HONEY, NOT WITHOUT STING
She looked so timid and demure, with the blue straw bonnet which framed
her sweet face, the red band lettered in gold, "Salvation Army."
Eyes, lifted slowly, of deep, dark blue, and the level brows laid over
them for a foil. Beautiful eyes, we male observers say in our rough,
generic fashion, but the finer perception of our sisters discriminates
more closely. Not the iris alone makes the beauty of eyes. Lashes long
and thick, lids of bewitching droop, brows penciled in the bow curve,
any of these may be the true feature that starts our exclamation of
delight. But in Miss Serena Lamb (as the girl gave her name) nearly all
these marks were blended, and they overhung a feature which used to be
fashionable and is still, when perfect, divine--the rosebud mouth.
She might well be timid in those surroundings--revolvers and handcuffs
to right of her, medals and canes to left; shutter-cutters, winches,
chisels, diamond drills, skeleton keys, wax molds, jimmies, screws, in
the glass case in front--an elaborate outfit of burglar's tools, the
trophies of McCausland's hunting expeditions, for the inspector's
specialty was burglary. On one side the portrait of the true Bill Dobbs
looked out from the center of a congenial group, and a tiny plush case
kept the file made from a watch-spring with which the famous Barney
Pease had cut his way to liberty. All this was formidable enough in
itself, to say nothing of the huge bloodhound that lay half-asleep, with
his jowl on the hearthstone.
"I thought I ought to tell you," said Miss Lamb, modestly, "although it
may not be of importance."
"And yet it may," said the inspector, politely. "We often work from the
merest trifles."
"It concerns the fire in Prof. Arnold's house."
"Ah!"
"You know our labors often bring sinners back to the fold and many of
them insist on unburdening their past misdeeds to us. It is very
distressing to hear, but it seems to ease their consciences."
McCausland mentally registered a great broad mark in her favor. She had
not begun by asking for the reward.
"One day a young convert of ours came to my house and spent an hour with
me. We sung hymns and conversed, and I truly believe he has heard the
word. Hosanna! Alleluia!"
McCausland fidgeted a little at these transports, but the sweet face in
the blue bonnet kept him respectful.
"I am young," she hardly looked 18, "but I strove earnestly with him
that night. Moved by the spirit, he told me a guilty story, which I put
aside until reading about your case stirred my memory, and I felt in
duty bound to relate it. Alleluia!"
"Proceed, Miss Lamb."
"The young convert had been in his early days a locksmith and a great
sinner before the world. One day a stranger proposed to him a reward if
he should enter a certain room and open a safe which it contained. The
temptation was great and he yielded, for he was poor in the riches of
earth, and knew not then of the treasures of heaven. Alleluia! Praise!
"Weakly he consented to accompany the stranger, and on a certain Sunday,
during the early hours of evening, suffered himself to be led into the
room, where he found himself alone with the stranger. It was the name of
this man and the description he gave me of the room which led me
afterward to think that his action might have a connection with your
case."
"What name?"
"Robert Floyd."
McCausland took a cigar from his pocket and bit off the end.
"And how did he describe the room?"
"A library, he said, with a bird cage before one window and a desk in
the corner."
"And the safe?"
"He could not open it at first, but tried again and again. Something
alarmed them, however, or so I gathered. For you must know his accent
was very hard to follow and--and"--(Serena blushed)--"he was very much
agitated while he told me. But I gathered that they were interrupted and
put off their wicked work."
"I must see this young convert. He may have sinned to good purpose that
time."
"There comes the strange part of it. Since he made the confession I have
not seen him again. He has not come to our meetings, as he used. Perhaps
he has fallen back into the evil ways of the worldly minded. Perhaps the
wicked ones have punished him."
"The description is certainly similar," said McCausland, shutting his
right eye, so as to fix more keenly on his visitor's face the other,
which was the one reputed microscopic in its powers.
"So it seemed to me, reading the papers, which are full of profane
sayings, alas! But where sin is there must be the workers in the
vineyard."
"I am glad you read them and you did well to come. But--do you know the
convert's name? Without some clew, I fear----"
The young girl hesitated awhile, then answered:
"Aronson!"
McCausland started. It was not a common name.
"A young man, you say? And spoke with an accent?"
"Yes, slightly."
"Can it be Shagarach's man?" said McCausland to himself, reaching for
the city directory. "There was something shady about his record." Then
he rung a bell.
"Have the criminal docket looked up about four years ago for a case
against one Aronson--larceny of an overcoat, I believe," he said to the
mulatto officer.
"That was all," said Miss Lamb, arising to go.
"One moment," said McCausland, running his forefinger up the directory
page. "Was his first name Saul?"
"I don't remember. I remember very little about him."
"'Saul Aronson, law student.' Let's look farther back," said McCausland,
restoring the 1895 volume to the shelf; "'94, '93, '92, '91," he drew
out the last. "It would be queer," he said to himself, "if Floyd's
junior counsel should turn out to be an accomplice."
"Aronson," he read aloud. "Isaac, Jacob, Marks--Saul! 'Saul Aronson,
locksmith'!"