Midnight found Kent in the throes of literary effort. He was striving to
compose a letter to Sedgwick that should, in turn, compose the
recipient's perturbed feelings. It concluded, with some acerbity:
"You've made a pretty complete idiot of yourself once. Don't try to
eclipse your own record."
By which he purposed to convey to the artist the fact that his presence
in Boston was neither desirable nor advisable. As he was about to affix
his signature, a knock brought him to the door of his hotel room.
"Letter for you," announced the messenger boy.
Kent signed the book and received a broad thin envelope sealed in golden
hued wax with the impress of a star, and addressed in typewriting to his
own name.
"Confound all fools who sign their letters on the outside!" said Kent,
scowling at the seal. "What has that planetary lunatic got to say that
won't keep?"
What Preston Jax had to say was, first, in the form of a very brief
note; secondly, in the shape of a formidable-looking document. The note
began "Esteemed sir," concluded "Yours remorsefully," and set forth, in
somewhat exotic language, that the writer, fearing a lapse of courage
that might confuse his narrative when he should come to give it, had
"taken pen in hand" to commit it to writing, and would the recipient
"kindly pardon haste?" Therewith, twenty-one typed pages.
"Haste!" cried Chester Kent grievously. "Why, he's written me the story
of his life!"
Indeed, at a cursory glance, it appeared so. The initial paragraph
opened, "I was born of poor but honest parents." Chester Kent groaned. A
little farther down the page the phrase, "Oh, that those innocent days
of my happy childhood might return!" rose and smote him in the eyes.
Chester Kent snorted. A desperate leap landed him in the midst of page
five, where he encountered this gem, "With these fateful words the kind
old minister laid a faltering hand upon my head. But enough!"
"Quite enough!" agreed Chester Kent, and kicked the Star-master's
document into a corner.
It fell in a crumpled heap with one sheet, curving in upward
protuberance, conspicuous to the eye. On this sheet there was
handwriting, and the handwriting was the same as that of the note
Marjorie Blair had identified. Kent retrieved the paper, laid it on his
desk, selected a likely spot for one more plunge, and dived into the
turbid flood of words. And behold! as he turned, so to speak, the corner
of the narrative, the current became suddenly clear. The muddled
eloquence fell away; and the style crystallized into the tense quick
testimony of the prime actor in a drama, intensely and shudderingly
felt.
The reader ran through it with increasing absorption. Then, pencil in
hand, he attacked the first part of the precious screed and emerged from
a scene of literary carnage with one brief paragraph in hand and the
slaughtered bodies of many eloquent pages strewing the floor. That one
paragraph stated that Preston Jax, whose real name was John Preston,
had, after a rebellious boyhood, run away to sea, lived two years before
the mast, picked up a smattering of education, been assistant and capper
for a magnetic healer, and had finally formulated a system of
astrological prophecy that won him a slow but increasing renown. The
gist of the system was to assign some particular and often imaginary
star to every subject, and, by a natural aptitude for worming out
secrets from the credulous, lead them along the celestial paths of
mysticism to a point where he could reach their pocketbooks. He had been
specially successful with women. One bit of his philosophy Kent had
preserved unaltered.
"They bite slower than men; but when they do take hold, they swallow the
hook so deep that you're lucky to get it back at all."
An hour's work with a pencil that should have been blue resolved the
document, under Kent's skilful and remorseless editorship, into its
salient elements. Obviously it was impossible to put it into alien hands
for copying. Kent ordered up a typewriter and copied it himself. The
duplicate he enclosed in his letter to Sedgwick. The original he put
aside to sleep upon. Thus it ran:
"This Astraea affair looked good from the first," so began Preston Jax's
confession, as beheaded and stripped down by its editor. "It looked like
one of the best. You could smell money in it with half a nose. She bit
first on one of the occult ads--the number four of the old series, a
double-column with display in heavy-faced italics and leaded out strong.
That ad always was a good woman-fetcher. Her first letter came in on a
Monday, I recollect. It was a big mail. There were a lot of Curiositys
and a couple of Suspiciouses, and this was one of half a dozen in the
True Believers' pile. Irene, my assistant, had put the red pencil on it,
when she sorted out the mail, to show it was something special. But
don't get her into this, Professor Kent. If you do, it's all off, jewels
and all. Irene has always been for the straight star business and
forecast game, and no extras or side lines. Besides, we were married
last week.
"What attracted Irene's red pencil, and caught me right away, was the
style of the thing. The handwriting was classy. The paper was elegant.
There was something rich about it all. This was no Biddy, pinching out
the missis' stationery to make a play with. She quoted poetry, swell
poetry. First off she signed herself 'An Adept'. I gave her the
Personal, No. 3, and followed it up with the Special Friendly, No. 5.
Irene never liked that No. 5. She says it's spoony. Just the same, it
fetches them. But not this one. She began to get personal and
warm-hearted, all right, and answered up with the kindred-soul racket.
But come to Boston? Not a move! Said she couldn't. There were reasons.
It looked like the old game--flitter-headed wife and jealous husband.
Nothing in that game, unless you go in for the straight holdup. And
blackmail was always too strong for my taste. So I did the natural
thing; gave her special readings and doubled on the price. She paid like
a lamb.
"Then, blame if it didn't slip out she wasn't married at all! I lost
that letter. It was kind of endearing. Irene put up a howl. It was
getting too personal for her taste. I told her I would cut it out. Then
I gave my swell lady another address and wrote her for a picture.
Nothing doing. But she began to hint around at a meeting. One day a
letter came with a hundred-dollar bill in it. Loose, too, just like you
or me might send a two-cent stamp. 'For expenses', she wrote, and I was
to come at once. Our souls had returned to recognize and join each
other, she said. Here is the only part of the letter I could dig up from
the waste basket:
Here the specimen of handwriting that had caught Kent's eye was pasted
upon the document.
"'You have pointed out to me that our stars, swinging in mighty circles,
are rushing on to a joint climax. Together we may force open the doors
to the past, and sway the world as we sought to do in bygone days.'
"And so on and cetera," continued the narrative. "Well, of course, she
was nutty, that is, about the star business. But that don't prove
anything. The dippiest star-chaser I ever worked was the head of a
department in one of the big stores, and the fiercest little business
woman in business hours, you ever knew. It's the romantic in the sex
that sets them skidding when it comes to stars, and such like. And
Astraea was not a patch on some of them that has been paying me good
sane money for years. That was the letter she first called me Hermann in
and signed Astraea to. Said there was no use pretending to conceal her
identity any longer from me. Seemed to think I knew all about it. That
jarred me some. And, with the change of writing in the signature, it all
looked pretty queer. You remember the last letter with the
copperplate-writing name at the bottom? Well, they all came that way
after this; the body of the letter very bold and careless; signature
written in an entirely different hand. I took it to Chorio, the
character-reader, and he said so, too. What's more, he advised me to
quit the game. Said there was trouble back of that handwriting. Those
character fellows ain't such fools, either!
"But hundred-dollar bills loose in letters mean a big stake. I wrote her
I would come, and I signed it 'Hermann', just to play up to her lead.
Irene got on and threw a fit. She said her woman's intuition told her
there was danger in it. Truth is, she was stuck on me herself, and I was
on her; but we did not find it out until after the crash. So I was all
for prying Astraea loose from her money, if I had to marry her to do it.
She wrote some slush about the one desperate plunge together and then
the glory that was to be ours. That looked like marriage to me.
"You saw the last letter. It had me rattled, but not rattled enough to
quit. There was a map in it of the place for the meeting. That was plain
enough. But the 'our' and 'we' business in it bothered me. It looked a
bit like a third person. I had not heard anything about any third
person. What is more, I did not have any use for a third person in this
business. The stars forbade it. I wrote and told her so, and said if
there was any outsider rung in, the stellar courses would have a sudden
change of heart. Then I put my best robe in a bag and bought a ticket
for Carr's Junction. You can believe that while I was going through the
woods I was keeping a bright eye out for any third party. Well, he was
not there; not when I arrived, anyway. Where he was all the time, I do
not know. I never saw him. But I heard him later. I can hear him yet at
night, God help me!
"She was leaning against a little tree at the edge of the thicket when I
first saw her. There was plenty of light from the moon and it sifted
down through the trees and fell across her head and neck. As neat a bit
of stage-setting for my business as I could have fixed up myself; and I
am some hand at that. You have seen my place, and you know. I noticed a
queer circlet around her neck. The stones were like soft pink fires. I
had not ever seen any like them before and I stood there trying to
figure whether they were rubies and how much they might be worth. While
I was wondering about it, she half turned and I got my first good look
at her face.
"She was younger than I had reckoned on, and not bad to look at, but
queer, queer! Something about her struck me all wrong; gave me a sort of
ugly shiver. Another thing struck me all right, though. That was that
she had jewels on pretty much all her fingers. In one of my letters to
her I gave her a hint about that: told her that gems gave the stars a
stronger hold on the wearer, and she had taken it all in. She certainly
was an easy subject.
"A bundle done up in paper was on the ground near her. I ducked back,
very still, and got into my robe. The arrangement in her letter was for
me to whistle when I got there. I whistled. She straightened up.
"'Come,' she said. 'I am waiting.'
"Her voice was rather deep and soft. But it wasn't a pleasant softness.
Some way I did not like it any better than I liked her looks. It was too
late to back out, though. I stepped out into the open and gave her the
grand bow.
"'The Master of the Stars, at your command,' I said.
"'You are not as I expected to see you,' she said.
"That was a sticker. It might mean most anything. I took a chance.
"'Oh, well,' I said, 'we all change.'
"It went. 'We change as life changes,' she said. 'They never found you,
did they?'
"From the way she said it I saw she expected me to say 'No'. So I said
'No'.
"'That was left for me to return and do,' she went on with a kind of
queer joy that gave me the shivers again.
"'Yes,' I agreed, wishing I knew what she was driving at, but sticking
to my text. 'And here we are.'
"'Together,' says she. 'Isn't it wonderful! After all these years. The
instant I saw your statement in the newspaper I knew it was your soul
calling to mine across the ages.'
"You know, Professor Kent, I thought that was so good I made a note of
it for future business use. While I was saying it over to myself she
gave me a jar:
"'Our boat is at the shore,' she said.
"In that last letter she mentioned a ship. And, now, here was this boat
business. (Afterward I looked for a sign of either, but could not find
any. I thought perhaps it would explain the other part of the 'we' and
'our'.) If I was going to elope by sea I wanted to know it, and I said
as much.
"'Are you steadfast?' she asked.
"Well, there was only one answer to that. I said I was. She opened her
package and took out a coil of rope. It was this gray-white rope, sort
of clothes-line, and it looked strong.
"'What now?' I asked her.
"'To bind us together,' she said. 'Close, close together, and then the
plunge! This time there shall be no failure. They shall not find one of
us without the other. You are not afraid?'
"Afraid! My neck was bristling. The woman was proposing, as near as I
could make out, that we go out in a boat, tie ourselves together, and
jump overboard. She seemed to think it was an encore to some previous
performance.
"'Go slow,' I said, thinking mighty hard. 'I don't quite see the point
of this.'
"'All, all is as it is foreordained in the stars; the curve of the
astral courses, the illimitable, unchangeable curve that has made us
what we are, and shall draw us on and on to our mighty destiny. You, you
have pointed out the way.'
"That is what she gave me, waving her arms in the air.
"Didn't I curse myself for not remembering what I had written her? No
clue, except that the poor soul was plumb dippy--too dippy for me to
marry at any price. It wouldn't have held in the courts. Yet, there
might have been five thousand dollars of diamonds on her. It was a tight
place. I wanted to duck the whole thing; but the rings held me. I have
always been dotty about diamonds. I suppose she felt me weakening. Women
are queer, that way.
"'You dare to break our pact?' she says in a voice like a woman on the
stage. Then she changed and spoke very gently. 'You are looking at these
gewgaws,' she said, and took a diamond circlet from her finger. 'What do
these count for?' And she put it in my hand. Another ring dropped at my
feet. Mind, she was giving them to me. I do not know if it would hold in
law, she being a lunatic; but I was going to take all I could, on the
chance, and watch for a getaway. The diamonds had me hypnotized.
"'These are as nothing compared to what we shall have,' she went on,
'after the plunge. Wait!'
"She had dropped the rope, and now she went into her paper parcel again,
kneeling at my side. I had stooped to look for the fallen ring, when I
felt her hand slide up my wrist, and then a quick little snap of
something cold and close. A bracelet, I thought. And it was a bracelet!
"'Forever! Together!' she said, and stood up beside me, chained to me by
the handcuffs she had slipped on my right wrist and her left. Never you
think your nerve is sound till you have felt something like that. I
thought mine was--and I squalled aloud like a child at a ghost.
"'Hush!' she said, and her free arm pressed across my mouth.
"'How much to let me off?' I asked as soon as I could get breath. You
see, it flashed on me that it was a trap. You can never tell, in our
line, when the detectives may be after you, or what kind of a game
they'll put up. I looked around for the rest of the bunch to come and
jump me, but I didn't see a thing. Her next words put me on.
"'The stars! The stars!' she whispered. 'See ours, how they light our
pathway across the sea. The sea that awaits us!'
"More breath came back to me. It wasn't a trap, then. She was only a
crazy woman, that I had to get rid of. I looked down at the handcuff. It
was of iron, and had dull rusted edges. A hammer would have made short
work of it; but I did not have any hammer. I did not even have a stone.
There would be stones in the broken land beyond the thicket. I thought I
saw a way.
"'Yes. Let's go,' I said.
"We set out. At the edge of the thicket was a flattish rock with small
stones near it. Here I pretended to slip. I fell with my right wrist
across a rock, and caught up a cobblestone with my left hand. At the
first crack of the stone on the handcuff I could feel the old iron
weaken. I got no chance for a second blow. Her hands were at my throat.
They bit in. Then I knew it was a fight for my life.
"She was light; but she was strong like a panther. If her dress bound
her, I was as bad off in my robe. At the first grip I was forced back
into a bush, and sprawled there, in a tangle of branches and flying
cloth. Somehow, I twisted her fingers from my throat. We struggled out
into the moonlight again. I got a fair look at her face, and I guess I
went mad myself, with the terror of it. The next thing I remember
clearly she was quiet on the ground and I was hammering, hammering,
hammering at my wrist with a blood-stained stone. I do not know if it
was her blood or mine. Both, maybe, for my wrist was like pulp when the
iron finally cracked open and I was free. I caught a glimpse of blood on
her temple. I suppose I had hit her there with the stone. She looked
dead.
"All I wanted was to think--to think--to think. How could I think with
her lying there? I crept out of sight of her and kneeled down. Her star,
the star I had faked for hers, was shining in my eyes like a cold glare.
That very minute a wisp of cloud blew across and wiped it out, and I
heard myself squeal again. I was pretty much dotty, I guess.
"While I was trying to think she came alive. She didn't stir slow and
moan like I have seen men, in my sea days, when they were knocked out.
She was on her feet before I knew it, and off at a dead run. The broken
handcuff went jerking and jumping around her as she ran. That was an
awful night full of awful things. But the one worst sight of all--worse,
even, than the finding of her afterward--was that mad figure leaping
over the broken ground toward the cliff's edge.
"Even if I had tried to follow I never could have caught her. And she
was going straight for her death. She dropped down out of sight into a
hollow and came up on the rise beyond. I yelled to her to stop, for
God's sake to stop. Then I held my breath to listen for her scream when
she went over. I never heard it.
"But I heard something else. I heard a man's voice. It was clear and
strong and high. There was death in it, I tell you, Mr. Kent, living
horror gripped at the throat that gave that cry. Then there was a rush
of little stones and gravel down the face of the cliff. That was all.
"Beyond me the ground rose. I ran up on it. It gave me a clear view of
the cliff-top. I thought sure I would see the man who had cried out,
from there. Not a sight of him! Nothing moved in the moonlight. I
thought he must have gone over the cliff, too. I threw myself down and
buried my face.
"How long I lay on the ground I do not know. The wisp of cloud had
blotted out the woman's star, now, and by that I knew she was dead. But
the moon was shining high. It gave me light enough to see my way into
the gully, and I stumbled and slid down through to the beach.
"I found her body right away. It lay with the head against a rock. But
there was no sign of the man's body, the man who had yelled. So I
thought perhaps he had not gone over the cliff, and I sat and waited to
see if he would come and care for her. It was quite clear to me what I
must do, if he did not come. Perhaps my own brain was queer from the
shock and the beating she had given me with her manacled wrist; but I
felt that before I went away from there I must conceal the cause of her
death, and everything about it that I could. If it was known how she was
killed, they would be more likely to suspect me.
"I went back and got the rope. I got an old grating from the shore. I
dragged the body into the sea and let it soak. I lashed it to the
grating. I stripped the jewelry from her. But I could not take it. That
would have made me a murderer.
"There is a rock in the gully that I marked. Nobody else would ever
notice it. Under it I hid the jewelry. I can take you to it, and I will.
"I got on my coat and sunk my robe in a creek, and got myself to the
railroad station for a morning train. And when I got home I married
Irene, and I am through with the crooked work forever.
"This is the whole truth. I did not kill her. I do not know to-day who
or what she is. I have looked in the papers, and there is nothing, and
that is so strange that I would think it was all a fearful dream, if it
was not for my smashed-up wrist. But if any human being knows more about
the death of Astraea, it must be the man who shouted as she fell from
the cliff, and who went away and did not come back.
"And may God have no mercy for me if this is not all a true statement,
so far as I know the truth.
"(Signed) _Preston Jax_, S-M."