.
This story relates the experience of one of those unfortunate children
whose early days are passed in the companionship of a governess, seldom
seeing either parent, and famishing for natural love and tenderness. A
charming play as dramatized by the author.
REBECCA OF SUNNYBROOK FARM, By Kate Douglas Wiggin.
One of the most beautiful studies of childhood--Rebecca's artistic,
unusual and quaintly charming qualities stand out midst a circle of
austere New Englanders. The stage version is making a phenomenal dramatic
record.
NEW CHRONICLES OF REBECCA, By Kate Douglas Wiggin.
Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
Additional episodes in the girlhood of this delightful heroine that carry
Rebecca through various stages to her eighteenth birthday.
REBECCA MARY, By Annie Hamilton Donnell.
Illustrated by Elizabeth Shippen Green.
This author possesses the rare gift of portraying all the grotesque little
joys and sorrows and scruples of this very small girl with a pathos that
is peculiarly genuine and appealing.
EMMY LOU: Her Book and Heart, By George Madden Martin.
Illustrated by Charles Louis Hinton.
Emmy Lou is irresistibly lovable, because she is so absolutely real. She
is just a bewitchingly innocent, huggable little Maid. The book is
wonderfully human.
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THE NOVELS OF IRVING BACHELLER
Full of the real atmosphere of American home life.
THE HAND-MADE GENTLEMAN.
With a double-page frontispiece.
The son of a wash-woman begins re-making himself socially and imparts his
system to his numerous friends. A story of rural New York with an
appreciation of American types only possible from the pen of a humor
loving American.
DARREL OF THE BLESSED ISLES.
With illustrations by Arthur I. Keller.
A tale of the North Country. In Darrel, the clock tinker, wit, philosopher
and man of mystery, is portrayed a force held in fetters and covered with
obscurity, yet strong to make its way, and widely felt.
D'RI AND I: A Tale of Daring Deeds in the Second War with the British.
Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
"D'ri" was a mighty hunter, quaint, rugged, wise, truthful. He fights
magnificently on the Lawrence, and is a striking figure in this
enthusiastic romance of early America.
EBEN HOLDEN: A Tale of the North Country.
A story of the hardy wood-choppers of Vermont, who founded their homes in
the Adirondack wilderness. "Eben," the hero, is a bachelor with an
imagination that is a very wilderness of oddities.
SILAS STRONG: Emperor of the Woods.
A simple account of one summer life, as it was lived in a part of the
Adirondacks. Silas Strong is a woodland philosopher, and his camp is the
scene of an impressive little love story.
VERGILIUS: A Tale of the Coming of Christ.
A thrilling and beautiful story of two young Roman Patricians whose great
and perilous love in the reign of Augustus leads them through the
momentous, exciting events that marked the year just preceding the birth
of Christ.
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* * * * *